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3 | los angeles | around the world and back
(18+, minors dni)
series masterlist
summary: you get a birthday kiss from someone unexpected; bradley finds out your "secret"
warnings: smut (first time writing it eeeek), drinking, smoking
a/n: i had the most feral monday yesterday sooo here you go! enjoy!!!
You’re plastered before you even get to the club. In fact, you’ve been drunk all day. The Bloody Marys at brunch turned into glasses of wine while getting ready which turned into jello shots at the pregame, and now, you’re craving a cigarette. It’s a nasty little social habit that you picked up from hanging out with your older brother and his friends when they’d visit while you were in high school. He hated that you got along with his friends, and he always made it clear that you were off limits. Of course, at the time, you were an awkward high schooler with about as much game as a little league soccer team, but the sentiment was still there. You think that’s why you like older men now.
Men like Bradley.
Bradley.
You shake your head, drunkenly attempting to physically rid your brain of thoughts of him before grabbing onto Grace’s shoulder, keeping her from walking in with everyone else. She eyes you as you pull a pack of Camels out of your bag with a lighter. You dangle one in front of her face and she grabs it with a pout before giving you an annoyed crooked smile, holding it between her fingers while you light yours.
“I hate you, you know that, right?” She grins, chuckling slightly at how bad of an influence you’ve had on her in the past few years. Grace was the first person you met at school three years ago, and somehow, you’re still attached at the hip. You used to be shy, little freshmen who’d sip Starbucks in the library while you attempted to study together and now you’re almost full-blown adults who get plastered every other night of the week and somehow still manage decent GPAs.
“I know.” You shrug back, lighting the cigarette for her as the two of you stand leaning up against the brick building. It’s a nice night out in LA in late October–Halloween weekend, to be exact. Most people are dressed up in ridiculously revealing costumes and outfits, but you’re a little more lowkey, despite it being your 22nd birthday. You’re wearing a sparkly little number that isn’t too kitschy for the holiday or too much for a regular night out, but perfect for standing out just enough on a night when most women are dressed like fembots and sexy serial killers.
Bradley thinks he must be dreaming when he sees you leaned up against the building he’s about to enter with a cigarette hanging loosely from your fingers. You look so much older than he remembers, and so much more sophisticated as you bring it up to your lips and take a drag, all while casually chatting with the woman next to you. He’s never been big on smoking, but God, he could watch you do this all night, especially in the dress you’re wearing. It glitters in the glow from the street lights. You look heavenly. Like an angel sent to earth just for him. Maybe that's the vodka talking.
“You good?” Nat questions from beside him as she follows his gaze to you. She doesn’t know who you are. She only saw you from the side that day at the beach, and you look a lot different here. Your hair is styled and straighter than the beachy waves you rocked all summer. She furrows her brows at her friend, who cannot stop staring at this poor woman who’s just minding her own business.
“Take a picture, babe, it’ll last longer.” She teases, poking his arm as they wait in the short line to get in. “She’s cute.” She comments, looking back over at you. You’re in your own little world, pulling your flask out from your bag and taking a swig before continuing to smoke. You don't really look like Bradley’s type–you look too young and rebellious for her best friend, who typically goes for women who are way too nice for him. Teachers, nurses, etc. Sweet women with sweet dispositions. You look like you wouldn’t put up with any of his shit. She cocks her head to the side, thinking about it a little longer. Maybe that’s exactly what he needs.
“She is.” Bradley agrees, straightening up as he takes his gaze off of you, but not before Grace notices how long he’s been looking at you. She taps your shoulder and nods her head in his direction as soon as he looks away.
“That guy keeps staring at you.” Her voice is hushed as if he might hear her even though he’s a good twenty feet away and the building is practically shaking from the bass of the music inside.
“That’s because I look so fucking good!” You drunkenly shout back, not meaning to be so…loud. Grace looks back over with wide eyes, watching as the whole group of them look over at you. There’s a woman next to him, and Grace hopes to god it’s not his girlfriend or something because you’re definitely feeling yourself. She wouldn’t be surprised if you walked up to him right now and planted one on him just for fun. It wouldn’t be the first time, and unfortunately, your inhibitions are much lower than usual because of all the alcohol in your system already. She should’ve taken the flask away from you when she had the chance back at the apartment.
“Never mind, okay? Don’t look now.” She instructs, but you don’t care. Your head is already almost turned back to the doors of the club when she says it, and as soon as your gaze settles on the staring stranger, you drop your cigarette onto the sidewalk.
The guy with the ridiculous mustache and half-unbuttoned shirt staring at you from just a few feet away is Bradley. Your eyes meet and his mouth curves up into a small smile. You see his cheeks begin to redden as the woman next to him says something, glancing over to you briefly. Before you realize what you’re doing, you approach him, wiping your sweaty hands on the sides of your dress as you do. It feels hotter than it did a few minutes ago and you’re sure your face shows it. The woman next to him is not only beautiful, but also age appropriate. It might stop you from jumping him right here, but it doesn’t stop you from saying anything to him.
“What the hell are you doing here?” You ask, eyes sparkling as you smile up at him, trying to ignore the group of people gathered around the two of you. In the hours that you spent together, he never mentioned taking trips up here. Maybe if he had, you would’ve given him your number just for the occasion. That may just be the straight tequila talking. He lets out a laugh, pulling you closer to him protectively as a group of guys walk past. His cologne is intoxicating, and he wears just enough that it’s not too overpowering. You want to stay in this position forever, finding comfort in the soft fabric of his shirt, but it’s cut short when he takes a step back in order to look at you once more.
“I had some time off, so we came up for the weekend. Is this, like, where you hangout?” He questions, giving you one good look from top to bottom. You’re way more dressed up than the last time he saw you. The dress you’re donning is hot. He’s not ashamed to admit that now that he’s seeing it up close and personal.
“It’s my birthday.” You slur with a chuckle, leaning back to point to the button pinned to your dress that’s been hidden behind your hair. In bold letters the button reads, ‘kiss me, it’s my birthday’. You watch his facial expression change slightly as he reads it, and you cock your head to the side, raising your eyebrows in anticipation.
“You’re killing me, Sunny.” He mumbles under his breath, leaning down and holding your jaw in his large hand. Your lips connect, and it’s like a trigger goes off in both of your systems, not allowing either of you to pull away, too intoxicated by how each other tastes.
Nat can hardly contain herself as she stands next to Bradley, watching the two of you makeout in the middle of this line as if you’re the only two people in the world. It’d be cute if she didn’t think of Bradley like a brother–cuter if she knew anything at all about you. It’s very clear that this isn’t the first time you’ve met, but she can’t place you at all, and she’s met practically everyone he’s ever hooked up with. Her mind takes her back a few months to the girl at the beach. The one Bradley said he’d never see again. The one he had to build up courage to go flirt with…could you be her?
Her eyes fall on your friend, Grace, who looks equally confused and embarrassed by what you two are doing. After the kiss continues for a bit too long, she reaches her arm right through the two of you and pulls you out of his grasp. The two of you breathlessly pull away from each other, reentering reality.
“I’m Grace.” She introduces with a smile, reaching her hand out towards Bradley.
“It’s weird, right?” You ask, leaned up against Bradley in the private booth you reserved for your birthday, running your hands up his toned chest underneath his shirt. He’s too drunk now to care that you’re out in public and too drunk to remember that he’s never been one for PDA. He’s just glad everyone else is out on the floor dancing or getting drinks at the bar to notice the two of you are all over each other. He throws his head back, really digging the feeling of your nails running along his skin. It’s euphoric.
“What’s weird?” He manages to get out, lifting his head and opening his eyes lazily to look at you. You’ve only had a drink or two since arriving, slowly becoming less fucked up, meeting Bradley right where he’s at now after downing shots with your friends earlier.
“Weird that we’re both here…it’s like…” You trail off, stopping yourself from saying fate or something equally as ridiculous. “Just…weird, I guess.” Bradley isn’t the kind of guy who believes in stuff like that. He’s straight-forward and practical. You’ve been to his tidy, little house twice now and all you can remember is how orderly everything was. There’s a place for everything and a detailed schedule on the fridge. Every hour of every day is planned out. You’re sure you wouldn’t fit in anywhere. He knows this. You’re far too carefree for someone with his lifestyle. Sure, he can come up to LA for the weekend or get drinks with friends after work, but at the end of the day, his job is life or death and he doesn’t want someone else to get caught up in all of that–especially someone like you.
Ignoring your comments, he brings his hand up to cup your cheek and pulls you close, lips moving in sync as the rest of the world fades away. It’s partially the alcohol and partially the feeling of his pants getting tighter that makes him not care so much about what may or may not be happening around them. It’s been two months since the last time you two were in a position like this–making out in the back of an Uber on the way out of downtown San Diego–and he forgot how natural it felt to be with you. Your mouths meld together like they were made for each other–like you’re the only person in the world who could physically fit so perfectly with him.
Almost like he’s your other half.
You shift uncomfortably in the booth as you suddenly become aware of your surroundings, pulling away from him and straightening the thin straps of your dress. He sits up a little, fixing his posture, and raises an eyebrow at you. You’re breathing heavily, chest rising and falling slowly and quickly all at once. You look around, unable to spot anyone you came here with or the group that Bradley was with originally. Your lips curve into a smile and you grab his hand, pulling him out from the booth and through the crowd of people to the front doors.
You don’t care that you have three roommates and the messiest college apartment known to man when you lead Bradley in through the side door, nearly tripping over an opened cardboard box from an order one of your roommates received days ago. The light from the microwave gives a soft glow over the kitchen, highlighting the many partially full cups and shot glasses from the pregame earlier. There are random articles of clothing lying around the main level of the house from the indecisiveness of the four women who live here. Bradley feels like he just entered the girl version of the house he shared with four fraternity brothers back in college.
College.
It all begins to make sense to him now–the summer spent down in San Diego for a job must have been an internship. He can’t unsee–or unthink–it once it happens. He passes by a row of hooks on the way to his room where a USC hat hangs from one and a set of keys with a student ID clipped on it hangs next to it. He doesn’t have time to linger because you’re pulling him inside of your room, kicking the door closed with your foot, and falling back onto the bed with him on top of you, kissing him before he has time to make any sort of rational decision about what he’s just realized. It doesn’t change his feelings for you, anyway. Sure, you’re young–he knew that the second he started talking to you. It’s no secret, and clearly you aren’t worried about how old he is, either.
Bradley sits up on his knees, admiring the way your body is on full display for him, hips lifting off your floral bed sheets to meet his thrusts as he pounds into you. His right hand trails its way up your torso in a tortuously slow manner before his fingers wrap around your throat to choke you slightly. Your eyes roll into the back of your head at the pressure. His other arm stays wrapped around your leg, holding you impossibly close to him.
You have one hand gripped tightly onto the sheets and the other cradles your own head, twisted up in your messy locks. You aren't sure how long you and Bradley have been at it at this point, but you don't care. You don't ever want the feeling of him filling you up to end. You let out a weak moan, caused by your airway being constricted by the pad of Bradley’s hand, when the tip of his dick hits your most sensitive spot continuously, it sends a vibration of pleasure throughout your entire body.
He loses it at the sound of you whimpering underneath him–all sweet and fucked out–coming down from your intense orgasm.
“Fuck.” He groans, his voice low and gravelly. He loosens his grip around your neck and rides out his own high with his head hanging low, nestled in between your shoulder and collarbone. His hands are on either side of you now and he pushes up, looking down at you. You're giving him a tired, satisfied smile, leaning your head up to give him a kiss. He groans into it, letting his body fall to the side, laying next to you as you continue to kiss him, biting his lip and running your hand through his messy hair, which is extra curly now from all the sweat.
When you're finally done with him, you pull away and smile sweetly at him–almost innocently. There's nothing innocent about what the two of you are doing, but there's an innocence in your surroundings. Everything is mismatched and clashes in the most endearing way. It's a stark comparison to his own house. Maybe it's not that he lacks personality, maybe that's just exactly what his personality is. Orderly and clean and straight-forward–no frills.
He thinks of how crazy lucky he is to be lying next to you in the most incredibly chaotic room he's ever been in with you looking up at him like that. There's a lot of things he wants to say but he keeps them inside. He's learned that nothing said immediately after sex means much of anything when he's fully sober and thinking clearly. He doesn't want you getting your hopes up over something he said after banging you. He’s been trying to work on that.
Your eyes flutter closed and you drift off into a deep sleep, comfortable in Bradley’s arms. As soon as he feels like you're in too deep to wake up, he carefully untangles himself from you and begins to put on his clothes which are thrown all around the already messy space. He walks around your room for a moment, looking at pictures of you and your friends pinned up on a board above your desk. He picks up a piece of paper. It looks like a sketch of him, actually–toned chest, mustache and all. He smirks to himself, keeping it in his hand as he turns to look at your sleeping form in the bed. When he sets it down, he sees a stack of post-its staring back at him. Without thinking too hard about what he’s doing, he scribbles his number down on it and sticks it to the sketch.
“He’s gone?” Grace asks, jaw dropped when you come into the kitchen, alone, looking like a mess. Your hair is sticking in every direction, and your tank top strap is falling off your shoulder. Your underwear isn't doing much to cover you, either.
“He’s a real adult, Grace. He can’t just hang out at our apartment all day.” You roll your eyes and reach for a mug and the coffee pot, filling it up with the warm liquid.
“Are you sure he’s a real adult? You were making out in front of everyone like a couple of eighteen year olds.”
“Wouldn’t you?” You counter.
“I’m a lesbian.”
“Ok, well what if it was his hot friend, then?” You saw the way Grace was looking at her when they went to the bar for more drinks. When she doesn’t say anything in response, you turn swiftly, leaning back on the counter. “Oh my God. Did you bring her back here?”
“No, no–of course not. She had to get one of their friends home, b-but she was cute–yeah. I’ll admit it.” Grace stutters–lying. She won’t admit to hooking up with Natasha in the bathroom at the bar, especially after berating you for nearly doing the same thing. She liked her a lot–didn’t even care that she’d probably never see her again, but then afterwards, Natasha was a mess. Crying about someone else. The guy she’s in love with. Grace tried to shake the weird feeling off, but she couldn’t. She took her back to the rest of their group who took her back to their place immediately. You and Bradley were long gone at that point.
“You need to get a fucking grip.” Beth chuckles from the table, ripping off a bite of toast with her teeth as she scrolls through her phone. “I did see that guy leave, though. Super hot–nice work, babe.” She says with a mouth full of food without ever looking up at either of you.
“He left me his number.” You admit, holding up the post-it with a wide grin on your face.
Grace remembers a lot from last night. She remembers her and Nat talking about the two of you for a while before they really started flirting. She was drinking and her lips were getting looser by the second. Grace was taking full advantage, trying to figure out everything she could about the elusive stranger before you inevitably took him home, but nothing she said sounded any alarms for your friend.
“He’s not really a relationship guy, but he’s had a few.” Nat slurred, raising her hand to get the attention of the bartender before even finishing the drink in her hand. “He’s a good guy. I wouldn’t worry about her.” She insisted, and Grace believed her. “Plus, I think they’re just having fun, anyway.” She shrugged all of the concern off, placed her hand on Grace’s lap and looked at her through her dark lashes with mischief in her eyes.
“Aw, our baby’s got a boyfriend.” Beth teases from across the room, finally dropping her phone and officially joining in on the conversation. Grace doesn’t miss the way that you blush at her words, waving them off. She knows you well. She knows that you like this guy–no matter how much it doesn’t make sense. You’re going to act like it doesn’t bother you when he slowly stops texting you back and never asks to see you again. She’s going to have to pick up all the pieces like she has countless times in the past. For now, she’s okay with that. You deserve to have a little fun at twenty-two years old–god knows everyone else here is.
Bradley rouses quickly from a light sleep when he feels his phone vibrate on his leg. He fell asleep watching a Friends marathon while waiting for you to call or text. He didn’t think he’d be that anxious to hear from you, but here he is, nearly falling off the sofa at the first notification that’s come through all night. When he lifts his phone, it isn’t an unknown number that’s sent a message. It’s Natalie.
Groaning, he unlocks his phone and opens the text thread between them, which has mostly just been her texting him to ask how he’s doing. Sometimes he responds. Sometimes he doesn’t. This message, though, is different from the others. It’s a naughty picture–well, naughty for Natalie. Really, it’s just a mirror picture of her in a bathing suit. Nothing that scandalous. The message attached reads:
Hot tub later?
He doesn’t want to go to her new apartment and sit in the hot tub while she tries her best to get back together with him. He wishes she’d get the hint–they aren’t getting back together. He’s thinking of a nice response when he sees three dots pop up indicating she’s typing another message.
Sorry, wrong aviator
Bradley scoffs, sitting up a little straighter as he continues to stare at the screen. She’s joking, right? The only aviators she knows are through him. She can’t possibly go from begging for him back one day to flirting with his friends the next. He thought she was better than that. He types out a message and hits send.
One of my friends? Nice…
Then, nothing. He’s sitting and waiting for an entire sitcom episode before another text from her rolls in, accompanied by a text from an unknown number.
Natalie: You two aren’t really friends, so I didn’t think you’d mind
Have a nice night, Bradley
512-499-7886: hey, B…it’s sunny :)
taglist: @eloquentdreamer @italk2god @urmagic8girl @huang-the-geek @gardenavenue @boiolay @djs8891 @bellaireland1981
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Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw Part 3 | Rooster x Reader
Summary: You rendered Bradley speechless and left him wondering if your students were the ones who wanted to know what he looked like or if it was really you who was curious. He wanted to know everything about you, but the urge to ask for more was mingling with his duty to keep things professional. You and he teetered on the edge... until you didn't.
Warnings: Fluff, language, Bradley looking hot
Length: 3100 words
Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female teacher!Reader
Check out my masterlist for more! Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw masterlist
Bradley found himself homesick in a way he never did before. He still had weeks and weeks of this deployment to go, stuck on the aircraft carrier, endlessly curious about someone he barely knew anything about and a classroom full of kids he'd never met. But he felt like he wanted to know more about you and them.
At least he was too busy now to dwell on the fact that it had been days since the last mail call. He was never one who was lined up, eager to collect something from a loved one. Vanessa and all of his other ex girlfriends never sent him handwritten notes or snacks. He'd gotten sporadic emails in the past, but nothing that made him smile and laugh out loud. Never anything that made him sad when he realized he had reached the end of the note, hoping for more.
He wanted to go back to the lounge and check his email, but he was afraid he'd have nothing new to read. There was really nobody else other than you who would send him anything right now, and he was sure you had something better to do with your time than comment on the photos he'd send of his jet and the engine parts. And even if you had written back, how long could he really keep this conversation with you going? How soon would you run out of interest in his deployment?
Bradley knew he'd be much better at talking to you in person, but how the hell was he supposed to get there? Jesus Christ, you were probably married. You probably already had someone back home wrapped around your fingers, and here he was, still thinking about you.
"Pitiful," he muttered, making his way to the lounge anyway. He would keep it professional with you. One hundred percent. But he still wanted to know if your students got to see the photos and if they had any questions about them.
When he logged into his email account, his heart skipped around a bit when he saw that he had something new from you. Then he opened it up and read it, and his lips parted softly in surprise at what you'd sent.
Thank you for the photos. They were very enlightening. We especially liked the ones where you were showing off your cockpit. Or I did, anyway. The kids liked all of them and started on another list of questions for you. Good luck getting rid of us now.
We were wondering if you could have someone take a picture of you standing in front of your jet. For size comparison purposes. And also because my students would like to know what you look like. Hearing from you makes our day even better.
Bradley read it again. Still surprised, he read it a third time. Were you the one asking for the photo? It seemed like you might be. Or was he just projecting here? Shit. Maybe. He'd been thinking about how he'd respond if you asked him something personal, and this felt like you and he were teetering right on the edge.
You even echoed his own thoughts, but it still made him warm all over to know that you looked forward to hearing from him. That it made your day better when he sent an email. He decided he was going to keep this going as long as he could.
He logged out again and headed to the mess hall for dinner, because there was no point in responding until he had the photo you just asked him for. One where you'd be able to see exactly what every inch of him looked like. As he ate his meatloaf, his thoughts all settled on that one pertinent question: were your students really the ones who were curious about how he looked, or were you? Because it sounded like it could be the latter. He fucking hoped it was. And he fucking hoped you wouldn't be disappointed after tomorrow when he sent you exactly what was asked of him.
----------------------------
You thought you were ready, but you weren't. Not for this. Not for him. Not even close. Thankfully it was still early enough that none of your students were in the classroom with you, because Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw had responded to your slightly tipsy email from a few nights ago. He sent exactly one photo, and your only response was to softly moan, "Holy hell."
To say he was attractive looking standing there in his flight suit next to the jet with his name on the side of it would have been the understatement of the century. He was hot. Unbelievably hot. Top tier. You shamelessly zoomed in to get an even better look at his face which was complete with a crooked little smile and a fucking mustache.
"Who does he think he is?" you asked the empty room, voice filled with need. "The audacity."
Even his messy, wavy hair looked soft enough for you to want to rub your face and lips against it. Where did that idea come from? You uncrossed and recrossed your legs as the most delightful thoughts filled your mind. You already knew he was sweet, kind, attentive and humble, but now you knew he was easy on the eyes, too. If only you could hear his voice.
After several minutes of uninterrupted gawking, you realized he'd written a few sentences to you as well, addressing you just as he always had. But this felt more personal. Maybe a little intimate.
For reference, I'm 6'1" and 205 pounds. That should give you and your kiddos a good size comparison, yeah? Also, just a little curious myself here.... are you sure they were the only ones who wanted to know what I look like? Or did you want to know, too?
So he called you out. Your whole body felt too hot and too light. You were floating off of your chair even as your heart pounded. You must be two feet in the air by now. He already knew what you looked like, but now you cared more than ever what he thought about you. Because you had a massive crush on your classroom pen pal.
"How embarrassing. You drunk emailed him! How are you supposed to respond to this?" you whispered as you closed your laptop and pressed your fingers to your lips. It was hard to tell if his tone was playful or not. He was smiling in the photo, which made you think that he was. But perhaps he was trying to put a stop to any topic of conversation that could be considered personal.
Then it hit you like a bolt of lightning. No way was this man single. He was handsome. That would have been enough on its own. But he also had an impressive career, all of his hair, and he was tall. And that didn't even scrape the surface of his sweet personality! You couldn't embarrass yourself further. You just couldn't. You wanted him to keep writing to your class, because they were already so attached to him. You couldn't ruin this for them.
When your students came flooding into the room, they led off with the same question they had every morning now. "Did we get anything in the mail from Lieutenant Bradshaw?"
"Not yet," you replied, still trying to decide how to respond to his photo. "But hopefully soon. He did email another picture though."
All of them were immediately headed for your desk, wanting to see what their pen pal looked like. You pressed your lips together, bracing yourself as you opened up that photo again, and then the kids all interjected into your thoughts.
"His jet is so cool!"
"It's huge!"
"He looks exactly how I thought he would!"
"Can he send us more stuff?"
It took you a good, long while to get them all into their seats. Clearly you weren't the only one who was entranced by him. Their questions overflowed, most of which still had to do with the aviation topics you'd been teaching them. Bradley Bradshaw had turned your classroom upside down, in a good way. And the more you thought about it, the more you just wanted to make sure you weren't missing out on something here. This man was better looking than the last three guys you went out with all combined, and he already made you feel tingly inside before you knew that for a fact.
You went home after work and did it again. You drank some wine and logged into your work email account and wrote back to him less than a day after he wrote to you. Part of you recognized that you'd look desperate, but you simply had to know so you could stop thinking about him if necessary. You started typing.
It was definitely, absolutely my students who wanted to know what you look like. It had nothing to do with me. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it. That being said...nice photo. Very nice.
My kids also wanted me to ask you if your spouse or significant other is in the Navy. And they'd like to know how old your kids are if you have any. Once again, just to be clear, I'm only asking these things on their behalf...
"Send," you whispered, doing it before you could stop yourself. Then you were left with your intrusive thoughts and the rest of the wine, ultimately deciding to just go to bed. He wasn't going to respond right away. He was busy working. You just hoped it didn't take too long.
But it did. Days passed. You normally tried not to think about your work email account during the weekends, let alone check it. Saturday was miserable as you logged in almost hourly to check and double check if you had something new from Lieutenant Bradshaw. It was so bad, you ended up initiating a movie night with some of your friends, opting to lock your phone in the center console of your car rather than take it into the theater.
Sunday was no better. You took yourself to the beach for the afternoon to try to read and sunbathe. But there was a group of guys in US NAVY TOP GUN shirts playing football, and you wondered if Bradley ever did this kind of thing with his friends. Or his family. Jesus Christ, why couldn't he just write back and tell you if he had a pretty wife and six adorable kids who loved to play football on the beach with him?
When two of the guys in the TOP GUN shirts purposely threw the football toward your towel and tried to play it off as an accident, you didn't even feel like returning their flirtatious banter. Neither of them had a mustache or soft looking brown hair. Neither of them left you wanting to know more.
You went home and tried so hard not to check your work email, but you failed miserably. But then you were happy you caved, because he wrote back. Bradley Bradshaw actually responded again. And a few seconds later, you were giggling and trying to control the squeal that escaped your lips.
When the mail arrived on the aircraft carrier yesterday, I was one of the first officers in line, and I wasn't disappointed. I got the second box from your class, and I can't wait to start reading and responding to everyone's notes this week. I'll let you know when you've got more mail coming your way.
Since your students seem to be showing quite an interest in my personal life, please let them know I actually don't have a spouse or significant other at all. Nor do I have any kids. Their letters (and your emails, too) are the only ones I'm getting this deployment. No one else has been writing to me. Nobody stateside is waiting for me. I hope that answers their questions to your liking.
And now it's your turn to answer a question for me. Is there a guy in your life who is going to try to beat the crap out of me if I tell you that I think you're gorgeous?
I'll just be waiting impatiently for your response.
Yours Truly,
Lt Bradley Bradshaw
----------------------------
Bradley was so tired. The kind of bone deep exhaustion that only comes after the completion of a dangerous mission when your adrenaline finally wears off. All he could think about was how badly he wanted to be back at home in his bed in San Diego with a soft, warm body next to his and a sweet voice in his ear. But he was picturing your face and your body, already convinced you'd have the sweetest voice he'd ever heard.
Shit. He needed to focus on what the admirals had to say instead of drift into daydreams.
"No need to report to the strategy room in the morning, Lieutenant," his commanding officer said as Bradley unzipped the top of his flight suit. "Take some time to rest."
He saluted the admiral and walked off toward his bunk and a hot shower. But even as the steamy water eased the ache in his muscles, he thought about how he already knew he wouldn't be able to sleep right now. Not when he still had a few messages from your students to respond to. Not when those notes always made him smile.
This time you'd only included a very short note in the box, but it wasn't typed up and printed out. It was written in your pretty penmanship on a sheet of lined paper.
Lt Bradshaw,
I hope this package finds you well. Please prepare yourself for approximately seven hundred more questions. Thanks again for sharing your time with us.
He didn't mind one bit. In all actuality, he was living for this shit, already thinking about how he could maybe visit your classroom someday soon. Several of the kids asked him if he could. They all asked him to take more pictures of life on the aircraft carrier. Then he laughed for a solid minute over the photo that Jayden sent of his Cocker Spaniel named Vanessa.
But Bradley had purposely been neglecting his email inbox for the last few days. He was too afraid to read your words telling him that you were in fact taken, and that he was stupid for thinking you'd been the one who wanted to know what he looked like. He was rather enjoying the delusion that you might let him tell you how pretty he thought you were over email and maybe someday in person. He decided to respond to the rest of the notes in the box before getting rejected, otherwise it would be too hard to do this.
He finished writing back to Oliver and Cooper and then tucked the box away under his bed before drifting off to sleep while dreaming of his own bed. But the next day, he had literally no work to do. He's been given the entire day off. He hit the gym and avoided the married woman like the plague. Then he ate lunch and contemplated going back to the gym again, but his feet carried him to the lounge instead. At the very least, he promised you that he'd let you know when you had mail on the way so the kids could get excited. He should take the time to tell you he'd be sending more responses to your class by air mail.
Somehow Bradley had convinced himself so thoroughly that you were in a relationship, he almost couldn't fathom anything else. But there was a new message from you in his inbox, and it felt like a gift when he opened and read it.
Lt Bradshaw,
I must say, I was surprised to find out that my emails and the letters from my class are the only ones making their way to you. Not that I'm complaining. Not one bit. I just find it hard to believe that you don't have a lot of interested parties hoping for a chance to be the one you think about when you're deployed and all alone.
My last boyfriend didn't like it when I talked about my fourth graders. He didn't really see any value in what I do for a living. He would have never taken the time to read something they wrote let alone answer their questions individually. So no, there's nobody who would be upset with you for making me feel like there are butterflies permanently living in my belly now. If you want to tell me you think I'm gorgeous, I'm certainly not going to stop you.
Here's my personal, non school affiliated email address. Just in case you feel like using it. If not, you can keep responding here, and I can take the hint that we went far enough.
I hope you're doing well and staying safe.
Frantically, Bradley checked the date and time stamp. "Fuck," he growled, his fingers not quite able to keep up with his brain when he realized you'd sent this to him days ago. More than five days ago! "Shit. Fuck!" He had been keeping you waiting! As soon as he got his hands working at the same speed as his thoughts, he copied and pasted your personal email address and started a new thread like his life depended on it.
----------------------------
You were just curling up with a cup of sleepy time tea after a long day at work, wishing someone would put you out of your misery, when your phone vibrated on the couch cushion next to your leg. You were half tempted to ignore it, reasoning that it was probably time to accept the fact that Bradley Bradshaw already lost interest in you and delete his photos from your downloads folder. You should learn how to stop embarrassing yourself.
Then you glanced down and saw that you had a new email. It was from a now familiar sender. It had been sent to your personal account. You immediately scrambled to unlock your phone and read it.
Hey, Gorgeous,
I'd like to take it further.
Yours Truly,
Bradley Bradshaw
-------------------------------
What the fuck, Bradley, you smooth man! Take it further, take it further, take it further! I love how impatient they get when they want to hear from each other. Now go ahead and get a little more personal. Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls and everyone who sent me messages and asks about this fic.
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Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw Part 2 | Rooster x Reader
Summary: The collection of letters that Bradley received from the fourth grade class provides him with entertainment while deployed. He takes the time to answer their questions and send a package back to the United States via air mail. But he has your email address. He also has a bit of a crush and some questions himself.
Warnings: Fluff, language
Length: 4100 words
Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female teacher!Reader
Check out my masterlist for more! Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw masterlist
A few days later, when Bradley was done with his training protocols for the day, he returned to his bunk with a different mission in mind. While he unzipped his flight suit, he eyed the box which was taking up most of his nightstand, and a smile found its way to his lips. He managed to find a notebook that nobody wanted along with a thick, padded envelope, and he was going to take the time to respond to the fourth graders who wrote to him.
He'd spent hours poring over the letters, laughing at some of the questions from the kids and frequently picking up that one photo. He couldn't stop going back for more. For another look at you. Just one more look. Okay, this really was the last one. He had to toss it across the small room toward his duffel so he could focus on something other than your smile and the fact that he might have a tiny crush on a fourth grade teacher who knew absolutely nothing about him. Yet.
The note from Jayden was on the top, and Bradley opened it up and started to jot down a response.
Jayden,
It was so nice to hear from you and the rest of your class. To answer your pertinent questions, I am currently stationed on the USS Theodore Roosevelt. The most disgusting food in the mess hall is easily the cabbage rolls (which taste nothing like cabbage... or rolls). The best food in the mess hall is surprisingly the meatloaf. And yes, I would love to see a photo of your Cocker Spaniel. Please send one next time. I hope you're studying and doing your best in school.
Lt Bradley Bradshaw
The next note he decided to tackle was the one from Violet who had the tiniest handwriting he'd ever seen. The page had at least fifteen questions written out, but he decided to answer just a few for her. He had to squint as he skimmed through them again.
Violet,
You seem very inquisitive. That's a great quality to have, especially if you want to be a pilot someday. No, I did not attend the Naval Academy. I went to the University of Virginia. Yes, the Navy is way better than the Air Force. Yes, I can hold my breath underwater for three minutes. Yes, they actually made me do it. No, I don't think I could make it as a Navy SEAL. Yes, I have been staying hydrated and getting enough sun, thanks so much for asking. Keep studying hard, because you have a lot of school ahead of you before officer training.
