pisupsala

[pisupsala]

Remember You Even When I Don't (9)

Summary: A training accident, the doctor had told him. A nasty one that led him here, laying in a hospital bed with a splitting headache and an inability to remember the woman sitting beside him. What he did know, though, was that you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and you felt important to him. That, as it turns out, would become an understatement.

Words: 5.5K

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw/Reader (no use of y/n, so can be read as unnamed oc)

Warnings: angst, hospitals, memory loss, language, suggestive themes, smut

Notes: Thank you to everyone who continues to like, comment, and reblog! They are so unbelievably appreciated.

This was inspired by a one shot by the lovely @roosterforme and would not exist without her assistance. If you haven't read any of her stuff, please check out her masterlist - you won't be disappointed! All of the thanks to her and @mak-32 for being the best cheerleaders and friends I could ask for!

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You find out a few days after your hospital trip that an article you wrote before his accident is being nominated for an award. He doesn’t care if he didn’t understand a word of what it said or recognize any of the names cited in it; he’s so damn proud of you. 

He tells you that you should celebrate. Go out with all of your friends and have a proper party in your honor, but you shake your head at his suggestion. 

“I just want to celebrate with you.” 

He’s not a great cook, and grilled cheese doesn’t seem celebratory enough, so he orders the two of you Thai food that’s a touch too spicy for him and that you eat like it’s nothing, and you pair it with a few cans of your favorite sour beer that you keep stocked. When the plastic containers are cleared away, he pops a bottle of Prosecco that he grabbed from your wine fridge. You grin at him so hard that he feels like he’s missing out on an inside joke, but can’t figure out what it is. You giggle when he asks, holding out your glass for him to pour instead of giving him an answer. He doesn’t pay attention, too busy staring into your eyes, so he startles when the glass almost immediately bubbles over. Your giggling turns into full fledged laughter. 

“I knew that would happen,” you smirk. You swipe some of the overflowed liquid off the glass and bring your finger to your lips. Bradley is entranced, watching you lick it away. He knows he’s staring, and you raise an eyebrow at him as you hold your glass up. Your smirk is making him dizzy.

He raises his own glass, clinking it against yours lightly, “Cheers to you, Sweetheart.” 

“Cheers,” you murmur, eyes locked on his as you take a sip. 

The two of you settle onto the couch, the bottle of Prosecco on the coffee table in front of you. Your socked feet nudge against his thigh as you sit facing him, and he only hesitates for a moment before he lets his hand comfortably cover your ankle, his thumb ghosting up and down the joint as the two of you lose yourselves in conversation. He asks you about work and the article you had written; he was interested in the material, sure, but he also knew how passionate you were about what you did and that you could ramble about it when you wanted to, and he loved listening to you talk. 

You make it through the first bottle easily, and he opens the second one in much the same fashion as he did the first. He enjoys watching the way your face flushes and the way you giggle more as the champagne hits your system. He finds himself scooting closer to you as it hits him, too. Your legs are draped over his lap at this point and while one arm rests on the back of the couch behind him, the other is laying across your legs above your knees. Your black leggings are soft against the palm of his hand, and he finds a loose thread at the outer seam of your thigh to pick at. 

“Do you miss it?” he asks, “working full time?”

“Sometimes,” you admit with a shrug. You were only doing a few hours a week now, writing or offering commentary when it was asked of you. He knew that you were asked to be part of a panel covering the election earlier, but that you had declined, knowing it would put you in DC for a few days and unwilling to leave him, despite how great of an opportunity it was. 

“You can start back anytime, Pumpkin. I don’t want to hold you back.”

“You aren’t,” you promise, and your smile tells him you mean it. “I like spending time with you like this. Unless you’re getting sick of me already? I’ll make some calls tomorrow and see if they need me in Washington if that’s the case.” 

Your voice has taken on that familiar teasing tone that he loved so much and he laughs, shaking his head. 

“I don’t think it’s possible to be sick of you. I’d miss you too much if you weren’t here,” he teases back, though his words were true. 

“I bet you would.”

“I would! Who else would cook me dinner or drive me around and keep me entertained?”

You throw your head back as you laugh, and his smirk turns into a tipsy grin at the vision you create. It still shocks him, this effect you have on him. 

“That’s all I’m good for, huh?”

“You’re good for a lot of things,” he promises, and though his voice still has that little bit of a teasing lilt to it, neither of you can deny how serious he sounds, either. 

You stare at him for a long moment, your bottom lip drawn between your teeth in a way that makes his heart beat faster. Your cheeks are flushed so prettily, your eyes wide and bright. You look like you’re calculating something and he patiently waits you out. 

“I’m so glad we’re here,” you eventually whisper, and the quirk of his eyebrow asks the question he doesn’t verbally. “Things could have ended differently.”

“Pumpkin..”

“They could have.” He knows you’re right, but that doesn’t mean he likes to hear it. You cup his cheek and your soft hand against his scruff is the best kind of juxtaposition. He turns his head just the slightest bit, pressing a kiss against your palm. Your lips part slightly at the action. “But instead, you’re right here with me, and things may not be the same, but…they’re getting there. I don’t have to miss you when you’re right in front of me anymore, not completely, at least.” 

“What do you mean, completely?” 

Your eyes widen briefly, like you just embarrassed yourself with your own words. The heat that takes over your face is different from the flush you had from the champagne. It draws him in closer, his hand spreading out on your outer thigh. Your hand is still on his face and your eyes are growing darker, but you bite your lip and shake your head. 

“It’s nothing.” 

“Pumpkin.” Your eyes flutter shut for a moment and you shiver, then, and Bradley suddenly has an idea of what it was you were thinking. You may not have to miss him emotionally, for the most part, but you’re still missing him in other ways. His mind flashes back to the photos he found in his phone. And maybe it’s the champagne in his system or the way you’re looking at him, or maybe just how familiar you feel to him lately, but he finds himself wanting to be bold. “Do you miss…being able to send me pictures, like you did before?” 

You gasp out a sharp, surprised sound, your eyes widening more than before. He feels you tense against him and for a moment he questions whether that was the right thing to say. 

“I found them,” he tells you before you could ask, and his hand has started slowly trailing up and down on your thigh as it lays in his lap. “When I was going through my phone last week. I hadn’t meant to but I was reading our messages and then saw a picture you had sent me and remembered that there were more. Maybe I shouldn’t have looked at them.” 

But you’re already shaking your head, murmuring that it was okay. 

“Did you…did you like them?” you stutter, and your voice is smaller, more insecure than Bradley had ever heard, and he didn’t like that tone - he never wanted you to feel anything but confident with him.  

He hooks a finger under your chin, raising your eyes so that they’ll meet him again from where they had fallen in your sudden display of shyness. “I did,” he promises, and your lips part again.“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, Pumpkin.” 

Your breathing intermingles as he leans forward, and he can taste the Prosecco on your lips when he kisses you. 

You pull away after only a moment and Bradley chases after you. You duck your head, and his kiss lands on your burning cheek instead. You won’t meet his eyes.

“Hey,” he murmurs, and you shake your head. “Pumpkin?” 

“I’m a little embarrassed,” you admit, and it seems unimaginable to him, knowing how comfortable you usually are in your body, especially when it comes to him. But then he realizes that while he may know that, you don’t know that he knows that, because this is something he’s kept to himself since that very first morning waking up beside you after weeks without it and the shower it forced him into afterward. 

He takes a deep breath and moves his hand higher on your leg. Your leggings are pulled tight around your butt, but he squeezes lightly and your eyelashes flutter as you draw your lip between your teeth again. 

“I don’t think you were embarrassed when you took them.” 

Your eyes open just the slightest bit, and he swallows thickly before continuing. 

“I don’t think you were embarrassed when you went in our closet and got my uniform hat out as soon as I left for work that morning, and how you undressed yourself and put it on for me to tease me, knowing I had a hop that day that would get my adrenaline running. I don’t think you were embarrassed when I came home that night, and I found you on our bed, touching yourself while you were waiting for me. Or how that hat stayed on the whole time and I didn't take it off until you were almost asleep on my chest afterwards.” 

Your breathing quickens as he speaks. The whimper you let out when his words clicked in your head sent a shot of heat straight through him; not all of those things were mentioned in your text thread or documented in that scandalous little secret album he had made of you. Which means it was something he remembered about you - about the two of you, together. 

You’re the one who kisses him, this time, and he’s immediately opening his mouth for you. As your tongues tangle together, he grabs your ass a little bit firmer and before he realizes what he’s doing, you’re straddling him there on the couch. You hover above him at first, but he shakes his head into the kiss and pulls you flush down on him. You moan into each other’s mouths and Bradley kisses you harder. 

Hands wander and tongues explore and Bradley thinks this may be what heaven feels like.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers into your skin, his lips trailing up and down your neck as you heave for air; your chest presses against his with every exhale. “I don’t say it enough.”

“You always made me feel beautiful, baby. Every day.”

He doesn’t like that word - made. Because that implied he didn’t now, at least not in the same ways, and all he wants is to love you and cherish you and make you feel wanted, because he does and you are. 

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. They’re hooded. Dark. Full of a desire that’s still guarded even if you’re trying to hide the fact. 

“I’ll tell you everyday from now on. I’ll make sure you know.”

He cuts off your response with another kiss, catching your moan in his mouth. His hands trail back down over your body, feeling your curves in the most delicious of ways, to settle back on your full behind. He squeezes harder this time and his hips buck up at the same time you grind down. He knows that you can feel how hard he is; he can’t bring himself to be ashamed. He repeats the action and when he feels you tug on his hair, he rips his mouth away from yours to let out a long, drawn out sound. 

“Fuck,” he moans, and you pull on the strands again. “I like that.”

“I know,” you hum before Bradley connects your lips again. He keeps a solid grip on you and uses the momentum of the moment to his advantage, twisting the two of you so that he can lay you down on the couch cushions with him bracketed between your legs without ever losing contact with you. Your heels dig into his lower back as you arch into him.

He loses track of how long he holds you down and kisses you; all the time in the world would never be enough for him. 

He angles himself up just the slightest bit so he can fit one of his hands between the two of you. He’s desperate to feel you against his fingers. But it’s when he’s slipping past the waistband of your thin pants that you grip his wrist. 

“Wait,” you pant. Bradley pauses immediately, his chest heaving. “Wait, wait.”

“Pumpkin?” 

“We should stop,” you insist, nodding your head when he shakes his at you. He knows that even if the words are coming from your mouth, you’re fighting them. 

“Why?” 

“Because,” you say, “I want you so much, baby.”

“Then I don’t understand why we’re stopping. I want you too. I want you so much.” He places a few featherlight kisses against your cheeks and forehead. To his surprise, tears well in your eyes at the action. “Sweetheart?”

“That’s why we have to stop,” you croak. You push against him again, and this time, Bradley moves so that you can slip out from underneath him. He lays on his side on the couch, partially propped up by one arm as you stand in front of him.

“I don’t understand,” he mutters again, feeling just a little bit hopeless, and he watches as you fight to catch your breath. You’re twisting your ring again, and as was common recently, he feels the lack of one on his own finger. 

“You said-we said we wanted to go slow, remember? That we would wait…wait until things were how they used to be.” 

Bradley sits up, then, eyeing you carefully. He goes over your words in his head, wondering what it was you meant. He thought things had been getting better. From what he remembers, how the two of you have been acting with one another and how he feels is how things used to be. He licks his lips as he considers how to respond. He can still taste the coconut of your chapstick. 

“Are they not…how they used to be?” 

“That’s not what I’m saying!” Your eyes are wide and he believes you. You’re fighting with yourself right now, an inner turmoil that is manifesting itself in the way you twist your ring and run your hand through your ruffled hair. “I know I can’t have it exactly the same. And I’m okay with that, really! But I-I don’t want to do this if we aren’t on the same page, okay? I won’t be something that you regret. I don’t…I wouldn’t be able to handle that.” 

There’s something you’re not saying. Something you’re scared to say, and Bradley knows that whatever it is is because you don’t want to make him feel bad. 

It clicks, then, that he hasn’t been the only one holding back. He had been fighting himself, trying to be considerate of your feelings and not overwhelm you with something he didn’t understand yet, all the while you had been doing the very same as you fought yourself to protect him from how you feel. You hadn’t asked for another I love you since that night on the porch, not wanting to hear it if he didn’t know he meant it. You really didn’t know how he felt now, because he had been too scared to share it with you. He can’t believe he hasn’t put together how much the both of you need that until this moment. You had made yourself vulnerable for him that time, and he needed to do the same with you now.

Bradley stands from the couch, calling your name softly. You stop your pacing, your gaze still as dark and hooded and worried as it was a moment ago. You chew on your bottom lip as you look at him. He grabs your left hand, pulling you closer to him, and takes your place in rubbing his finger over the ring he had placed there 3 years ago. Your breath catches, and it doesn’t escape him that this is the first time he’s intentionally touched the jewelry. 

He thought he’d be nervous at this moment. In all the times he thought about it, it shook him to the core so vividly that he kept it to himself. But he didn’t feel any of the anticipated butterflies in his stomach, or a whirling in his head. Instead he feels completely at ease - calmer than he has been since he woke up in that hospital bed almost two months ago. 

He doesn’t remember everything, but he remembers enough to know not only you, but how he feels about you.

He knows you prefer iced coffee all year round regardless of the temperature outside. He knows that you keep chapstick in almost every room, and that even if you don’t admit it, sometimes you wish you had a better relationship with your parents. He knows that building this home with you was the first time he ever touched his mothers life insurance policy, because he knew that’s what she would want and it made him feel like she was a part of this experience, too. You preferred putting up Christmas decorations the day after Halloween and you miss the snow that came with living in the northeast. You watch way too much true crime to the point you sometimes make yourself a little paranoid when the lights are off, but he always enjoyed holding you a little closer when you felt that way. He knows that you make him smile and feel things he had never known before. You protect him and you love him and he wants to be with you, always, and would do anything for you. And he thinks he knew those things even before he knew you, both times around. 

“I love you.”

He sees your lips part, and your eyes immediately fill with tears again. He hates making you cry but he knows, he knows these are good tears, and so long overdue. 

“You do?” You ask, voice trembling with emotion. Bradley nods, feeling a lump forming in his throat. With the hand not holding yours, he pushes some of your hair out of your face, letting his fingers trail over the smooth skin. 

“I’ll always love you, Pumpkin. I promised you that, remember?” 

You let out a sob, then, nodding your head rapidly and squeezing his hand. “I do. Do you?” 

He hums in response, and a small smile quirks at his lips. “Loving you was the easiest thing I’ll ever remember, baby. I don’t think it’s something that I ever really forgot.” 

You kiss him then and it’s desperate in a way that it hasn’t been up until this point. He bends his knees and you jump to wrap your legs around his waist and it feels so good, holding you closely like this. There was a certain kind of thrill knowing that he was the only thing keeping you upright and that you trusted him so fully to not let you fall. Your arms are tight around his neck. He wants you, maybe more than anything he’s ever wanted before. 

It’s a fumble of kisses and moans as he carries you up the stairs. He trips near the top, and you let out almost giddy laughter when he slams you back into the wall to avoid an uncomfortable trip back down to the first floor. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he pants, kissing you again, pulling away only to press his lips to your cheeks and to nip at your jaw. The wall gives him leverage and he pushes his hips hard into yours; he swears he can almost feel how wet and warm you are through both of your clothing already. He’s harder than he can ever remember being and the breathy little moan you let out makes him throb. 

“Take me to bed,” you accompany the request with a tug of the curls on the back of his head and he crashes his lips back to yours before you can even get another word in. 

He pulls you away from the wall and finishes the climb. Your tongue tangles with his the whole way to your room and it’s not until he sets you down at the foot of the bed that he pulls away. It’s silent for a moment, the only sound is your combined heavy breathing as you stare at one another. 

“Are you alright?” you ask softly, and Bradley thinks he could cry, all of a sudden. He’s not sure what he did to deserve someone who cares about him the way you so effortlessly and willingly do. 

“I’m perfect,” he says in response. A beat passes and he sees you slowly reaching for the hem of your shirt, but he grabs your wrist, stopping you.

“Let me,” he rasps. Slowly, he slides his hands under the fabric, feeling the skin soft and burning under his fingertips. You lift your arms above your head and he takes the hint without a question. The material comes off easily, but he doesn’t linger; he wants to see all of you.

The wide surface of his hands rest against the soft skin of your waistline, his thumbs briefly caressing the skin just under your bra, before he lets them trail down to your hips. Without a word, he sinks down to his knees in front of you. He looks up at you, meeting your eyes, and though no question really needs to be asked at this point, you answer him anyway with a small nod. He leans forward and presses a featherlight kiss against your stomach. Slowly, he peels the stretchy material down your legs. It pools at your feet and he looks up at you again, your eyes blown dark and wide with desire and love. 

“I love you,” he says again, followed by another kiss to your panty line. Lingering, gentle. His eyes flutter briefly and he lets himself breathe you in for a moment before continuing on the mission he set out to do. 

He tugs the pretty pink cotton down your legs. His lips follow, kissing first your hip bone and then the top of your thighs, and your fingertips dig into his shoulders that you’re holding onto for purchase as you lift each leg to let him remove the material completely. 

He rises slowly, and you don’t hesitate to thread your fingers through his hair again and tug his lips to yours as he does. His hands glide up your spine, feeling each ridge as he goes, and he loves the way you shiver for him. He only fumbles with the clasp of your black bra for a moment before he feels it give. He takes a small step back, admiring the way it looks as it falls down your shoulders. He swallows thickly as he tugs it gently, giving it that last little bit of momentum to separate from your body and fall to the ground between you. 