Lt Bradley Bradshaw
Okay, so this was actually a lot of fun. Up next was a response to the note from Oliver, which made Bradley laugh every time he looked at it.
Oliver,
Thank you so much for drawing the different Naval aircrafts for me. I hate to break it to you, but I actually do not fly the F-35 Lightning II. Yes, I know they look 'sickeningly cool'. Yes, I know it would be like 'slam dunking off the back of a dragon'. I guess I never knew I was jealous of those pilots until right now.... But I fly the equally cool if not quite as sickening looking F/A-18 Super Hornet. And yes, I would be more than happy to draw my own version of one for you. See below.
Lt. Bradley Bradshaw
The ten minutes he spent replicating his own aircraft to the best of his ability for Oliver churned out a pretty damn good result. He fished his phone out of the nightstand and took a picture to email to Nat when he had time, because she would find this whole thing amusing. Then he reached for the letters from Harrison, Nia and Jackie. He wrote his responses, and after a bit, he had a decent sized stack of letters all ready to go back to the fourth graders.
After a few more days, he worked his way through the entire class, and each kid would soon have a handwritten response on the way. He just needed to figure out what he wanted to say to you. The pretty teacher from the class photo that he now kept tucked in with his personal items. He worked on that one last, writing your full name at the top of the page and wishing you didn't go by the very non-specific Ms. which gave him zero clue as to whether or not you were married.
The package you sent was the nicest piece of deployment mail I have ever received. Thank you. I'm lucky it ended up in my hands. I'm impressed by how much all of your students have learned about aviation this year. I just hope I did them justice in regards to the questions they had for me.
I also hope you don't mind that I replied to each kid individually. They had some very amusing stories and questions, and I wanted to acknowledge all of them. But there was one question in particular that I was asked so many times, I thought I'd answer it here instead. My call sign is kind of a silly one, so it's okay if you all laugh. I go by Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, and my helmet is mostly red, yellow and black.
Your kids seem like a fun bunch, but I bet they keep you on your toes. Feel free to let them know they can write back to me again, but please include my name on the package this time. I don't know that I'd be lucky enough to have it fall into my hands again by chance. I'll just be here somewhere in the middle of the Pacific Ocean for a few more months, ready to answer any questions you throw at me. Hope to hear back from you soon.
Yours Truly,
Lt Bradley Bradshaw
The following day, he packed everything up and dropped it off with the rest of the ship's outgoing mail. There was a rumor that a helicopter would be coming to pick it up in the next day or two, and he wanted to make sure it got back to California and those fourth graders as soon as possible. On his way back to his bunk, Bradley stopped by the lounge to see if there was an iPad free, hoping to send a quick email or two. He was in luck. He also happened to have your email address memorized.
--------------------------
You yawned at your desk and checked the time on your computer. Within the next ten minutes, your classroom would go from silent solitude to mass chaos, so you took a minute to clear out your email inbox. You had a few messages from some parents and a reminder about Spirit Week from the superintendent. And a random piece of junk mail that must have slipped through the spam filters. You didn't know anyone with a US Navy email address, and you didn't know anyone named Bradley Bradshaw.
As you closed your laptop, you gasped and tried to pry it back open again as quickly as you could. The Navy! The package you sent a few weeks ago! Maybe it was someone writing back to your class! Of course it could just be someone saying they were sorry that they didn't have time to engage with your students, but you figured even that was better than nothing.
"Come on," you whispered, entering your credentials again before your inbox reappeared on your screen. The email was just a few lines long, but it was addressed to you by name. You were smiling immediately as you read it.
I just wanted to let you know that I got the mail you sent to a deployed Naval Aviator. There's a package on its way to your school for your class. It should arrive in about a week or two. Your fourth graders provided me with several hours of entertainment, and I hope they find my answers to their many (and amusing) questions useful. Thanks for the laughs, and thanks for the photos, too. Can't tell you how much I've been enjoying them. Hope to hear from all of you again.
Yours Truly,
Lt Bradley Bradshaw
You squealed and pumped your fists in the air. Someone actually got the box! And he actually responded! The other, older teachers thought you were just wasting your time when you deviated from the lesson plans a bit. Literally all of them said there was no way anyone would write back, even though you took the time to go through the proper channels at Top Gun on North Island. But now you could rub it in their faces, all thanks to Bradley Bradshaw who sounded like he'd had as much fun with this whole thing as your class had.
Then your day really started as Violet and Oliver burst into your classroom, calling out your name with excitement in their voices. The rest of your kids followed behind them, already asking about the plans for the day and what kind of adventure you'd be taking them on in each subject.
When you clapped your hands twice and said, "Good morning," they all clapped and replied with their own greeting, and then they sat quietly with their gazes fixed on you. "Guess who I just got an email from!"
"The president!"
"My grandma!"
"My Cocker Spaniel!"
"Oliver's grandma!"
You just shook your head and tried not to laugh as you said, "None of the above. But do you remember when we wrote and packed up those letters for a real aviator in the military to read?" Most of the kids nodded, so you added, "Well, he emailed us! And he sent us some mail that should arrive in about a week!"
And telling them that was a mistake. Because you didn't know a moment of peace after that. Every morning, you had kids rushing into the room to see if the promised piece of mail arrived yet. Every day you had to disappoint them, but you were finding yourself a little disappointed, too. You wanted to know what this Bradley Bradshaw guy sent back.
You'd responded to his initial email letting him know you and the kids in your class were delighted to hear from him and that you would let him know when the mail he sent arrived at your school. He didn't respond, but you figured he was busy. Too busy to constantly muck about with your class while he was thousands of miles away on a deployment.
And that was what left you standing at your desk with your mouth hanging open in awe when the padded envelope did finally arrive one morning. Because when you carefully cut it open, you found not just one letter to the class but individual handwritten notes, one for each child.
"Wow," you whispered, pulling the note with your name written on the top out of the stack. This man seemed humble and sweet, and his letter made you laugh in more than one spot as you read through it. Then you read it again. He sounded apologetic about responding to each individual kid, but you felt like your insides were melting. Who would do that? Who would take the time to give individual attention to a bunch of nine and ten year olds besides you? And you were technically getting paid to do it.
Bradley Bradshaw seemed willing to continue to engage with your kids, and you weren't going to stop him. Because starting that morning, he became something of a legend to your class. A celebrity. A real lieutenant in the Navy replied to all of their silly questions, and their love of aviation just grew from there. You figured you were going to have to keep your lesson plans going a bit longer while their faces lit up as you walked around the room and handed them each their notes. You had taken the time to skim them beforehand, often laughing at his sense of humor which seemed to jump off the pages.
"Can we write back to him?" Jayden asked as everyone read their notes from Lieutenant Bradshaw. "I have more questions."
You smiled and nodded. "Yes, you may write back to him." Then you postponed your geology lesson until the next day and let them spend the next forty minutes writing some followup letters. You took some pictures of them diligently toiling away at their desks, excitement on their faces. Then you bit your lip and sat down at your own desk.
As you started to construct an email letting him know the envelope had arrived, your thoughts drifted to what he might be like. Humble and sweet, for sure. But he also made it a point to tell you that the box from your class was the best piece of mail he'd ever received while deployed. Maybe he was a little bit lonely. Maybe he was single. Maybe he was stationed on the west coast. Your thoughts started to get ahead of you, and it was hard to reel them in when you imagined him excited to see another email from you. Smiling when he was handed another box from your class during mail call.
Dear Lt Bradley Bradshaw,
We got the envelope from you today, and my kids are absolutely thrilled! I'm not sure if you know how hard it can be to wrangle eighteen fourth graders all at one time, but they are currently sitting quietly and working on new letters for you to read. Once again, please don't feel obligated to continue correspondence if you're too busy. I'm sure you have other people you could be writing to who want your attention as well. I just wanted you to know they are overjoyed that a Naval officer took the time to answer their questions about aviation.
I have attached some photos as proof that they are sitting still. Thanks again for making their day.
You signed your name at the bottom the way you always would from your work email account, and then you attached the photos. After a brief debate about adding the selfie you took with Violet where most of your face was visible, you decided to just go for it. Adding it to the mix wouldn't hurt anything. It wasn't like this semi mystery man would be up all night thinking about you.
But you found that you were still thinking about him when you went home to your silent house and made dinner that evening. Maybe he was a little bit lonely, but maybe you were, too.
-------------------------
It was amazing how infrequently Bradley found himself thinking about Vanessa. He was busier now with his duties picking up a bit more as his deployment wore on, but even when he was tired and in his bunk at night, his thoughts seldom settled on her like he was afraid they might. He didn't miss her or her half-hearted emails, and he wasn't craving the connection of reunion sex with her.
Instead, he was thinking about what a group of fourth graders were learning about this week and what their cute teacher was up to. It had been a few days since you emailed him, letting him know that his package was delivered to your school. You made it sound like the kids were excited that he sent it in the first place, and when he really thought about it, he supposed some officers would have just eaten the snacks and tossed the notes in the trash.
He didn't reply to the email yet, still thrown off a bit by the pictures you attached. Your classroom was vibrant, and the kids were absorbed as they worked on more notes for him to read whenever they happened to be delivered to the carrier. But the photo with you in it held his attention longer than it should have. The fact that you were working at a school that was just a handful of miles from his damn house made him feel warm.
But what would he do about it? What could he do about it? Nothing. He didn't want you to think he was creepy. He still knew essentially nothing else about you. The only thing he could do was keep it friendly if not professional. Unless of course you did something to push the boundaries of conversation into a more personal realm. God, if you did....he didn't think he would be able to handle it.
The next day, when he was heading out on deck to talk to the mechanics who were doing regular maintenance on the aircrafts, he took his phone. "Hey, you mind if I take a few photos of some of the engine parts? I want to send them to a class of fourth graders who will think it's cool."
"Go ahead, Lieutenant," the head mechanic replied. Then he smiled and asked, "You dating a teacher?"
Well. Wouldn't that be something? Bradley would never run out of curious pen pals. He would always have some fourth graders to take interesting photos for and to send notes to. He'd always have a classroom to visit as soon as he got home from a deployment.
He couldn't help but picture you as the teacher.
"Nothing like that," he replied, his voice a little gravelly. "Just writing to some kids who are learning about aviation."
After dinner, when he had a chance to use an iPad in the lounge, he did his best to put together a response to your email that would at least hint at the curiosity he felt.
If all it takes is mail from three thousand miles away to get your class to sit quietly, then I should probably be writing to you every day. But I'm sure you're a great teacher. That's a given considering how much your students learned and shared with me. And I can assure you that I'm more than happy to take the time to write to your class. And you. Please don't think I feel obligated, because I do not. I want to.
I have attached a few pictures of some F/A-18 engine components as well as some of my cockpit controls. Each photo is labeled, but please let me know if you have any questions.
It was nice hearing from you.
Yours Truly,
Lt Bradley Bradshaw
As soon as he hit send, he wanted to kick himself. Should he have included a photo of his face like you had twice now? Or did he already sound too desperate to hear from you and your class again?
"Shit," he muttered, looking around the lounge as if there was going to be someone here proficient in the art of getting to know a fourth grade teacher without sounding stupid. But it was too late now. All he could do was wait for the next mail call or hope you decided to write back to his ramblings by the next time he checked his email.
-----------------------------
You were going to have to scrape your jaw off the floor. You had no idea what this man's face even looked like, but his hands were... something else. And his thighs... well, they were pretty great, too. It must have been too long since you got laid, because you were sitting at your desk in your classroom staring at the set of photos in your inbox, currently unable to look away from his right hand. It was wrapped around the throttle of his aircraft. It was elegant with attractive veins and rough calluses. You were sure that you were supposed to be focusing on the cockpit controls, but all you could see was that hand and his thick, muscular thighs below.
The next photo was no better for you. He was holding up his helmet with his call sign Rooster emblazoned across the front, and you were able to see his left ring finger. There was no wedding band. There was no evidence of an outline where a wedding band would belong. There was just his big, strong hand.
You whimpered softly while your students worked on their math tests. You couldn't help it as you took one last look before logging out of your email account. And now you needed to know if his face matched the very attractive image you had in your mind.
When Jayden called your name, you rocketed to your feet like you'd been caught red handed. "Yes?" you squeaked, your voice sounding higher pitched than usual.
"I'm done with my test. May I have the hall pass and use the restroom?"
You handed it to him as the rest of your class finished working through the math problems. A few minutes later, when you collected the papers from them, Violet asked, "When is Lieutenant Bradshaw going to write back to us?"
It had only been a few days since you mailed him the second box of notes and some more snacks, but it made you happy that they were all so invested in learning more from him.
"It will probably be a few weeks before we get anything in the mail. However... he did email me some pictures of engine and cockpit parts from the aircraft carrier for me to share with you guys." When you looked around the room, the kids were on the edges of their seats, excited expressions on their faces. With a laugh you added, "I was going to wait until tomorrow and use the projector to show them all to you, but if you're very well behaved for the rest of the afternoon, maybe I could pull them up on my computer for you to see them today."
Not two hours later, you were just as excited as the kids were to look at the photos... again. As they crowded around your desk, you opened up the first one of the cockpit to a barrage of questions.
"Is that really his jet?"
"Is that the throttle?"
"What do all the buttons do?"
"Was this right before he flew it?"
Once again you were distracted, but you managed to click over to the next photo, and the kids gasped in delight.
"His helmet is so cool!"
"It says Rooster!"
"That's his call sign!"
"Red is my favorite color!"
You just smiled softly and laughed. "Should we go ahead and start working on another list of questions for him?" you asked as you slowly scrolled through the rest of the pictures. "He said we can write back to him as much as we want to." When everyone cheered, you handed Oliver a marker and pointed to the board at the front of the classroom. "Let's start making a list."
You listened to all of your students call out questions for Bradley while Oliver wrote them down. Then Violet asked, "Can he send us a picture of his whole jet? From the outside of it?"
You cleared your throat and added, "Maybe he could get someone else to take the picture so he could stand in front of it. For size comparison."
Violet nodded, but you knew you were a fraud. Sure, it would be great for the kids to understand just how massive the F/A-18s were compared to an actual person, but you were the one who wanted to see all of Bradley. You were itching for it now.
Later that night, you drank most of a bottle of wine and did something you promised yourself you'd never do. You logged into your work email account after nine o'clock. You skipped over the handful of unread emails from parents and clicked on the icon to compose a new message. With your liquid courage goading you on, you typed up a response to Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw and hit send before you could think twice.
Thank you for the photos. They were very enlightening. We especially liked the ones where you were showing off your cockpit. Or I did, anyway. The kids liked all of them and started on another list of questions for you. Good luck getting rid of us now.
We were wondering if you could have someone take a picture of you standing in front of your jet. For size comparison purposes. And also because my students would like to know what you look like. Hearing from you makes our day even better.
You couldn't believe how forward you were being with this man who you'd never even met in person, but you fell asleep thinking about his hands and what they might be capable of.
-------------------------
This Bradley makes me swoon. I've never wanted to be a fourth grade teacher so badly in my life. There is something that's starting to blossom between them even though they haven't even met in person. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls
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2 | downtown san diego | around the world and back
(18+, minors dni)
series masterlist
summary: bradley has a bad date, and you have four drinks before nine o'clock
warnings: drinking, somewhat implied rough sex, physical descriptions of aftermath of said rough sex...pretty pg-13
a/n: it's still monday for me, so technically this isn't late!!!!!!!! if i missed you in the tags, let me know! also, i just started watching SATC and holy shit i feel like this bradley is 75% big unfortunately
Bradley sighs as the bartender slides him yet another old fashioned. He’s not sure why he decided to come to a bar alone after the awful date he just had with a girl he met on the beach last week, but he’s here, and he’s drinking away his recent bad luck with dating. He already texted everyone on the squadron to meet him here, but they’re all getting drunk on the island at The Hard Deck, not wanting to take a cab all the way into the city just for his sorry ass. He doesn’t blame them. He’s vowing to himself tonight that he’s going to stop picking up girls at the beach because it’s clearly not working for him. He reaches for the glass to take a sip when he hears his name called from somewhere behind him.
“Bradley?” You inquire, silently wondering if your eyes are deceiving you. He looks a little different than you remember. Not in a bad way, but he’s far from the rugged looking man that you met on the beach three months ago. It’s clear he’s put in effort styling his hair and trimming his mustache. The top few buttons of his shirt are unbuttoned, and you can see a bit of his chest and the glint of a gold chain against his skin that is perfectly bronzed from the summer sun. He looks really good, and the way his eyes are darting around looks as if he’s trying to wrack his brain for any information on how you know him or if he’s supposed to know you.
Of course he doesn’t remember you.
The two of you had a lovely time at the beach that day–talking and laughing and before you knew it, the sun started to set. His friends were long gone, and you weren't worried about your brother. You let him drive you around in his crazy cool, vintage Bronco before heading back to his place for quite a memorable night–at least for you it was. You had to sneak out in the morning, fearing for your life because you knew your brother would be so pissed at you for not coming home the night before, but you made sure to leave your number for him.
He never called.
You should feel at least slightly pathetic for calling attention to yourself as soon as you spotted him from across the bar, but that’s what happens when you’re four drinks in on a Friday night. And alone. The few friends you’ve casually made this summer were all too busy to spend one last night with you, which just seems to be the icing on the cake of the whole situation.
“I’m–” You start to reintroduce yourself, but he cuts you off.
“I remember you, Sunny.” He interrupts, a smile spreading across his face as he says it. You blush at the nickname he gave you when you met. To be honest, you completely forgot about it until this moment. You’ve never really been one for pet names, but it just kind of fit when he said it the first time–something about your infectious smile and personality being as addictive as the sun on a beautiful day. No one had ever said anything like that to you before.
He turns his body to face yours fully, forgetting all about his drink as he looks you up and down, suddenly feeling a lot better about his recent misfortunes. You’re wearing a short skirt and a silky green tank top. He can’t stop staring as he remembers what exactly you’ve got underneath all of that. He’s thought about it a time or two since that night. “What are you drinking?” He asks, his mood lifting instantly, just by being in your presence. He didn't start calling you “Sunny” for no reason.
Once the bartender brings you another drink, and a round of shots for you both, the two of you make your way through the hoard of people to the outdoor area of the rooftop bar, hoping it’s a little less crowded and you can actually hear each other speak without having to yell or repeat yourselves.
“I never thought I’d see you again.” He says with genuine surprise and confusion. He didn’t wake up when you rolled out of bed and disappeared out of his life. He was bummed for a while considering how great of a time the two of you had, but that’s life. He’s had more one night stands than he’d be willing to admit right now, so he moved on fairly quickly.
You, on the other hand, avoided that specific beach, and the entire island you’ve been living on, all summer because of it–terrified that you’d run into him and it would be awkward. Looking at him now, it’s anything but. His big, brown eyes are shining in the dim light and the small bit of anger you have been holding inside you for the past three months dissipates. Maybe it was a silly thing to be upset about to begin with–it's not like he owed anything to you after your night together.
“I left you my number on the counter.” You say softly, taking a sip of your drink and looking out onto the busy city street to avoid eye contact. You’re not sure why you say it. You left it plain as day sitting on the edge of the kitchen island. Now that you think of it, you definitely wrote ‘Sunny’ at the top with a little drawing of a sun, just so he would know it was yours. The memory is distant now. You’ve been doing everything in your power to forget the man you met when you first arrived here. It took you an embarrassingly long time to get over what could’ve been those first few weeks, but that’s just the kind of hopeless romantic you are.
You’ve been frequenting this bar with a few friends you met through your internship that live in the city, and part of you is relieved you’re only just now running into him–two nights before you move back to LA for the fall semester. The other part of you wishes you had a little more time together, even if everything would’ve ended the same anyway, the whole middle part could've been amazing. You take a brief moment of silence for all of the incredible sex you could’ve been having.
He begins to think back on that night and the next morning. He doesn’t remember much of what happened before there was a loud banging at his door, waking him up. He remembers being thankful that you left, at least in the moment, because at his door was his extremely angry ex-girlfriend, Natalie–there to pick up her things and try to get him to come to his senses about the breakup. She must have seen it laying there for him and thrown it away. It’s the only thing he can think of. He drops his head, not believing his luck, or lack thereof. He really didn’t think his night could get any worse because he knows he can’t tell you any of that. It’s bad enough that his ex-girlfriend is involved and crazier than he’d like to admit, so he doesn’t think her being his excuse will land well with you. Natalie hasn’t contacted him in over a month, anyway, so there’s really no need to bring her up now.
“I didn’t see it.” He says honestly, hoping you believe his pathetic attempt at an excuse. “It must’ve gotten thrown out, but here.” He pulls his phone out from his back pocket quickly and hands it over for you to enter your number, making it permanent. You chuckle, shaking your head as you look down at your heels. You want to believe him, you really do. You guess anything could’ve happened after you left that day. And besides that, you want to give it to him. You really want to do it. You could keep in touch. LA isn’t that far, and you’ll probably come down to visit your brother on occasion, anyway. The hopeless romantic in you wants this long-distance thing to work because how romantic would it be if it did?
But somehow, you manage to stand your ground. You vowed to yourself that you wouldn’t be that girl anymore, and you’re hoping to keep that promise–at least while you’re still in school.
“You missed your chance.” You look back up at him with a certain sadness in your expression. “I go back to LA in two days. I was just here for the summer.” The smile on his face falls slightly and he pulls his phone back hesitantly, as if you might change your mind.
You don’t.
“Oh.” He says, thinking hard and looking around as he starts to sort through the logistics in his head. LA is only a two hour drive sans traffic. He could always fly his Cessna up to visit you on his free weekends. For reasons unbeknownst to him, he starts to plan out all of this in his head as if you–a girl who is no more than a stranger he hooked up with once–are worth it. Maybe he just wants it to be. He’s been trying to find a connection with a woman all summer to rival what the two of you had the day you met, but nothing. He’s tired of the predictable conversations and mediocre sex, and he knows he doesn’t want something serious, but he still feels like he’s getting a little ahead of himself. He feels like you’re slipping through his fingers. Why does it feel that way, and why does he care all of a sudden?
He can’t shake the feeling that you two were meant to meet again. He doesn’t know much about love or any of that shit, but he feels that the two of you were meant to meet here–tonight. It’s probably a good thing that you’re leaving. He broke up with Natalie because she wanted a future–a real one–and he’s not giving that to anyone for any reason, not even fate.
You feel it, too, but you’re a hopeless romantic. You’d think the food delivery person was your soulmate if he looked into your eyes long enough and complimented you on something as simple as your shirt. You have to remind yourself of that as you stare into Bradley’s eyes. You want to believe it was fate that brought you here tonight, and maybe it is, but that doesn’t have to mean anything more than it is.
“Well, at least we have tonight.”
“Sorry I’m late.” Bradley says as he enters Nat’s backyard for Bob’s surprise birthday party. It seems he’s missed the surprise portion because Bob is sipping a beer on the edge of the pool while some of the guys play volleyball. Natasha crosses her arms as she takes a few steps forward to meet him where he’s at. He’s got on a t-shirt under his floral printed shirt and his swimming trunks, but he’s making no effort in removing his clothing like he normally would. He turns his head nervously, looking around at everyone, and that’s when she sees them. Multiple dark purple spots cover the side of his neck. She can even see one peeking through the top of his shirt. Her eyes widen, but she smiles, tugging the shirt off of him while he’s still looking away.
“C’mon Rooster. It’s a pool party.” She squeals playfully.
He looks back at her quickly, clocking the mischievous grin on her face, but he has no idea why. He lets her take the shirt off before pulling his t-shirt off and tossing it on the chair beside him.
“Jesus Christ, babe. Who the hell did that to you?” She asks, taking in even more hickies and fingernail scratches all over his chest and torso.
“What?” He looks down, only just now noticing how badly you marked him up last night. He honestly doesn’t remember much–it was all a blur. You left the bar and went back to his place. The two of you did it about everywhere except the bedroom, and like the first time, when he woke up you were gone. He barely remembers getting ready for the party, and now he realizes he should’ve at least looked at himself in the mirror once before he left.
He’s about to throw his shirt back on when Javy yells at him from the pool, begging him to come join them. He obliges, putting his sunglasses on to cover his eyes and walking over casually, hoping his casual demeanor will throw them off.
It’s all the commotion at the pool that steals Natalie’s attention away from the conversation Lexi and Ashton are having with her on the patio. She’s just happy the other girlfriends are still so welcoming after everything that’s happened. She turns her head in that direction, locking her eyes on her tall, broad, tanned ex-boyfriend. Bradley hasn’t really ever looked better, she thinks as she takes a sip of her pina colada. Nat invited her to this just before she ended things with Rooster, and reassured her last week that it wouldn’t be weird if she showed up, but now she wishes she were anywhere but here. Upon her arrival, she learned that he’s been going out on dates–he even had one last night. She was sure he’d show up here with some girl hanging all over him, but thankfully that doesn’t seem to be the case.
“I thought your date was a disaster?” Mickey asks as Bradley sits down on the concrete next to Bob, who’s eyes widen as he takes in his appearance. Jake holds the ball in his hands and watches Bradley shrug with a smile growing on his lips.
“It was.” He admits, leaning back on his hands, proudly displaying his battle wounds. It’s no use trying to pretend like they aren’t there now that they’ve gotten everyone’s attention. “But, then I ran into someone downtown, and…yeah.” He leaves out a lot of important information–like who exactly he met at the bar. All of the guys are looking at each other like they know. Payback even shoots a glance over in Natalie’s direction. At the same moment, she decides to come over and say hello to him. She doesn’t want to wait too long and make it weird.
“I didn’t think Natalie had it in her. Good for you, Rooster.” Jake teases, tossing the ball over the net and into the water, walking over to get closer to his friends.
“It wasn’t Nat–”
“Hey, Roo.” The familiar voice makes Bradley jump from his spot, turning ever so slightly and looking straight up into the sun at Natalie. He swallows the giant lump in his throat, watching her eyes trail down his body.
She feels sick at the sight of him. Hickies and scratches cover his body, and he’s laying out in the sun like he doesn’t even care that everyone can see. It’s only been a few months and even worse, only a month since they last slept together. She should’ve known it didn’t mean anything. That he was just lonely and missing the intimacy–not necessarily her. Now, it’s clear that he doesn’t even need her for that anymore. She holds back her tears, though, doing her best to pretend like she doesn’t notice anything out of the ordinary–like she’s not spiraling at the fact that they’ve never had sex like that before. She likes it sweet. She liked when he looked into her eyes and had his hands all over her body. She liked it when he’d tell her he loved her while he was on top of her. She wanted to believe him. At one point, she did believe him.
“Natalie, hey.” He’s shocked that she’s here at his friend’s birthday party, but then he turns his head to look at Nat over by the food table. She turns her head quickly when they make eye contact. She always liked Natalie. It’s not that surprising that she didn’t rescind the invitation for today, but he would’ve appreciated a heads up.
“It looks like you were mauled by a bear.” She forces out a laugh, sitting on the other side of him. The air is thick and awkward. A few of the guys laugh nervously, treading very carefully. Bradley chuckles weakly, instinctively reaching up and covering as much of his neck as he can with his large hand. On his forearm, she notices small, fingertip-shaped bruises in his skin. She briefly wonders what the lucky girl looks like. Is she covered in love bites and bruises, too?
“Ah, that’s nothin’.” Jake speaks first, taking control of the conversation to allow Bradley time to figure out how to interact with his ex. “Last girl I hooked up with did a number on me. My nipples were sore for days.” He points at his chest like there’s still proof. Mickey gets up close to him, eyes squinting as he searches the skin for any signs of injury.
“Jake’s the kinkiest motherfucker here. God bless the women he sleeps with.” Javy cuts in, slapping his hand on Jake’s shoulder before wading over the other side of the net to grab the ball and hopefully continue the game. Rooster takes a deep breath and turns to face her.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you’d be here.” He’s constantly been apologizing to her since their breakup. He feels guilty about everything. For leading her on for so long and for not taking their relationship as seriously as she was. He’s sorry he doesn’t feel the same way as her–and that he never has.
“Ash said you’re dating.” She ignores his apology this time, deciding not to waste her breath.
“Barely.” He shakes his head. “It’s not really working out.”
“Doesn’t look like that to me.” She nods her head towards his chest. His cheeks flush red–he knows he shouldn’t be as embarrassed as he is. It’s just his friends and his ex-girlfriend here. It’s not like he’s in public with people pointing and staring at the marks. Somehow, he thinks this might be worse.
“It’s not like that. She’s just–I know her, and she’s not in town a lot.” Natalie nods like she understands, but she doesn’t. She doesn’t know what that means. Clearly, it’s someone from his past. He’s had a few girlfriends–one from college over a decade ago, another when he was stationed in Pensacola, and then her. As far as she knows, that’s it. She’s always felt like Rooster was hiding things from her. It’s his specialty. He doesn’t mean to not share–he just doesn’t realize he’s leaving anything out. The only reason she knows about his parents being dead is because she was bugging him about his holiday plans that first winter they were together. Despite the fact that he had no plans, he refused to meet her family–staying back in San Diego and spending the holiday alone. It should’ve been the first sign, but when she returned home, he asked her to move in like nothing was wrong.
‘If you say so.” She replies before turning her head to the game in front of them, kicking her feet in the water and cheering for Jake’s team. She’s always liked him, and she knows that he’s been watching her since she arrived today, wearing her tiny, little, yellow bikini. It was always Rooster’s favorite. Two can play at this game, she thinks, sending a smile and a wink in Jake’s direction when he looks over at her.
taglist: @eloquentdreamer @italk2god @urmagic8girl @huang-the-geek @gardenavenue @boiolay @djs8891 @bellaireland1981
thank you all so much for the love on this so far <3
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Shower Time
Summary: Walking into the wrong place, at the wrong time, seems to work out in your and Rooster's favor. In which, some private time in the shower turns into something far better.
Warnings: Smut, masturbation, oral sex, fantasizing. MINORS DNI.
Rooster wiped the sweat off his face with his towel as he entered the locker room. He could hear the shower running already and realized with a small flash of annoyance that it would mean he'd have to wait. He sat on the bench next to his locker and was about to pop in his headphones when he heard a sound.
A moan, to be exact. Rooster froze as he heard another one coming from the direction of the showers. When he stopped and listened, he realized that it was definitely a moan and a very distinct moan of pleasure. Only one person could be in that shower right now, making sounds like that.
You. Something had been between you two since you'd met on the first day of training; chemistry mixed with the competitiveness of the training made for a very frustrating relationship, but he couldn't help but be attracted to you. You were gorgeous and a great pilot but beyond infuriating.
The next moan left no doubt of what you were doing in there, and he could feel the heat washing over his body, his dick already hardening in his athletic shorts. His hands gripped the bench so hard that his knuckles turned white, and with each succeeding sound you made, all he could think about was how badly he wanted to walk over there.
"Bradley…" the moan was quiet and breathless. If he hadn't had all of his focus on what was going on over in that shower, he might have missed it. His decision was made instantly; he stood up, dropping his things onto the bench and peeling his shirt off before he stalked over to the shower.
The sight of you simultaneously took his breath away and also turned him into a man possessed; there was no way he was leaving this shower without fucking you senseless. You were standing there, naked and soaking wet, the water from the shower pouring down your body, following all of your curves, with your legs slightly spread and your hand in between them, circling your clit with your thumb as you fucked yourself with your fingers.
You were oblivious to the fact that Rooster was even there. The tension and flirting from the last week and a half had driven you crazy all night till you found yourself at the gym on base at 5:30 am, trying desperately to let off some steam. It almost worked until Bradley Bradshaw, of all people, walked in and, before long, was glistening with sweat, his breath coming out in hard, short bursts. All you could think about was seeing him like this but in a completely different setting, with far fewer clothes, and instead of lifting weights, he'd be lifting you.
It became too much when paired with the heated looks between you two, so you bailed back to the locker room, planning on taking a very long, icy cold shower before training.
You didn't know how you ended up here, getting yourself off to the same dirty thoughts you'd had while watching him work out. You did know two things: First, you desperately needed a release, and second, you were almost there.
Your fingers were delving in and out of your folds, your other hand playing with your breasts, when the voice you last expected to hear came from way too close, and your eyes snapped open.
"Want some help with that, honey?"
Fuck.
There was no use in covering up; you knew he'd already seen your entire naked body and that he'd seen what you were just doing. He'd almost certainly heard you moaning his name, too.
Fuuuuuuck.