You don’t move to cover yourself, completely bare before him, and he marvels at the work of art that you create. You’re beautiful, astonishingly so, and he can’t believe that you’re his; he can’t believe that you chose him. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes out. With those words, he learns that you flush all over. 

He tugs at his own shirt, quickly ridding himself of that and the pants he had been wearing, and when he’s down to just his boxer briefs, he pulls you against him again, already missing the feel of your lips on his. He picks you up once more, only to lay you down on the soft blanket covering your bed. He climbs on top of you, and seeing you like this, spread out underneath him, is nearly his undoing. 

“I love you,” he whispers, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. Then to your nose, brief and chaste, before continuing down, ghosting of touches to your chin and your neck. His lips make it to a freckle on your clavicle, and it’s warmer, open and wet, and you arch up into him with a gasp. When he circles your nipple with his tongue, you moan for him. 

“Bradley.” 

But he’s not done yet, wants to taste you all over. A hunger grows in him the closer he gets, and you must know what he’s intending because you let the thighs you had been rubbing together fall open before him. He can see how wet you are, how you glisten against the small smattering of hair you have there. His mouth waters as your scent hits him, musky and floral and something that is just you, and he doesn’t hesitate as he flattens his tongue against your folds. You taste devine. He groans against you as he does it again, licking all the way up before he wraps his lips around your clit. 

“Bradley, oh god.” 

Blindly, he grabs your hands from where they’re clenching the comforter. He threads his fingers with yours and you squeeze tight. He feels the pressure of your rings. 

You’re whining underneath him as he continues lapping at your core and he thinks he could come just from the sounds you’re making and the taste of you. He pushes his tongue inside of you and he can’t help but look up at you from his position. Your head is thrown back, your lip between your teeth, and oh, no, that won’t do. 

“I want to hear you,” he pulls away to say, diving back in once he sees you release your lip. As he closes around your sensitive nub again, he’s rewarded with a loud gasp, followed by a keen of his name. 

Yes, he thinks, that’s more like you. 

Your orgasm hits you faster than he anticipated just a few moments later. Your hips grind up into his face as he sucks furiously at your clit and god damn, he can’t believe he could have ever forgotten you. 

He’s panting when he pulls away, licking his lips to chase the taste of you. He rests his cheek on your thigh, watching as you come down. Your chest heaves and your whole body seems to tremble in the aftershocks of it, and when you open your eyes and look down at him, he’s a little bit startled to see them glassy with tears. 

“Pum-” 

“Come here,” you gasp, tugging your hands loose from where they were still intertwined with his to pull him back up your body. You kiss him, desperate and wanting, and he knows you must be able to taste yourself on his tongue. He pulls away, panting from the lack of oxygen. 

“You’re crying,” he notes. 

“You’re real,” you return, clutching at his bare back, and he understands immediately - he had been right here, but still out of reach for you for way too long. “I love you, and I missed you so much.” 

“I’m right here,” he promises, pressing a kiss to your cheek, your nose, your lips. “I’m never leaving you again.” It’s not a promise he’s guaranteed to keep, but he knows he’d do everything in his power for the rest of his life not to break it. 

“Off,” you command, trying to push the green material of his briefs, the only thing still separating you, down with your feet like they had personally offended you. “Baby, please. Please, please, please.” 

Seeing you desperate like this makes him dizzy and he’s quick to appease you. When he settles himself flush on top of you, you both moan at the feeling. He’s hot and heavy against your warm and wet center; Bradley doesn’t know how he’s going to last. He places a tender, chaste kiss to your lips as he lines himself up, whispering again that he loves you against your mouth. 

Sliding into you feels like the first time, and he supposes in a way, it is. You feel like home and hope and everything good and he never wants to be away from you again. 

It was too much. It wasn’t enough. It was everything, all at once. 

“Fuck,” he rasps. “You feel so good, baby. So fucking amazing. I’m not going to last,” he pants, desperately trying to regain some control over himself. He had never felt this close this fast, but the emotions of the night mixed with how long it’s been were proving to be detrimental to his stamina. He needed this, so badly. You both did. You shake your head and assure him that it’s okay. You clench around him and his arms shake from where he’s holding himself up above you. He drops to his forearms, unable to take it. 

“Move,” you gasp, and who is he as your husband to deny you anything? 

Bradley slowly pulls his hips back, enjoying the drag as he goes, but relishing in how much better it feels to sink back into you. Over and over again he repeats the motion. A tremble climbs up his spine as he kisses along your jaw, nipping at you softly and soothing it with his tongue. He settles his face into the curve of your neck, panting against your skin. 

His chest is pressed against yours, your nails scraping down in his back in a way that he hopes he carries with him for the next few days. Your heels press into the back of his thighs and urge him forward with every thrust, meeting him move for move. The sounds you were making were like music and with every gasp and moan of his name, he craves more. 

“Let go, sweetheart,” you murmur in his ear, nudging your nose along the scruff of his beard. But he shakes his head, unwilling to lose himself before you did, too. He brings his hand down to your center, circling gently at first before rapidly rubbing at your clit with his fingers to push you closer to that edge he was already precariously dangling on. 

“You’re so tight,” he murmurs, delighting in the way you immediately clench down. “I want you to come for me, Pumpkin.” 

“Bradley,” you whimper, clutching him closer. He knows that you’re almost there, knows it like he knows how much he loves you and how lucky he is to be married to you. 

“My perfect wife,” he breathes, and that’s what finally does it. 

You break with a sob, and oh. Having you come on his tongue is one thing, but feeling you come around his cock is something almost otherworldly. He knows he’ll never feel anything like it again outside of you.

He loses his rhythm as he chases his own end. You’re impossibly tight around him and he knows nothing but you at this moment. You moan his name again and his orgasm pulses at his core and sweeps through him. He releases inside of you with a shout of your name and you clutch at him as he rides it out. 

It’s almost too overwhelming, everything that he’s feeling right now. You run your fingers through his hair as he tries to catch his breath, softly combing through the damp strands. He gives a few lazy after thrusts and you whimper at the oversensitivity it causes, but shake your head when he goes to pull out. 

“Stay,” you murmur, voice tired in the best of ways, “stay.” 

He presses his forehead against yours and your breaths mingle together. He forces his eyes to stay open, wanting to see you in the afterglow. It occurs to him, then, that this experience was entirely his own. There was no tingling in his brain or fuzziness in his line of vision that always came when a memory hit him. This was new. A refreshed start, not muddled by the confusion of what was and what is. It’s just the two of you, here, together, finding peace and pleasure and love no matter the circumstance that got you here.

“I love you,” he whispers. It must be the fifth or eighth or maybe even the twelfth time tonight, but he doesn’t care. He’s gone so long without saying it that he feels like he had to make up for lost time. 

“I love you, too.” 

He wants to stay in your arms forever, and for the first time since he woke up in the hospital, when he was overwhelmed with emotions he didn’t understand, he feels like maybe he can. 

-----

Part Ten :: Series Masterlist :: Main Masterlist

Notes: The moment I feel like people have been waiting for! I hope you enjoyed! Just a few more parts left :)

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#mila's early endless summer #if you love it reblog it #catching up!

[pisupsala]

and even when we’re wrong in every way, we come out the other side okay [part 2.2.1]

Summary: in which lieutenant commander bradshaw is getting honored with an award in front of all his colleagues. when he remembers the particulars behind the mission in question, he considers how lucky he is to have his best girl by his side, especially considering how she almost wasn't

OR you take on the pacific fleet’s awards gala

Pairing: Rooster x Fem!Reader 15.7k

Warnings: 18+, explicit language, suggestive dialogue, bradley has a little bit of a spiral...

[part 1], [part 1.5], [part 2.1], part [2.2.1], [part 2.2.2] and the official companion playlist

Thanks to an early check-in at the hotel, you and Bradley had gotten settled in your room around noon. This gave you just enough time to have lunch together and hang out at the beach for a couple hours before you and Natasha met up to get blow-outs. You and Bradley had spent the previous night apart, citing a nail appointment with Nat - amongst other things - that you had to attend to after work, so you were both excited for your little weekend getaway. Even if it was just a night away in Coronado.

Bradley had just gotten out of the shower when he heard the hotel room door close and a moment later saw you in the hallway. 

“Hey.” He glanced over at you and smiled. “Your hair looks nice.”

“Thanks.” You preened and leaned against the bathroom doorway. “Bubs, why are you just now getting out of the shower?”

You’d been gone for a while - or at least for the entire pregame coverage and first two quarters of the Alabama/Tennessee game that Bradley had been watching. He had timed his shower to fit in during halftime, not knowing exactly how long it took someone to get their hair blown out.

He cleared his throat. “I uhh - I took a really long shower?”