"You could have at least let me cum before interrupting me, Bradshaw." You did your best to sound nonchalant, and luckily, your face was already flushed, so he wouldn't be able to see the heat of embarrassment rising to your cheeks.
"Bradshaw, huh? Just a second ago, it was Bradley." He sauntered over to you, and you looked him up and down, taking in his incredibly delicious shirtless form.
"I'd call you Bradley again if you hadn't just ruined my orgasm." He finally reached you, stepped into your personal space, and backed you up until you were pressed against the cold tile of the shower. One of his hands came up to rest on the wall next to your head, and the other came to rest on your bare hip, his thumb rubbing circles into your skin. Your traitorous, dirty mind sending thoughts of what that would feel like somewhere else.
"I'm sorry. How about I make it up to you?" He'd leaned down so that your lips were a breath away from meeting his.
"And how are you planning to do that?"
"I'll show you right now if you'll let me." Bradley was ever the gentleman.
You didn't say anything in response, answering instead by pulling him in for a heated kiss. Kissing him was everything you'd hoped and dreamed it would be. He was a phenomenal kisser, clearly experienced, and while you hated to admit it, clearly dominated you in every delicious aspect.
There was no point in wasting time when he already knew you'd been about to cum at the thought of him. The hand on your hip quickly moved to your thigh to lift your leg and hook it around his hip so he could be closer to you.
You could feel how hard he was, even through the shorts he was still wearing; his cock was pressed against your stomach. You trailed your hand down his chest to his stomach, dipping just slightly underneath the waistband, enough to tease him just a little bit. His abs contracted under your touch, and his fists clenched at his sides. What little clothes he wore were quickly getting drenched under the shower spray, but he didn't seem to care at all.
You broke apart for air, and he immediately went for your neck, kissing and biting his way down; you moaned as he got to just the right spot. Hearing your reaction, he doubled down with a hard suck, sure to leave a bruise, but at that moment, you didn't care.
Your hand went into his shorts, grasping his dick firmly, and marveled at the size. You couldn't see it, but fuck could you feel it, and goddamn, did you want it inside you. His head dropped to your shoulder as you started to pump his length with your hand, a quiet groan escaping him.
"Fuck," It took all his willpower to stop you, pulling your hand away from him. "I believe I owe you something."
"Yes, you do." Before you could blink, he dropped to his knees in front of you, pulling your thigh up over his shoulder and slowly kissing his way up your thigh.
"What were you picturing? When you moaned my name?" He said as he inched higher, his positively sinful brown eyes locked on yours. Had his eyes always been this dark?
"Not this," he bit down lightly at the most sensitive part of your inner thigh. "You, inside me. My legs were on your shoulders as you fucked me against the wall, hard."
As a reward for answering his question, he finally moved right where you wanted him. He used his hand to separate your folds, and then his mouth was on your clit, his tongue starting slowly and softly before starting to work up his rhythm.
You were a mess of moaning and pleading. Rooster ate you out like a fucking professional, listening to every intake of breath and every moan, having quickly learned what you liked and how to use it to get you undone, and fast.
"Holy fuck," Soon, two of his fingers joined his efforts, delving inside you, matching the pace of his tongue. "Goddamn, Bradley…"
You knew there was no way you would last like this, not with how amazing he was making your body feel. You were practically seeing stars and were begging him not to stop. A true testament to his experience, he didn't slow down or speed up, knowing how close you were. He maintained the speed and rhythm that was already driving you crazy.
"Bradley… I'm going to cum…" You looked down at him, kneeling in front of you, leg thrown over his shoulder, dark eyes locked on yours, as he ate you out like he was on a fucking mission. The sight alone had you starting to fall over the edge, but when his fingers curled and hit just the right spot, you plummeted head-first into her orgasm. "Fuck!"
Another testament to his experience, he knew exactly what to do to prolong your orgasm without ruining it, leaving you a shaking, moaning mess. Soon, though, your flesh became far too sensitive, and you pulled him up to kiss him. You could taste yourself on his lips, on his mustache. You'd never been a big mustache girl, but on him, you loved it.
"Please tell me that you're going to fuck me now," you all but whined when you pulled apart. The answering smirk on his face promised delightful things.
"Your wish is my command," He pushed his shorts and underwear down his legs and kicked them to the side, and you finally got your first look at his hard cock. You thought it was big before when you'd felt it, but now you could see that it was huge, and for a second, you worried it might not even fit, but you decided that you didn't care. "Come here."
You obliged, wrapping your arms around his neck as he brought your lips back together and picked you up in one fluid motion. Your legs wrapped around his waist on instinct, and from the new position, you could feel the tip of his dick rubbing against you, and all you could think about was that you needed more. He pushed you back into the wall before pausing to look at you.
"Are you sure?" You both knew that after this, there would be no going back to how it used to be.
"Yes." It was all the confirmation he needed, pushing into you gently but firmly. You couldn't help but gasp at the intrusion, feeling mildly like you were being split in half, but it was both slightly painful and exquisite because you had never felt this full before. Your gasp was met with a deep moan from Rooster as he seated himself to the hilt.
"You're so fucking tight," He gave you a second to adjust, and when you nodded, he withdrew almost completely, just to bury himself nice and deep. He swallowed your moan with a kiss, your tongues battling for dominance as he fucked you slowly.
Soon that familiar pressure was building up slowly in your body, and you knew that when you came, you were going to cum hard.
"Hold on to me." You nodded, not able to form words as he shifted your legs from his waist to having the crook of your knees slung over his elbows, changing the angle and allowing him even deeper. With his next thrust, you almost screamed but managed to choke it down.
In this new position, he set a grueling pace, fucking you hard and fast, with you doing your damnedest to not be too loud, but the way he was fucking you made that incredibly difficult. You were getting so close to reaching that peak again when the door to the locker room opened and slammed shut.
The two of you froze instantly, not wanting to be caught in a more than compromised position but unable to separate without making quite a bit of noise. You could make out a few muffled voices belonging to some of your squadmates but had no idea what they were saying. Someone must have noticed Rooster's things on the bench because soon they called out to him.
"Rooster? That you?" Fanboy called from far too close for comfort. The only bit of luck that seemed to be on your side was that even if one of them came into the showers, they wouldn't see any part of you besides your arms and legs, as opposed to the unobstructed view they'd have of Rooster's incredible ass and chiseled back.
"Yeah." His dick was still hard and practically pulsing inside you. Your brain and body were currently fighting a desperate battle over wanting to finish what they'd started but not wanting to be caught fucking on base, in the locker room, right before training.
"We're going to grab breakfast. Are you in?"
"Yeah, I'll, uh, meet you there."
"Sounds good." The voices drift further away, and you both hear the door again open and shut. Your head fell onto his shoulder, and you released the breath you'd held.
"It is, apparently, not my morning." You said against his skin, and he responded with a dry chuckle.
"Not mine, either." You gasped slightly as he gently pulled out and set you back on solid ground. You pulled away from him and took in his face for a second, the tensing in his jaw and darkened eyes. He was the picture of annoyance, and you were positive your face mirrored his.
"I'm going to get out of here before we risk being discovered, for real this time," you leaned up and kissed him one last time, purposefully keeping it short, not wanting to be any more sexually frustrated than you already were. "Come find me later?"
"You got it, honey." You rinsed off and headed out of the shower, ignoring every part of you that wanted to say fuck it and turn around.
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The Odyssey | 1.5 | Bradley Bradshaw
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Bradley learns that maybe the two of you weren’t on the same page after all.
Warnings: enemies to lovers, power imbalance (professor / student relationship), age gap (22 / 33), swearing, infidelity, nudity, mentions of erections, making out. Semi-oral (f receiving), touching, mentions of sex. Ohhh boy you thought it was all okay. Wc: 5.8k
It didn’t feel like seven days at the Gabris estate. It felt like so much longer. A whole summer, even. The sunny day down at the lake, and then two whole days of rainstorms, and the day that Teodora showed you how to know which apricots are the sweetest to pick, the day that Zoe twisted her ankle on the crumbling back steps. The night by the piano.
This morning.
Luke must know where Bradley is, after he didn’t go to their room last night. Maybe he would think Bradley fell asleep in the study, but he isn’t that stupid.
Of course, Bradley is here with you. He fell asleep here last night, shortly after you had. He’s still asleep now, breathing deeply against the crook of your neck, his thigh slotted between yours and his palm on your stomach.
You haven’t been awake long.
It’s a warm, sunny morning and you can hear Sandro’s wife singing in the kitchen downstairs. Bradley smells like summer. You twist in his arms and turn your face toward his neck, breathing in the citrus and faint sweat and remainders of his cologne.
Bradley wakes to the feeling of your lips soft against his neck, and your fingers stroking at the hair at his nape.
Instantly, he realises that he didn’t make it back to his own bed last night, but he can’t find it in himself to mind. His arms snake around your middle and he squeezes you closer. He’s in your room. Not only that, but he’s in your bed. You’re laying on your side, the textbook half squished under you. The two of you fell asleep studying. He’s still fully clothed, and that’s what matters.
He lifts his arm and squints to check his watch. It’s still early. The two of you slept almost all night. Lowering his wrist, he startles once more to find that your eyes are now open. You blink tiredly at him.
“We fell asleep.” You mumble, barely awake. Your legs stretch out from under you as you push yourself onto your back and inch away from him. You’re close enough that all you can smell is his cologne. Each inhale tempts you towards letting your heavy eyelids just fall shut, letting your cheek rest against the muscle of his shoulder.
“Morning,” You murmur against his neck.
He kisses lazily at your temple. “Good morning, honey.”
Last night, Bradley had touched you again. The two of you had been sitting on your bed, and you were teaching him the Wall Street way of playing poker — as skilfully learned from your time watching your father — and Bradley had, so crudely, wagered your underwear.
They are laying, discarded, on the floor of your room now.
It feels good, pretending that none of this matters. That he is allowed to touch you, and lay with you, and kiss you.
“Did you sleep okay?” One of his palms pressed firmer into the middle of your back, flattening you against his chest as he turns his face toward your neck.
“Like the dead.” You mumble against his warm skin, resting your cheek against his clavicle. He hums amusedly.
For a moment, you let it be quiet. He’s still on the cusp of sleep, barely awake and groggy. Your fingers skim up the swell of his bicep and across the scarred skin on his shoulder, onto the muscled plains of his back.
He hums at the feeling, letting you know that he’s enjoying the soft touch. Maybe you’re enjoying it just as much. His skin there is soft, and always warm. You reach for freckles that you can’t see, guided by the ridges of his shoulder blades.
“I could stay like this forever.” You whisper. He makes a tired sound of agreement as he rubs the sleep from his eyes.
Sighing as he pulls his hands from his face, he pulls back and lets himself look at you. Settled down against the pillow, just watching him. Studying him.
Eyes heavy and blinking at him. Lips parted just slightly, like you’ve got something to say. The warmth of your skin. The look in your eye. The fact that he knows your underwear are still on the floor.
Bradley moves before he really weighs up what he’s doing. Eclipsing your jaw with his palm, you hold your breath as he leans in and kisses your top lip.
It’s slow, but the feelings it sends through you aren’t. The soft weight of his chest pressing into yours, just a taste of what the real thing could feel like.
Another slow kiss, his fingers curling around the nape of your neck, pulling you closer. You comply eagerly, pressing into his touch. His knee slides between yours, finding leverage on the mattress between your thighs.
Your mind skips ahead of you, flooding the darkness behind your eyelids with images of him that night with Natasha. His hands inching along the backs of her bare thighs. The need coursing through them, pressing close to each other with each kiss.
His warmth is inviting, intoxicating. His palm sits heavy on your cheek as you shuffle impossibly closer to him. He welcomes you against him, covering you with a fraction of his weight. Bradley likes strong women. Experienced women.
You rush forwards, chasing his mouth, grabbing at his shoulder, tugging him closer. He follows your lead wordlessly, carding his open palm over your hair, teasing his tongue along your lip.
It occurs to you that this could be the first time that you ever have sex. Everything you’ve been so afraid of. Ashamed of. Enveloped, hidden away by the strong feeling of his hands on your body.
It could happen. All that’s stopping you is his underwear, and the fact that he told you he wouldn’t. But he wants to. He told you he wants to.
A greedy hum passes your lips, caught against his. Your fingers slide from his shoulder into his hair before you can remind yourself that this isn’t right.
At first, Bradley thinks that he’s imagining things. There’s no way. But then, it happens again just as it had the first time. Your hips shift at just the right angle — the third time is just too much for it to be a coincidence, you’re grinding against his thigh.
A low grumble fights its way from his chest and into his throat, his hands sprinting for you like the snap of a rubber band, grabbing you tightly by your hips. It crosses his mind that he’s moving too fast and considers pulling back to check. Before his mind can land on an answer, your hand tousles into his curls and grabs firmly.
Even all of those too-big shirts he wears, nothing could really hide the fact that Bradley just remains to be a big guy. Tall, wide shoulders, long legs and a strong middle. He reminds you of his strength, dragging you against him by your hips. The brown hair that dusts his thigh brushes the inside of your thighs, the apex of your legs.
“How’s that?” Bradley asks as his thumb brushes a strand of hair back off of your temple.
Heat flushes instantly across your face. Bradley sees it in the calculated way that your eyes widen just slightly. The way he feels your fingers flex at the nape of his neck.
“It’s fine.” You bite back. Bradley should have known that even in a time like this, you would still be fighting him for the upper hand. Not tonight, honey. His words cross your mind, this time tinged with the resentment and shame your mind has coated them in.
You’re certain that he hasn’t ever told Natasha no in her entire life.
He trails his tongue along the seam of your lips, slow and soft, then brushes forwards and captures your mouth into a bruising kiss. He barely even pulls back to speak, his lips brushing yours. “Tell me what you want.”
You whimper. His massive hands and their hold on your hips, rocking you against the denim of his jeans. It’s impossible to think straight. “I don’t know.”
“I know what I want.” Bradley tells you, tucking his thumb under your chin and angling your jaw so that he can bite at your throat. The action has you keening against him, eagerly following the direction of his thumb so that his mouth can reach more of your throat.
It’s cruel honestly, everything he’s doing to you. He’s the first man to tell you that he wants you. Not because you’ve been together a while and it’ll happen eventually. Because he thinks you’re sexy. He’s attracted to you. He wants you. And fuck, his voice is so deep. “Tell me what you want.”
“I — Bradley, I don’t —“ You sigh, huffing a deep and frustrated noise as he sucks warmly at your skin. “I want you to touch me… I think.”
“You think?” Bradley’s hand sits against the backside of your thigh, warm, his long fingers splayed out along your skin. His lips barely have to move before he’s sucking at your neck. His warm mouth, languid against your skin. Swiftly, he curls his fingers into the soft flesh of your hips and tugs you against him, working you against his thigh.
The friction ignites something. Something you’ve felt before. The kindling is hot but it’s all white smoke for now. Blinking, you stare up at him with a decision to make. He squeezes your hips.
“I do. I do want you to touch me.”
The expectation is that he’ll pull back and tear your nightdress up out of his way and have his way with you. Bradley nips at your throat compliantly, kissing his way down your jaw and your throat.
He tips you onto your back and follows suit, settling between your thighs. The morning sun covers him in gold, from the flecks in his irises and the strands in his curls to the tanned swell of his shoulders. He mouths at your collarbones, following the sweetheart neckline of your nightie, palming at your thighs.
A moan tangles from your lips as he flattens himself against your body, his bulge between your legs and his hot chest against your skin.
Bradley dips his hand between your bodies and feels you finally. He sighs against your chest, smiling. “Oh, honey.”
Your heartbeat thuds. His fingers graze your swollen clit and you jolt a bit, otherwise stuck to the spot by his weight.
“No wonder you want me right here,” He murmurs, gathering your excitement on the tips of his fingers. “All worked up. Don’t worry, honey. I’ve got you.”
You drop your head back onto the pillows, feeling electricity rush through your middle as Bradley circles your clit with a featherlight touch. A whimper slips your mouth despite your best efforts, despite your teeth sinking into your bottom lip.
“I want to do it.”
And then you have his attention. He looks up at you, his face stark and the smugness that had settled there all gone.
“Yeah?” He swallows, so hard already that he’s aching. Far from in the mind space to really disagree with you. His brows draw together. “It?”
This time yesterday, you probably would have said no. Maybe even last night, you would have.
This morning, it’s a breathless and desperate, “Yes.”
“I don’t —“ Bradley squeezes at your thigh and shakes his head. “Baby, I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
“It’s just one step further than this,” You tell him, convincing yourself as much as you’re convincing him. “Doesn’t make it any different. It doesn’t change what we’ve already done, right?”
In these past seven days, Malcolm has never felt as far away. After what he did, what he must have done, you’ve never felt as far from him as you do now. He’s probably been looking for a phone number to contact you, and you’re glad that he hasn’t found one.
You don’t want to speak to him. In this moment, all that you want is right in front of you.
“But…” He swallows thickly, trying not to be driven by how badly he wants this. He taps his thumb against your chin. “You’re — You’re sure, this is what you want?”
“Uh-huh.”
He hesitates, planting a hand into the pillow beside your head. His face is knotted up and unsure. A week ago you had been crying in his arms after the biggest betrayal of your life. This can’t be the right thing to do.
He glances down, feeling your fingers brushing along the ridges of his abdomen.
Your lip throbs with the weight of your teeth pressing into it as your fingers dip into the waistband of his white boxer shorts. Bradley’s breath catches as your fingers wrap around his hardened length.
“Please?”
A deep sound passes his lips. How’s a guy supposed to say no to that? He leans in slowly, capturing your lip between his, his tense body melting against yours.
He groans as he pulls away from your mouth and moves downward. Your hand slips from his underwear and finds purchase against his shoulder.
He kisses down your cheek and your jaw, spilling dirty kisses along the naked span of your chest as far as the nightgown will let him as his hands bunch at the bottom hem of it.
Your mouth hangs as he hunches over and pins your thighs back.
Glistening in the warm glow of the room, you writhe and wriggle beneath Bradley as his strong hands pin you down, lazily swirling his tongue along your puffy, swollen clit.
“I said — I want—“ You stumble, your brows knitting together.
“I know what you want,” Bradley interrupts, turning his head and kissing at your thigh, silencing you all together as he looks up at you with those big brown eyes. “There’s no rush. Right?”
You guess not. You don’t have time to guess at much before his broad shoulders force apart your thighs and his hot mouth blanks your mind.
A whine spills from somewhere deeper in your throat, coming right from the pit of your stomach. Bradley’s messy with his work, lapping eagerly between your legs as his middle finger teases at your dripping pussy. He hasn’t ever done it like this.
It’s more desperate now, but like it’s easy for him, like he knows you. His chin drips with your excitement, leaving your thighs sticky and dampened with slick and saliva.
His hand slips between his hips and the mattress, wrapping loosely around his cock over his boxers, grinding his hips into his hand.
And then, three knocks rattle the heavy, old door to your right.
Bradley stops, and sits back on his knees at once. Your face is colorless, eyes wide and round. He runs a hand over his wet mouth, and turns his head towards the sound.
“Fuck.” He exhales, his lips hinting at a smile. As much as he should look just as scared shitless as you do, something in him finds this a little bit funny.
He’s expecting it to be your new best buddies, wanting you to come down to breakfast with them. Already deciding that he can handle hiding behind the door while you get rid of them, Bradley couldn’t be cooler.
Three more knocks rattle the old door on its hinges, and Sandro calls out from the other side. “Bradley?”
Instantly, the smile is wiped from Bradley’s face.
You scramble to cover yourself and close your legs and move, not quite as aware of your surroundings as you could be. As Bradley goes to move at the same time, your knee lifts and catches him squarely in the balls.
Sandro pushes his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he hears a loud, strained grunt come from inside.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry — I didn’t—“
Bradley lifts his face out of the pillow and swallows as he adjusts himself, exhaling heavily. “It’s fine. Fuck— what the hell is the matter with him?”
Matter with him in the sense that he is impolite enough to know exactly where Bradley is, and what that must mean, and to be knocking on the door anyway.
You watch as Bradley stumbles to his feet, clearly wounded, still clutching at his manhood as he picks up his jeans.
“You can’t — you’re going to answer the door?” You panic.
“What else do you want me to do? Hide?” He huffs, struggling to pull his jeans up his legs and button them.
“You could go out the window.”
He shoots you a look, entirely unimpressed. You open your mouth to protest, left with no time to do anything but squeak softly in defeat as he pulls open the door an inch, blocking it with his body.
“What?”
Sandro presses his lips together. He looks Bradley up and down. Disheveled, his curls a mess and still naked from the navel upward.
“There’s someone on the phone for you.” Sandro explains quietly. Bradley’s brows knit together as he starts to wonder who could possibly be trying to reach him this early in the morning. “Her father. I believe.”
A quiet gasp comes from behind the door. Bradley closes it a little more, slotting himself into the gap.
“Cool. I’ll be right there.”
“Sure. He sounds upset.” Sandro lifts his palms and shrugs as he takes a step back from the door, his mouth twitching. “I can’t imagine why.”
“Ha. Ha.” Bradley answers, unimpressed.
He swings the door shut, and flattens himself back against the wood as he pinches at the bridge of his nose. You remain in the middle of the bed, your knees tucked up to your chest, your hand covering your mouth.
“Fuck me.” Bradley sighs, leaning his head back against the door. He stretches his hand into the pocket of his jeans and plucks his cigarettes from the pocket, shaking his head. “Does he have a monitor on you that I don’t know about?”
He almost makes you smile, but you’re wincing as you slip out of bed and stand up.
“Let me speak with him,” You offer, walking nervously toward him. “He’s just going to be rude if he’s asking for you. I’ll handle it.”
“And miss out on telling him what an incredible morning we had?” Bradley jokes, unlit cigarette wobbling between his lips as he steps around you and reaches for his shirt. You stumble mid-step, practically pouncing on him as you grab at his arm.
“No! You can’t tell him anything.” You plead.
Bradley turns and looks at you over his shoulder, brows furrowed in disbelief.
“Believe it or not, honey — I’m not itching to have that talk with your dad. I was kidding.” He scoffs, pulling his t-shirt over his head and running his fingers messily through his hair. “You should pack your stuff. I’ll… see you later.”
“Wait!” You frown at him. “But we were…”
Bradley seems to remember his moment of insanity then — of how close he was to actually doing it just a moment ago, and blinks at you. He plucks the cigarette from his lips and leans forward to leave a passive kiss to your temple.
“Another time,” He sets it between his lips again and digs his left hand into his pocket for a lighter. “Gotta go.”
Another time. Gotta go. The door swings shut behind him and the smell of burning tobacco fills your nose as he light’s the cigarette out in the hallway. You hate that smell. You hate how casually he just moved on from that. And oh, you could kill Alessandro.
“Hello?” Bradley pins the receiver between his ear and shoulder as he pulls the ashtray from the window ledge and flicks the tip of his cigarette toward it.
“That’s how you answer the phone? — You don’t introduce yourself, or ask who you’re speaking with? Mumbling over there—“
Bradley perches against the window and sets his cigarette back between his lips. “I know who I’m speaking with. Sir. How can I help you?”
“I want to know what kind of operation you’re running over there. There’s no contact number for this place anywhere on the itinerary, and then when I do finally track down a number, I spend two days calling and get nothing but a dead line!”
“We had some bad weather, unfortunately it knocked out the power. Just got it back on last night, actually.” Bradley explains calmly.
“And you think that’s acceptable? — What if it was an emergency?”
“Was it?” Bradley prompts. Maybe he has a little bit of an attitude, but he doesn’t like the way your father talks to people.
“You think you’re funny, son?”
No, generally Bradley doesn’t think that he’s too funny. He’s a lot of things, and he’s got a good sense of humour but he’s not funny like Robin Williams or Chevy Chase. But, Bradley’s got a special knack for always being able to get the last word.
“I think the house is five hundred years old and has some pretty questionable wiring. Was there something you needed me for?”
“You know that I can have you fired?”
Bradley leans his head back and thunks it against the window frame. He can’t blame you for the attitude you catch when this is the guy you learned it from.
“In the interest of preserving my good friend’s phone bill, I’m just trying to be… concise, here.” Bradley answers, flicking more ash into the tray. If this phone call keeps going the way that it is, Bradley figures he’ll be chain smoking through until the afternoon.
“My son-in-law has been trying to get through to my daughter. He’s… worried about her. Has she said anything to you?”
Said something pretty interesting to me earlier, Bradley thinks. Right around the time she stuck her hand in my shorts.
“No, sir. Maybe her friends, but not me,” Bradley gives the answer you would want him to give. “We’re headed to Siena this afternoon and the city’s a lot more reliable for communication and stuff. I can have her call you once we’re there?”
“No. Don’t tell her that I called.” Your father decides. Bradley doesn’t mention that you already know, because he was in your room when he was informed. “What’s the number for this place?”
“I don’t have it on me. I can take down your number and I’ll call you from the hotel when we get there.”
“Not very organised for a college professor, are you, champ?”
Bradley wets his lips with his tongue and presses them together. He spends as little time on the phone as he possibly can, resenting your father’s every word. He likes the thought of Malcolm sitting at home and tearing his hair out, worrying.
He likes the thought of that little dirtbag being kept awake at night, terrified that you know what he did and that you’ll leave him. It’s what he deserves.
Bradley likes that you fell asleep in his arms last night, peacefully, and that you woke up this morning and found yourself comfortable enough to ask for what you had. Your fiancé probably didn’t cross your mind.
He goes for his morning run a little later than normal, after his phone call, and thinks about what you had said.
He shouldn’t have agreed to it as quickly as he had, maybe. It should have required more thought, and discussion — better place or time, perhaps.
He had been so adamantly against it, but this is starting to feel different. It’s more than a few kisses here and there. It’s Bradley enjoying feeling your weight in his arms when he sleeps, and looking forward to your smile when he wakes up.
It’s better, with him. Your first time would be better with him — and he doesn’t even mean that in an overconfident way. He just knows that he and Malcolm are far from the same, and that Malcolm could never treat you the way that Bradley does so naturally.
Bradley decides that he won’t initiate anything other than a discussion on the topic of sex. As much as he does want it, he could go for months without it. And this has to be your call. But, he doesn’t want to know what sparked the idea into your head this morning.
If you ask him again, he already knows that he would do it.
By the time he has finished with your father and with his run, it’s almost time to go. The group of eight of you are spread around the mini-can, bags loaded and waiting for Bradley while Pasquale sits in the front. It’s a really short drive today. Just over an hour to the other side of the city.
“Did anyone else get their assignments back late all the time?” Abigail muses as she lays across the three backseats of the van. You’re sitting a row in front of her, fiddling with your Walkman.
“Even when I was TA’ing, and I’d get my grading in on time, Bradley still gave everyone their results back like a week later.” Robin agrees.
“Yeah, ‘cause he was too busy slipping it to Miss Penny all year.” Luke scoffs without looking up from his chapter on bathhouses, his arms stretched around Robin’s middle as she sits on his lap.
Instinct almost has you whipping around to look at him. Common sense has you gripped to the spot, staring at the little plastic contraption . You blink furiously at the cassette tape in front of you.
Miss Penny. Who the hell is Miss Penny? Granted, you hadn’t spent too much time wandering the humanities building, but you’re affronted to not be able to picture this mystery woman nonetheless.
“No— Miss Penny? No. Please, like Bradley would ever tell you who he’s screwing.” August — Gus —, the only other guy in your little group of eight, scoffs towards Luke. He’s standing outside of the van, leaning up against the doorframe.
“And if he was making it with anyone, it was for sure Doctor Hayes. Have you seen the two of them talking? — Man, even I felt the tension.” Zoe decides.
Screwing. Slipping it to. Making it.
And now the introduction of Doctor Hayes.
At least this woman you have heard of; she’s an anthropology professor, and she certainly wasn’t making it with Bradley — she’s happily involved with a woman.
It was a big point of conversation in your household. The news came to light just before your father was going to make a donation, she visited him personally to ensure that her romantic indiscretions wouldn’t affect his generosity.
If Bradley wasn’t screwing Doctor Hayes, then he probably wasn’t—
“You’re right, they were probably just friends,” Luke shrugs, again without looking up from the book. It should soothe you, but it doesn’t. It’s an arrogant thing, the way he knows everyone’s waiting on his every word, so he doesn’t have to lift his gaze to engage. “Doesn’t change the fact I saw them going at it in his office.”
When you look up you’re startled by Robin already looking at you, like she just stole the crayon you’ve been waiting for and she’s waiting for your tantrum to begin.
You glance across at Luke instead, who is still staring smugly at his chapter.
They already think that Bradley is screwing you, maybe they’re making it up to get a reaction.
You muster the calmest look that you can, and flip back a page in your notes, pretending that you’re reviewing the material.
You haven’t ever been to Bradley’s office. There’s a vague understanding of approximately where it is that comes with having spent four years wandering those halls, but in a pinch you would be guessing at exactly where.
You don’t know what his desk looks like, or if he’s got one of those frosted glass window panes in the door, or maybe it’s just a heavy wood door without a window.
Some of the old rooms still have those. They’re heavy and creaky and your daddy’s donations are eradicating them one by one.
Those big, heavy, creaky doors would do wonders for someone in need of privacy. As your eyes fall shut to blink, you’re met with a split-second snapshot of Luke nudging it open.
After hours, after a day of tough lessons. Bradley all stressed with that red flush across his chest that he gets when stuff is really starting to get to him. Miss Penny, in her mysterious shroud of fog… perched against his desk— or worse— bent over it.
You swallow.
“No you did not.” Abigail declares with a wrinkled face, not believing the dirty little story for a moment.
You would like to not believe it either.
“Uh-huh. It was when I was TA’ing, I came by to drop off some papers. She was sat on his desk with her back to the door and he was just—“
“Gross, I don’t want to hear about Bradley getting his rocks off with the librarian.” Zoe complains.
The librarian. Miss Penny is the fucking librarian. She has permed hair and cat-eye glasses, a skirt shorter than faculty standard allows too. She made you pay eight dollars in late fees one time. She’s like a decade older than Bradley, maybe fifteen years.
Your nose wrinkles as you turn your head to peer in the direction of the kitchen. Why her? Why—
“Alright, everybody ready to go?” Bradley has said his long goodbyes to the Gabris family, always wishing he got longer with them, even if Sandro did cockblock him this morning.
He climbs into the passenger seat as an awkward silence fills the van. Everyone takes their seats and stares ahead at him. He turns his head to peer back over his shoulder, frowning in confusion.
“What?”
“Nothing, man,” Luke answers coolly as Robin slides into the seat next to him. “You’re paranoid.”
Another time. Gotta go. You bet he was that casual with Miss Penny, too. With however many other women he might have been with. You set your headphones over your ears and turn toward the window.
It’s ridiculous, maybe, to be jealous of women that knew Bradley far before you could ever stand to be in the same room as him. But this isn’t jealousy, per se. It’s something else. You don’t doubt that Miss Penny didn’t mean much to him, you just… were hoping that you meant more, maybe.
The drive is short, and you’re piling into another old, crumbling hotel on the outskirts of Siena as the sun is just starting to set. You follow the crowd into the lobby and Bradley starts his normal routine of collecting the keys.
At first, you’re chatting with Zoe, and nothing feels different. Then, you catch something in your peripheral. Glancing down, your eyes widen and your train of thought ventures away.
“My ring.” You realise, setting your suitcase down on the faded carpet of the lobby. Bradley turns around, and finds you staring at your bare hand.
“I don’t have my ring.” You haven’t worn that thing since the first day you got there. Bradley has noticed every single day that you haven’t had it.
“What?” Pasquale frowns, looking between you and your hand.
“My engagement ring!” You snap at him. Everyone, at once, stops to look. Bradley stares at you. “I don’t— I must have left it! We have to go back.”
“Jesus Christ.” Luke scoffs, rolling his eyes as he drops down onto the couch. He figures he could be here a while, while you’re descending into hysterics.
After speaking to your father, Bradley figured he knows why you’re so upset. If you come home without that thing, he would give you the worst lecture known to man, or worse than that, even.
“I’ll call Sandro, and see—“ He takes two steps towards you, his face soft.
“No, I need to get it back. Now. We have to go back.”
“Mr. Bradshaw has a meeting here tomorrow, very early.” Pasquale chips in from beside you.
“I don’t care! I can’t believe I left it— Malcolm’s going to kill me if I tell him I don’t have it. What am I supposed to tell him? — That I took it off?”
You’re not thinking about your father, or getting into trouble with him. Bradley stops moving. You’re thinking about your fiancé.
Bradley has been comforting you, and singing to you, and kissing you for a week straight — not once thinking that you might one day want to wear that ring again.
This morning, he had been fooling himself on his run, thinking that this was anything more than fooling around. That he meant anything to you at all. That you understood him.
He stares at you, finding none of those feelings he had thought you felt this morning. Or last night, or this whole past week.
Nothing but blind panic, because you weren’t smart enough to double check you had everything.
“Didn’t you?” Robin asks.
“Just for a second! I— I — didn’t mean to.” You struggle, eyes wide and fleeting between Bradley and Pasquale.
That’s not true. You took it off because he hurt you. You haven’t worn it in seven days. You didn’t even think about it this morning when you had packed your things, or before that when Bradley had been in your bed.
You’re growing agitated, and so is Bradley. A muscle in his jaw ticks. You meant to take off that ring, and maybe you can’t admit to yourself that you meant to leave it behind.
“Maybe they could mail it—“ Pasquale tries.
“Do you seriously expect me to go home without it?” You’re looking at Bradley still, like this is his fault somehow. Like he’s the one who took it off of your finger. Your expression turns cold. “That ring is worth more than you make in a year!”
Bradley’s expression flattens. No hurt, no anger. Just pure detachment. He holds his hand out towards Pasquale.
“Give me the keys.”
“But, Bradley, you have—“
“Give me the fucking keys,” Bradley snaps. Zoe flinches at your side, and you feel her looking at you. Pasquale awkwardly drops the keys into Bradley’s open palm. “I’m going to get the ring, if it’ll shut her up.”
Your mouth closes, lips pressing firmly together.
“I’ll—“
“You stay right there.” Bradley bites. He can’t think of anything worse than being stuck in a van with you for the next two and a half hours. Without looking, he squeezes the keys into his palm and heads for the door.
With him gone, you’re the only thing for them all to look at.
None of them knew exactly what was going on between you and Bradley this whole time, but they’re all certain of the same thing now: whatever it was, they all just witnessed the end of it.
tags: @thedroneranger @batdanceq @cassiemitchele @himbos-on-ice @wkndwlff @bradshawsbaby @damrlova @fudge13 @xoxabs88xox @mak-32 @sihtricswife @callsignvenus @callsign-joyride @harper1666 @krismdavis @sheisanangell @cherrycola27 @kmc1989 @sugarcoated-lame @mshistorylover
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For the Love of Love | Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader | Part II
Part I | Series Masterlist
Summary: You immediately have doubts. As the morning goes on, they only get stronger. Good thing Bradley can be normal about this. Right?
Word Count: 3.9k
Warnings: fake dating, fake dating Bradley Bradshaw in particular, completely implied age gap
a/n: Thank all y'all for the response to the first part :) I was so nervous to post it, but everyone has been so kind and encouraging! Also, I've created a taglist for this series -- please let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future updates! Ok, ok, let's get this show on the road (literally, we're on the way to Tahoe lol), enjoy x
It was 6:15 am. Streetlights washed your walls a bright, sterile white. You paced in front of your door. Next to it, your pink luggage set waited for you dutifully. Bradley was supposed to pick you up 15 minutes ago. He hadn’t responded to any of your texts. Or your calls.
Were you dumb for thinking he really wanted to join you – and your entire family – in Tahoe? Was he drunker than he let on last night, or maybe he forgot entirely? You hoped not, you’d already bought him the seat next to you on the plane. You really didn’t want to explain to your parents why they were paying for two plane seats when only you arrived at the cabin.
You checked your phone. 6:17. Soon, you’d have to drive by yourself. Maybe he’d catch you at the airport.
Just as you made for your keys, there was a sharp knock at your door. You undid the deadbolt and flung it open. Bradley stood in the sickly yellow light of the hallway, looking better than you wanted him to in just gray sweats and a black hoodie.
“Good morning!” He was surprisingly chirpy for how early it was.
“You’re late. Why didn’t you answer my texts?”
“What texts?”
“The texts I sent you?” You grabbed all three pieces of your luggage and struggled through the door frame.
“My phone died.” He was tapping his phone screen like he was just realizing that it wasn’t turning on. He gave up, pocketed the phone, and lifted the two biggest suitcases out of your hands. “Jesus, how long are we going to be gone? It’s like you packed your whole closet.”
“Three days. But I have to be prepared.” You locked up your apartment and started down the stairs, your suitcase clanking down each step. Your neighbors were probably thrilled.
Bradley followed behind you, lifting your other suitcases as if they weighed nothing.
“So you’re just going to travel with a dead phone?” You asked when you finally made it to the lobby.
He shrugged. “Is your phone charged?”
“Of course.”
“Works good enough for me.”
He reached over your head to hold open the front door as you dragged your suitcase into the brisk early morning. His Bronco shone like adventure. You and Bradley loaded your luggage, and he opened the door for you to get into the passenger seat.
“Coffees?” You asked as he slid into the driver’s seat and started the car.
He glanced down at the twin iced coffees lined up in the cupholders between you. “I thought it'd help us get through the early morning. I didn’t know what you liked though, so I just got you my drink.”
You stabbed a straw through the plastic lid of the coffee and took a sip. It was shockingly sweet. You coughed a little.
“You like it?” Bradley smiled, keeping his eyes on the road. “I’ve perfected my order. Caramel and white mocha and cinnamon sprinkle on top.”
You take another sip. Without the sweetness taking you by surprise, it was much better. “It’s good. I would have pegged you for a hot black coffee guy, though.”
“I’m full of surprises.” He merged on the freeway.
The sound of the road passing under the Bronco filled the silence of the car.
“So…” Bradley tapped his thumb against the Bronco’s wheel, the echoes of some song you didn’t know. “What’s your family like?”
You watched lights flick on in the windows of the buildings you passed. People getting ready for their typical days. You pressed down a shock of panic. This was absurd. But Bradley seemed committed, and if it was going to work, you had to set him up for success. That meant warning him about your family.
“Well, my Grandma Sybil and Grandpa Thomas have been married for sixty years. Obviously.” Nervous laughter bubbled from your lips before you could stop it. “They’re Grandma and Grandpa. I grew up going to their house and stuffing myself on her cookies and falling asleep on his lap. But Grandma Sybil can be… stern.”
He stopped tapping his thumb to snag his coffee and take a sip. “Like, how so?”
“She’s just a little rough around the edges. She had a tough life before meeting my grandfather, and though she softened to him, I don’t think she softened much to the rest of the world. Just, don’t take it personally if she doesn’t warm up to you right away. Or at all.”
“Noted.” You heard him swallow.
You picked at a seam in your pants. “And their oldest daughter is my Aunt Marnie. She’s married to Uncle Jim. They run a crystal shop just outside of Vegas. They might try to push moonstone or onyx on you. Just smile and accept it.”
“Ok. Marnie and Jim. Crystals.” He committed the names to memory.
“Their daughter Sabrine just got married.”
“You went to the wedding, I remember.”
You flushed, grateful that the sun hadn’t quite risen yet and the hotness of your cheeks dissipated in the darkened car. He had remembered. You didn’t think any detail of your life was important enough for him to care to remember – and it really was just one week that you were gone – but maybe your life had bled into the Daggers’ more than you thought.
As the airport came into view, you told him about Sabrine and how she would bring her new husband Matt. She was already seven months pregnant. Grandma Sybil was less than pleased, but Grandpa Thomas either didn’t care or hadn't worked out the math.
“And what do your aunt and uncle think?” Bradley asked.
“I think they’re just happy that she’s happy. They sound excited to be grandparents. But Auntie Marnie did complain that the wedding was tacky.”
Bradley snorted. “Was it?”
“It was sweet,” you said. “It was in his mom’s backyard. The colors were red and black, but it was sweet.”
An airplane roared overhead, glinting in the sun that was just sharpening over the horizon.
Bradley pulled into the airport’s parking garage. He had only packed himself a duffle bag, so he was able to carry all of your luggage plus his own. In exchange, you carried both coffees and locked the Bronco. You slipped Bradley’s keys into his pocket as he instructed, your fingers warming where they grazed the fabric of his sweats.
The airport was fizzing with the whispers of early morning travelers. You rubbed your eyes as you stepped under the fluorescent lights, taking stock of just how many others were yawning and lining up at the baggage counter under those same lights. Why was the airport so busy before 7am?
As if he could read your mind (or maybe he just saw you tense up at the sight of so many people), Bradley said, “It’s ok. We still have time.”
His reassurance drove you to action. You traded his coffee for your bags and shuffled into line for the check in counter. From the standstill line, you watched Bradley as he wandered around the walkway, taking sips of his coffee, staring up at the ceiling, and generally being a 6’1” hazard to the travelers rushing to get to the TSA line. You rolled your suitcases across the green gray carpets the check in counter line eked forward, nearly running into the old man in front of you as you kept your gaze on Bradley. Why was even his boredom endearing?
Just before you got to the front of the line, he stopped and stared up at the ceiling, causing a woman who was looking at her phone to crash into him. You giggled as you watched him apologize, and saw, in real time, as the woman went from indignant to flustered as she realized how hot he was. She tried to strike up a conversation, but he caught your gaze from across the room. Her eyes followed his, and when it hit you, she was quick to disappear into the airport crowd.
Your face grew hot. You mouthed sorry to him as the woman at the counter was calling you forward. You were a little sorry; she was very pretty. But some part of you delighted in being perceived as his girlfriend, even if it was easier to convince a stranger than your family.
“Ma’am, next guest.” The stern voice of the woman at the counter shook you from your thoughts.
Once your bags were checked, you caught up with Bradley. The two of you rounded the corner only to stop short when you saw the enormous security line.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” you groaned.
“We’ll be fine. It’s only 7:15.” Bradley nudged your shoulder with his. “Plus, it gives us time to get our story straight.”
“Our story?” You asked as you both stepped into line.
“Yeah. Like, how did we meet?”
You didn’t skip a beat. “Nat introduced us.”
“That was quick.” He raised his eyebrows.
“Well, let’s try to stick with reality as much as possible. And my family loves Nat, her stamp of approval will go down great.” You really hoped no one could hear you two. But the steady murmur of overlapping early-morning conversation seemed to drown out your weird topic of conversation.
“Well, how long have we been dating?”
That you had to think about. “Well, it can’t be too short, otherwise it would be weird that I’m bringing you.”
“It’s already weird.” He laughed.
“They don’t need to know that,” you said. “How long do you think we could pass for? 2 months? 6?”
“Aren’t they going to ask why you’ve never talked about me or brought me around?”
“Good point. We’ll say 4, and I’ll just tell them I wanted to be sure before I told them about you.”
“You think we could convince them we’ve been dating for four months?”
You shrugged, but your stomach somersaulted. “We can try.”
“Like this?” He grabbed your hand and laced his fingers between yours.
Your hand tensed. Your stomach did a whole gymnastics routine. You were holding hands with Bradley Bradshaw in the airport. You looked around, sure that any TSA agent in your vicinity could sense your anxiety and pull you for secondary screening.
“Relax.” He patted your hand with his free one. “We’re not going to get far like this.”
You forced your fingers to meld with his. The iced coffee and your nerves were a terrible mix for your empty stomach.
“Better.” He kept hold of your hand as you shuffled up the line. Then he grinned.
“What? What’s wrong?”
“You know those couples in lines at amusement parks?” A lopsided smile brightened his face. “When they’re waiting in line?”
“The ones that are really into PDA?”
“Exactly.” He dropped your hand, slid up behind you, and wrapped his arms across your waist and rested his chin on your shoulder. “All we need to do is follow their lead.”
You did everything in your power to stay upright and keep your breathing steady with his chin pressing into your skin. He kept hold of you as the line moved up. You clenched your hands, your nails digging crescents into your palms. There was no way he couldn’t hear your racing heart and your ragged breathing.
“And there’s this move.”
As the line slouched to a stop, he spun you around, still keeping hold of your waist, but now you were face to face. You looked up at him, tried to form a sentence, but found yourself completely dumb. He leaned his forehead against yours. Surely he could feel the warmth of your face, see the confused longing in your eyes. He smiled at you for just a second before he broke away from you and threw his head back laughing, drawing glares from your fellow sleep-deprived travelers.
You were practically mute through the rest of security. Bradley seemed to have fun grabbing your hand, draping an arm around your shoulders, and messing with your hair. You wondered if he knew the effect he was having on you or if he was earnestly trying to practice for your family. Maybe he was just trying to rile you up.
“You were great.” He patted the top of your head, causing your heart to shrivel a bit. “We’ll have them all wrapped around our fingers.”
You cleared your throat and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
Once you were through security, you broke up to scrounge some breakfast. Well, that’s what you let Bradley think anyway. You tried to beat down the butterflies in your stomach as you wove between slow-walking travelers toting huge suitcases and knots of families with waddling toddlers, straight to the bathroom.
The stall offered you just enough privacy to freak out. You felt your face, your waist, flexed your hands right in front of your eyes. It took you months to not freak out about the platonic arm draped around your shoulders, his quick hugs goodbye at the Hard Deck. How on Earth were you going to be normal about this?
He complimented you on a job well done, but in truth, he did all the work. You didn’t reach out for him once in the security line. Would your family even believe you liked him? After that performance, the idea that they could possibly think that you were in love seemed laughable.
The weekend stretched long ahead of you. You were beginning to realize how stupid it was for you to begin such a ruse that you’d have to keep up for three days. You wondered if Bradley would react poorly to being sent home after already getting through security.
You hurriedly texted Nat – who knew very well how you felt about her coworker, almost to the point where she might have purposefully orchestrated your trip. It was a bit of a text wall, detailing the TSA line and your dread about the weekend. If she wasn’t already working, she would probably be asleep for three more hours, so you pocketed your phone after hitting send.
The sound of a flushing toilet reminded you that, yes, you were having a small crisis in a public bathroom. That thought was so sad that you took a deep breath, set your shoulders, and walked out of the stall to face the world.
From a little store, you picked up a berry parfait for breakfast and a bottled orange juice, since the TSA confiscated your half-empty iced coffee.
You found Gate 4. People were falling asleep upright in the airport seats, blankets and pillows abound. It smelled like the Jack in the Box across the way. You found two empty seats by the window and kicked up your feet to reserve one for Bradley.
He found you ten minutes later, carrying a bag stuffed with two bagels – one sausage and egg breakfast sandwich and one cinnamon raisin with strawberry cream cheese, he explained. You nodded as you dropped your feet and scraped the rest of your yogurt out of your cup.
“So your cousin Sabrine is pregnant and your grandma isn’t happy,” he said around a big bite of bagel, egg, and sausage. “What else?”
“Well, my grandparents’ youngest child is Auntie Elaine. She lives in Alaska with her husband. They breed sled dogs.”
Bradley paused right before another bite. “Really?”
“Yeah, it’s pretty cool. Some of their dogs run the Iditarod, and I think one was part of the winning team a few years back. They have twins a little older than me. Nora and her wife Madison, they’re… really cool. Last I heard, they were climbing K2. And there’s Nora’s twin brother Owen. He has a girlfriend named Addison, which I think is funny. Madison and Addison. The twins don’t think it’s as funny as I do.”
Bradley laughed. The bagel sandwich was gone, and he traded the leftover wad of greasy wrapping paper for the cinnamon raisin bagel. “And what’s the deal with Owen and Addison?”
“They’re pretty chill.” You thought about it for a minute. “Owen used to punch drywall, but he’s calmed down.”
Bradley stared at you, waiting for you to laugh.
The gate agent called you to board before you could explain. Though you didn’t think any explanation would be helpful.
The plane ride was nice and short. You slept through most of the hour and a half. You were mortified to wake up on Bradley’s shoulder as the plane jolted in the harsh turbulence that shrouded the Reno airport.
You sat bolt upright, fully awake. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He patted your thigh assuredly. “It’s good practice.”
You didn’t have time to freak out at his touch because the plane rocked again. You’d experienced this turbulence countless times, something about the mountains and the desert air made the plane bounce around like a toy in the hands of an overexcited toddler. Still, as the plane jerked down, it planted a pit in your stomach that made your hands clammy.
When the plane dipped again, you clutched the armrest. You didn’t want to look at Bradley, who probably thought your overreaction was silly. He’d experienced g-forces upwards of 8Gs countless times. It was bad enough flying next to Nat, who you knew would never judge you, but next to Bradley, you felt like a little kid scared of the dark.
“Hey,” he gingerly pried your hand off the armrest and held it with a softness you didn’t expect from him, “look at me.”
You tore your eyes away from the flight tracker on the display in front of you, worried you’d see judgment in his dark eyes. But his expression was everything soft.
He smiled when you met his gaze. “We’re going to be fine. Trust me, I’ve flown a plane or two.”
You laughed despite the plane suddenly banking upward.
He squeezed your hand as the plane leveled. “So here’s the deal: you keep looking at me. You can only panic if I start panicking. Deal?”
You nodded. “Deal.”
He held your hand and your eyes until the plane kissed the blessed tarmac. By then, the pit in your stomach had been flooded with a mushy feeling you simply did not have time to drain because the seatbelt sign dinged off, and you had a rental car to secure.
Getting out of the airport went as smoothly as possible. Within 20 minutes of deboarding, you and all your luggage was crammed into a rental Prius. Bradley’s nose crinkled when he first saw it, but he folded himself into the passenger seat without complaint.
You fiddled with the radio until you got it to play a throwback ‘70s station, then peeled out of the airport. Soon, the dusty city of Reno and its casinos were in the rearview, and the Sierra Nevadas loomed large on the horizon. When the road lifted off the desert floor and began winding through the foothills, childhood excitement drummed through your veins. As the car screamed along the highway, desert scrub blurred into pine trees that jutted straight up toward the endless blue sky. Patches of snow bloomed in their shade.
“Wow,” Bradley said as the trees grew thicker like a tightly stitched blanket over the mountains. Snow carpeted the ground. Little cabins shone through the forest and snow like jewels.
“Wait until we get around this mountain.” You couldn’t keep the smile off your face. You carefully made a sharp turn, the mountainside steep and unwelcoming. But as the car straightened out, the trees yawned apart, and you caught Bradley gawking at the lake out of the corner of your eye.
Nestled between snow-draped mountains, it shone like a sapphire in the late morning sun.
You’d spent several summers splashing in its frigid waters with your cousins until your skin was so covered in goosebumps that Grandma Sybil threatened to pluck you for Christmas dinner. The same lake was the backdrop to hundreds upon hundreds of ski runs and one trip down the mountain with ski patrol. Your arm still ached to think about that late February day, even all these years later.
“It’s beautiful,” Bradley said, and you agreed wholeheartedly.
Your phone’s navigation system stated that there was only 20 minutes until you reached your grandparent’s cabin. You sucked in a breath between your teeth and cracked a window, hoping the cold, piny air would help settle your stomach. It didn’t. But you still had to finish giving Bradley the family rundown.
“My parents are Sean and Catherine,” you said. “My dad might try to intimidate you, but don’t worry, he’s a softie.”
“Ok.”
You couldn’t be sure he was paying attention, as his face was all but pressed against the window, soaking in the spectacular views. Even if you wanted to be mad, you really couldn’t blame him.
You stepped on the breaks as the road started dipping down a little. “My mom will be the most problematic. I swear sometimes she can read my mind. Whatever we do, it’ll be hard to convince her.”
“We’re going to be there in 18 minutes. Next time, a little more heads up please?”
“Sorry, sorry.” Your grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Just tell her that you take me to Vino in La Jolla and buy me flowers.”
“Is that what your ideal man would do?”
Would it be so bad if you just drove off the road? The steep mountainside looked more inviting by the second.
“Shut up.” You froze your gaze to the winding road. “I have a brother, his name is Tommy.”
“I know,” he said. “I think I’ve met him once – when he was in San Diego for spring break?”
“Oh, yeah, I forgot,” you said. “Well, he and his girlfriend Georgia are high school sweethearts. They’re the perfect couple, and it makes me sick.”
Bradley chuckled. “Noted.”
“So first goal: be believable.”
He laid his hand on your thigh. “Done.”
“Good.” His hand was burning hot. The car swerved ever so slightly as you lost focus on the road for a moment. “Second goal: be a better couple than Tommy and Georgia.”
“Let’s not try to overshoot this. We’ve only been dating for 4 months.”
You laughed in spite of yourself. When you eventually found your real partner, and everyone gathered in Tahoe again for Tommy and Georgia’s wedding, or a wintery ski trip, or whatever comes next for your family, you’ll come clean. You’ll cling to your partner and tell everyone all about your good friend Bradley Bradshaw and how the two of you never really dated. Your grandparents’ anniversary will be a hazy memory, but everyone will remember the tall, good-looking naval aviator and his (totally out of season) Hawaiian shirts and giant mustache. There would be shock, but eventually it would be an inside joke for years to come. You just had to get through this weekend.
Too soon, you were pulling into the cabin’s long, steep driveway. The cabin itself jutted off of the mountainside, its tapered roof giving it a harsh look, though you swore when you were little it just made it look cozy and inviting. Its windows were like glassy eyes following the Prius.
You put the car in park and turned to Bradley.
“Ready?” You asked.
“Ready, babe.”
Before you could fully register the fact that he called you babe, the cabin’s front door slammed open, and your family bursted out to greet you and the mysterious man you’d arrived with.
The knot in your stomach tightened like a noose.
Taglist:
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@djs8891 @avengersfan25 @cornishkat @julielightwood @makingpeoplelaughsince1995 @abitdemented @darksparklesficrecs @igotmajordaddyissues @cupofchamomileeee @imaginationlover101 @simpfictionalcharacters
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around the world and back | bradley bradshaw x reader
(18+, minors dni)
summary: freshly broken up with and ready to get back out there, bradley meets you at the beach, hoping to move on from his ex quickly. but as fate would have it, he gets a little more than he bargained for (in more ways than one)
warnings: age gap, smut (like 1 time), forbidden-ish romance, uranium mission (i tried not to make it too cringey), bradley's a little shit, hannix side plot, lots of mentions of alcohol/being drunk/parties/bars/being in college etc.
a/n: this one has been sitting in the google docs for nearly a year at this point & i'm so excited to put it out into the world of tgm!
1 | coranado beach (coming as early as tonight possibly??? 4/1)
2 | downtown san diego
3 | los angeles
4 | rome
5 | manhattan
6 | los angeles
7 | san diego
8 | los angeles
9 | SLC international airport
updated weekly (mondays!)
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Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw masterlist (Rooster x Reader)
After Bradley breaks things off with his girlfriend just days before the start of a deployment, he expects a few lonely months of nobody writing to him or waiting for his return. But the fateful arrival of a package from a class of fourth graders learning about aviation changes everything. Suddenly he has a group of inquisitive pen pals that he's more than happy to converse with, and their pretty teacher is someone he finds he wants to get to know better, too.
roosterforme masterlist
Coming 4/2!
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
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For the Love of Love | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader | Part I
Summary: You are dreading your grandparents' 60th anniversary. While you love them, along with the rest of your family, you're tired of being "the single one." So when your friend Bradley Bradshaw offers to accompany you to your grandparents' Tahoe cabin for the long weekend, your tipsy self agrees. The problem? Only that you're hopelessly in love with him.
Word Count: 2.4K
Warnings: alcohol consumption, pining, fake dating, reader is supposed to be young, so age gap?
a/n: this is my first series, yay! I hope y'all enjoy x
The night before you were expected – along with the rest of your family – at your grandparents’ Tahoe cabin, you called up your childhood best friend to help you drown your sorrows at the Hard Deck. The air in the bar was dense with a steady throb of ‘80s music and the slur of dozens of drunken conversations. There were so many people that, even though you immediately shed your jacket, a bead of sweat rolled down your back before you even reached the bar. Still, the Hard Deck was like a second home to you, and its chaos enveloped you with all the warmth of a hug from a friend who was a little more drunk than they’d admit.
Nat was already at the bar. She had a beer in one hand, another waiting for you in front of the empty barstool next to her. You smiled. She must have put up quite a fight to keep that seat for you on such a busy night.
You hopped up on the barstool and snagged your beer, relishing in its coolness more than its taste. How long until Nat gave up on trying to get you to like IPAs? At least this one was potable, unlike the last one she tried to get you to drink.
“You’re late,” she said.
“Sorry, I was packing.” You had to yell over the clash of noise between you. “Do you know how hard it is to pack winter clothes? I have, like, three suitcases. Full.”
Nat laughed. “Excited much?”
You slammed your bottle of beer down on the counter like an inebriated judge making a ruling. “I’m actually not going to go.”
“To your grandparents’ 60th anniversary?” Nat arched her brows.
“Yes. Think about it.” You sat up straighter. “I’m alone with my family in the mountains. I’m the only grandchild not in a relationship. We’re all there to celebrate love. My grandma tells me fourteen times that she had two kids by my age. Auntie Marnie will get wine drunk and ask why I’m not dating anyone when I’m such a catch. All the cousins will bring their partners and they’ll hold hands and make googly eyes at each other and kiss each other in the kitchen. Everyone will be so in love, and I’ll stick out like a sore thumb. And I can’t even bring you with me because you’re working. Ugh, this is going to suck.”
“I’m sure it won’t be that bad.” Nat took a swig of her beer.
“Didn’t I tell you about Sabrine’s wedding?” You knew you had. Your cousin’s wedding was sweet and intimate, and of course you were happy for her and Matt. But there were moments that sent you teetering toward something akin to an existential crisis. And the constant comments from your aunts, the snide remarks from your brother, and the oppressive sense of love in the air definitely did not help. Slightly buzzed in your aunt’s backyard the night before the ceremony, watching everyone declare their love in a thousand small ways (an easy brush of the hands, a fork of pasta held up like an offering, a future planned by spoken word), you couldn’t help but draw up your feet and stare at the stars like they had an answer for you.
Nat shrugged this off. “Then bring a date. There’s plenty of eligible bachelors in this bar right now.”
As if her words were a spell, a seaman tapped on her shoulder. Nat was in civilian clothes, so her high rank wasn’t visible to ward him off like on most other nights. She snapped around. Her teeth must have been barred because she sent him skittering into the crowd in record time.
“Oh yeah,” you sipped your drink, “plenty of eligible bachelors.”
“Shut up. I’m not the one leaving on a flight tomorrow morning, desperately lonely, heading for a fate as terrible as celebrating love.”
“Who’s celebrating love?” Jake appeared like a demon summoned straight from hell.
When Nat first introduced you to the Daggers, they had all been intimidating. But only Hangman had you on edge. You’d softened up to the guy in the years since, but you didn’t need him knowing about how “desperately lonely” you were. In fact, there was only one man in the world who you wanted to see less than Jake in that moment. And if Jake was there, it was only a matter of time before he was, too.
Nat tipped her beer toward you. “She doesn’t want to be the only single person at her grandparents’ 60th wedding anniversary this weekend.”
God. There he was. Popped up right as you expected – and dreaded. His loud Hawaiin shirt poorly concealed his heavily muscled arms. His aviators hung off his undershirt, and they rattled against his chest as he laughed at your predicament. You couldn’t even look at his face.
“I just know my family’s going to give me a hard time,” you said in panicked defense. “Even if they don’t mean to.”
Bradley draped an arm over your shoulder. He’d done it so countless times in knowing you, like it never fazed him. It probably didn’t. He did it to Hangman and Phoenix and Bob, too. However, you had never gotten used to the feel of his skin against your own. Your face got hot, and you hoped he couldn’t feel the sweat spreading under your shirt
He brought his mouth close to your ear to ensure you heard him over the ruckus of the bar. “Whatever your family says about you, just know that they’re right.”
You wriggled out from under his arm, and he doubled over laughing. So did Hangman and Phoenix.
“Don’t let him get under your skin,” Nat said after collecting herself.
You rolled your eyes. He was already under your skin. Had been from the moment you first laid eyes on him. Spread like an itch that was always there, but one you could never scratch.
“C’mon, let’s play some pool.” Jake vanished into the crowd, knowing the three of you would follow.
You had never been so thankful to be around the pool table, even though some nights you dreaded it. Every one of the Daggers could outplay you in pool; you always felt bad for whoever was unlucky enough to be your partner. And normally, you felt a little awkward when the conversation turned to work. Fighter jets and naval bureaucracy were not things you were well versed in, but that night, you were grateful for the work conversation to overshadow the conversation about your lack of a love life.
Unfortunately, when you and Nat were down three-nothing, somehow your love life took center stage again.
Jake sank the cue ball – such a rare occurrence the four of you stood still against the wave of bar patrons for a solid five seconds before you and Nat cheered.
“Nice going, Seresin.” Nat patted you on the shoulder. “Set her up real nice.”
Jake scoffed.
Bradley winked at you as you set the cue ball on the table. He mouthed good luck, and you – along with your chances of winning – were a goner.
You had a perfect opportunity to sink the ruby red 7 ball. You lined up your shot, pulled back on your cue stick, took a shallow breath – that did not calm your nerves – and completely missed. The cue ball jumped around the table, smacking into solids and stripes alike. Everyone leaned in as it collided with the 8 ball, sending it hurtling toward the corner. By some small miracle, it missed the pocket by a breath. Both the 8 and cue balls rolled to an unceremonious stop.
“Well, that could have been worse.” Nat sounded like she was trying to reassure herself.
“Jesus,” Jake said. “No need to worry about your boy troubles if this is how you play pool after two years of practice with the best.”
Your cheeks warmed. Usually, you could at least hold your own. Your partner would have to do a lot of heavy lifting, but they could count on you to sink a few balls. At the very least, they could count on you not to do whatever the hell that just was. You could feel everyone staring, Jake’s mishap long forgotten. You could especially feel Bradley’s gaze on you. It was hotter in the bar than when you first arrived. You crossed your arms over your chest, rubbing a thumb against the sticky skin of your upper arm.
“Don’t you think she should just bring a date to the anniversary?” Nat asked the two other aviators as Bradley lined up his shot. “That would keep her family off her back.”
You dug your nails into your skin to keep from lunging at her over the pool table.
Hangman grinned, his teeth flashing against the neon lights. “Sure. Any luck with those dating apps?”
“Ha ha,” you said. “It’s no use. Besides the fact that they suck ass, my plane leaves at 8:30 tomorrow morning.”
Bradley sank two stripes in one shot. Before taking another, he gestured around the bar. “And these fine men don’t meet your standards? They are members of the American Armed Forces, after all.”
“I’m not taking a stranger on my grandparent’s 60th anniversary trip, thank you.”
Bradley shrugged. He missed the 15 ball.
Nat leaned over to take her shot. She looked up at the boys, flashed a smile at you, then said, “What if she took one of the Dagger boys?”
Your hands flew to the edge of the pool table for support, otherwise, you might have gone down.
“What, should she take Bob?” Jake’s voice was laced with alcohol and utter delight in your misery. “He’d have a heart attack trying to keep up a ruse like that.”
Jake and Bradley shared a good laugh, only to be quieted when Nat went on a run and sank four solids before finally missing.
She straightened and used her cue stick to point at them. “Y’know, I was kind thinking about one of you two.”
Your blood just about froze solid in your veins. What the hell was Nat thinking? You’d rather die than spend a long weekend at Jake’s side – you just couldn’t bear a constant barrage of snarky comments and showboating. And you’d actually rather die than have Bradley at your side, touching you in his casual way, his shit-eating grin dawning under his mustache, and god forbid his winking.
Jake smirked. “Surely there are easier ways to ask us out.”
“Yeah, we don’t bite.” Bradley laughed. “Before I consider the offer, how nice is this cabin?”
You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, I’m dying to go out with the both of you. How could you see right through me?”
You prayed that no one could see right through you. Especially as your heart rate quickened when Bradley’s gaze settled on you, clouded with thought.
“Assholes,” Nat grumbled as Jake sank the rest of the stripes and the 8 ball in three easy shots. You two were down four-nothing.
Your night of drinking with Nat was ruined. You half-hoped Bob would pop up, offer to be your date, and whisk you away for a respectful and very platonic weekend. Your heart sank like the 8 ball when you remembered he was deployed for three months somewhere in the Indian Ocean.
Reality settled in and you figured you might as well get a good night’s sleep before braving the cold mountains and your family.
“I think I’m gonna head home.” You hugged Nat. “Sorry for being a shitty pool partner.”
“I wouldn’t expect any less of you.” She dropped her voice and whispered in your ear. “Sorry for pimping you out like that.”
You shook your head. As much as you had wanted the ground to swallow you, you appreciated her efforts to make your weekend less miserable. Even if she was a little out of line.