“You just got in didn’t you?”

“Yup.” You scrunched up your nose and shook your head. Bradley mimicked you and pulled you into the bathroom by the belt loops on your baggy jean shorts. “And you,” he gave you a quick peck on the lips, “look gorgeous.”

You ducked your head. “I don’t even have my dress on or makeup done yet…”

Bradley clicked his tongue. “The infamous dress…” 

All you’d offered to him in terms of a hint was that it would match his formal dress blues - which admittedly didn’t give him much to go off. 

He had seen your shoes, though - nude heels with a dainty little ankle strap that he knew he’d fumble with later. But now you looked so soft and sweet in your oversized oxford and frayed denim shorts. God, you were so pretty. Didn’t matter if you’d just woken up, had been working all day, or had just gotten your hair done - Bradley always thought you were gorgeous. 

Unable to keep his hands off you for a second longer, he pulled you into his arms, with your back to his front so that you were both facing the mirror. He put his chin on your shoulder and lightly swayed the two of you back and forth. 

“You smell pretty,” you whispered, but refused to meet his eyes in the mirror. 

“Pretty sure that’s my line, kid.” He pressed a couple featherlight kisses on your neck and you giggled. 

“That tickles!” He kept at it, eliciting more giggles from you, until you wiggled out of his grasp so you were facing each other again. Bradley settled his hands on your hips, while you cupped his cheek. “My scruffy boy.”

“Was just about to shave - do you wanna…” He jutted his chin towards the razor and shaving cream canister on the counter. 

You glanced back at them and cocked your head. “Wait, really? I don’t wanna mess it up or cut you - especially tonight…”

I just want you to touch me didn’t seem like a valid enough excuse, but that’s all he wanted. After everything the last week and a half, the two of you were still a little cautious around each other, so much so that it had left Bradley feeling a little needy - almost like he was always wanting you to touch him or needing the reassurance that everything was okay between the two of you. 

“I trust you,” he said, but the words came out heavier than he had anticipated. 

You tucked a strand of freshly blown out hair behind your ear. “Okay, yeah, sure. So, how exactly does this work?”

“First -” he took the shaving cream canister off the counter, “- squirt a little of this in your hand -”

“- I know how to use shaving cream,” you teased, “I mean do I go up or down? Should I be at a different angle? Stuff like that?”

“Stuff like that, huh?” You shoved his shoulder and he exaggerated a grunt. “Alright, Million Dollar Baby, you can sit on the counter, the light’s probably better, too.”

With Bradley’s help, you hiked yourself up onto the bathroom counter and he placed himself between your legs. Even through the plush, white towel he was wearing around his waist, he felt himself brush against your soft legs and couldn’t resist running his hands up them and your thighs for a moment. 

“You’re gonna make me mess up if you keep doing that…” He held his hands up in surrender. “Good boy. Alright, let’s see.”

You contorted your body to quickly wash your hands in the sink and then popped the cap off the shaving cream and squirted some into your hands. The shaving cream changed from gel to frothy white cream in an instant and you lathered it across Bradley’s cheeks and neck. 

“Is it cold on your face?” He hummed in the negative. “Is it bad that I’m nervous? It feels like that scene in the Parent Trap.”

Bradley chuckled. “You’re fine, start at the top and work your way down.”

The first time the blade made contact with his skin, your eyes widened and he had to hold back a chuckle, lest it mess you up. But eventually, you got into a good rhythm and looked absolutely adorable with your tongue poking out of your mouth in concentration. And while it seemed like you hadn’t even realized it, it was very much apparent to Bradley that you had wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer to you so your heels were digging into his ass. His hands ultimately found their way back to your thighs - if pressed, he would say it was so you didn’t fall.

By now, you had finished shaving the majority of his face, leaving just around his mustache and neck. It was relaxing, having someone else do something he typically considered a chore. Plus, having someone so pretty and soft and warm wrapped around his body while doing it? It felt like a reward. 

“If you keep looking at me like that I’m gonna mess up,” you said, not looking away from his neck. 

He smiled, causing you to stop. “But you’re so cute.”

You rolled your eyes, but were clearly fighting a smile. “You’re just saying that because I’m wielding all the power here…”

In response, you brought the razor closer to Bradley’s mustache than he was comfortable with. “Woah, woah, woah. Careful with the ‘stache, sweets.”

You made a face. “Sweets?”

“It slipped out, sorry.” The blade hovered over his mustache, getting closer and closer to the edge and Bradley didn’t like the look on your face. “Sweets is not happening again, scouts honor.” He held up three fingers for good measure.

“Good, but only because I need you looking your best for Nat’s Halloween party, Coach Lasso.”

Somehow, you had strong-armed Bradley into being Ted Lasso for the aforementioned Halloween party in two weeks. The two of you had been watching the show some weeks ago and you’d mentioned how handsome you thought Ted was - for the record Bradley never got handsome from you as a compliment, it was always pretty - and before Bradley knew it, he was mentioning how he had the same pair of Nike Air Pegasus as Ted and you were ordering him an AFC Richmond jumper and visor. 

He’d get you back next year - hopefully. 

“You like the mustache, don’t lie…” Bradley leaned back, looking at you with unbridled amusement.

“Hmmm. Maybe I’ve just gotten used to it, old -”

“- Don’t say old man -”

“- man.”

Before he knew what he was doing, he placed a dollop of excess shaving cream on your nose. “None of that now.”

You giggled and wiped your nose and put the hand not holding the razor on your hip. “Still wielding all the power here, bubs. You gonna let me finish or not?” He cocked an eyebrow. “Oh, shush.”

“Fine, fine. You can finish.” 

True to his word, Bradley let you finish shaving the rest of his neck and around his mustache. He tried not to be too self conscious as you shaved near the ever-so prominent scars on his neck and cheeks, but let out a sigh as you dragged your fingers across them tenderly once you finished.

“All set.” He smiled at you and gave you a quick kiss. You giggled. “God, you silly boy, you always make such a mess - here.” You started brushing the excess hair off the vanity and also wiped the remaining shaving cream off his face so he could put on his aftershave, himself. “You know, this won’t fly if we ever properly share a bathroom.”

He chuckled. He always liked your fussing. In fact, before Bradley had started seeing you, he had always thought he was impeccably neat. But you? Nah, you could lick whipped cream off your kitchen floor with how neat and clean you kept everything. 

“I’ve never lived with anyone else before - I mean, I had roommates in college and there were the guys on base I’ve lived with, but never with someone like that...”

You tucked your hair behind your ear. “Me neither.”

“I think I’d have to be really serious about them? Like I’d have to be ready to take that next step with them, you know?” 

He hoped he wasn’t being too obvious. You hadn’t been seeing each other for too long, just six months. Your lease wasn’t even close to being up yet. But it was nice to talk about it - about a future for the two of you.

When you finally spoke again, your voice was shy. “Yeah, definitely the next step.” 

Take the next step with me, he wanted to say. But it was too early. Way too early. Maybe you guys could talk about it in a couple months? Once you got through the holidays and everything. You were already spending Thanksgiving together - a trip up to Berkeley to stay with your dad and stepmom and Bradley’s first time meeting them in person - but Christmas was still up in the air.

You cleared your throat. “Once you’re done here, I’ll start getting ready? Just have to do my makeup and put on my dress.”

Hoping to inject some levity into the situation, Bradley joked: “You know, you helped me with shaving, ‘least I could do is offer to help you with your makeup.”

You pretended to consider this. “Think I’ll have to pass on that one, but I’ll take it into consideration in the future.”

“Fine, fine,” he held his hands up in surrender, “but don’t say I didn’t offer.”

With one final kiss on the cheek, you let Bradley finish getting ready and eventually switched positions a few minutes later, leaving Bradley to change into his formal dress blues in the bedroom, while you took over the bathroom. 

Eventually, some twenty minutes later, Bradley knocked back the rest of his whiskey as he watched the College GameDay coverage. The clock on the bottom of the screen told him it was already six - you were going to be late. 

“Bradley?” your voice came out muffled from behind the bathroom door.

“Yeah?” he asked, not taking his eyes off the TV in the living area, as he made his way towards the bathroom. He wanted to see the highlights from the UVA game earlier in the day, too. 

“Could you help me -” He slid open the pocket-door. “- with my - oh!”

You let out a gasp, making eye contact with him in the mirror. All you were wearing was a pair of heels and some white lace panties, which looked more like a scrap of fabric than anything practical. He swallowed thickly.

For a moment - a long moment - Bradley didn’t speak. He just stared at you, practically naked, your gorgeous breasts only covered by one of your arms, while your naked ass cheeks taunted him with a perfect little triangle of white lace peeking out from just below the curve of your back. 

“Good, I need you!” you said to his reflection in the mirror, “Can you tie this for me?” 

Tie what? You weren’t wearing anything but - oh god. Bradley nodded, knowing he looked way too eager, and took a step forward. Two thin white ribbons taunted him from where they were resting on your ass cheeks. 

You put your other hand on the counter and Bradley stood behind you. Were the ribbons the only thing keeping this up? He slid his finger under the one in his right hand, slowly making his way to the front of your body where a triangle of lace was covering you. Fuck. 

“Now where’s a good girl like you get something as naughty as these panties?” You wiggled your ass and he pulled tighter on the ribbons, forcing a gasp from your lips. “Careful, sweetheart.”

“It’s a present - for you, for your award.” You looked over your shoulder at him. “Can you tie it?”

He tsked. “I mean I can tie it, doesn’t mean I wa -”

“- I’m not going without underwear, Bradley.” He looked up in the mirror to see you glaring at him. At least, he thought you were glaring at him, the amused almost-smile on your face made it hard to tell. 

Ever the dutiful boyfriend, he started tying the ribbons together in a pretty little bow - bunny ears and all. “How’re you going to go to the bathroom with this on?” Bradley asked when he was done. 

You leaned back and brushed your ass against his groin. “You wanna know a secret?” He hummed in your ear. “I can tie it by myself, just wanted you to see what you’re coming back to tonight.”

Fucking brat. 

“All set.” He smacked your ass for good measure and you whined. “Atta girl.” He rubbed your now red cheeks, inching towards that pretty little bow. “God, you’re so soft.”

“Mmhmm, I got a wax yesterday…” You turned around and slid your hands up his lapels. Your breasts brushed against his chest as you straightened his bow tie. “But I kept your favorite part”

As tantalizing as that thought was, Bradley had to say: “You know I don’t care -”

“- how else am I going to feel that mustache rub against me as I ride your face?”

Fuck. He moaned your name. “I know you don’t mean the same mustache you literally just tried to shave off?”

You made a face. “That doesn’t sound like me -”

“- No, not you. Not my smart girl.”

Without another word, you wrapped your arms around Bradley’s neck and pulled him down for a kiss. It was slow and soft and he couldn’t help but pull you closer. Mindful of not ruining the makeup you’d already put on, Bradley ran his hands up and down your sides. God you were so fucking soft and warm and pretty - so goddamn pretty. 

Eventually, you dragged his lip between your teeth as you pulled away. “Don’t want us to be late…”

Bradley exaggerated a sigh. “I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but you don’t have any clothes on - don’t think they’ll let you in like that...” You giggled and kissed him again. “Alright, finish getting dressed and I’ll be waiting for you to make your grand entrance.”

“I have to tape my boobs…” You scrunched up your nose, clearly not looking forward to doing - well, whatever that meant. “You’re lucky Caroline talked me out of wearing Spanx…”

“That doesn’t sound particularly fun.”

You rummaged through your toiletry bag, eventually brandishing what looked like a mix between pre-wrap and an ace-bandage. “Oh, it’s not. Don’t worry, I won’t make you take the tape off later, now go! I have to finish changing.”

Bradley held his hands up in surrender and left the bathroom with a final parting kiss. 

-----------

You looked stunning. There was no other word for it - though Bradley had tried about nine other ones on the way over to the reception. Beautiful, gorgeous, ethereal, pretty, lovely, show-stopping, ravishing, exquisite, picturesque. 

Each made you more flustered the longer he continued. For someone so outwardly confident at times, you didn’t take genuine compliments very well. Sure, you loved to ham it up sometimes - for the bit, Bradley! - but more often than not, you tended to brush him off when he got too earnest. So, that night, Bradley made sure you knew how gorgeous you looked. 

You kept your hair simple - not fussing with it after your blow out - and did your makeup to your tastes. And then there was the dress. The dress that had taunted Bradley all week from its spot in your closet - the special black garment bag not even allowing him to catch a glimpse at the color or fabric until earlier that evening.  

It was white. Ivory silk crepe de chine if you wanted to be specific - which apparently you did. And as had clearly been your intent, the ivory looked perfect in contrast to his blue uniform. The two of you looked classic, polished, handsome. You looked like a pair. That even though there was nothing to overtly signify it, it was obvious that you two were together. 

Back in the room, you’d done a full spin for Bradley, showing off the back of your dress, which made him realize exactly why you had needed to tape your boobs - the dress was practically backless. The thin straps crossed just below your shoulder blades and the fabric started again at the small of your back - about where Bradley would place his hands later as you danced on the black and white checkered dance floor spread out in the middle of the lawn.

And only after being assured numerous times all week that people in the military did not make enough money to freely spend it on whatever exorbitant amount your dress cost, were you secure in the knowledge that no one, not even anyone in a Rent the Runway dress, would be wearing the same thing. It was a little snobby, but Bradley kinda liked that about you - fucking shoot him. 

Instead, this enabled you to focus that energy onto other things - namely, making sure you knew how to properly address every single person you came across and were well versed in nearly every major political, economic, and social event in the past four weeks. Bradley had even seen you reading Politico Playbook on your phone on the beach earlier. He almost wanted to tease you about preparing some flashcards, but knew that this was your way of coping and getting over your nerves. If only Bradley could find something similar to handle his. 

So, now, you were making your way from your room on the east side of the resort to the Windsor Lawn where the two of you would join 350 of Bradley’s colleagues and their dates for dinner, drinks, dancing, and awards. 

“- Wait.” Your words stopped him in his tracks. “Quick check.” Your hands slid up his lapels, needlessly smoothing them out. “You look so pretty, bubs.” He blushed. “What about me?” 

You tilted your chin up so Bradley could check if your makeup was properly blended and then smiled, allowing him to check your teeth for any lipstick stains.  

“Wouldn’t change a thing. God, you look so beautiful.” 

Bradley loved that he could still get you to shake your head in amusement or roll your eyes and duck your head whenever he called you beautiful. But it was true. Of course it was true. You were so beautiful.

After placing a quick kiss on the back of your hand, he took it in his own and you both started walking again. There were a couple other groups making their way to the lawn, but he didn’t recognize anyone yet. He took a deep breath. 

It was going to be fine. It was going to be fine. Fine - it would be fine. Despite the minor bumps in the road on the way to that evening celebrating his award, (okay, so he eventually got you to admit that he had made you cry in the shower so maybe not minor), it was going to be fine. 

No one would ask too many questions about the mission, no one needed to know Bradley still could feel the rope of the ejection handles not working and hear the undercurrent of panic in Mav’s voice when they ran out of flares. No one needed to know that the moment he stepped off the flight deck he ran to the bathroom dry heaving and throwing up until Mav practically carried him to medical. No one needed to - fuck. He had to shake this. 

Because he had you. And he had you to sit with him and hold his hand and call him Bradley and make sure he was okay. Because he was always okay with you. 

He was always okay when he was your Bradley. 

“Hey.” He pulled you to a standstill once again. “Thanks for coming with me, really. I know I didn’t exactly go about this the right way, but, seriously, thanks for giving me another chance. It really does mean a lot that you’re here and I can’t - I don’t want to imagine what I would do without you tonight. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

You smiled and squeezed his hand. It was like you could tell with just one look what was going through his head. “Bradley, you don’t need to make anything up to me, this isn’t transactional. We just have to try and be more honest with each other about stuff like this - and, plus, I want to be here for you, bubs, alright? Whether you want to be the belle of the ball or sit in the corner, we’ll do whatever you want tonight, okay?”

“I know that,” he paused to kiss your cheek, “but you have to let yourself just enjoy tonight, too, alright? Because as much as I love hearing you talk about the DART spacecraft test earlier this week and student protests in Iran, you don’t have to worry about passing a test or saying the right thing. Just - just be you and everyone will love you as much as I do.”

You bit your lip and then exaggerated a sigh. “Fine, I guess I’ll just talk about unethical labor practices in Qatar ahead of the World Cup or last week’s US airstrikes in Syria - Bradley!” you cut off with a giggle once he pinched your side. 

This was one of the things he loved about you - that you could get him out of his head and that you brought this certain lightness to him. Because a minute ago he had been spiraling over last year’s mission and now it was on the tip of his tongue to remind you that that Syrian airstrike was an Air Force operation and that the Air Force was strictly persona non-grata that evening. Except your giggles were contagious and he was only cut off by someone clearing their throat.

Like you two had been caught necking in the hallway, you and Bradley sheepishly turned around to face Admiral Simpson and his wife, Emily.

“Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw,” the older man offered.

“Admiral Simpson, sir.” Bradley nodded his head in greeting. “Emily - err, Mrs. Simpson, ma’am. You’re both looking lovely this evening.” He then turned towards you and introduced you to the Simpsons. 

You shook Cyclone’s hand and politely nodded towards his wife. “Nice to see you both. Hopefully, we’ll get to chat more inside?”