You said goodbye to the boys, gathered your purse and your jacket, and left. The noise of the bar melted into the cool, quiet night. You pulled out your phone and ordered yourself an Uber. A slight breeze chased away the sheen of sweat on your skin, and you allowed yourself a moment’s respite under the moonlight.
“Hey.”
You spun around. Bradley was standing there, his hands in his pockets.
“Hey.” Your voice was a little too loud. You’d been yelling all night over the noise of the bar, after all. “Did I forget something?”
“No. I just wanted to say sorry.” He smiled. “For teasing you about the whole no date thing.”
“Oh. Thanks, I guess.” Goosebumps raised on your arms.
“Y’know, I’ve never been to Tahoe.”
“Oh really?” You started to struggle on your jacket to fight the chill. Bradley held a hand out, and you gave him your purse so you could slip your jacket on easier. “Thanks. You’ve never been to Tahoe?”
“Nope.” He handed your purse back.
“Thanks,” you said again. “That’s a bummer. It’s beautiful, especially at this time of the year. A late snowstorm just rolled through, it should be a winter wonderland up there.”
“Well,” he took a step closer to you. “I was thinking. I’ve never been to Tahoe, you still need a date, I enjoy your company…”
You swallowed hard. Were you dreaming? “Bradley, my flight leaves early tomorrow.”
“So? I’ve got leave. I’m used to early mornings.” His smile was nearly blinding in the full moonlight.
“Did Nat put you up to this?” You tried to catch a glance of her through the large windows, but the Hard Deck was just too packed.
“A little. But to be honest, I didn’t need a lot of convincing. I think it could be fun.”
You fiddled with a button of your jacket, unable to look at him. Before you could think of an excuse to reject his offer, you blurted, “Pick me up from my place?”
“Of course. That’s what a good boyfriend does.” He pulled you in for a quick hug. A completely platonic, pat-on the back, ends-quick-as-it-started type hug. So why did your heart almost stop?
“I’ll book your ticket,” you said over the jackhammering beat of your heart. “You don’t have to worry about anything. Just be at my apartment at 6:00.”
Your Uber pulled up to the curb.
“I’ve gotta go.” You edged toward the car. “But, just – thank you so much. I know this is weird, but I really appreciate it.”
He winked. “Anytime.”
As you settled in the back of the Toyota Camry, you took a deep breath. What the hell did you just get yourself into?
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Hotter Than Texas | Part I
(unofficially: Brother's Worst Enemy)
Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x F!Reader
Alrighty y'all, this is for everyone who has so patiently waited for me to make this a thing XD Not sure if I could squeeze a whole series out of this one but we shall see. Maybe at least a part 2. Enjoy!
Summary: Bradley Bradshaw is tasked with transporting a not-so-delicate package in the form of Jake Seresin's baby sister, who turns out to be Bradley's dream girl worst nightmare.
Aka it's a road trip, strap in.
CW: swearing, age gap (10 years)
The mission is simple. Collect Seresin Junior from the train station near the main gate of the base and deliver said cargo to the Seresin homestead in Eastern Texas on his way to Atlanta, Georgia for a long overdue visit with his grandparents. It isn’t rocket science. It sure as hell doesn’t hold a candle to the canyon run he pulled off just the other month. And yet, Bradley’s drumming his fingers anxiously on the hood of his Bronco as he leans into its frame, waiting on the trolley from downtown San Diego.
While Jake and Bradley have recently made peace after their longstanding cold war, Bradley isn’t exactly thrilled to meet another one of his kind. Besides, he isn’t one for small talk, and the prospect of spending the next two days with a complete stranger is downright daunting. He prefers music to conversation and he’s hoping that his road trip companion won’t be offended when he turns up the radio and forgets there’s anybody else in the car.
When Hangman had asked for the favor, he assured Bradley that he was his last choice – which wasn’t exactly a compliment, but Bradley appreciated the gesture, nonetheless. By the end of the term, there was nobody from their squadron left on base except Bradley, and he would be heading east anyway, might as well provide shuttle service while he’s at it.
As the trolley whistles into the station, Bradley pushes off his car and straightens his back, watching the tinted windows as they zip by, a blur at first and then gradually separating as the trolley comes to a stop.
Bradley leaves his car to walk around the fence, not quite sure how he’s going to be greeting a person he’s never before seen, but it’s not like he’s going to fashion a sign for the occasion. He sticks his hands into his pockets, the breeze picking up his unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt like a parachute before it starts whipping around his torso in the wind tunnel on the platform.
He glances around at the commuters stepping off the trolley, trying to pick out the blondes that might resemble his colleague, when he feels a tap on his shoulder. He turns his head, just as you say, “Rooster, right?”
He blinks at you, slightly disoriented. You look nothing like Hangman, thank fuck, because Bradley can’t take his eyes off you and, as inappropriate as this reaction is, it would make it that much worse if you did. He gives you a sideways grin. “What gave me away?” he says.
“My brother told me to find the dorkiest guy at the station,” you respond, grinning at him.
Bradley chuckles. “So, you’re walking to Texas, then,” he says, stepping around you.
You laugh, struggling to redirect the wheels of your suitcase.
Bradley bends down to grab the handle. “I can take that,” he says, tucking away the retractable bar and lifting it off the ground by the strap.
“Thanks,” you say, cringing slightly as Bradley lifts the luggage as though you’re embarrassed by its weight.
But after the countless exercise drills over the years, Bradley hardly notices that it’s heavy. In fact, he could probably carry it over his head. He eyes you inconspicuously as you fall in step with him, wondering if perhaps that might impress you – not that he wants to impress you.
“Actually, he said I couldn’t miss you because you’d be a head taller than everyone else, and probably wearing a very bright shirt.”
Bradley looks over at you with a grin. “Hopefully I didn’t disappoint?”
You eye his shirt flapping in the breeze. “I found you, didn’t I?”
Bradley lifts your suitcase into the trunk of his car and walks around to open your door for you.
You give him a suspicious look. “Thanks,” you say.
Bradley nods at you, offering a hand to help you in. Once you’re seated, he shuts the door behind you and exhales unsteadily the kind of sigh that often accompanies a guilty conscience. There’s no way he could possibly get entangled in a mess of this magnitude. And a colossal mess it would become if he were to develop any sort of soft spot for his recent enemy’s baby sister. Bradley, being a sensible, mature adult, understands this unequivocally. But, when he rounds the car and climbs into the driver’s seat next to you, the notion that he’s not allowed under any circumstances to find you attractive flies right out his rolled down window.
This is because you’re already tuning the radio like you own the place and because you smell like a goddess. Bradley has no clue whether it’s your hair or your perfume or your goddamn essence that’s permeated his upholstery in under ten seconds, but whatever it is, he certainly wouldn’t mind smelling it on his sheets in the morning.
Fuck. He’s fucking fucked.
“This alright?” you ask casually, as if you didn’t just hijack a stranger’s radio.
He cringes at the stereo; he’ll have to work on your taste in music. “Got your seatbelt on?” he asks as he pulls out.
You turn around in your seat and pull on the seatbelt.
Bradley promptly hits the breaks and you lurch forward slightly, the seatbelt in your hand getting stuck on its way out. He looks over at you with an air of seriousness despite the small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “The seatbelt should be the first thing you do when you enter a vehicle.” Not fiddle with the radio, he adds silently.
You raise your eyebrows at him in amusement. “Okay, dad.”
Bradley nearly shudders at your response. He’s probably a good ten years older than you, so, really, while dad might be stretching it, you’re not too far off. “Keep up that attitude and you’ll be listening to Metallica the whole way home.”
You smirk at him. “I like Metallica, so joke’s on you, bud.”
Bradley starts driving again. “If you like Metallica, then why are we listening to this trash?”
Your jaw drops and you reach for the volume dial to turn up the song. “How dare you?”
Bradley rolls his eyes. Something tells him he’s in for a wild ride.
…
About two hours later, Bradley pulls into a small gas station just past the border into Arizona.
“Want something to eat?” he asks, leaning across the console to pop his glove compartment and pull out his wallet. “Or drink?”
You purse your lips. “I could go for a coffee.”
“How do you like it?” he asks.
“With a pinch of salt.”
Bradley gapes at you. “I can’t tell if you’re joking.”
You snort. “I’m not joking. You should try it! Cuts the bitterness in half, my friend.”
Bradley cringes. “The bitterness is why I drink it.”
You shake your head and declare wisely, “You’ll see.”
“That you’re a nutcase?” Bradley mutters under his breath as he exits the car. He jogs over to the convenience store, determinedly blocking out the seductive quality of your persuasive tone. You could probably convince him to drink a pint of his own urine if you set your mind to it.
Bradley drums impatiently on the counter, waiting for the clerk to finish restocking one of the shelves with chips. While he’s waiting, he glances out to check on you as if you’re a child under his charge. You’ve stepped out of the Bronco to stretch your legs and Bradley doesn’t like the way the two guys in the convertible in behind are eyeing you.
Bradley cranes his neck to check on the clerk’s progress and lets out a stifled sigh. When he looks back outside, he sees that one of the men has approached you and, well, Bradley isn’t about to wait to see what happens next. He drops a bill on the counter and calls out, “Keep the change,” to the clerk before practically slamming his way through the doors with the coffees in his hands.
Why it bothers him that some random dude might want your number is not of consequence. What matters is that Bradley gets rid of this asswipe before you start enjoying his company.
He strides confidently past the man chatting you up and stops right in between you and him, handing you a coffee.
“Careful, it’s hot,” he cautions moodily, not entirely sure how to go about handling a situation in which, objectively speaking, he has no real authority.
You meet his gaze with a small smile. “You don’t say,” you respond with all the sultriness of a blazing, desert sun.
Bradley’s gaze remains unwaveringly on you as he unhooks a pair of Ray-Bans from the neck of his muscle shirt and slides them over his eyes. “Ready to go?” he asks in a level tone, hoping he can avoid what is bound to be an unpleasant interaction with the man still standing behind him.
“Sorry ‘bout that,” the man speaks up. “Didn’t realize you were with someone, honey.”
Bradley keeps his eyes on yours for several moments longer, trying his best not to show the irritation he feels at the way this rando just called you ‘honey’. Reluctantly, he turns to face him, wondering what in the world he could say that wouldn’t make him sound jealous as fuck.
But before Bradley could speak, you slide casually into his side, leaning on him like it’s the most natural thing. “That’s just fine,” you say to the man. “No harm, no foul.”
Bradley looks down at your head as it nestles into his shoulder and then lifts his arm to let you move in closer. Trying to play it cool, he skims the tips of his fingers across your lower back, which is warm and feels like the perfect place to rest his hand.
Convertible guy promptly departs, and Bradley is left standing in an embrace with the one person on the entire planet for whom he should never catch feelings, at a derelict gas station on the outskirts of arid Yuma, Arizona, and the heat is really starting to get to him. Slowly, you start to peel yourself away and Bradley, sensing your withdrawal, drops his hand and recoils from you like you’ve burnt him.
Did it feel nice pretending you were his girl? Sure did. Is he going to erase it from his memory and never let himself so much as shake your hand again? Absolutely.
Tag List
I’ll be tagging the rest in the comments probably tomorrow!
@joaquinwhorres
@katiemcrae
@sehnsuchts-trunken
@toomuchfluffs
@wintercap89
@lonelywitchv2
@callsign-jupiter
@rosiahills22
@olliepig
@coffeeaddictedmay
@boringusername3
@ratedtvpg
@mak-32
@annedub
@jules-1999
@black--lightning
@j-velvet
@xoxabs88xox
@cyanide-cryptid
@callsignvenus
@artemissunn
@gcldtom
@atarmychick007
@callsign-sunshine
@shanimallina87
@birdy-bat-writes
@wkndwlff
@chaosmxlcolm
@iminlovewithenchilidadas
@daniibzz
@avis15
@valhallavalkyrie9
@ijustwantedplums
@hal3ynicol3
@avengersfan25
@hallecarey1
@nik2blog
@kpopgirlbtssvt
@lilianashomaresparza
@lovingperfectionsblog
@bblpbb
@Elenavampire21
@SometimesAnAlice
@risingtripletaurus
@adaydreamaway08
@mattyskies
@desert-fern
@catsandbooksandstuff
@Topguncultleader
@avengers-fixation
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Sneak Peak: Shower Time
Here is a Sneak Peek for my first ever Tumblr Smutty Oneshot, Shower Time!
Summary: Walking into the wrong place, at the wrong time, seems to work out in Rooster's favor for once. In which some private time in the shower turns into something far better.
Warnings: Smut, Masturbation, Sex in Public, Oral Sex, Shower Sex.
Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x FemalePilot!Reader (no major descriptors given)
x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x
You were oblivious to the fact that Rooster was even there. The tension and flirting from the last week and a half had driven you crazy all night, till you found yourself at the gym on base at 5:30 am, trying desperately to let off some steam. It almost worked too, until Bradley Bradshaw himself of all people walked in, and before long was glistening with sweat, his breath coming out in hard short bursts. All you could think about was seeing him like this but in a completely different setting, with far fewer clothes, and instead of lifting weights, he’d be lifting you up.
It became too much when paired with all of the heated looks between your two, and so you bailed back to the locker room, planning on taking a very long, icy cold, shower before training.
You didn't know how you ended up here, getting yourself off to the same dirty thoughts that you'd had while watching him work out. You did know two things though: First, you desperately needed a release, and two, you were almost there.
“Want some help with that, honey?”
Fuck.
#bradley bradshaw x reader#bradley rooster bradshaw#bradley bradshaw#rooster x reader#rooster top gun#top gun#top gun fanfiction#top gun maverick#rooster bradshaw#tgm#top gun imagine#top gun fandom#bradley x reader#rooster x you#rooster fanfiction#rooster fic#rooster fluff#bradley bradshaw imagine#bradley bradshaw fanfiction#bradley bradshaw fic#bradley bradshaw x female reader#bradley bradshaw x you
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The Odyssey | 1.2 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader
Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist
Bradley just can’t keep his hands, or his thoughts, to himself. People are starting to notice.
Warnings: enemies to lovers, power imbalance (professor / student relationship), age gap (22 / 33), swearing, infidelity, making out, smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, handjobs, cum, bradley dislikes her fiancé, deception, also inaccuracies in the timeline of Pompeii and the telling of Greek mythology, very brief allusion to SA at the very end, 18+ minors dni, wc: 7.5k
…
“So there are rumours in the city that Psyche is the second coming of Venus, or the daughter of Venus — something like that. But, Venus — Aphrodite — sends her son Cupid — Eros — to shoot Psyche with an arrow to make her fall in love with something hideous.”
You’ve read stories like this before.
“He scratches himself with the arrow, and falls in love with Psyche the second that he sees her. But Psyche’s two sisters are married already, and no one seems to want to marry Psyche, so her dad starts to think they’ve incurred the wrath of the gods. He consults the oracle, and is told that Psyche is going to be married to this hideous, terrifying dragon-creature.”
“Ew.” You scoff.
He snorts. “This part of the story is where it gets kind of interesting. The oracle says that she is to be left on a cliff for her new husband, and they send her there in her funeral attire. Death and marriage become just the one central theme of being a total transition into the unknown.”
You’re quiet against him. He pauses. The ugly lampshade seems drawn to the rock on your finger, making it twinkle in the light.
“Anyway, Zephyrus — which is the god and personification of the Westerly wind, which is the most favourable of — I’ll explain it another time. Zephyrus gets Pysche ready to meet her fated match, and sets her in a meadow, where she falls asleep. She falls asleep in this perfect place, and wakes up transported to a kind of grove.”
You rise and fall with his chest as he sighs.
“Then, she finds this incredible house, with big golden columns, a carved ceiling and silver walls embossed with wild animals, and mosaic floors,” Bradley glances down at your fingers toying with the buttons on his shirt. He squeezes your waist. “And a voice comes out of nowhere telling herself to make herself at home, and she’s presented with a great feast.”
“The dragon doesn’t sound so bad.” You mumble into his chest, drawing a breathy chuckle from him.
“Well— she doesn’t trust him so easily. She’s impressed, but terrified. But, y’know, he’s her husband, and it’s technically their wedding night. So she lets herself be guided to her bedroom at night where she has sex in complete darkness, with something that she can’t see.”
“The dragon?”
“Well, he never lets her look at him. He always leaves before sunrise and doesn’t allow her to look at him. But she learns to like his visits, and becomes pregnant — in this version, anyway — but her family haven’t heard from her at all, so her husband allows Zephyrus to bring one of Psyche’s sisters to visit her.”
You’ve got plenty of opinions on what you have heard so far, but you keep them to yourself as Bradley continues with the tale.
“Her sister is jealous of how happy Psyche is, in this magical house, with her mysterious husband, you know? — So, she kind of reminds Psyche that he’s supposed to be this gross monster, who will kill the child when it’s born. She manipulates Psyche into wanting to know who her husband really is.”
“So, one night after her husband has fallen asleep, Psyche finds an oil lamp and a dagger — to find out if her husband is a monster, and to kill him if he is,” Bradley shifts his hips, stiffening as you sit forwards and press a soft kiss to the glimpse of his chest under his shirt. “And um… well, she sees him and he’s beautiful. Incredible. She’s so happy. But, she spills oil from the lamp on his skin, and he knows that she has betrayed him by looking, so he leaves her.”
“Why was he so against her seeing him if he was so beautiful?” You sit up and turn around, barely noticing as Bradley catches hold of your knee. He tugs it over his lap and pulls you across him, sitting you against his middle.
“Because he defied his mother by not making her fall for something disgusting. Aphrodite wouldn’t have allowed them to be together,”
“Oh, I understand.” You confirm, resting your hands against his stomach.
“So first, Psyche sees the god Pan. He recognises how in love she is, and she recognises his divinity. Then, she starts to walk the world looking for her love. She starts by going back to her sisters and telling them what happened, but they’re both pissed that her husband was Eros. So, both sisters try to offer themselves as a replacement to him by climbing the rock face and casting themselves to Zephyrus, but they both fall to their deaths.”
You frown, which seems to spark amusement in him. He gives you a calm shrug and tugs at your hips, making you flinch as the cold metal of his belt touches the warm skin of your inner thigh.
“So, Psyche keeps on wandering, looking for Eros. She comes across the temple of Ceres, and finds all of these offerings that are thrown everywhere and — it’s a mess. So she organizes it all, because offerings to the gods shouldn’t be neglected, and Ceres appears to her. Psyche begs her for help, and Ceres acknowledges that she needs it, but can’t offer any help because she can’t go against a fellow goddess.”
You shift uncomfortably, pushing away from his belt and settling against his thigh instead.
“Um… right, so after Ceres, the same thing happens at the Temple of Juno, and Psyche realizes that she has to pledge herself to Venus. This is what Venus wanted all along, right? — So, she turns Psyche over to her two Handmaids, Worry and Sadness, for her to be tortured. They ruin her clothes, and hurt her, and mock her for conceiving a child in a sham marriage.”
Your face creases, frowning back at him.
“Venus leaves her with this huge mass of different grains, and demands that they’re all sorted into different heaps by dawn. But a little ant takes pity of Psyche, and assembles a fleet to complete the task for her. We also find out around this point that Eros is in the same house, recovering from a wound, but he doesn’t know that Psyche is there.”
His hands bracket your thighs, and they have been since he sat you in his lap. Watching his Adam’s apple rise and fall with every word, your lips twitch at the corners as you think of the other day in the library. His lips on your neck.
“At dawn, Venus sets her a second task. She has to cross a river, and fetch golden wool from an untameable, aggressive sheep on the other side. Well, Psyche’s heartbroken and worn down by this point, so she plans to drown herself in the river, but she is saved by a reed and gathers the wool caught on the briars of it.
He can see it on your face that you’re up to something, but he pauses to let you kiss him anyway. Soft, and slow. His hands grabbing firm at your waist.
His lips graze yours, his nose brushing your cheek as he continues on with Pysche’s tale, fingers curling into the pale pink chiffon.
“For her third task, Venus gives her this little crystal vial and sends her to collect the black water from the river Styx. So, Psyche climbs the cliff face to get to it, and as she does,” Bradley is interrupted mid sentence as you press forwards and kiss his mouth once more, then the corner of his lips. He hums softly and tries to recapture his train of thought. “She’s attacked by the dragons that surround it — Jupiter himself takes pity on her and sends his eagle to protect her from the beasts and collect the water.”
Your nose brushes the curve of his jaw, soft lips parted just enough to tickle his skin with your cool breath right before you close them around his pulse point and suck.
He’s holding your hips, nice and steady — he could pull you back and stop you, but he doesn’t. His long fingers dig into the meat of your thighs.
“Keep going, what happens next?” You urge him, pushing lightly at his chest and pressing another longing kiss to the length of his throat. Your fingertips slip under the unbuttoned top of his shirt, skimming the flushed skin underneath.
He swallows, leaning his head back against the wooden headboard. You gasp softly as he squeezes firmly at your waist and lifts his hips from the bed.
“So, for the last trial, Venus sends her to the underworld to collect a dose of beauty from Proserpina, the queen of the underworld,” He’s painfully aware that his voice has grown thick and that he’s blushing like a kid, and suddenly the details of the story seem a little bit blurrier. Then, your tongue dips out from between your lips and wets the spot you had just kissed — exactly the way he does.
“Christ.” He chokes out, letting his head fall forwards to rest against your shoulder. “Do you get off on trying to make me cum in my pants or something?”
It’s at that point that he remembers exactly who he is speaking to, and how you’ve reacted to this kind of profanity before. Nose wrinkled, he’s wincing as he pulls back to look at you again.
You’re smiling. Well, biting at your cheeks in an effort not to, but smiling nonetheless. Your nose is wrinkled too, like you’re trying not to like the idea quite as much as you do.
“Oh, you do.” He scoffs.
“No, I just…” You huff and then shrug, glancing down at that loose button on his shirt. He watches your fingers toy with it absently, painfully aware of how his straining cock is wedged against his thigh. “Hadn’t really thought about myself being sexy before. I mean you’ve given plenty of people orgasms, right?”
He knows better than to answer that question, so he just stares back in response.
“I don’t think I’ve ever come close.” You tell him.
His hands feel electric as they skim under that pretty pink dress, a twinkle in his eyes and a slight quirk to the right corner of his mouth. “Now who’s thinking too much, huh?”
With that, he kisses you. The deep and dirty kind as he presses forwards and grabs hold of the back of your neck. Every time, the surprise gets you and makes you part your lips. His tongue dips into your mouth as he pushes his hips off of bed and into yours. Only, this time, whatever he does has you making the sweetest little sound.
Right against his mouth too, a pleased little mewl. He groans right back onto your lips, fingertips trailing over the fabric of your underwear all of a sudden. You had been too distracted to even notice them creeping their way up your thigh.
Heart racing, your fingers skim into the curls at the nape of his neck, eyes locked on him. Swallowing hard, you glance down towards his just parted lips and catch sight of your lipstick printed faintly on the side of his neck. A beat passes where he just watches you studying his lips, waiting for you to kiss him.
Finally, you lean forwards and your cushioned lips are on his once again. Pouted and oh, so gentle. His fingers curl at the back of your neck, his nose bumping yours as he takes lead and lets you sink into the feeling of him.
Even with the thin linen of his shirt, and the slight crack in the window to the left of the bed, Bradley hasn’t ever felt quite so hot.
“Can I feel you?” He asks against your mouth, trailing the pad of his thumb across your clit through the thin fabric of your underwear.
“If I can feel you.” It’s not an exactly well thought-through plan, you don’t have the logistics of it figured out, but he’s kissing feverishly across your face and, what with it pressing into your thigh, there’s only one thing on your mind.
“I can’t, baby—“
“It’s just touching.” The second that the words are out of your mouth, you’re struck with a strange kind of deja vu. Not here, not with him. An outer body kind of thing. Either way, you aren’t left with much time to think about it as Bradley dips forwards and captures your mouth once again.
You let yourself fall with him, even with little choice once he wraps you in his arms, and he turns the two of you until you’re on your back and he’s between your legs.
This is exactly what got you so worked up earlier, so afraid. It feels so right to be moving in sync with him like this, your hands, your mouths, your bodies. His weight pressing into your stomach and his thick arms bracketing your body, engulfing you in him.
As he nips and rocks and caresses, you’re happy. It couldn’t possibly be wrong if it just feels this easy. His blue jeans are tented, straining against the pink of your dress, his shirt untucked and messy.
It’s like the two of you think of his shirt at once, as he props himself up with one hand and tears open those already loosely attached buttons with the other. All the while, his mouth is hot on yours, deep, soft sounds spilling from his lips.
He pulls it swiftly off of his shoulders and drops it haphazardly onto the floor, then there’s a pause. He’s sitting back on his ankles, both of you struck with the same thought once again. His gaze falls down to your dress.
“Should… Do you want me to take it off?” You figure, bringing your hands up to cover your chest, still blinking at his freshly exposed skin. Wide, angled shoulders, sitting square and rising and falling heavily with each breath. His skin taut with muscles, but without the definition of a man who keeps them for an ego boost. Tanned skin, dusted with light brown hair.
“I want you to,” He gives a slow nod of his head. “But I can work around it.”
“No, okay… I can take it off,” You lift one hand to stop him and swiftly tear it back the second that it touches his bare stomach. “Just— give me a second— the zipper—“
Bradley hooks one arm under your hips, and the other under your back, hugging you swiftly to his body and covering you with his weight. You squeak quietly as his fingers curl around the zipper and his lips work feverishly across your jaw.
The zipper barely whines as he pulls it slowly along the length of your spine, feeling the material go loose between the two of you. His mouth follows the sound south, feverish at your neck and down to your clavicle.
Squeezing your eyes tight shut, you let you shoulders relax and the material fall slack, giving his hands the freedom to tear it off and discard it like he had his shirt. Even so, the second that his warm mouth touches the centre of your chest, you push back into the pillows, scorched by the feeling.
“You want me to zip it back up?” Bradley asks coolly, one of his hands squeezing softly at your balled up fist. You hadn’t even noticed you were grabbing at the bedsheets like that.
“No, I just — — don’t want to watch when you see me.”
And that just about breaks his heart. He thinks back to the phone call he had that night in December, when Malcolm had finally picked up. Bradley had been standing beside your bed with that stupid plastic phone in his hand, keeping you on your side so that you didn’t choke if you puked — and that little shithead had answered laughing.
At first, Bradley had regretted threatening the little weasel. It could have cost him his career, especially if you had decided to flip the narrative on what happened in his car — luckily you hadn’t remembered that part. But god, hearing the arrogance and thoughtlessness, Bradley doesn’t regret threatening to knock some sense into that kid one bit.
And now, seeing what eight years of supposedly loving that kid has brought you to, he doesn’t regret what he’s about to do either. In fact, what he’s about to do might be a little bit to do with the fact that he would purposely like to spite your fiancé.
“Why don’t you want to watch?”
“I don’t know. In case you don’t like me.”
“Oh, I like you,” You hear him breathe out a chuckle as his hand reaches across yours, peeling your fingers off of the bedsheets and stroking his thumb across your relaxed knuckles. “C’mere. Feel.”
As expected, it works like a charm. Your eyes spring open so wide they look for a moment like they’re going to pop right out of your head. Heat spreads like wildfire, starting in the tips of your ears — it engulfs your face and your chest, spreading down your arms with no sign of stopping.
Sitting back on his knees, his chest bare and his shoulders squared proudly, he’s looking you right in the eye as he squeezes his hand around yours. Under your palm, still within the confines of his jeans, you can feel all of him, straining against the denim.
“Okay, but men get erections over ridiculous things sometimes—“ You reason as you pull your hand away from him. He lets it go instantly, but follows your hand away, planting his free hand into the pillow beside you and forcing you to lean back as he comes in close.
You think first of all that you’re ready for what he’s going to say. Then, he leans in closer. All the way past your face until his lips are grazing your ear.
“You want to know why I’m hard?”
“Mm.” You croak out, fingers once again balled into the sheets.
“I’m hard because I can’t stop thinking about how wet you were that night in Venice, and how you kissed me the next morning. You know you talk in your sleep?” His voice against your earlobe makes you shiver and pull back, frowning disapprovingly.
“I do not.”
“You do, baby — do you know how hard it is for a man to get a good night’s sleep when you’re whispering his name?” He turns his head towards your face and kisses your jaw softly, reaching out and grabbing at your hips. He tugs you just a bit closer and the dress falls just slightly. You let it go.
And before you know it, your fingers are curled into his hair, your legs are wrapped around his waist and he’s unhooking that pretty pink dress from your left ankle. The second that it’s off completely, his hands go for his belt. The leather clangs against the metal buckle and against the button on his jeans loudly as he fumbles to work it open one handed. His other hand cups your jaw. His thumb sits on your left cheek, his four fingers sit on your right, he holds your head straight as he sucks at the supple skin of your bottom lip.
“Fuck me…” Bradley mutters, his forehead inches from yours. Looking down between your two bodies, both of his hands abandon their previous posts and go for your middle. Instinctively, you lift your knees, hunching forwards in an attempt to cover yourself. “Stop, honey, let me see.”
“You’ve seen plenty of women.” You remind him, crossing your arms over the unlined, unremarkable, comfortable bra covering your chest.
Bradley teeters on the edge of being amused or upset by your comment. You’re nervous. He’ll give you that one. He looks up at you as he crouches between your legs, “So, I know what I’m talking about, huh?”
With that, he leans down and presses his lips to your stomach, right below your belly button.
“I could look at you all day.” He tells your skin, without looking up from his onslaught of delicate kisses, his fingers walking along the curve of your waist and back down again to your hips. As his hands skim down to your thighs, he takes note of just how much you’re trembling. Finally, he lets his lip graze the waistband of your underwear.
If he was being really truthful, and if he wasn’t holding back, he would’ve popped open the clasp on that bra about a minute and a half ago. Bradley has seen just about every kind of underwear there is to see, and his favourite has always remained the same.
There’s quite simply no better alternative to naked. His mouth works along your navel, headed straight for the apex of your thighs, and he thinks to himself that he couldn’t care less about what kind of underwear you’re wearing, until he sees it.
He’s on his front, face to face with the pink underwear with an embroidered Wednesday across the front. It is, indeed, Wednesday.
“These,” He rubs softly at each of your hips, pressing a wet kiss to the embroidery. “Are very cute.”
“Oh my god, no—“
“But I want them off.”
That’s what that look in his eyes is. You get it now, as he curls his fingers into the sides of your underwear, and it makes your stomach erupt into butterflies. The last time he took your underwear off, he didn’t get that good of a look — this time, you’ll be naked. But, he still has you nodding dumbly at him.
“Wait — yours too.” You realize.
Bradley nods his head, gently guiding the pink underwear down your legs. He’s not looking at your face. He’s practically salivating. “I will. I just want a taste.”
He lifts your legs upwards, slipping the panties off of your ankles, dropping them to the bed and grabbing the backs of your thighs. Legs pressed together and pushed back toward your abdomen just slightly, you can’t quite see his face, but your skin is hot with the knowledge of exactly what he’s looking at.
There’s a moment before you feel anything at all, where you know that he is just staring. It takes everything in your power to make yourself keep still, not squirm away, to not say something stupid.
Then, you feel his fingers right there, trailing through your excitement, examining exactly how you’re feeling about him. You turn your face sharply to the left, aiming for the respite of hiding it in a pillow. But next, he sits forwards and grabs your hips, lifting them off of the bed and bringing you to his mouth.
Right as your heart feels like it’s about to burst out of your chest, you feel his lips on you, kissing softly, following mostly the same pattern his fingers had. The tip of his nose bumps your clit as he flattens his tongue and licks upwards until he’s at that sensitive bundle of nerves.
But he doesn’t stay there. With how you’re trembling against him, he knows better than to overstimulate you. The last thing he wants is to make you cry on your second time at this. His mouth turns towards your thighs, sucking and kissing at random.
Your soft skin, bristled by his rough jaw. He can tell you’re trying so hard to sit still for him. You’re so polite when you want to be.
Then, he’s right back where he wants to be, his mouth presses firmly to your soaked core and he does the exact same thing once again. Familiarity is the easiest path to comfort. His tongue follows that slow, familiar stripe up to your clit and flicks softly at it. Then, he presses impossibly closer and wraps his lips around the sensitive bud, sucking softly.
“Oh—“ You squirm, trying to reach for his shoulders, your thighs pushing back against him.