Emily nodded, clearly excited about the prospect of making a new friend. She was rather notorious on base for recruiting the other milspo’s to volunteer their time - and for the Porsche Cayenne she always double parked next to her husband’s F-150 in the parking lot when she came to visit. “I’ll come find you both later.”

“Looking forward to it.” And if Bradley hadn’t known you any better, he’d be convinced you actually were. 

With a clap on the back from Cyclone and a nod from Emily, the older couple continued on their way towards the lawn, leaving you both behind. 

“Two down, three hundred and forty-eight to go…” Bradley muttered.

You looped your arm through his and ambled down the path to the right. “Actually, three hundred and forty-six to go - remember, we don’t count.” Bradley exaggerated a groan and let you pull him along.

Though he had heard the chatter and dull thrum of Ain’t That a Kick in the Head the second you had stepped outside your room, turning that final corner Bradley was briefly taken aback by the general splendor and opulence of the event. 

Under a canopy of string lights, a black and white checkerboard dance floor sat in the middle of the lawn, surrounded by dozens of circular tables with gold chiavari chairs and draped in navy tablecloths. The flowers in the centerpieces - ranunculus - were easily recognizable thanks to his various trips to the florist over the last six months. And a litany of tuxedo clad waitstaff were bustling between the high top tables and bars on the edge of the event space, offering canapes, crudites, and other passed appetizers. 

And then there were the guests. Everyone from Ensigns to Admirals were decked out in their finest formal dress uniforms. Bradley didn’t have nearly as many medals or pins on his uniform as some of the upper brass, but he still managed to put on a good show. He was excited to see Mav later and tease him, knowing he hated dressing up for these things. Ironically enough, the large size of the crowd helped rather than hurt his nerves - it was easier to get lost in and was more intimate in a way. 

You made your way over to the check-in desk to find your seating assignment and just as Bradley had feared, he was at one of the head tables, thankfully along with Mav and Penny, but also with Jake - and whoever he had coerced into being his date - and the Simpsons. Bradley put his place card next to Cyclone’s, sticking you in between him and Maverick, who was next Penny. 

“Seat of honor, rocketman,” you teased. 

Bradley blushed, but tried to play it off. “That’s what I’ve been telling you, kid - I’m kind of a big deal.” You shot him a wink and put your tiny pearl beaded purse on the table, staking out your spot. 

Glancing around the room, Bradley could see a couple members of the squad some tables over. Bob and Halo were huddled together, laughing with Phoenix and your colleague that you’d set her up with, Rory. It didn’t look like Payback and his wife or Fanboy and his girlfriend had arrived yet, but Coyote and his girlfriend were messing around with the placecards. Bradley definitely wanted to introduce you to her - she was a private chef in LA and ran a wildly successful food Instagram account that you were obsessed with despite the fact that you weren’t the best cook. Yet, at least. 

A server came up to you both with some crab rangoons - a perennial favorite. Bradley eagerly grabbed two - he hadn’t eaten since the three steak asado tacos he had at the beach around noon - while you politely declined. 

“When’s dinner?” He held his hand over his mouth as he chewed. Damn that crab rangoon was good. He vaguely recalled that he had requested the slow braised short ribs for dinner, while you had gone with the pan roasted scottish salmon. It went without saying that he would be sneaking some of yours.

You glanced down at the menu card on the table. “Uhhh it says not till seven - awards are at eight and then dancing and dessert until ten-thirty. The hotel must have a quiet hour or something.”

Bradley nodded. “So, game plan?”

“Game plan.”

“We get drinks -”

“- We hang out with your friends -”

“- We mingle - 

“- Oh, Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw is such a wonderful boyfriend, he’s the most amazing pilot I’ve ever seen, the way he just thrusts that plane, all those evasive maneuvers -”

He chuckled. “- Okay, hotshot - we mingle, we come back for dinner -”

“- We charm the Simpsons -”

“- We charm the shit out of them -”

“- You get your award because Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw is such a wonderful boyfriend, the most amazing pilot I’ve ever seen - oww, fucking weirdo.” You rubbed your arm where Bradley had shoved you. He hadn’t done it that hard - just enough to get a reaction out of you. “And when we dance.”

“And then we dance,” he concluded, trying to be serious, but that failed when you held your palm up for a high-five. The resulting slap garnered the attention of a couple people around you, including a Top Gun lieutenant Bradley frequently saw around base.

Granted, Bradley liked Hawkeye and genuinely enjoyed talking to him on base. He was definitely the best WSO in his class and a great guy in general, but he was ruining the game plan you both had literally just concocted by coming over - and Bradley hadn’t even had a drink yet. 

“Lieutenant Commander,” Hawkeye said with a cheesy grin, which turned into a slap on the back from Bradley. He introduced you to Hawkeye - with his real name, of course - and the three of you started chatting. 

“Now how the hell did you swing an invite to this thing?”

Hawkeye puffed his chest out. “I’ll have you know, I happen to be a very important person’s plus one.”

“Oh, do tell,” you egged him on, even leaning in closer to get the scoop. 

Admittedly, at this point, Bradley was also curious. Both of your favorite kinds of gossip was that which was important to some people, but meant absolutely nothing to others. Case in point, Lieutenant Kopinski’s date. 

“Well, technically,” he started, glancing around the room, “she asked me a bit last minute and since her original date bailed…”

“Oh, Hawkeye…” Bradley chuckled and you swatted his stomach. 

“But I’m optimistic, you know? She’s always nice to me whenever I stop by and sometimes we get coffee between my classes -”

“- The girl, lieutenant, who’s the girl?” you interrupted, practically giddy. It lit your whole face up and made Bradley smile. 

Hawkeye’s cheeks were flushed and he glanced around one final time before saying: “Kennedy Ayers.”

To you, this meant absolutely nothing. But to Bradley? 

“You came with Admiral Simpson’s EA?” Hawkeye nodded once. “Does he know?” He shook his head. “You know he’s at our table?”

Hawkeye was right - Kennedy Ayers was very important. She had been Cyclone’s EA since just before Bradley had come back to North Island last fall and she quite literally made Top Gun the well oiled machine that it was. And Cyclone was very fond of her. Or at least as fond of anyone as Cyclone could be. 

You spoke up. “So, you came as friends?” He nodded. “Do you want to be more than friends?” Again, he nodded. “Well, I can’t really do anything on Kennedy’s end, but Bradley and I could put in a good word for you with Admiral Simpson at dinner? I mean, if Bradley thinks you’re good people then that’s good enough for me.”

“Well,” Hawkeye looked between you and Bradley, “I don’t know if Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw would go as far to say good people -”

“- I wouldn’t - owww.” Bradley let go of your hip and rubbed his stomach with his now free hand. “Fine. Hawkeye, we can mention something to Cyclone at dinner,” he grumbled.

Hawkeye expressed his thanks and continued fawning over you as the three of you chatted for a couple more minutes, getting into how Bradley knew the younger pilot and how much longer he was in the area. After a while, you glanced over your shoulder towards the south end of the lawn.

“Hey, bubs? I think I’m gonna head over to the bar, it looks like there’s a pretty big line forming and I want us to get drinks before dinner?”

Bradley tried not to look too disappointed that you would be leaving him - for however brief the time - but realized it gave you both the perfect excuse to continue on with your game plan. “Okay, I’ll meet up with you in a few.” You gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and turned towards the bar, but then doubled back. 

“Can you hold my phone for me?” Bradley held his hand out and you placed your phone in it with much aplomb. “Thank you - and again, nice to meet you, Lieutenant - good luck with Kennedy!”

With a smile and wave of your hand, you were gone and Bradley was stuck with Hawkeye, who was staring after you in bewildered awe. 

“She’s lovely.” Bradley rolled his eyes. Yeah, he knew you were fucking lovely, but he didn’t need every LTJG thinking that. “How’d you guys meet?”

“Hinge.” It was always a bit of a shit answer, but it was the truth. 

“Hmmmm.” He shoved a crab rangoon into his mouth, no doubt trying to hide the shit eating grin on his face. “Aren’t you a little too old for dating apps, Lieutenant Commander?”

Kopinski was lucky Bradley liked him so much - no one else would’ve let the kid get away with that. “And isn’t your behavior verging on impertinent towards your superior officer - an award winning superior officer, mind you - by calling him old?”

“Pfft, I would never.” The grin on his face didn’t go away. Bradley rolled his eyes.

“Kopinski, I can have that my girl ruin any chance you have with Kennedy in a couple words, don’t fucking try me.” Hawkeye held his hands up in surrender. “You gonna chirp at me anymore or can I finally get a drink?”

Hawkeye waved a hand towards the bar. “Fine, fine. Enjoy your evening Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw.”

With a chuckle, Bradley gave him a handshake and the two men said goodbye. As Bradley started walking towards the bar, he felt his phone buzz in his pocket and checked the notification, quickly realizing it was actually your phone and the text was from a group chat with your dad and Mary. 

Have fun tonight sweetie! Send us pictures of you and Bradley 💕

He shuffled off to the side and smiled down at the screen. Even though he hadn’t met her in person, Bradley really liked Mary. You had said numerous times how you didn’t feel like Mary was your stepmom - she felt like your actual mom. The mom who had raised you. The one who had brought you to tennis matches and field hockey games, held you as you cried after your accident junior year, took you prom dress shopping, helped you unpack your dorm, and drove down with you to San Diego when you first moved all those years ago. 

She was your mom. And Bradley was so excited to meet her. And because of that, he knew he could get away with what he was about to do.

thanks! we’ll send pictures later

bradley looks sooo handsome in his uniform

A moment later your phone buzzed with a message from your dad:

He made you type that, didn’t he?

no comment 

As Bradley continued making his way over towards you at the bar, so was another aviator getting honored that evening - Hangman. 

It didn’t look like you saw him approach, you were chatting with the bartender and Bradley saw you hold up two fingers for both your drinks. He tried to get over to you faster, except a rear admiral stepped in front of him and tried to strike up a conversation. And while it may not have been particularly polite, Bradley brushed him off with a quick talk to you later in his haste to get over to you.

He didn’t want you to have to face Hangman alone. 

Because you didn’t forget things easily. And you’d told Bradley that all those months ago on your first date when you’d overheard Jake making fun of you, all you’d wanted to do was run back to the bathroom and cry. Because you hadn’t originally heard Bradley’s comments coming to your defense and telling Hangman to fuck off. 

All you’d heard was she could be kinda hot, if she cut out that whole type a, stick up her ass shit. It was similar to something the last guy you’d been with had said about you - too uptight, too focused on work, too prissy - too much - and you’d panicked.

Bradley didn’t think you were too much. 

His uptight, focused on work, prissy girlfriend was just right for him. And he made sure to tell you in a thousand different ways ever since. Because you deserved to be told how much you meant to him and how much he loved you. And in turn, you did the same for him.

And one way for him to show his love and support for you when you were already doing so much for him that evening was to not have to deal with Jake fucking Seresin any more than you needed to that evening. It was bad enough you already had to sit at the same table as him and whomever he had coerced into being his date.

By now, you’d gotten two glasses of champagne from the bartender and Bradley was just a couple long strides away, but Jake had beat him to you.

“Well, now who do you belong to, darlin’?” Even above the tin of chatter and the murmur of the band, Bradley could hear Hangman lay on the southern charm.

You turned to face him and the smile on your face from chatting with the bartender temporarily slipped as you took in the blond in front of you. Bradley closed the remaining distance to the bar, but you stopped him in his tracks with a look. He’d let you run with this - for now, at least.

“We’ve actually met before…” You leaned against the bar and cocked your hip out slightly. 

He clicked his tongue and Bradley would’ve killed to see the expression on Hangman’s face. “I’m sorry I didn’t call, darlin’-”

“- Actually, you told my boyfriend to ditch me on our first date.” 

“Your boyfr - what? I don’t -” 

You smiled prettily and peered over Hangman’s shoulder, looking straight at Bradley. He closed the final gap between you and slapped Jake on the back in greeting before lightly pushing him out of the way to press a kiss to the side of your head.

“Hey, kid,” he said, wrapping his arm around your waist and then grabbing the glass of champagne you’d gotten him with his other hand. The look on Jake’s face was priceless. It normally took a lot to rattle Hangman and Bradley was rarely the one to do it. 

“Bagman.” He nodded towards him. “Heard the rumor you’re finally stateside again, I’m sure Coyote’s been keeping you up on things around -” 

“- Wait, this is your girl?” Recognition finally seemed to dawn on Jake and he gestured between the two of you. “You’re with - you guys are still together?” 

“Who do you think everyone’s been talking about for the last six months? She’s got a name, too.”

You held out your hand and offered your name. “I know you didn’t exactly catch it the first time we met.”

Jake cleared his throat. “Well, nice to officially meet you then.”

“You too,” you conceded, “and congratulations on your award.”

“Thanks, uhhh - so, you guys have been together for six months? That’s pretty…serious?”

Bradley frowned. Though the question had been oddly worded, to say the least, he didn’t think there was anything necessarily malicious about it? Hangman just seemed slightly uncomfortable with the idea of it. 

“I’d say so,” Bradley answered for you both, “you bring anyone to round out our table this evening? Pick anybody up in Misawa?” 

If at all possible, Jake looked even more uncomfortable than he did a moment ago. Briefly, Bradley thought he had embarrassed him since he didn’t have a date, but he had seen the extra place card at the table. 

Hangman cleared his throat. “Err kind of? She should be around here somewhere - uhhh Whiskey, I mean Sarah, went to put her purse down at the table.”

Whiskey. Sarah. Sarah Costigan.

As in Sarah Costigan Bradley’s ex-girlfriend Sarah Costigan. 

Shit. 

You knew plenty about Bradley’s ex’s. Or at least the big ones. The ones that he thought he had been in love with before he had met you and finally realized what it meant to be in love with someone. 

First there had been Elodie - a brief relationship when Bradley was in Pensacola for flight school. The two had hit it off after she spilt a drink on him while she was working at his favorite bar. They had broken up when he had been assigned to Norfolk, but she had been nice and kind when Bradley had gotten too far into his own head. 

Next came Sarah - Bradley’s girlfriend during and right after his first time at Top Gun. Whiskey was loud and brash and everything Bradley had wanted in a girlfriend at twenty-seven. They had been together for eight months - of which they had spent three in the same place - and Bradley’s orders back to Virginia had been the perfect excuse for things to end. 

And then there had been Ezra - Bradley’s first, real boyfriend beyond ‘drunkenly’ hooking up with one of his Sigma Chi brothers at UVA or some random guy at a bar. With Ezra it was different. They had met when Bradley had been volunteering at some off-base event for Habitat for Humanity and immediately clicked. Ezra and Bradley had been together for a little over a year and had been thinking of moving in together until Ezra recanted and said he didn’t actually want to have a family. And that was all it took for Bradley to realize that was really all he wanted.

So, at thirty-two years old, Bradley realized that his one true purpose, beyond being a pilot, was to be a dad and to be around for his kids in the way that his own father wasn’t. 

And so, Bradley and Ezra broke up and Bradley went on just about any overseas deployment he could possibly sign up for. It helped for a little while. Made him forget about his broken heart and realize what he really wanted. This was only further solidified when he came back to the States and reconnected with Maverick years later. 

And then Bradley had met you and - explosive first date and all - he knew you were it for him. He didn’t want anybody else. 

“Here she is,” Jake said and Sarah suddenly appeared beside him. 

Seemingly taking no notice of anyone else in their little quartet, Sarah wrapped her arms around Bradley’s neck and pulled him in for a hug - a long hug. The medals on her sash uncomfortably dug into his stomach. And sure, Bradley could admit that she looked good - he couldn’t deny that Sarah was and had always been attractive - but her red dress stood out terribly in a sea of muted whites, navys, blacks, and ivorys. 

“Hey, Roo!” She eventually let go of him.

“Oh - hey, Sarah.” Bradley then introduced the two of you and you smiled and held out your hand. 

“Nice to meet you, Sarah.”

“I’d say you can call me Whiskey, but that’s only reserved for us pilots. You know, I always had a feeling Rooster wanted a civvy.” She winked, but the joke didn’t quite land. Though you maintained a neutral expression, both Bradley and Jake grimaced. “What do you do instead?”

“Oh, I work in consulting.”

“Consulting? Like - shit, what’s it called? Deloitte? Or what’s the other one?”

This time you couldn’t school your expression and made a face. Bradley realized it was tantamount to how he reacted whenever someone wrongly assumed he was in the Air Force. At least Sarah hadn’t said KPMG. 

“No, PwC. I’m a strategy and consumer markets consultant -” you still managed to respond cordially. 

“- Soon to be manager,” Bradley couldn’t help but brag. Though you ducked your head, he could tell it pleased you. 

Sarah huffed out a laugh. “Sorry, what does that mean exactly? Like I tell people I’m a naval aviator and that’s pretty self explanatory, but…”

“Oh! Right, well we help clients optimize and automate their supply chains and improve deal and product innovation, as well as their general program revenue management? So, uhh lots of watching the markets, looking at other companies, following trends - stuff like that.”

There was a brief lull once you finished your explanation and Bradley could feel the doubt creeping up on you. He squeezed your hip and cleared his throat. 

“Trust me, I listen in on her calls sometimes and we definitely have the easier job.” You and Jake laughed politely. “Well, uhh - we can all catch up during dinner, but this one and I have to make the rounds.”

Jake nodded. “Yeah, yeah. No big, we’ve got a couple people to chat with, too. Promised I’d introduce Whiskey to Rear Admiral Cain, she’s a big fan.”

Fucking ass kisser. Bradley knew the people the two of you were going to chat with were actually his friends - not Captains and Admirals to pander to all evening. 