Finally, he relents. You want to touch him and that joke about ruining these jeans is about to become a reality if he doesn’t do something soon. Your head spins as he moves between your legs and kisses at your mouth, eyes open and blinking as you taste yourself on his lips.
The sound of a zipper breaks through the surprise, eyes widening further as you watch him shove his jeans down his legs.
“Still with me?” Bradley checks, kissing the corner of your lips as his jeans hit the floor. You swallow softly, glancing down at him kneeling between your legs. He’s wearing loose fitted blue boxers — well, you imagine they looked more loose before. All that’s separating him from you is that thin cotton material.
“Mhm.”
“Still want to touch me? — Tell the truth, honey. That’s all I want.” Your eyes are closed, head tipped back as he sucks his way along your jaw. You nod weakly at him, wondering if you look half as wild as you feel.
“Yeah.” You follow his mouth, chasing his lips until he kisses you hard.
You lean in once again to kiss him the second that he pulls back, and then, blinking slowly at him, a fluttering erupts in your chest. Pride surges through your ribs and into your stomach as you take note of the darkened hunger and arousal in his expression.
“But you can’t laugh at me.” You breathe out, willing that funny feeling in your stomach to just go away so that you can focus.
Every single word that spills out of your mouth, Bradley gets that little bit closer to knocking your fiancé on his ass the second that the two of you are back at home. He wonders what this asshole possibly said to you to make you so timid.
“‘M not laughing.” Bradley answers you, his voice calm as his hands skim over your naked hips. He swallows softly as he reaches for his own boxers, settling down at your side as he pushes them down his legs.
Suddenly, you’re far from laughing too. Your mouth is dry as he lays down and pumps his hand once around the length of his dick. It sits just below his belly button, standing to attention, swollen and red. Impressive. Big, like the rest of him.
He tucks an arm under your waist and pulls you across the bed, into him. Your stomach presses into his length while his fingers curl around the curve of your ass, teasing that line between your thigh and your pussy.
“Can I have a kiss?” Bradley whispers, nudging at the tip of nose with his to guide your head back. He knows that’s where your confidence lies. You’re smiling softly as you dip forwards to kiss him, well within your comfort zone. “Thanks, honey. Can I have your hand?”
As he asks, his hand inches forward until you can feel him once again brushing through your excitement. Another slow kiss, sucking softly at your top slip as he pulls back.
The tip of his index finger swipes through gently, his throat thickening his voice with desire. Your hips push back, and the tip of his finger slides in with no resistance.
You press your lips together, presenting your open palm for him to use. Bradley pulls back to look at your surprisingly steady hand. With the hand that isn’t toying between your legs, he takes hold of it and brings it to his dick.
He knows there has to be some natural curiosity buried under all of those nerves, and he’s not into the idea of using you like a doll. He takes your thumb between two of his fingers, swiping it through the pearl of precum on his tip, and down toward his shaft. Then, he lets your hand go.
With the hand that’s between your legs, his finger presses in again, further this time, and you squeeze around him in response. You trail three fingers from the top all the way down to the base of his pelvis. It’s smoother than you thought it would feel. Fuller. Just… not what you were expecting, maybe.
With one finger inside of you, his others explore between your legs, the long digits easily reaching across your lips and stretching towards your clit. You tuck your head between his shoulder and jaw, cuddling close to his chest as your fingers sprawl across the soft, ridged skinned of his length.
It’s not the most comfortable for him, stretching his arm around you like this, but he’s so entranced in watching you touch him that he forgets to mind.
You gasp sharply as his finger presses deeper than before, curling into a spongy part of your walls. Bradley kisses the sound away, his free hand coming up to cup the side of your throat.
“Does that feel good?” He whispers against your lips, kisses growing eager as he pushes his hips forwards, rocking himself against your bare stomach. You squeak back, nodding your head at him.
“Can you show me what to do?” You’re both being so quiet, sharing breaths and whispering even though you’re just about as close as two people could possibly be. Bradley takes your hand again, at once he pulls his finger out of you and dips yours between your own legs. Reeling, you just watch as he circles your clit with your fingers, soaking them before pulling back.
By the time he wraps your hand around his cock, eclipsing it with his own, it’s plenty slick. He lifts it slowly, and drags it back down, pumping it a few times on his length.
“Just like that, little firmer — yeah — yeah, that’s good,” He murmurs, now able to reach back between your legs more directly. He captures your mouth into one of his specialty dizzying, open-mouthed kisses as he presses his middle finger back into you. “Fuck, you’re so, so wet.”
It occurs to him briefly that maybe he’s in too deep — if this is how his first attempt at trying to convince you to further your studies has ended. It doesn’t stop him in the slightest.
He slows his motions next, rocking his hips into your hand as his ring finger hugs his middle and toys at your entrance before easing into you. You gasp, wincing slightly.
“Shh, shh… does that hurt?” Bradley whispers, searching your face for answers as your hand stills around him.
“A bit.” You croak out.
“Come here, honey, just give it one second. Tell me if it hurts any more.” Your head drops back down to his chest as the rough pad of his thumb circles at your clit. Trusting his expertise, you put your attention into touching him instead, guiding your hand up and down along his length. He pants softly, his heartbeat thudding against your cheek.
Slowly, he starts to work his fingers into you, moving them just barely to accommodate you to the feeling. A gentle curl of the two digits has you crying out softly into his bare skin. His cock twitches in your hand in response.
It’s been a long time since he has felt so out of his depth. He’s afraid of stepping a foot out of line. He wants you to trust him. It’s why he hasn’t yet snapped open the clasp on your bra — he doesn’t want to grope at you like some animal and scare you off. Getting to that point seems like a long stretch away.
But, the way you exhale softly and lift your head to kiss at his neck calms his nerves just a bit.
As his fingers push in further together, spurred on by the needy mewling noises you’re making, Bradley suddenly remembers the throbbing in his dick.
A pleased moan spills from your swollen lips as you drag them across his collarbones and along the protruding vein in the side of his neck, your hand still loosely working at a steady rhythm around him.
“Faster.” He hums into your mouth, rocking his hips eagerly into your hand as he curls his fingers into you. You keen helplessly into the feeling, squeezing your palm tighter and doing exactly what he had. A simple up and down tug.
“God, you’re the sweetest fuckin’ thing.” He doesn’t swear with you often, and really you’re not much of a fan of men with dirty mouths usually — but this, the gravel and desperation spilling from his voice has you throwing yourself at him, rocking yourself onto his fingers. “Taking it so well.”
Your mouth hangs open, legs spreading wider apart for him to angle himself closer. Bradley studies the look on your face, breathing heavy, knowing that if he does see you in his classroom in September, he’s in big trouble.
He’s not sure how he’ll ever look at you again and not think of this wide-eyed, trusting expression on your face.
His free hand comes up to brush your hair back off of your forehead, not quite noticing the lovestruck way you’re watching him as your stomach starts to tighten and tremble. His lips press softly to your forehead, just above your eyebrow, and then your cheek, just below your eye.
“You’re perfect.” He whispers, smiling at the way it makes your mouth hang open in a rounder shape. Then, he leans in and sucks softly at your bottom lip. “How’s it feeling?”
You swallow through the dryness in your mouth, suddenly remembering to close it, then you try to nod at him. “Good.”
“Real good, or just good?” He nudges at the tip of your nose with his, fucking his hips into your hand as his skilled fingers drive the thoughts out of your head. Another slow, dirty kiss and it feels like you might just melt into him and become one if he does it again.
“Real good.” You whimper.
You’re hugging his fingers so tight that you wouldn’t even have to be touching him for him to still be on the verge of cumming already. He gasps and covers your hand with his, slowing it around his cock as his fingers continue into you relentlessly.
“Was — Did I hurt you?”
“The opposite.” Bradley reassures you, breathing hard as he starts to slowly guide your hand along him again. “You almost made me cum.”
Your eyes hurry open, right as something Bradley does makes you squirm right into him and gasp out loud. He watches you watching him, trying to see what you’re doing, what it looks like.
“Oh — mm, don’t… you want to?” Your other hand comes up to grab firmly at his thick shoulder as your eyes squeeze shut again. You can barely feel your legs. Bradley grunts softly in your ear, his thumb working firm circles around your sensitive clit.
“Not ‘til you do.”
Luckily for him, he doesn’t have to wait long. Well, really there is nothing lucky about it. His moves are tried and tested. Before you know it, you’re coming all over his hand, babbling against the hot skin of his neck as you try to find the right word. Legs trembling, you cling onto his shoulder as he rocks your other hand around his length.
You can feel how close he is, how close he wants to be to you. He’s practically engulfing you, turning his face towards your neck and groaning enough to make you wish he hadn’t ever stopped touching you.
“I’m gonna cum.” Bradley seems to realize at once that you probably aren’t going to like what’s about to happen. He kisses you hard as he untangles your fingers from his and takes over, pressing his weight into you, chasing his own high.
Grabbing firmly at your waist, he pulls you against him and breathes hard into the crook of your neck, making it unmistakable as he groans your name. You watch, lips parted, as he coats his hand in his release, the fluid dripping onto his taut, shaking stomach.
“God, fuck—“ Bradley pants, swallowing hard and letting his head fall back against the pillow. So much for trying to keep his hands off of you.
You push yourself up so that you’re sitting, curling your knees up to your chest, taking a moment to observe him while his eyes are closed. All golden skin and soft lines, broad and strong. If he existed all those years ago, someone certainly would have wanted to carve him out of stone too.
“So, how does that myth end?”
He hums in amusement from beside you as his blurred thoughts start to come back to him. He’d almost forgotten what you had both even been talking about. He swallows thickly and glances down at the mess he has made on his hand.
“They survive it all, and get married,” He answers simply as he pushes himself up from the bed and searches for something to clean himself with.
Making a trip to the shared bathroom on this floor would probably be frowned upon in his current state.
“Their baby in the story goes on to be Voluptas — she’s known as the goddess of sensual pleasures.” He settles on a hand towel that seems untouched, and wiping off his hand and his stomach, then his dick. He turns around and finds you staring at him like he grew an extra head.
Quickly, you stand up and look towards the window like you hadn’t been staring.
“They went through all that just for it to be fine in the end.” You muse, shaking your head slightly as you grab your pyjama set and step into them, buttoning the shirt over your bare chest.
Now clothed in his boxers, Bradley presses his chest into your back and mouths softly at your neck.
“That’s how it always goes, more or less, right?” He decides, closing his eyes finally, turning his face towards your hair. You hum quietly. There’s a soft pause as his hand brushes over your bare stomach under your pajama shirt and then grabs firmly at your waist again. He sighs. “I should go.”
There’s no way he’ll be able to sneak out of here in the morning. You’ve all got an early checkout and with everyone being on the same floor, he’s just asking to get caught sneaking out of your room.
You whine quietly and turn towards him.
“Really?”
“Unless you want to explain to the class exactly what I was doing in your room all night, baby, yeah.” He murmurs, kissing the top of your head. Despite your tired protests, you do let him leave without either one of you speaking about the line you have once again crossed.
He lets himself into his room, shirt barely buttoned, belt barely fastened. Luke is sitting upright with his back against the headboard of his twin bed, eating a packet of miniature cookies and watching an Italian dub of The Golden Girls.
They meet eyes, silent as the door clicks shut behind Bradley. It’s 3:45am. Luke hasn’t seen Bradley since they parted ways after the class dinner at 10pm.
“Hey, buddy.” Bradley mumbles, kicking his shoes off and already starting to unbutton his shirt.
“Hey.” Luke mumbles back, eyeing Bradley curiously. They haven’t spent much time together recently. Luke has noticed that he basically has the room to himself.
He scoops up a handful of the cookies and fills his mouth as Bradley strips out of his jeans. His head is turned strictly towards the staticky television, but his eyes peek quickly across at the lipstick mark on Bradley’s neck.
Again, Bradley doesn’t want to talk about it. He makes the most of his couple of hours of sleep and drags himself out of bed once again all too soon, packing his belongings for another day of travel. They make small talk as the two of them head down to the lobby.
Luke walks right ahead, greeting Robin’s tonsils with his tongue before he greets her verbally. Bradley strolls behind, dropping his bags to the floor and stretching his neck from side to side.
“So, what’s in Monteriggioni anyway, Brad?” Zoe asked, draped across the couch with her arms folded over her chest. She’s wearing a little pink tank top, looking at him over the top of a book she’s reading for him. This is the least hungover he has seen her in weeks.
“It’s a walled town — but we’re staying around forty minutes away from there.” He explains, dropping his sunglasses down onto the bridge of his nose.
“Where?” Abigail pipes up, sipping on a bottle of water.
“It’s someone’s house. He takes study assistants through the summer. Worked with him a couple of times.”
“You know so many cool people.” Zoe hums, turning her head and grimacing as she comes eye to eye with Luke’s hand groping at Robin’s ass over her levi’s cut offs. Bradley makes a soft sound of acknowledgement as he turns his head to see you giggling with Pasquale on the way into the lobby.
With his tongue finally out of Robin’s mouth, Luke cranes his neck to get a look at what it is Bradley’s smiling at. You. He turns his head to look at Robin, giving her a knowing look as he gestures for her to look over too.
“Alright, gimme your keys, let’s get out of here.” Bradley calls out to the group, walking around and taking the key from each person in the class. You take a seat on the edge of the couch that Zoe is laying across without greeting him as he heads up to the front desk to check out.
“Where do you go every night after dinner? — You just sit in your room or something?” Robin asks, leaning around her boyfriend. You lift your head and turn to look at her, immediately bristled by the smug little look on her face.
“Sometimes, other times I walk around a little.” You don’t owe her an answer and really, Pasquale wishes that you wouldn’t engage.
She makes a face, almost smirking, “All by yourself?”
“Oh, we have a message for this room. A young lady from New York called three times yesterday afternoon, we were trying to reach the occupant.” The receptionist realizes as she holds up your key. Bradley glances at the number, then back at you over your shoulder. He has to remind himself to call you your name.
You whip your head around at the sound of his voice across the lobby. You turn quickly back to Robin and she quirks an eyebrow at you.
Bradley frowns slightly at the furious look on your face as you storm across the lobby towards him and stand firm, “What?”
“You have a message — someone called you a couple of times yesterday. Call ‘em back so we can hit the road, I’m going to take everyone else outside to load up the van.” Bradley explains, glancing down at your outfit for the day. He likes those shorts on you.
“Oh, right. Okay.”
“You alright?” Bradley lowers his head slightly, trying to get a better look at your face.
“Fine.” You answer him, turning away as the receptionist hands you the phone, “Hello?”
“Where the hell have you been?”
“… Catherine?” You frown, plugging one ear and holding the phone closer to you. Your maid of honour gasps on the other end of the line, appalled that you now have to second guess the sound of her voice.
“Everyone has been looking for you! We didn’t know which hotel you were at, Malcolm said you hadn’t called in days!”
You frown, wrinkling your face at her. “Daddy’s credit card paid for the hotel.”
“Well, Mac didn’t ask your dad. I’ve been so worried. How are you doing over there?”
Even more so, your frown deepens. Malcolm adores your father. They get along just fine. There’s no reason why he wouldn’t usually ask your father — usually, he wouldn’t need to. They talk every day.
“Yeah, good. Just busy and stuff, we’re traveling a lot. We have to get on the road in a second. I guess calling just slipped my mind.” You spent last night in another man’s arms and your fiancé was worried sick about you. You glance towards the door, watching Bradley laughing through conversation with Luke and Abigail outside. He doesn’t seem fazed in the slightest.
“I’m glad you’re doing okay over there. I miss you. So, you and Mac are good, then, right?”
“Miss you too, but yeah, of course.” You mumble, propping your hand against your chin.
“Good. He mentioned you kind of cornered him about that fight at my end of semester party. I’m really glad you two figured that out. I thought for a second you two were going to break up over it when I first saw him on top of you like that.”
Bradley turns around and bends his neck to look at you across the lobby, his smile fades, brows furrowing slightly as he watches you press your finger harder into your ear and turn quickly away.
“Wait… Cath, what?”
…
Tags: @thedroneranger @batdanceq @cassiemitchele @himbos-on-ice @wkndwlff @bradshawsbaby @damrlova @fudge13 @xoxabs88xox @mak-32 @sihtricswife @callsignvenus @callsign-joyride @harper1666 @krismdavis @sheisanangell @sugarcoated-lame @kmc1989 @cherrycola27 @ahoyyharrington
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Pink Christmas Part 1 | Rooster x Reader
Summary: Flying in the annual holiday air show dressed as Santa Claus was just something Bradley considered to be part of his job. But when he meets an inquisitive little girl and her beautiful mom, suddenly he wants to make all of their Christmas wishes come true. The only problem is, your daughter actually believes he's Santa, and he's not sure how he's going to keep up the charade when he wants to pursue you as just Bradley.
Warnings: Fluff, language, single mom reader, mentions of loss of spouse
Length: 8000 words
Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female single!mom Reader
Pink Christmas masterlist. Check out my masterlist for more! Banner by @mak-32. Written for @bellaireland1981 Winter RomCom Challenge
You sat on a beach towel in the grass with your face tilted up toward the warm sun and your five year old daughter on your lap. Never would you have imagined wearing short sleeves and enjoying this kind of warmth in December, but your life had turned unpredictable in the past twelve months. And that included leaving a city that was currently buried in snow for the perpetual summer of southern California.
"Mommy! Look!" your daughter shouted unnecessarily loudly, making you laugh. She turned around with wide eyes to make sure you were looking where she was pointing as she adjusted her pink noise canceling headphones. "It's Santa!"
You slid her headphones off since it wasn't loud at the moment, and you looked out across the runway at the Miramar Air Show to see a tall pilot dressed as Santa Claus walking toward his fighter jet with a group of other pilots dressed as elves right behind him. "I see him," you told her, kissing her cheek as she bounced with excitement. "It looks like he's going to fly one of the airplanes."
"Why does Santa have an airplane?" she asked. "And where are his reindeer? And why are the elves getting in airplanes, too?"
You were saved from having to answer her questions as the aircraft engines fired to life for the finale of the show, and you put her ear protection back in place before putting your own earplugs back in. Honestly, you didn't know how to explain to your child who still believed in the magic of Christmas why Santa was taking off in a jet that said ROOSTER on the side of it. Frankly there were a lot of things you didn't know how to explain to her.
She clapped her hands when the jets swooped overhead in an impossible looking formation before looping back around and doing it again. Your heart melted as you watched her wave to the lead jet and shout, "Hi, Santa!" The planes roared overhead and shot upwards before coming back one by one to the land on the runway with such incredible looking ease.
When she whipped her headphones off herself this time, your daughter jumped to her feet with a huge smile on her face. "Let's go talk to Santa," she said, reaching back for your hand.
But you already had your eyes glued on the pilot who quickly replaced his helmet with a white beard and Saint Nick hat. You couldn't help but watch him, enjoying that distant glimpse of him before he went into full Santa character again. He looked tall and strong as he climbed down the ladder in his bright red flight suit, and you had to look away as you felt the heat rise in your cheeks. He waved to everyone in the crowd, and it felt like he was waving right at the two of you.
"Mommy!"
You knew she wasn't going to be deterred from this mission, so you got to your feet and let her tug you along as you tried to fold the towel one handed. "Sweetheart, Santa and his elves might be too busy to talk to us right now," you warned her as the group of six elves in bright green flight suits started fist bumping Santa Claus. And your steps faltered, because Santa somehow just got more attractive the closer you got.
------------------------
"Who let you be Santa anyway?" Jake asked, tugging on his red and green striped hat with enormous elf ears attached to the sides. "This elf bullshit is a damn disgrace."
"I volunteered to be Santa before the rest of you got a chance. Do I look like I'd make a good elf?" Bradley asked, and Jake rolled his eyes. "No. I do not." He was the tallest one in the group, and luckily he was able to sweet talk Maverick into letting him be the one to don the beard and the red flight suit for today's Miramar for the Holidays event they all volunteered to fly for.
"Maverick should have mixed things up and made me Santa," Nat said with her chin in the air.
"But you're the cutest little elf I've ever seen," Bradley told her, earning a smack on the back of his arm from her helmet. "Ow!"
"Wait, are we complaining?" Mickey asked. "I like being an elf. And apparently we get free food and hot cocoa in the volunteers tent."
"Oh, shit. Really?" Reuben asked, craning his neck to look toward the tent in question.
Bradley was about to remind everyone that they were obligated to pose for photos with kids when he heard a voice calling out, "Santa! Hey, Santa!" He turned toward the four foot tall chain link fence as an adorable little girl dragged a grown woman in his direction.
"Hey guys, we got company," he told the others as he adjusted his white beard and red hat. When he waved toward the child, she squealed in delight, and Bradley couldn't help but laugh. As she and the woman he assumed was her mom approached the fence, Bradley leaned on the top of it.
"Ho, Ho, Ho! What's your name, Kiddo?" he asked her with a bright smile. But his gaze inadvertently shifted to how gorgeous you looked as you held her hand, and he gave you a wink. He wouldn't mind learning your name, too.
But the little girl was eyeing him skeptically. "Shouldn't you already know my name? My mom said I'm on the nice list!" she exclaimed, gesturing up toward you.
Oh. Shit. "Uh, well, you see..."
Luckily you bailed him out with an apologetic look. "Ellie, don't be rude to Santa. He probably didn't update our names to our new address yet."
"Oh. Yeah," Bradley said, nodding in agreement and smiling. "Of course now I recognize you, Ellie. And your mom, too. Rest assured, you're both on the nice list."
But the girl wasn't convinced. "Why aren't you fatter?"
You brought your hand up to cover your face and groaned as Bradley laughed. "I needed to be able to fit in my jet."
"Why do you have a jet? Where's your sleigh?"
Bradley jerked his thumb toward the others milling around behind him. "My elves and I are trying out our jets this year. Something new."
"What about your reindeer?" she asked, undeterred. You were looking at Bradley and half smiling, half grimacing as you mouthed I'm sorry. But he didn't mind at all. Ellie was keeping him on his toes.
"Uh... they have the year off, per their union contracts. You certainly have a lot of questions, Ellie."
She nodded up at him with her hands on her hips. "I just want to make sure you're the real Santa. I've seen a lot of impostors at the mall."
Bradley had to stifle his laughter as you said, "I had no idea she was going to be like this. I'm so sorry, Santa."
"It's fine," he reassured you, noting that you weren't wearing any rings before he returned his attention to your daughter. "Okay, Ellie. What's it going to take for you to believe I'm really Santa?"
Her brow scrunched as she contemplated his question, and Bradley used the time to check you out. It was useless, he knew that, since he looked like an idiot in his fake beard at the moment. But damn, you were pretty. And your daughter was like a tiny, inquisitive version of you.
"Well," Ellie said with a little smirk, "you should know how old I am if you're the real Santa."
You quickly held your hand up over her head to help him out, and he counted your fingers. "Of course I know that you're five years old."
Ellie's eyes softened a bit as she said, "That's right! And what's my favorite color?"
This time you juggled the items you were holding and lifted up a set of noise canceling headphones. "That's easy," Bradley replied. "I know you love pink."
Now Ellie was smiling up at Bradley as she said, "And if you still need to update our new address, then you must know where we moved here from."
Bradley glanced up to see you pretending to shiver and rub your hands along your arms. "You moved here from somewhere cold."
"That's right!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands. "It's you! You're Santa!"
"It's really me," Bradley said, sending her a wink and nodding at you as you bit your lip and grinned. "And don't you worry, I'll have my elves take care of getting your new address straightened out. But first, I need you to prove that you're the real Ellie."
She nodded in excitement. "Ask me anything!"
"What grade are you in?"
"Kindergarten," she said, eyes filled with joy.
"Yep, that's right. Only the real Ellie would know that." You were laughing now, and Bradley loved the way it sounded. "And what's your favorite animal?"
"Pandas!"
"Mmhmm," he hummed, pretending he was impressed that she was passing this quiz with flying colors. "I'm almost convinced it's really you."
"Seriously," she told him. "Ask me anything, because I'm sure I'm not an impostor."
Bradley glanced up at you and smirked before leaning on the fence again, and then asked Ellie, "Tell me, Kiddo. What's your mom's name?"
She blurted it out immediately, and Bradley committed it to memory. When he looked up at you again, your gaze was focused on the ground, but you looked pleased if not a little sad. He wanted to know why.
"Would the two of you like to come in here and look at the North Pole jets?" he asked, and Ellie started bouncing up and down immediately.
"We don't want to waste any more of your time, Santa," you told him with an apologetic look.
"You wouldn't be," he promised, and when he said your name, you smiled and looked off to the side like you were embarrassed. "Come around the fence. You can meet my elves." He pointed to the gate a ways down where a security guard was standing. Bradley waved to him and gave him a thumbs up which the guard returned. "Santa gets special privileges."
"Fine," you said softly. "We'll just come around and meet you then?"
"Looking forward to it," he replied, and then Ellie was taking off for the fence opening with you right behind her. Bradley turned toward the others and clapped his hands. "Listen up. This little girl, Ellie, thinks I'm really Santa," he informed them. "And she thinks you're all my elves."
"Fuck," Jake groaned.
"I'm really hungry," Bob whispered.
"I refuse to be nice to you, even in front of a child," Nat said blandly.
"Whatever," Reuben and Javy said in unison.
"I'm so excited!" Mickey giggled, adjusting his elf ears.
"Just be nice, okay? Here she comes... with her mom," Bradley said, really enjoying the sight of you headed his way. He cleared his throat and knelt down as Ellie streaked toward him.
"Can I sit in one of the North Pole jets?" Ellie asked while you shook your head apologetically.
"Really, feel free to tell her no."
But Bradley just smiled and adjusted his white beard before he scooped the child up and stood. You looked up at him with a mixture of surprise and intrigue as he said, "Sure, Kiddo, if you think you can climb that ladder? It's really tall."
"Yeah, I can do it!" Ellie said, looking past him at his F/A-18 and clapping.
"Sound okay, Mom?" he asked you, and you bit your lip and smiled.
"Great. While Ellie and I are up there talking about what's on her Christmas list, why don't you give your information to my sweetest and most loyal elf, Phoenix."
Nat rolled her eyes at him so hard before she turned to you with a smile, and Bradley had to walk away before he started laughing too hard to stay in character.
"Your elf is named Phoenix?" Ellie asked as he carried her toward the ladder. "What are the other ones named?"
Bradley chuckled. "They're all pretty silly sounding," he said as he set her down a few rungs from the bottom. "The big one is Payback. The one who can't stop smiling is Fanboy. The one that's yawning is Coyote. Bob is the one with glasses. And the cranky one is Hangman."
"He looks like he could use a candy cane," she said as she started to climb.
"I think you're probably right. I should feed all of them more sweets."
Once they reached the top, he hoisted her over the edge and climbed onto the seat behind her. "Do you want to talk about what's on your Christmas list?"
"Yeah," she said with a sigh as she plopped down on his knee and looked at him with concern. "We didn't bring most of our decorations and stuff when we moved, because there were already too many boxes."
"Oh," Bradley grunted, patting her on the shoulder. Now he was even more curious than before about where the two of you had moved from and why as his gaze met yours where you stood below with Phoenix. "Well you'll need a Christmas tree for your presents to go under."
She nodded and finally smiled when Bradley looked at her again. "The only thing I really want is a pink one!"
He blinked at her a few times. "A pink tree?"
"Yeah! A pink Christmas tree! And an art set with pink paint."
Bradley nodded, figuring he could probably make that happen. "Sounds monochromatic but fun. Anything else?"
Ellie looked down at you and waved. Your brilliant smile for your daughter was so lovely, Bradley found himself waving too, which made you laugh. "Nothing else for me," Ellie whispered. "But something for my mom."
"Oh yeah?" he grunted when you blew a kiss up to them. Damn. He knew it was for your daughter, but he kind of wanted one of his own. "What do you think Santa should bring for your mom?"
"A boyfriend."
His gaze jerked back to Ellie's, but she looked completely serious. "You want me to get your mom a boyfriend?"
She nodded and said, "One that's tall and will play dolls with me sometimes and eat dinner at our new house. And he has to be really nice. Just like my dad was."
Bradley leaned in a little closer and wrapped his arm around her narrow shoulders. "What happened to your dad?"
"He died last year," she said matter-of-factly. "But I'm sure you knew him, because he was definitely on the nice list."s
------------------------------
You watched as your daughter gave the naval aviator she was convinced was Santa Claus a big hug. He actually looked a bit ridiculous in the bright red flight suit and hat with the white beard, but Ellie seemed to have bonded with him in some way. They were laughing together about something she whispered to him, and then he was patting her head.
"I'll see what I can do for you, okay Ellie?" he told her, and you wondered if his voice really was that deep all the time.
"Thanks, Santa!" She came trotting over to you and took you by the hand. "I'm ready to go home now," she told you with a smile as the 'elves' waved goodbye. A startled laugh escaped you, because the entire afternoon felt very surreal. You just gave your phone number and your new address to someone named Phoenix who was dressed as an elf even though she was definitely also a naval pilot. And now you were waving to Santa Claus who you were left to assume was named Bradley Bradshaw based on what was painted on the side of his jet.
"Did you have a fun time with Santa?" you asked as you walked back toward the opening in the gate, chuckling at your own words.
"Yeah. He's really nice. I could have probably stayed and talked to him all night," she replied, and when you turned back he was still looking at you. The casual wave of his hand made your heart skip a beat. You really wanted this again. That familiarity with another person. The ease. The perpetually happy child next to you.
"Yeah... he seems pretty great."
But you were really annoyed with yourself when you spent nearly a full hour after you got Ellie in bed imagining what his face might look like without the fake beard. It had barely been three months since you stopped wearing your wedding rings. It was just over a year ago that your husband died unexpectedly. You were decidedly not in the market for dating anyone while Ellie was this young, because she deserved all of your attention. So why were you thinking about this Bradley guy and how sweet he was with your daughter?
You collapsed onto your bed and grabbed your phone from the nightstand. You didn't do the wordle yet for today, and you still needed to check the weather for tomorrow. But you got distracted by a text from a number you didn't recognize.
Hey, it's Bradley Bradshaw. I mean Santa. I hope you don't mind me texting you.
You sat up in your bed so quickly. Your stomach lurched as butterflies took up residence, and your fingers quivered a little bit as you gripped your phone. What were you supposed to do? "Text him back," you muttered to yourself. "Get a grip."
You looked across the room at your wedding photo on your dresser. It had been in one of the few moving boxes you managed to unpack already, and it made you smile every time you looked at it. Right now was no exception; that was one of the best days of your life. But when you looked back down at your phone, you didn't feel a pang of sadness or regret. You felt intrigued. So you saved Bradley's number and then texted him back.
I don't mind one bit. I'm happy to have the chance to thank you again for earlier. You made Ellie's day! Mine, too!
And then you waited with your phone in your hand, half embarrassed and half excited by the idea of getting another text from him.
Bradley 'Santa' Bradshaw: Your daughter is a bit of a spitfire. I was very entertained by her. And there's no need to thank me. It was the highlight of my day.
Dealing with your sassy five year old was the highlight of his day? You squealed and had to set your phone down while you walked around your room for a few minutes. The highlight of his day? He was a fighter pilot! He flew a jet around at the air show!
"Oh god," you groaned, crawling back across your bed to your phone. You were already a lost cause. Over a man who had been dressed as Santa Claus? Ridiculous.
But now you were scrambling over what to type back to him. Send him a Santa emoji? No. You were flustered as you sent him the first random thing that came to your mind.
You make a great Santa. You know, in case you ever contemplate a career change.
You looked at the words on your phone screen and cringed. You glanced back at your wedding photo and sighed. If that was your best attempt at flirting, then it was amazing you'd ever been married at all. And this man you met today didn't even seem bothered that you had a kid. That was a miracle in itself. You got ready to toss your phone aside for the night when he sent back a smiling emoji and another text.
Bradley 'Santa' Bradshaw: I'll keep that in mind as a potential retirement gig.
You wanted to tell him he looked pretty good in a fake beard. You wanted to tell him you were curious what he looked like without it. You wanted to keep him talking a little bit longer, because you could feel the adrenaline fueled blood pumping through your body, and it felt exciting. But before you could even say anything else, Bradley had you burying your face in your pillow so you could scream without waking Ellie up.
Bradley 'Santa' Bradshaw: But here's the thing. I'm an absolute sucker for cute girls. When can I see the two of you again?
------------------------
Bradley had to wait a little bit for a response from you, and he was sweating. He didn't want to push too hard, especially after Ellie told him her dad died, but he was intrigued. Plus, he was already googling pink Christmas trees.
Ellie's Mom: Ellie and I are kind of suckers for sweet Santas. What did you have in mind?
He lounged back in his bed with a smile on his face. Was he about to drop five hundred bucks on an eight foot tall pink tree? Hell yes. Especially since you just called him sweet.
Ellie asked Santa for a pink Christmas tree. I want to order it tonight if you can confirm it will fit in your house. And then I'd love to come by and set it up one day.
You wrote back almost immediately after he sent the link to the tree.
Ellie's Mom: You don't have to buy that for her! It's so expensive! Honestly, you don't need to buy her anything!
Bradley sighed. The kid thought he was really Santa Claus, so there was no way she wasn't getting a pink tree and a pink art kit. It was the boyfriend request that made him chuckle, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't interested in the idea of seeing you again.
But I want to. Any chance you can measure the space for me?
He had to wait a little bit longer again for you to answer, but this time he was rewarded with photos that had him sitting up in bed and staring at his phone.
Ellie's Mom: I can't find a measuring tape in all these moving boxes, but here's the spot where a tree could go. And here I am for reference.
You were smiling in the selfies, looking a little shy but just as pretty as earlier today, and you had on a shirt that looked so soft, he wanted to touch it. "God damn it," he grunted, already tapping out a response.
I think Santa should stop by in person and check the measurements, just to be on the safe side. Also, you're gorgeous.
"Oh fuck," groaned after he hit send. He really didn't mean to come on so strong, especially since he just met you. He busied himself with ordering the pink tree that he was sure would fit in that spot along with some colorful ornaments and tried not to count the minutes until you wrote back.
Ellie's Mom: We'll be home on Monday evening. I'm sure Ellie would love another visit from Santa. And so would I.
Bradley wrote back letting you know roughly what time he could stop by, and then he started to formulate a plan.
On Monday, in the locker room after work, he changed out of his regular flight suit and showered before zipping himself into his bright red one. His measuring tape, beard and Santa hat were already waiting in the Bronco, and he swung by his favorite bakeshop on his way out of Coronado. The place was packed with customers placing orders for Christmas goodies, so he was happy he decided to call ahead. He grabbed the box he already paid for and got back on the road, following his GPS across the city to the outskirts of town.
Your place was a cute town home with a pink Christmas wreath on the door and the windows lit with a warm glow as the sun set. Bradley got his Santa beard and hat situated using his rearview mirror, and then he grabbed the box and the measuring tape and made his way up to the front porch. As soon as he knocked, his heart beat a little faster, and a few seconds later, you were opening the door for him with a smile.
"Hey, Santa," you said softly with a crooked little smile. Bradley took you in from head to toe, his eyes catching on your lips and your pink sweater as he heard Ellie come bounding down the stairs.
"Santa!"
He looked past you just in time to see your daughter come streaking toward him wearing a pink dress and launching herself into his arms. He bent and caught her a little awkwardly as he laughed. "What are you doing here?" she asked as she hugged him.
"Came to make sure you're still on the good list." Bradley grinned up at you where you stood biting your lip. "Well, Mom? Has she been listening and behaving?"
You nodded. "Yes, Santa. She's been very well behaved."
"Excellent," he replied, releasing Ellie and handing her the box which she opened right away.
She gasped and looked up at him. "Pink Christmas cookies?"
"Yeah, I just thought the two of you might like something sweet."
You were looking at him with softly parted lips, and then you said, "Aren't we supposed to be leaving cookies out for you later this month?"
"I wouldn't complain if you did," he replied as Ellie handed you a pink snowflake cookie. He watched you bite into it, and he realized he was staring.
"Want one?" Ellie asked, tugging on his hand.
"No, those are for the two of you, Kiddo. I'm really here to measure the room for your pink tree. I want to drop it off before Christmas so there's something for your presents to go under."
Ellie screeched and nearly dropped the cookies all over the floor as you took the box from her. She pulled Bradley into the living room and showed him where she wanted her tree to go, and then she helped him measure the space while she asked him what he wanted for Christmas.
"Does Mrs. Claus get you something every year?" she asked, eyes wide and focused on him.
He wasn't sure how to answer her as he knelt on the floor with the measuring tape in his hand. So he decided to just be honest. "I actually don't have a Mrs. Claus yet."
When Ellie's eyes drifted from him up to you where you stood a few feet away, Bradley couldn't help but follow suit. "Mommy," she whispered. "We need to get something for Santa."
"Okay," you whispered back, barely glancing at Bradley before looking back at your daughter. "We can do that."
Ellie turned back to him and asked, "If I leave a present under the tree on Christmas Eve, will you know it's for you when you get here?"
"Of course. Just write my name on it so I know it's mine." Then she kissed him on his cheek right above his white beard, and Bradley melted a little bit inside.
--------------------------
You and your daughter waved from your front door as Santa left with his tape measure and one of the pink cookies. Ellie insisted he take the one that was decorated like a reindeer with him, and you watched as he ate it while he started up his vintage blue Bronco. When he honked and waved goodbye, Ellie jumped up and down.
"Santa's bringing me a pink tree!" she gushed, and honestly, you were feeling a little silly over that man, too. Your skin tingled as you closed the door and looked at the rest of the cookies. You felt like he was spoiling the two of you even though you barely knew him.
"Let's go get ready for bed," you whispered, ushering her toward the stairs before you took the cookies to your kitchen to have a moment to yourself. Last Christmas had been a nightmare as it was just a few weeks after you lost your husband, and now you'd moved to San Diego to have a fresh start with a new job and a new school and a new city. You couldn't handle another holiday in the house that the three of you had shared.
California was warm and welcoming, but the last thing you had expected to find here right away was a man that made your heart skip a beat. You knew your husband wouldn't want you to give up the idea of dating someone else, but you'd convinced yourself that nobody would want the two of you even though Ellie was a sweet kid.
You set the pretty cookies down on the counter and sighed. Bradley didn't seem to mind that Ellie was around. If anything, he seemed to really like her. He was buying her a tree even though you told him he didn't have to do that. You were more than capable of getting one, but he wasn't going to be deterred.
And Ellie definitely liked him, helped in part by the fact that she seemed completely convinced he was actually Santa.
"You don't even really know what his face looks like," you groaned as you closed the box and headed upstairs. It didn't even matter though, because you could still tell he was handsome with the kind of brown eyes you just wanted to keep looking at. But how embarrassing were you? Crushing on him like this.
After you got Ellie in bed, you texted Bradley to say thank you, and he wrote back immediately.
Bradley 'Santa' Bradshaw: It was my pleasure.
You imagined him saying those words in his deep voice in person, and you were still thinking about him the next morning when you woke up. You picked up your framed wedding photo and sighed in exasperation. "He reminds me a bit of you, honestly," you told your deceased husband who smiled back from the frame. "He's funny and kind of sweet. Maybe I just miss you. I don't know."
But you found yourself unable to get much work done from your home office while Ellie was at school. You kept sneaking down to the kitchen to get pink cookies, and by late afternoon, you caved like a house of cards and texted Bradley.
I can't stop thinking about what you might look like without your Santa beard and hat.
You set your phone down on your desk and stared at it. What were you, fucking insane or something? You must be. After twenty minutes with no response, you grabbed a sweatshirt and went for a walk around the block without your phone. You had forgotten how to flirt. That had to be what was going on here. You no longer knew how to be normal or subtle in any way, because it had been so long since you needed to be. When you moved to San Diego to start over again, you must have forgotten to pack your ability to act chill in front of men you were attracted to.
You stood on your front porch and took a deep breath before heading back inside. You needed to stop this. After Bradley came back with the pink tree for Ellie, he wasn't going to want to keep hanging out anyway. It was better to just stop this thing in its tracks right now. You ran back upstairs to your desk and grabbed your phone. He probably hadn't responded yet, which was great, because you could text him again and tell him you were just joking.
"Haha," you muttered as you sat down. "Just kidding, Santa."
But he had already replied. Oh. And he sent a selfie. Oh my. "Oh my god." He was even hotter than you imagined. He had a mustache. A real one, not the white one. He wasn't wearing the red hat either, and as a result, you got to see how soft his light brown curls looked. And he was smiling, his lips and his eyes already familiar to you. Then you made a small, strangled sound as you read the accompanying text.
Bradley 'Santa' Bradshaw: Greetings from North Island... I mean, the North Pole. And by the way, I can't stop thinking about you either.
You literally melted out of your chair and onto the spare bedroom floor. You thought about reaching for your computer to put up your out of office message, but you couldn't stop looking at the photo long enough to focus on anything else. You were laying on your back looking at your phone, and you nearly dropped it on your face when he wrote back again.
Bradley 'Santa' Bradshaw: The tree should arrive on Thursday. I was thinking I could take a half day at work and come over to set it up on Friday afternoon while Ellie is at school? Then I could see you again, too...
You rolled onto your front and started typing. Of course you wanted him to come back on Friday. You hit send before you realized that you'd be here alone with him. You'd have no five year old to buffer yourself from almost certain embarrassment.
-------------------------
Everyone else was picking out poinsettias or red and green blooms, but when Bradley got to the florist, he asked for a big bouquet of pink flowers as well as a smaller one. Just pink flowers. Nothing else. He paid and left with both of them in one hand and ran back across the street to his Bronco.
He was running late. He told you he'd be there around one o'clock, but it was already half past. Of course he needed to shower before he left work at noon, since he smelled like jet fuel, and then he had to stop back at home and load the tree and everything else into the Bronco before he could head to your place.
The last thing he wanted was for you to think he didn't want to spend as much time with you and Ellie as possible right now. Frankly he was looking forward to spending a little time alone with you, even if it was just while he was putting the tree up. When he finally made it across town, he checked the time and winced before running up the sidewalk and knocking. And if he was already a little bit out of breath, it only got worse when you opened the door and smiled at him.
"Sorry I'm late," he said. "I realized on my way here that I must have been overzealous when I told you I would be here by one."
You grinned and shrugged. "It's okay. Come on in." You closed the door behind him and asked, "Are those for Ellie?" You were gesturing at the flowers he forgot he was holding.
"Oh," he said, pulling the bouquets apart. "One's for you." Your eyes went wide as he held the bigger bunch out, and your fingers brushed his when you took it. "The little one's for Ellie."
You were looking up at him in surprise and your voice was soft as you said, "Thank you."
"Yeah, well, I didn't know what your favorite color was, so I went all in on the pink."
You were grinning again as you buried your nose in one of the fuchsia colored roses. "It's pink. Good job, Santa."
Bradley laughed. "I should have known. The two of you have me seeing pink everywhere now."
"I'm not sorry about that," you said, reaching for the other bouquet. "I'll put these in the kitchen."
He handed it over and said, "And I'll bring the tree inside." He watched you turn away from him, and he kept his eyes on you until you were almost out of sight which resulted in you turning around and catching him staring. He didn't mind.
Bradley made two trips inside with the tree and all of the lights and ornaments, but you must have still been in the kitchen. Or maybe you went upstairs or something. He'd been hoping you wanted to hang out a little bit and chat, but he already had the enormous tree box open with pink branches spilling out of it when you returned with two mugs.
"I made you some hot chocolate."
Nobody had made him a mug of hot chocolate since he was a kid himself. "You did?"
"Yeah. But if you don't want it, that's fine." You looked a little shy now, so he stood and reached for the pink mug you were offering to him.
"I love hot chocolate. I just don't drink it much now that I live where it's usually warm."
"Where are you from?" you asked before you pursed your pretty lips and blew on your drink.
Bradley smirked. "Would I be remiss if I told you I'm actually from Virginia and not the North Pole?"
Your bright laughter had him taking a step closer to you. "Not at all. Just don't tell Ellie that. She's already working on a Christmas present for you. I mean for Santa."
"Is she really?" he asked, suddenly unable to stop smiling. When you nodded, he asked, "What is it?
"I can't tell you! That would ruin the surprise."
"Yeah... don't tell me. I wouldn't want to disappoint her." Bradley took a sip before setting his mug down on a coaster and kneeling in front of the tree box.
You cleared your throat as he started pulling branches out. "How long have you been living in San Diego?"
"About six years. I finally got a permanent station at North Island after moving around. A lot." He lined all of the pieces up on the floor as you took a few steps closer.
"How old are you?" you asked him. When he glanced up, you added, "If you don't mind me asking."
He smiled. "I don't mind you asking me anything you want to ask me. I'm thirty seven."
"How are you possibly single?" you blurted out before hiding your mug in front of your mouth. "I'm sorry." You paced back and forth across the living room a few times as you said, "I'm so bad at this. Like epically bad at it. Because I haven't had to do it in so long."
"Do what?" he asked, trying not to laugh as you came to a stop right in front of him.
You made a cute little sound before you whispered, "I have forgotten how to even attempt to flirt with a man."
He had to press his lips together to hold his laughter in. You were actually serious right now. "I thought you were doing alright."
"You did?" you asked, gaping up at him.
"Yeah. I mean, you sent me those cute selfies when you didn't have a measuring tape."
You licked your lips and took a step away from him. "No one has called me cute since my husband died."
Bradley could feel his lungs deflating. He hated that you had to live through that. He was also selfishly a little afraid you were going to tell him you weren't looking to date again. This was really the only reason he hadn't asked you out already. Well, that and the fact that your daughter was currently convinced he was Santa Claus.
But he thought he should try his luck. "Someone should be calling you cute every day. You and Ellie both. Like I said, I'm a complete sucker for cute girls."
You looked a little flustered now as you sipped your hot chocolate, so Bradley returned to his mission of putting the massive tree together in the corner of your living room. When he paused to drink from his own mug, you came over to help him. Wordlessly, the two of you assembled it until it was too tall for you to reach.
When you handed the top part of the tree to him, he whispered, "Thanks." Your hand seemed to linger on his. Or maybe he imagined it.
"It's nice having someone so tall around," you said. "You must have no problems putting your own tree up."
"Nah," he said, sliding the last piece into place. "I don't even put one up at home. Seems like a waste when it's just for me."
"You don't have a tree?" you asked, and your hand came to rest on his forearm. Bradley's eyes snapped to yours as you said, "If you can continue to handle all the pink... maybe you'd want to come back over and enjoy this one with us?"
"As Santa?" he asked. "I really got myself into a mess with Ellie, didn't I?"
You bit your lip as you looked up at him. "Yeah... she's kind of attached to Santa now."
Bradley was fighting the urge to just kiss you, because you were right there. And you probably tasted like hot chocolate. And the closer you got, the prettier you looked.
"Should we add the lights?" you asked softly, your hand still on his left arm. "Before Ellie gets home?"
Very slowly, he raised his right hand so there would be no doubt in your mind what was coming. He traced your cheek with his fingertips as your eyes fluttered closed. "Yeah. Let's do the lights and the decorations before she gets back. I didn't bring my beard and my hat today."
"Okay," you breathed, leaning into his touch for a beat before you released his arm and pulled away. "I'll... get the lights ready." You turned and started to open some of the boxes of white twinkle lights while Bradley got the ornaments opened up.
He took out the pink and silver star, and when he reached up toward the top branches, you wrapped the lights around him and the tree at the same time. "If you want to keep me here with you, just say so. You don't need to tie me up."
You laughed. "I couldn't keep you even if I wanted to. You're Santa Claus, remember? You have a million toys to deliver next week."
Bradley caught you gently by the arm as you looped the lights around his back again. "To be crystal clear, I'm only doing this for you and Ellie. Nobody else."
You wrapped the lights a little tighter and said, "To be crystal clear, I like the way that sounds."
Bradley smirked as you finally loosened the strand and freed him. "Listen," he said as he followed you slowly around the tree as you put the lights on correctly this time. "Santa doesn't have time to play games before Christmas. He's very busy."
"Really?" you asked, looking back at him as you strung the lights higher and higher on the pink tree. "This kind of feels like a game to me, Santa."
He took over with the strand once it got too high for you to reach, and when he was done, he watched you pick up one of the boxes of ornaments. There were a bunch of pink and blue hearts and stars, and you smiled up at him. So he decided to go for it. Because he knew this was a rare opportunity he'd been given. "Santa is actually pretty serious right now. About you."
When you immediately returned your gaze to the box in your hands, Bradley ran his hands through his hair. You looked a little flustered again, just like you had when you claimed you forgot how to flirt. Whatever you were doing to him, he liked it. He liked how it felt to be around you and Ellie, too. He ducked behind the tree to plug the lights in, illuminating everything in a soft, pink glow, and then he tried to find the energy to help you finish the tree without pushing this any further.
"Hey, Santa?"
"Yeah?" he replied, his voice barely above a whisper as he reached for an ornament from the box you were holding.
You seemed to weigh your words before you said them which had Bradley's heart beating a little faster before you even spoke. "I wasn't planning on anything serious. Not really ever again."
"Oh." Serious was the kind of thing he was looking for now. Serious was actually what he wanted. He hung the pretty blue heart shaped ornament and then let his hand fall to his side. His heart felt heavy like a stone sinking to the bottom of a lake as you reached up in front of his face to hang a pink and white heart next to his blue one.
"At least that's what I thought before we moved here," you added.
He looked at you with one raised eyebrow. "Something changed your mind?"
"More like someone," you whispered, handing him another pink heart ornament which he carefully hung just above the other two. He wanted to know for sure if he was the one that changed your mind, but you pulled your phone out of your pocket and gasped.
"Ellie's bus should be here in a couple minutes."
"Right," he said softly. You and he finished decorating the tree, not so subtly stealing glances at each other the whole time. If there was even a chance with you, he wanted to take it, but he didn't want to press any harder today.
When he reached for his empty mug, you shook your head and said, "You can leave it. I'll clean up later."
"Okay." With nothing else keeping him at your house he started to head for the front door, but you caught his hand in yours.
"Wait." Your eyes were wide and a little hesitant, but when you tugged gently, he went willingly, slowly closing the distance between you body and his. "Thank you. For the tree and the ornaments. And the cookies. And the flowers."
He shook his head. "It's my pleasure. You don't have to thank me again."
"But I want to," you whispered, running your thumb along the back of his hand. "I want to do a lot of things. But they feel a little scary." When you paused, he didn't rush you. Your eyes were taking in every detail of his face, and you were smiling softly. "Things I haven't done in a long time. Things I never anticipated I'd be doing again. At least not while Ellie is so young."
Bradley opened his mouth, intending to tell you he could wait a few weeks or months to ask you out if that would make things easier for you, but you tugged gently on his hand again, rendering him silent. When your other hand came to rest on his chest, he held his breath. Your gaze stayed locked on your hand as you slowly guided it up along his shoulder and collarbone until it came to rest gently on the scars on the side of his neck.
The soft stroke of your thumb and even the gentle flex of your fingers could have brought him to his knees. And then you finally met his eyes. "I really want to," you murmured as you stood on tiptoes, your chest brushing his. Bradley's brain took a beat longer to respond than his heart did, but when you tilted your face up to his and let your eyes flutter shut, he closed the distance to your lips with his.
And it was perfect. The softest kiss of his life, but he could feel his entire body responding to you. With a soft gasp, you released his lips, but you didn't go far. When you met his eyes, you must have liked what you saw there, because you kissed him again. And again. And when Bradley guided your other hand around his neck, you kissed him a little deeper.
"Oh," you gasped, running your nose along his cheek as your fingers teased the back of his neck. When your lips met his again, he held you close with his hands on your lower back, and Bradley decided he could do this forever. All of it. The pink flowers and decorating the tree and the perfect kisses.
Then the front door knob rattled, and you broke away from his lips. Your eyes looked hazy at first, and you had the prettiest smile on your face before you pulled yourself out of his grasp as Ellie came inside. Your daughter looked back and forth between the two of you as you pressed your fingertips to your lips, and Bradley winced as Ellie asked him, "Who are you?"
-----------------------------
Bradley! I mean, Santa! Where is your beard?! I hope you loved part one! Part two is coming soon. This one took a village so thank you to @mak-32 @beyondthesefourwalls @thedroneranger and @cherrycola27
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Wildest Dreams
Summary: Never in your wildest dreams would you have expected to be waiting at a Naval hanger for a man you’d met two months ago during Fleet Week. Let alone one you’d only known for less than twenty-four hours. (Even if it had been the best sex of your life.)
Pairing: Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Female Reader
Length: 6k
Warning: fluff, smut, and the return of the summer dress whites (minors dni)
(author's note: this was written as part of @laracrofted's 1989 challenge. It is a prequel to Hey, Sailor, but can be read on its own!)
This has the potential to be the best idea you’ve ever had or the worst.
Although based on the way you kind of want to shimmy out of your too tight skin, you’re starting to think it might be the worst.
You are out of place and out of sorts. There are kids giggling and running around with homemade posters covered in bright neon bubble letters and you aren’t even wearing a bra.
Oh god, what were you thinking?
Never in your wildest dreams would you have expected to be waiting for a man you’d only met two months ago during Fleet Week. Let alone one that you had known for less than twenty-four hours and had sex with within the first two hours of meeting. But you couldn’t think about that too much without your face heating up.
And waiting at Naval Air Station North Island, no less.
Oh, this was a very bad idea.
The happy chatter of excited friends and family of the deployed squadron members, who are due to return within the hour, is bouncing off of the cavernous curved walls of the hanger you’re standing in. Bursts of delighted laughter rippling throughout the space.
And with each passing minute the thumping of your heart pounds a little harder against the walls of your chest. Whether it’s anticipation or apprehension you couldn’t say.
Under normal circumstances the energy would be infectious, the atmosphere around you is bubbly and light, but all it does is make you feel like it is glaringly obvious that you don’t fit in here with the rest of the clusters of families.
That is if your nice yet slightly-too-revealing-to-be-family-friendly dress didn’t already give you away.
The only perk of it at the moment was that the breeze against the bare skin of your exposed back was keeping you from breaking out in an anxious full body sweat in the summer heat.
In your defense, you’d picked this dress out for a reason and had chosen it with a purpose in mind. Even if you were second guessing every decision that has led you here.
Over the last two months, you had changed your mind more frequently than the wind changed direction.
He’d been brought into your life on a high tide of champagne bubbles that had swiftly taken him right back out, leaving a wake of nothing but champagne problems.
Every time you thought about recycling the packet of papers that had taunted you and tempted you in equal parts, you were reminded of the warm brown eyes of the person who had given it to you. And it never failed to set your heart a flutter the same way had when he’d given it to you with that soft, cautiously hopeful smile.
You have the registration form that had gotten you through the heavily secured gate clutched tightly in your hand as if you’re waiting for some uniformed security official to come up to question you then escort you off the base.
Although now it’s so crumbled and creased that you don’t know if they’d even be able to read it.
Worst of all, you had no way to distract your busy mind from all your buzzing thoughts.
They’d taken your phone at the gate, a security measure they’d told you as you watched them tag it with your name and put in a slim cubby for you to collect when you left.
Which might be sooner than you thought, because the longer you stand there waiting and shifting on your feet the more you were fighting the urge to backpedal. To spin on your strappy sandaled feet and hightail it back to your car and drive the legally posted limit only until you made it past those intimidating chain link gates before flooring it, getting as far away from this cheery, happy hanger as quickly as possible.
And yet for whatever reason, your antsy feet and tapping toes stay planted on shiny finish of the industrial cement of the hanger.
This is crazy.
You’d thought it as you slipped on and tied the flimsy straps of your pink ruffled sundress and collected all of your things. Pausing to double check that you had your Driver’s License, Passport, and Social Security card in your purse for the fourth time that day.
This is ridiculous.
You’d thought it as you’d drove along the highway to the Naval base that you had only been to only once a couple of months ago. The sun beaming down on your car with hardly a cloud in the sky. A perfect golden California day, even if your mind was in a hazy fog.
This is foolish.
You’d definitely thought that on loop, like a broken record in your mind, as you’d waited in the long line of cars all done up in window paints and streamers packed with grinning, eager faces all queued up for the same reason.
When you had finally made it to the front of the line, your heart had been pounding away beating a mile a minute. Your palms sweating as you handed over the three-page packet and identification cards to the security working the gates.
The Use of Deadly Force Authorized sign was a stark contrast with the smiles of the officials who greeted you.
You were positive you looked as shifty as you felt. But it seemed the only person who thought you looked like a red flag was you. Because they’d barely given you a second glace as they’d waved you through after checking your paperwork. You had almost blurted out Are you sure?, but managed to keep it together as you waited for the red arms of the barrier gate to lift.
That final hurdle officially out of your hands because you were finally there and soon he’d be here.
During one white wine fueled late night evening on your couch you’d allowed yourself to indulge in those tempting taunting what-ifs.
What-if you went.
What-if you waited.
What-if you met him there.
And in your casual research somewhere between the third and fourth glass of Sauvignon Blanc, before you had scrolled back three years on the base’s official Instagram page and googled the sure-to-be redacted version of the visitor’s map of the base, you’d read that sometimes they’d direct visitors to park in a lot on the edge of the base to be shuttled to the designated homecoming hanger.
Thankfully, there would be no shuttles operating on military efficient timetables for you. Since you’d been directed to a parking lot that sat across from a large hanger decorated with waving and winking banners of bold red, white, and blues.
You couldn’t help release a little sigh of relief knowing that you’d be able to make an easy escape if you needed to.
Because if this was going to take you down, if the sun was going to set on your gleaming gilded what-ifs, at least you could leave with your head held high. Even if your tail would be between your legs.
Just in case, you had built it up in your head.
Just in case, he changed his mind.
Because this was crazy, this was ridiculous, this was foolish. But you didn’t want those memories from two months ago to follow you around like a ghost of what could have been.
You wanted to see what it could be. What you hoped it might become.
You’ve thought about that night a lot.
Flashes of sturdy white twill and toned muscles and a low, raspy voice had kept you up more nights than you were willing to acknowledge. You’d lost time thinking about warm hands and a rich laugh and lips that left hot trails along your body that you still felt like a ley line under your skin.
After the mark beneath your ear had faded, the only proof it all hadn’t been some gold rush dream was the flimsy piece of paper currently grasped in your hand like a lifeline.
Before that night you’d never understood the draw of Fleet Week. It seemed like the type of mess you’d purposely avoided. Nights that left you either with a good story to tell over brunch or in mascara coated tears crumpled like a piece of paper on the ground.
But now, you didn’t think you’d ever be able to think of it without thinking of it and him with only the rosiest of memories.
Your mind wanders as you remember the way he’d made you felt. Of being around him, of tangled up with him. You’re too busy thinking about heated smiles and pretty scars that the sound sneaks up on you.
It starts out as a low rumble that swiftly builds into a roar that shakes you out of that shimmering lavender haze. Cheers break out in the crowd as people flood out of the hanger and onto the tarmac to get a better view.
Looking around you, there are kids pressing their hands to their ears as the squeal and shout in delight. Their faces turning up to the skies as they enthusiastically wave at the aircrafts flying towards the base with perfect precision.
You get as close to the edge of the hanger as you dare. Toeing the line between cracked industrial cement and sundrenched asphalt, still unsure your place in all of this. Not quite ready to fully give yourself up to the swift current of honey hued possibility.
There are at least a dozen jets approaching in sharp triangular and diamond shaped formations. Clusters of four flying in flawless alignment with one another, their shiny bodies stand out in relief against the cloudless blue skies. It’s a gravity defying ballet as the individual groups merge together in impeccable unison to form one large unit.
Your jaw drops open in awe and your heart soars into your throat at the stunningly impressive sight.
They speed impossibly fast overhead and within seconds all that remains are the contrails of their coming and the knowledge that soon they’ll have their feet back on the ground with the rest of you.
The low, thick whomp whomp whomp of large helicopter propellers approaching behind them in the distance like an echo as more and more of the deployed squadron arrive for their homecoming.
You almost can’t hear it over the steady drumbeat of your heartbeat in your ears.
Because he’s back. He’s here.
After two months of wondering and waiting, you’re about to find out.
It’s all happening now.
“It’s her last fling before the ring! Cheers, bitches!”
You didn’t know whether you were impressed or one enthusiastic woo! away from losing it at the amount of puns Amanda, the maid of honor, had been able to come up with for the evening.
To no one’s surprise, tequila shots and champagne were a dangerous combo.
When the bride-to-be had said she wanted to keep things local and have a staycation type girl’s weekend for her bachelorette party, you and your bank account had been thrilled. It wasn’t until you all had left for the hotel all gussied up in your sparkling hot pink finest to head out for dinner that you noticed all the white uniforms dotting the sidewalks and seated out on some of the outdoor terraces.
It was Fleet Week.
You’ve lived in San Diego for almost five years now. And while running into someone in the Navy was commonplace, in both the grocery store and on the dating apps you’d redownloaded a few months ago, Fleet Week was something that you’d always purposely avoided. Opting to stay home and out of the fray.
However, you were coming off of a break up with a man who had slowly sucked all the color from your world. And this weekend was just the thing you needed to let go, to be unabashedly uninhibited, to reclaim your shimmer.
Your shiny pink dress is three inches shorter and your heels two inches taller than anything you’d ever worn before. There had been a brief moment when you’d felt self-conscious stepping into the lobby of the hotel, aware of just how much skin was on display with short hem and the low dip of the back of your dress, until your best friend had given you the loudest wolf-whistle known to mankind sending you into a fit of giggles.
And instead of shying away from the eyes that had been drawn to you in that moment, you sparkled.
You didn’t quite feel like your old self yet, but you were on your way. You liked this version of yourself so much better than the shell of a girl you’d been before. You liked the one who could be bold and brave and bejeweled.
The upscale bar is packed and it’s just the kind of lively atmosphere where tonight’s bad decisions could become tomorrow’s good stories.
It felt less like a club and more like a large stylish living room, with its cozy clusters of oversized chairs and couches. Pockets of the room were cast in a soft lavender light, while the rest was awash in a golden glow from the massive modern chandelier that ran the length of the room. Gleaming brass accents were offset with the warm tones of the wooden paneling that lined the walls. It was soft, lush, and inviting.
The music was good and there was even a small dancefloor, but it wasn’t so loud that you couldn’t enjoy having a conversation with someone without shouting. The bar looked more like a library than a place to get your drinks with its black leather tufted base and dark wooden built-ins displaying shiny bottles like a prized book collection. And the cocktails were stellar.
It was obvious why so many people had ended up here tonight, both civilians and Naval personnel on leave.
“Oh, hello there,” you hear your best friend practically purr, pulling you from your internal debate about another ordering another shot of tequila.
You look over to see her staring at the door where two tall officers have just entered with a devious gleam in her eyes.
The one on the left was just her type, a pretty boy with the kind of megawatt smile that would have orthodontists dying to get a closer look. He looked the cocky kind of confident now, but you knew if your friend made her move she’d have him wrapped around her finger before the bartenders even announce last call.
The man next to him was the taller one of the two and sporting a mustache that might have looked ridiculous on anyone else, but for whatever reason it suited him very well. Especially when it was paired with that easy grin he was currently wearing as he laughed along with something his friend was saying. Even from across the room you could tell he’d be even more attractive up close.
Their tans and the definition of their arms were offset by the crisp whites of their short-sleeved uniforms. And looking at them you could finally understand the appeal of Fleet Week.
Men like that could easily make a girl lose her mind amongst other things.
You had no doubt in your mind that these two in particular would be a hot commodity tonight. There were already quite a few heads turned in their direction to watch as they made their way towards the bar. Appreciative eyes glinting as they take in just how well they both filled out their uniforms.
Another loud woo! from your group of friends pulls your attention back to them in time to see another bottle of champagne, complete with a bright sparkler, being delivered to the table you had all chipped in for the evening.
At this rate, someone was either going to end up on top of a table or on the confetti covered floor.
You chance another look back over your shoulder towards the two men who’d just saddled up to the bar and are met with a pair of mischievous eyes already trained on you.
An electric touch races up along your spine.
You’re still a safe distance far enough away to where you can allow yourself to take him in, fighting the urge to hastily look away and pretend it was an accident that your eyes connected when you had definitely been trying to sneak another peek at them- at him in particular. You see his smile pull to the left and his cheek tick up as you hold his gaze.
He’s less than subtle in the way he lets his eyes drag over the exposed skin of your back and down the line of your legs before letting them settle back on your face. When you shoot him a pointed raise of your eyebrow, that smirk on his face just grows even wider.
It makes your stomach swoop, and even worse, it makes your own lips turn up in an amused smile in response.
An unabashed flirt.
There’s no doubt in your mind he knows exactly what he is doing. You’re sure he has practiced this kind of silent conversation many times. That over the years he has polished his technique to a shiny, smooth finish.
You know nothing good can come from a man in a uniform, but a man in uniform during Fleet Week is a different kind of trouble altogether.
And one who looks like that? Big and broad, with confidence rolling off of him in waves?
No, nothing good could come from it.
Taking one more sweep of his face you turn away from him and opt to sip on some cold water instead.
Your best friend is still making eyes with the man with the dimples, so you start up a conversation with one of the other bridesmaids you don’t know as well as some of the others. She was a sweetheart, but you could tell this wasn’t her usual scene so it felt like you were doing a lot of the heavy lifting for the conversation.
It also didn’t help that you were trying and failing to ignore the way it had felt when he looked at you, like sparks dancing across your skin that you could still feel like a phantom touch.
You’re struggling to come up with a new topic of conversation when cloud of white sequins and rhinestones and tulle bulldozes into you.
“Come get a drink with us,” the bride-to-be declares as she hooks her arm with yours and starts tugging you towards the bar.
You see that your best friend is already a couple steps ahead of the two of you and heading in the same direction to the bar, purpose in every step she takes.
“You need a break from free champagne?” you ask with a grin.
“I want something pink!” she sings.
You laugh at her dedication to the theme, “Ok, let’s get you something pink.”
“Yes, let’s,” she agrees.
As you get closer to the bar, you ignore the pull in your stomach and the gaze of the broad man who lingers in your peripheral vision. It had been heady from a distance you had no clue how you’d fair with it directed at you up close.
You’re not surprised in the least when your best friend passes by the open space at the bar and flounces right up to the officer with the dimples. And you’re even less surprised when she takes the shot that was held loosely in his hand and tosses it back in one go, before running her thumb along the bottom of her lip and giving him a sharp, feline grin. The now shot-less man rises up to the occasion and gives her a matching one of his own, the interest gleaming in his eyes.
However, you are very much shocked when your soon-to-be-wed friend all but shoves you towards the man with the mustache.
Your hands dart out to catch yourself on the bar, but one ends up on his thick forearm instead as he reaches out to steady you. His other hand is braced low on your hip, big and warm. Glancing down you can see that his pinky is very near the hem of your short dress.
You toss her a withering glare over your shoulder, but she’s already bobbling back towards the group very clearly pleased with herself.
As you turn to look up at him, all words escape you and your breath gets caught in your throat.
He’s handsome as hell.
And up close, that uniform has the potential to be even more life ruining than it was from a distance.
It is almost obscene the way it clings to the bulk of him. The sleeves of his shirt were stretched out around his biceps and pulled taut across his chest. His pants look almost molded to his thighs and long legs. It’s almost dizzying just how good-looking he is in it.
And you’re absolutely mortified.
“Hey, Sailor,” you say weakly at an attempt to diffuse the awkwardness of how you’ve come to be pressed against his hard body.
He throws his head back and laughs. It’s low and lush, rich and raspy. And god, do you like the sound of it.
But there’s still a rush anxious energy that courses through you, unsure if he’s laughing at you or the situation you’ve both been literally thrust into. You’re tempted to step back out of his reach, but his fingers tighten the gentlest bit where his hand still sits on your hip keeping you in place.
There’s amusement dancing behind his brown eyes and that smile of his up close is even more devastating. And you can’t help but shoot him a sheepish smile in return.
“That’s one way to make an entrance,” he grins.
“I am so sorry about that,” you say gesturing to the gaggle of giggling girls watching on from the corner of the room. You get your feet righted underneath you and take a half-step back.
And this time he lets you, his pinky grazing the skin of your upper thigh as he does.
“I’m not,” he says, leaning against the shiny black and white marble slab of the bar top, “I was hoping you’d come over here.”
You refuse to let yourself get flushed, but the heat races to your cheeks all the same.
Instead you pivot.
“I feel like I should warn you, she’s going to eat your friend alive,” you say, gesturing to your best friend who is looking every inch the menace you know her to be.
He glances over towards where his friend and yours are talking. His friend’s shot has been replaced and they’re both wearing a pair of dueling smiles. Their conversation too quiet to hear, but you know that tone of hers and what it means.
The good kind or the bad kind it was too early in the evening to say.
You allow yourself a brief moment to admire his profile, your eyes tracing over his cheekbones and jaw, noticing a few scars that dot his sunkissed skin.
He lets out a low chuckle and looks back towards you, “Good. Hangman has been a pain in my ass for years. Serves him right. It’ll be good for his ego.”
“Hangman?” you ask, eyebrows pinching together.
“Oh, right. That’s Jake,” he clarifies, nodding over to his friend, “Hangman is his callsign. Bagman if he’s pissing me off, which is often enough. We’re both Naval aviators.”
Well, that explained the aura of self-assuredness that radiated from the two of them from the very moment you’d seen them.
The uniform was bad enough on its own, but a pilot?
Trouble was definitely too small a word for this man, he’d need a different category created for him altogether.
“Can’t say I’m too mad at him right now though. I wanted to go somewhere more lowkey, but he said ‘pretty girls like pretty places’,” he gives you a slow smile as his eyes drift over you, “Turns out he was right. But don’t tell him that I said that, he’ll be insufferable.”
And then he has the audacity to wink at you.
You absolutely will not be getting tangled up with a pilot. But you were definitely up for a little fun, and decide there is no harm in indulging in some friendly banter.
“So are you going to tell me your callsign or do I have to guess?” you tease.
“It’s Rooster.”
You swallow down the quip that comes to your mind first, and ask instead, “Do you come with a first name, Rooster? Or did the Navy claim that too?”
He has Bradshaw emblazoned on the nametag on his chest, but you’re so curious to find out the answer. You’ve never been so interested collecting breadcrumb pieces of someone before, there’s something in the way he’s looking at you that makes you want to know more.
“I’m Bradley,” he grins wider, holding out his hand to you.
You look from him to his big hand and then back to him again, debating on how much you want to give him in return. He lifts a playful eyebrow his hand still outstretched as he waits for your move.
So you put your hand in his and give him your name.
Rooster repeats it back as if he’s testing out the way the syllables and consonants of your name feel in his mouth. And if he’s slow to let go of your hand, you let it slide without a comment.
“Well, since it’s Fleet Week and all, Bradley Rooster Bradshaw, I think would be pretty unpatriotic for me to not buy you a drink as an apology for my friends and for subjecting you that poorly executed line.”
His features take on a very contemplative look as he lets out a low, quiet hmm.
“I don’t know about that,” he deliberates.
“About the drink?” you ask, fully prepared to make a hasty retreat before you make yourself look any more ridiculous than you already did.
“No, about the line. I think it was pretty effective,” Rooster says whiskey smooth.
“Really? That’s all it took, huh?” you laugh, “You must have been stuck on that ship for a while.”
Flagging down the bartender, you order a couple shots of chilled tequila.
You see Bradley reach into his shirt pocket, pulling out a few loose bills to pay. There’s definitely nowhere for a wallet to go in those pants. Sliding in front of him, letting yourself graze up against him just the slightest bit, you tell the bartender to put the shots on your group’s open tab. You can see them still spying on you, so it was the least they could do for a free show.
You spin towards him and rest your elbows on the bartop behind you with a grin. He just smirks and shakes his head at you with a look that you’d almost want to call fond if you’d actually known him for longer than ten minutes.
“So, how long were you deployed? Are you headed back to wherever home is after this weekend is over?” you ask.
“I’m actually stationed here permanently in San Diego,” Bradley says, pausing for a moment before continuing, “But I am headed out for a two-month deployment tomorrow.”
He’s looking at you closely, as if he is trying to gauge your reaction to him showing you his cards so early. Here today, but gone tomorrow.
This open honesty from him makes him even more attractive in your eyes. He’s the type of man who could so easily wreck your plans if you gave him the chance to. And for a split second, you can almost see the end before anything can even begin.
“Well, it’s nice of the city to give you such a nice send-off then,” you say lightly, ignoring the twinge in your stomach.
Thankfully, the bartender returns with the chilled shots, you thank him and then hand Bradley one of the shot glasses cheers-ing him with your own, “To Uncle Sam’s overly inflated defense budget.”
He snorts and watches as you raise the glass to your lips. Feeling bold under the warmth of his gaze, your tongue darts out as you lick the smoked salt off the rim before swallowing down the shot, not breaking eye contact with him once.
You’re beyond delighted when notice the tips of his ears are a little pink as he throws back his own. The heaviness from earlier shifting into a more exciting kind of tension as your gazes bounce off of each other.
Bradley leans a bit into your space as he sets his empty glass on the bartop, “Can I let you in on a secret?”
“Only if it’s a juicy one,” you counter, more than happy to take the bait.
“It wasn’t just the line. Your little tiara thing is doing it for me too,” he says reaching out and adjusting the rhinestone Bridesmaid headband that you’d completely forgotten you were wearing. His thumb skimming over your temple as he withdraws his hand.
You could handle an unabashed flirt, but a charming unabashed flirt whose smile was setting off a flurry of butterflies in your chest was not on the agenda for tonight.
“Do you want to swap, Rooster?” you tease nodding your head towards the white and shiny black-rimmed hat that is sitting snugly on top of his head.
“Nah, I don’t think I could pull it off as well as you do.” He shoots you another wink, one that has your toes curling in your pretty-but-too-tall heels. “Plus, mine is technically government property. They don’t let just anyone wear it, not without earning it.”
You don’t miss the way his eyes dip down to your lips.
The shot of tequila makes you brave enough to contemplate asking just exactly one would have to do to earn a turn wearing his hat, but the two of you are startled out of bubble you had found yourselves in at the sound of a sharp slap.
You peer curiously around Bradley to see Hangman looking equal parts shell-shocked and starry eyed after your best friend as she struts away from him with a swing in her hips, her hair bouncing with each step.
“I should-” your own eyes betray you by slipping down to his parted lips when you look back at him, “I should go check on her.”
“You don’t have to go just because Bagman is an idiot. Let me get you a drink and return the favor. Please,” he says, his big brown eyes asking you to stay.
“No, I really should. Thanks for indulging my friends and for the company, Bradley. Enjoy the rest of Fleet Week.” Before you can overthink it, you lean in a press a kiss to his cheek. Giving him one more smile, one that doesn’t feel as bright as you’d like it to be, you turn and leave.
You hustle to catch up with your friend as she makes her way back to your bedazzled group, “Hey, are you ok? What the hell did he say?”
She waves off your concern with a Cheshire cat grin, “Oh, that man is about to be so obsessed with me.”
Over the next hour it is impossible to keep your eyes from straying back to him. You try to lose yourself to the music on the small dancefloor and in the raunchy girl talk. Every time you dared to take a peek at him, you’d been surprised to see him already looking at you instead of chatting up some other girl.
At one point, he’d even been bold enough to pat the space next to him as an open invitation. You’d simply smiled and shook your head at him, laughing to yourself when he dramatically clutched at his heart in response.
It’s not until a very large bottle of Dom Perignon Brut Rosé is delivered your table, a cheer going up as the bottle service girl discloses who had it sent over, that you’re made to reevaluate your plans for the evening.
The two men are still at the bar, but you don’t miss the satisfied smirk of on your best friend’s face as she helps herself to some of the pink bubbly.
Instead of a glass, you’re offered a threat.
“We all know what she’s doing, but if I see you at brunch tomorrow I’m kicking you out of the wedding,” the bride-to-be cheerfully trills, albeit tipsily, as she presses your clutch into your hand and shoos you away. Officially dismissed from your bridesmaid duties for the remainder of the weekend.
You take the long way around the edge of the room to the bar, giving yourself a minute to debate the pros and cons of what you were planning to do. But as the crowd parts and you see him, still planted in the same place you’d left him, all the bullet-pointed items on your mental list dissolve like sugar in an Old Fashioned at the sight of his warm whiskey brown eyes.
This time it’s no accident in the way you slide up to him.
“Well, Rooster, you’ve got my attention.”
“Good. I like your attention,” he says with an all too pleased grin. “I was worried I was going to have to come join in you over there. The last bachelorette party we ran into kept wanting me to give the bride a lap dance. It looked pretty dire there for me for a moment. You bridesmaids are an intimidating bunch.”
He doesn’t strike you as someone who would shy away from the attention.
“Feral, drunk, horny women aren’t your thing? Or are you just anti lap dance?” you ask with a cheeky tilt of your head.
“Feral and horny women for sure. And I am very pro lap dance, I’ll have you know. I’m just picky about who I give them too. For example, if you were to ask nicely, I’d be more than happy to demonstrate,” he offers, his cheek ticking up on one side.
He made you feel an exhilarating kind of reckless. And if you were only going to get one night with him, you were going to make the most of it.
“That’s a very expensive bottle of champagne that just got delivered to us.”
“Well, it’s Fleet Week after all.”
“We established that earlier tonight,” you note jokingly.
“So we did,” Bradley acknowledges with a dip of his chin. “And in the spirit of Fleet Week, it seemed like a good gesture to further advance and cultivate better civilian and military relations.”
“Is that what they’re calling it these days?” you laugh.
“Ok, funny girl. Tell me then, what do you think Fleet Week is about?” he asks, settling in and leaning his elbow on the bartop.
You don’t even hesitate.
“Getting free drinks and getting laid.”
“Ok, ok. You’ve got me there,” he chuckles. “Can’t say that hasn’t been part of the draw for me in the past.”
“So you admit you’re doing it wrong,” you can’t help but tease him as you throw a thumb over your shoulder towards the $500 bottle of champagne that’s bubbling away in glasses.
“In my defense, Hangman and I went dutch on it,” Rooster says as he puts his hands up in surrender. “Plus, if you remember, I already had a very pretty girl buy me a drink tonight.” His eyes drag over you pointedly, then lets them linger at your mouth again.
“Only the one?” you ask peering up at him.
“The only one I wanted.”
“And how many others have offered?” you ask, stepping even closer. You can feel the heat rolling off of him in waves even in the well airconditioned room.
He weighs his words before answering, “A few.”
A moment passes between the two of you as crystal-clear clarity settles around you.
The old you would have dropped it, but this version of you, the one you liked being around him was ready to press further.
“So the free drinks have been covered,” you say, fingertips tracing up along the veins of his forearm, “And what about getting laid?”
“I’d be more than happy with a phone number and a date lined up for sixty-two days from now,” Rooster says resting a hand low on your back, his thumb skimming along your bare skin. “But if you wanted, I wouldn’t mind showing you just how invested I am in furthering those civilian-military relations.”
The desire in his eyes makes any lingering doubts in your mind evaporate like a marine layer.
“Is that so, Sailor? How civically inclined of you.”
“Lieutenant Commander, actually,” he says with pride as he straightens up to his full height, his chest looking impossibly broader as he does.
“Lieutenant Commander Bradley Rooster Bradshaw?” you hum, “Now that’s quite a mouthful.”
The low rumble that escapes his chest makes goosebumps erupt across your body.
“You’re trouble,” he murmurs, pulling you closer as he brings his other hand to the curve of your hip.
“Oh please. You handle multimillion-dollar aircrafts for a living, I’m sure you could handle little ol’ me,” you say with a wink.
It’s a challenge, it’s a dare.
“Yeah, I bet I could too,” he rasps, looking at your lips.
He shouldn’t be so easy to like, shouldn’t have you wanting moremoremore when you’ve known him less than two hours.
You bring your hands to his chest, your fingers toying with the little button near the hollow of his throat, “So, you’re shipping out tomorrow…”
You feel as he stiffens slightly under your palms, but his gaze remains steady on you, “Yeah, tomorrow evening. It’s not the greatest of timing, I know.”
“Well then, I guess if there’s a clock we’re working against, we should probably get this show on the road,” you say nodding towards the door.
You watch as the remorse in his eyes is replaced with a mischievous glint. The solemn press of his lips transforming into a slow, knowing smirk.
And you know he’s game.
“You gonna take me home with you, sweetheart?”
“Maybe,” you muse with faux contemplation, looking at him from under your mascara coated lashes, “Do I get a tax break if I do?”
“I’d be more than happy to google it in the cab. And if you do, I’ll even fill out the form for you.”
You see a flash of a grin before he pulls you in for a kiss.
His warm hand and callous fingers glide up your back pressing you against his chest as his lips meet yours. In that moment you are Midas touched, the blood thrumming through your veins feels like liquid gold. Electricity racing from where you’re connected to every nerve ending in your body.
You pull away from him all too soon, smiling to yourself when he chases after your lips.
“I have one condition,” you say, wrapping your arms around his neck.
“Name it,” Bradley says, dropping another lingering kiss to your lips.
“Maybe two,” you concede.
“Name them,” he chuckles lightly.
“You wear a condom.”
“Of course, that’s a given. What else?” He leans back just enough to adjust your sparkly headband from the way it had tilted back on your head.
“And my last request is… that I get to try on your hat.”
“We can definitely make that happen. Anything you want, baby.”
“Well then, if that’s the case, I’m also pretty set on getting to have your cock in my mouth.”
“Jesus Christ.” His hands tighten on your hips, and his brown eyes turn molten.
“I think I’m looking forward to finding out if you’re an officer or a gentleman.”
“I’m definitely both,” Rooster says giving you an all too confident look that promises he has the skill to back up his words, “At least until these dress whites come off.”
You hear another woo! ring out that you know has nothing to do with another delivery of expensive champagne as he takes you by the hand and leads you out of the jewelry box bar.
There are already a few cabs lined up at the rank outside of the hotel. He holds the door open for you, and you slide in giving the driver your address. You’re not sure how Bradley manages to squeeze the bulk of him into the backseat along with you, but you don’t mind the way his thigh presses against yours or the way he rests his heavy hand on your knee or the way his thumb makes maddeningly light circles there.
He laughs when you hold up your phone to him at the flurry of all capitalized and emoji riddled text messages in the group chat that had been created for the evening. And when the driver pulls up to your apartment building, when you try to pull out your credit card, he passes the man a wad of twenties. Way more than the ride cost with a keep the change as he hustles you out of the car.
“Lead the way, baby,” Rooster croons in your ear, his voice low.
And in that moment, you decide you really like Fleet Week.
Who could resist a man in summer whites? Especially when that man is Bradley Bradshaw! Part 2 coming soon!
Thank you for reading!
If you missed Hey, Sailor you can catch it HERE!
You can read my other stories here!
Taglist:
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Snowed In sneak peak [a Jake Seresin one shot]
Summary: When a massive storm shutters every airport in New York, you receive an unexpected call. Jake Seresin, the ex-boyfriend of your college roommate, is stranded at JFK with nowhere to go. Somehow you find yourself hosting Jake for a long weekend in your studio apartment. What happens when you realize that maybe your hatred for him was covering up something else?
Outside, the snow was falling in soft clumps. You looked out the window which overlooked Fifth Avenue. Very few cars or taxis were on the road, and the people who were outside looked miserable.
And then the phone rang. You dove for it, expected it to be your mom with yet another tidbit of news that she thought was groundbreaking, as if you didn’t already know that Diet Coke was bad for you, but the male voice on the other end startled you.
“Ella?”
You squinted, pulling the phone back and registering the caller ID. Jake Seresin. You groaned. “What could you possibly want, Jake?”
“Nice to hear from you, too,” he replied and you rolled your eyes. It had been a decade since you last heard from Jake Seresin. He was just as obnoxious as you remembered.
“Listen, Seresin, if you called just to give me shit, I didn’t need a reminder that you’re a dick. Memory serves well enough. Goodbye.”
“El, wait!”
You frowned. “What?”
His voice softened. “I’m sorry to do this,” he said and you felt your stomach tightening. “But you’re the only person I know in the city.” Jake paused. “I’m stuck at JFK.”
“Don’t eat the egg sandwich,” you said, recalling a moldy sandwich you had gotten once at the airport on the way to Berlin. “Have a good flight, Jake.”
“Ella, I’m stranded,” he said and you groaned. “Can I stay with you? Just until the airports open back up.”
You looked outside. In the two minutes since Jake had called, snow had started to fall faster, coating the streets and sidewalks and innocent pedestrians.
“I’m sorry,” he said and for perhaps the first time that you had known him in almost fifteen years, Jake Seresin sounded genuine. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t my only option.”
Jake Seresin. The last time you had seen him, he was standing in the doorway of your college apartment with a bouquet of flowers that Suzannah had grabbed and trampled on in fury.
“Ella? Are you still there?”
“Fine,” you said, surprising even yourself. “Fifth and 12th Street. Apartment 4B.”
“I owe you, El.”
“Two days, Seresin,” you replied. “Anything more and you get a hotel.”
“I’ll see you soon.”
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Are You Bored Yet: Prologue
summary - Jake Seresin has been the bane of your existence since your freshman year World Politics class and you always thought the feeling was entirely mutual. Now in your junior year, you have every intention of hating Jake just like you always have and putting up with all the ways he hates you too. By every definition, Jake Seresin is your mortal enemy... so why does everyone think you're dating him?
warnings - fake dating, enemies to lovers, college hockey au, language, mentions of violence, slightly suggestive
word count - 2.6k
are you bored yet? masterlist
The Harvard hockey team’s locker room fueled much of the student body’s gossip and was notorious for the most scandalous of hookups. D1 hockey players with far too much ego and free time than they knew what to do with would pick up their favorite fan girl of the night under the pretense of taking them on a romantic ride around an empty ice rink and then… Well, everybody knew those nights always ended in the locker room where those girls went on a different kind of ride.
You are neither a douche bag hockey player, nor the kind of pretty girls they’re attracted to, and yet here you are, panting against the door of the boy’s locker room as rows of cubbies housing hockey paraphernalia greet your vision.
Taking a deep breath, you push yourself up from where you’ve collapsed against the door. Faintly, you can hear the sound of rushed footsteps and you stay frozen until they pass the locker room and fade away. Another breath of relief leaves you when it’s been a second and they haven’t come back and you smooth down the fabric of your sweatpants.
It’s true that you’re not a hockey player nor their girlfriend, but you do have one thing in common with them which is that, technically, you’re not allowed to be in the Harvard hockey stadium right now. And so, solely for self preservation, you find yourself hiding out in the Harvard hockey team’s locker room—with no plans on going on a ride of any sort.
Taking a look around, you piece together what you can about the dimly lit room. It smells a lot better than you thought it would, though you suppose you should have had more faith in the janitorial staff. The little air freshener tree they hung in each locker was a nice touch.
Another precautionary step forward draws your attention to the small plaques hung above each cubby, revealing the identity of the players they belong to. Most you recognized—they’re basically campus celebrities, you think even a student who pays absolutely no attention to hockey would still know who they are. Newer freshman, you have more trouble identifying, but you’re sure you’ll put faces to names as the season picks up. You trace your thumb over one of the engravings, feeling the ridges and valleys under the pad. SERESIN.
Your jaw clenches at just the name.
Jake Seresin - Harvard’s resident star right wing, known for chirping that always led to however much fighting the refs would allow and, if he wasn’t doing that, scoring the most goals of anyone on the team. Projected to be chosen in at least the top 5 of the next NHL draft and with every team desperately trying to trade anything they have for a chance to pick him, it’s not at all a secret that Jake Seresin is a great hockey player.
It’s too bad that he’s also a giant asshole.
You’re certainly not surprised by that fact. You honestly think it might be harder to find a hockey player who isn’t an asshole, but at least those hockey players have the courtesy to not attempt to make your life a living hell. Jake Seresin, on the other hand, can’t seem to do anything but make you want to punch him in the face until all his stupid teeth fall out. In fact, you pray every game that he takes a clean puck to the face (with the college regulated full-shield helmets, it has yet to happen, but there’s always the NHL).
Never in your life have you met a person more infuriating than Jake Seresin. He established himself quickly as your mortal enemy when he completely embarrassed you in your World Politics class your freshman year, absolutely demolishing a comment you’d made until the entire class was hiding their snickers at how wrong you were. The worst part about it all was that he was right. But you’d never tell him that.
Instead you called him a pompous asshole—which he is—and he proceeded to then try to show you up in any class you had together. It’s like his only goal was to embarrass you, to make you feel like you had no place in the classroom, in the field, in the university. It’s infuriating because, while you work your ass off, studying in the library until early hours of the morning, going to every class review day, and purchasing every recommended but not required textbook on the syllabus, Jake doesn’t even have to try.
He doesn’t study or go to review days—you don’t think he owns a single textbook. He never takes notes in class or asks any questions, all his free time is devoted to hockey, he should be failing every class he takes. But he doesn’t, instead he passes them all effortlessly and uses every chance he can to remind you of how stupid you are.
But that’s just what guys like him are like, they put you in a box and then do everything in their power to force you into thinking that’s all you can be. You’ve been dealing with guys like that your whole life and so you are truly and utterly done with putting up with Jake Seresin.
With his plaque still under your thumb, you briefly wonder if it would be too petty to spit in his locker, but that would only be a nuisance to the janitor so you decide against it. You let your eyes fall to the inside of the cubby, suddenly drawn by the curiosity of what Jake Seresin chooses to decorate it with. Probably some beer girl calendar where some blonde in a skimpy bikini pours Bud Light on her tits. Or maybe a shitty poster about “the grind” and “no pain, no gains”.
You’re not surprised to find a small picture of Wayne Gretzky taped to one of the inside walls. It looks to be a newspaper clipping as you can see a few typed characters surrounding the photo of Gretzky mid-celebration. The next picture is mildly more surprising. It’s Jake smiling widely surrounded by three other girls. If you had to guess, given the blonde hair and green eyes, you’d say they were his sisters. One looks to be older than him, standing on his left side and smiling politely. One looks to be about his age, maybe younger, the fact that they look to be close relationship-wise only adding to that, and she has her arm swung around his middle in an excited side hug. The last girl looks to be no older than seven and she’s balanced precariously on Jake’s hip, her arms locked around his neck as she shoots the camera a wide, toothy grin. Jake himself looks happier than you’ve ever seen him. Or maybe not happy, but… relaxed. Like he’s finally with people he doesn’t have to try so hard around.
It almost surprises you, you didn’t think Jake really tried at anything. He just did whatever he felt like and it always worked out for him. You also didn’t know that he has sisters. He always screamed “perfect, only child who got whatever he wanted and never learned the word ‘no’” to you. It was one of the many reasons you hate him.
Processing this new information, you can’t seem to tear your eyes away from the picture taped to Jake’s cubby. You can’t really say what it changes about your perception of him. Maybe it actually changes nothing, Jake is the devil reincarnate, who cares if he has sisters? He’s still the worst human you’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting.
“Can I help you?”
You whip around quickly at the sudden voice behind you, jumping so high you almost hit your head on the top shelf of Jake’s cubby. In front of you, the devil himself stands with a raised brow and crossed arms. To your utter dismay, he’s wearing gray sweatpants low around his waist, and dipping even lower in the front, and nothing else. From the corner of your eye, you can see a small towel on the floor and Jake’s hair still looks damp—you’re trying to focus on that and not the way his large biceps are propped against his pectorals.
That was the worst part of everything regarding your relationship with Jake Seresin, that you’d had a crush on Jake when you first met him. It’s not like you were alone in that, almost every girl on campus does, but you liked him and then he turned around and made you feel so fucking stupid that it hurt. But you learned your lesson quickly and you certainly wouldn’t let the fact that Jake is standing shirtless before you give him an upper hand.
“I could ask you the same thing.” You mirror his body language defensively.
“Uh-uh,” Jake almost chuckles, shaking his head. “I’m the only one of us that’s allowed to be here, sweets.”
Sweets.
Jake’s godforsaken nickname for you that makes you want to rip his balls off. You can’t even remember how it started, just that Jake called you it and it pissed you off and then he realized it pissed you off and so he never stopped calling you it.
“If you were here to steal my boxers, you should know that I don’t keep them in the locker room,” Jake continues with a smirk.
“Steal your—” You sputter in disbelief, surprise blinding you for a moment. “Steal your boxers?”
Jake shrugs. “I know you’re obsessed with me.”
“Me?” You blink exaggeratedly. “Obsessed with you?” You scoff. “Think you got that backwards, Seresin.” Narrowing your eyes, you try to match his teasing look with a glare.
“Right. Because I’m the one breaking into the boy’s locker room.”
“You are!” You point at him accusingly. “Just because you’re on the team, doesn’t mean you’re allowed to be in here either.”
Jake looks like he’s about to respond, his jaw ticking in irritation, when something else seems to catch his attention. Head snapping to the door, his posture stiffens. Suddenly his change in demeanor makes sense as you hear the muffled voices of campus security come closer—you may have been a tad too loud as you were arguing, Jake has a tendency to bring that out of you.
Before you have time to do or say anything, Jake is taking quick steps forward, cornering you up against his cubby as he plants his arms on either side of your head. You try to shove his chest away, but even all your weight against him doesn’t cause him to so much as stumble.
“What the fuck are you doing?!” You hiss, still pushing at Jake’s chest. Your voice slightly rises in panic as the sounds of security get closer and closer.
“Would you shut up for once?” Jake whispers back with just as much bite, his eyes darting back to the locker room door. Suddenly his head drops, freezing a centimeter from the nape of your neck. You can feel his puffs of breath against you, his lips almost ghosting against your skin. Your hands fumble against his bare chest, eyes widening, but you don’t even have the chance to figure out what Jake is doing because the door to the locker room swings open and bright flashlights land on you, causing you to squint your eyes.
Jake draws his head away from your neck almost as quickly as he had put it there and it hits you finally just what his plan was. There isn’t much to interpret from two students pressed up against the lockers, chests heaving and slightly disheveled all while inside the confines of the Harvard hockey team’s locker room.
“Seresin?” One of the security guards is the first to speak, lowering his flashlight as he takes in the two of you and suddenly recognizes the blond.
Jake scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yes, sir.” He spares you a quick glance before turning to fully face the security guards, hiding you behind most of his frame. “I’m sorry, I know we aren’t supposed to be here after hours. She just wanted a tour and I thought it would be okay.”
The two guards look between you before sharing a look. And you don’t blame them because what they caught as they entered the locker room made Jake look like the worst tour guide of all time. It probably doesn't help that you’re fully hiding behind him at this point, but you’re way too embarrassed to face any of these men head on so Jake’s defined back muscles seem to be the lesser of two evils.
“I see.” The two guards seem to have finished their wordless conversation as one turns back to speak to you both slowly. “I’ll let you off this time, just… Don’t do it again, alright?”
“Yes, sir,” Jake nods solemnly and you swear you’ve never seen him look so serious. “It won’t happen again.” Suddenly his hand is reaching out behind him to land on your lower back. You have to stop yourself from jumping at the contact as Jake ushers you somewhat forward.
The two security guards share one last look before they exit the locker room, but you know that they're still waiting just outside. It’s wordless as Jake picks up his discarded towel, throwing it into a basket full of them before sliding on a hoodie and still neither of you speak as you exit the locker room with an awkward nod to the guards and then exit the stadium all together. It’s only when you’re outside and a few feet away that you turn on Jake.
“What the fuck was that?!”
Jake scoffs, shoving his hands in his hoodie pocket as he rolls his eyes. “What was what? The way I just saved both our asses?”
“No, you saved your ass. You made me look like some puck bunny!” Your voice raises accusingly. ‘She just wanted a tour’—” Your voice drops and your demeanor shifts to mock him. “Do you have any idea what that makes me look like?! I’m mortified just because you didn’t wanna tell them what you were actually doing in there!”
“And what about you, huh? I could ask you the same fucking thing.” Jake’s voice matches your own and something nags in the back of your mind that you should both quiet down before security catches you again, but you’re too angry to care.
You stomp towards him. “It’s really none of your business.”
“Oh, but I think it is, sweets.” Jake raises his brows in that stupid, condescending way that he always does, before dropping his chin so he can meet your eye. “And don’t act like I didn’t see you in there, you had no idea how you were gonna explain what you were doing ogling my locker at 9:00 pm. If anything, you should be thanking me—”
“Fuck you, Jake.”
Your words cause both of you to come to a screeching halt, the air around you visible with how much the two of you are panting. Something unreadable flickers across Jake’s face before the olive green of his eyes hardens and his lips purse.
He prods the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “Right.” He laughs bitterly. “I forgot who I was talking to for a second. I’ll see you in class tomorrow. Try not to cheat off my quiz.”
And then Jake’s starting to move, letting his shoulder gently knock against yours as he passes you. You watch him walk away, jaw slightly dropped at the audacity he has to say what he just did, and not once does he so much as look back. It’s not until he turns a corner and is out of sight that you can finally bring yourself to move, only one thought running through your brain.
You fucking hate Jake Seresin.
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