“It was nice meeting you, Sarah,” you nodded towards the other girl, who smiled, and then you turned towards Jake, “and always nice talking with you.”

With a final wave and promise to chat later, the terrible twosome made their way towards the bandstand where the upper brass were all hanging out. You relaxed your shoulders and looked up at Bradley. 

“Now why do I remember him being taller?” 

He just laughed and the two of you headed over to chat with Nat and the rest of the gang to take some pictures together and have some fun before dinner.  

-----------

“I’m impressed, no quips on how much all this is costing the government?”

You squeezed Bradley’s arm a little harder as you two made your way back to your table. The five minute warning for dinner had just been given and meandering from the squad’s table back to your own was taking some work to get through the crush. 

“Hey, I would rather my tax dollars be spent on a party than a bombing campaign in Yemen - shit, sorry.” For good measure, you both glanced around you to see if anyone had overheard. “Sorry, I’ve been trying to keep the commentary to a minimum. I don’t want you to get in trouble or anything.”

Bradley stopped you just shy of your table. “Hey, no, you’re fine, kid - perfect actually. And you haven’t even had to break out your talking points yet…” You chuckled. 

“Hard part hasn’t happened yet…” Oh in more ways than one.

“It’ll be fine, promise.” He didn’t know if he was reassuring you or himself. He gave you a kiss on the cheek and the two of you continued on your way towards your table. 

You were the last couple seated and Bradley was pleased to note that no one had moved your place cards. You gave Maverick and Penny hearty hugs, being sure to tell them both how nice they looked. (If you looked a little flustered under Mav’s gaze, Bradley was willing to forget it. For now, at least.) 

Everyone greeted each other cordially again and the table fell into perfunctory chit chat while waiting for the salad course to be delivered. Thankfully, Mav - though it was probably actually Penny - had the foresight to order the two of you dinner cocktails, which came soon after your salads. Once everyone got their barings, the chatter picked up again.

“So,” Emily started, looking between you and Bradley, “what’s been your longest deployment so far? Beau and I once lasted seven months - the poor kids were insufferable, I was a mess.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Wow, uhh seven months? I think the longest we’ve had was ten days?” You looked to Bradley to confirm, but he shook his head. 

“Pretty sure it was fifteen…” You cocked your head, while Bradley turned to Emily, “this one here was off in Europe on a work trip a couple weeks back - where’d they send you again? England, Ireland, Germany?”

“Oh - yeah. I didn’t even think about that one.” You looked touched that he had brought it up and equated it to a deployment. 

It happened around four months into your relationship, actually right before Bradley had been sent off to Taiwan for the Speaker’s visit. The fifteen days had been agony. Bradley had walked around his house listlessly after work, so used to having you over at his place to make dinner or watch TV together that he didn’t quite know what to do with himself - didn’t know how he had done this before you. 

So, it was during those fifteen days that Bradley had realized he was in love with you. He had almost blurted it out after the two of you had finished your second go round at phone sex. Admittedly, the first time had not been successful after you had kept telling him that his dirty talk wasn’t quite dirty enough - I need a story, Bradley! But he hadn’t wanted to scare you off. 

It was too soon, just about four months. Could you really fall in love in four months?

Well, yes, you could. And yes, you had felt the same way, too. 

“…Our global headquarters is in London, but they also sent me to Dublin, Munich, and Berlin. I’m on this new account at work, hoping to get this -”

Emily practically groaned. “- Oh, I don’t know how girls your age do it nowadays! I can barely find time to do all my errands everyday before Beau comes home -” at this Admiral Simpson grunted in acknowledgment “- and don’t even get me started on if the kids are back from college!”

You both smiled politely and then Emily spoke again. “But you know, a little work trip’s not quite a deployment now, is it?”

A little work trip. 

“It sure felt like it to me,” Bradley said seriously, daring Emily fucking Simpson to say something else about his girl. You squeezed his hand under the table.

“Of course, of course - oh, wait!” Emily stretched her hand across the table, somehow reaching across Cyclone to do so. “I’ll have to set something up with you, get you involved on the base more. We do a lot of give back opportunities - me and all the other girls, you see - especially around the holidays for the community. Sherri Callaghan and I are taking up the charge this year!”

You set your salad fork down. “Oh? Uhh - when do you normally meet?”

He couldn’t tell if you were just being polite. Your company was really big on giving back - you’d mentioned their donation match program every time you donated to Emily’s List or Feeding America - but Emily Simpson wasn’t someone Bradley could envision you spending prolonged periods of time with - at least if you wanted to keep your sanity intact. 

Emily smiled, seeming to think she’d gotten her claws into you. “We meet every other Thursday at the Coronado Golf Course, right near the base. We have a set room and everything in the clubhouse - twelve-thirty sharp!”

“I’m sorry, Emily.” You actually sounded apologetic. “I don’t think I’d be able to get away from the office at that time, but definitely keep me in the loop with the emails and whatnot? I can give you my card later? I think I have some in my purse.” 

You didn’t. Bradley knew you had your license, Amex, room key, a tube of lipgloss, and a condom in there. 

Emily looked slightly put out for a moment, before pasting a smile on her face again. “Of course, I forget not everyone is as privileged in that regard! You working girls!” 

She sounded slightly patronizing, but neither you nor Bradley called her out on it. At least not directly.

“What can I say, they barely let us up for air,” you joked. 

And with that, the conversation moved on to include the other parties at the table. Whiskey, Cyclone, and Hangman were talking about Misawa, while Mav and Penny politely asked questions when appropriate, giving the two of you a slight reprieve to finish your salad and bread. Bradley took two rolls and packets of butter out of the basket and wordlessly handed you a roll, a packet of butter following a moment later once he had sufficiently warmed it up in his hands. You gave him a quick smile and he responded with a wink - just a little moment between the two of you.

The food was pretty good so far, but Bradley had also been starving. While chatting with the rest of the squad, he had had three more crab rangoons, which had been washed down with two rounds of tequila shots for the entire team. It would have been fun to sit with all of them, probably would’ve put your mind at ease, too, but you both understood that since Bradley was getting honored with an award, it made sense to sit with his fellow award winners and the commanding officer on the mission. 

He just wished Whiskey hadn’t been there. It was awkward and had definitely been a subtle dig at Bradley from Jake. At least you had known about Sarah in the most basic sense - Bradley had definitely won that breakup - but it was always awkward seeing your partner’s ex. He didn’t know how he’d react to seeing Jack in person. Apparently, Jack hadn’t been the best boyfriend, but he hadn’t been the worst either. 

“So,” Jake said your name, “you got family around here?” 

You tilted your head back and forth, trying to finish chewing faster, before you answered. “My mo - my step-mom and dad are up in Berkeley. We moved down there from Santa Rosa when I was little.”

“NorCal gal...”

Sarah exaggerated a shudder and stabbed at her salad. “God, I could never live above SLO, it’s frigid - and I don’t just mean the weather.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Bradley noticed your champagne glass briefly still before it got to your mouth. He cleared his throat. “I’m looking forward to heading up there, actually. Haven’t been upstate in ages. We’re going for Thanksgiving.”

It wasn’t a lie. He was looking forward to spending time with your family. Was he also nervous as hell to meet your dad and Mary? Without question. But he was looking forward to getting to know them and seeing where you had grown up. 

“Well, how long have you lived here?” Sarah asked.

“Since I graduated - I got a job at my firm right after college.” 

“And that’s how many…”

“Oh - uhh let’s see, six years ago - what?” you asked at the mischievous smile on Whiskey’s face. 

“Nothing, nothing. I just didn’t realize there was that much of a gap between the two of you. Looks like you got your civvy and a spring chicken, Roo.”

Though you didn’t outwardly show it - or at least not in a way Sarah and Jake would notice - the comment had bothered you. Eight years was not a huge gap in a relationship - at least not twenty-right to thirty-six. Sure, you made the occasional comment about Bradley’s creaky joints or bad back, but the two of you never really brought it up. 

It just wasn’t a big thing for either of you. Sure, sometimes Bradley thought about how old he’d be when you had kids - not that he thought about it a lot or anything - but it never really gave him pause or brought about any malicious comments like what Sarah was implying.

“I don’t think I’d put it like that -”

And then because she clearly didn’t understand that she’d said something wrong, Sarah kept talking. “How’d you two meet then?”

“We met on Hinge,” you said. That normally elicited two reactions from people: lighthearted jealousy that things actually worked out between you two on a dating app or not-so-passive judgment.

“Oh,” she hummed, “I’ve never really had to use one of those before. You always hear such horror stories…”

Bradley threw his arm over the back of your chair, pulling you even closer to him. “I’m convinced we would’ve met anyway.” He only had eyes for you as he said it.

A couple seats down, Mav and Penny looked a little skeptical. “Oh, really? Then how come we haven’t heard about this before?” Penny teased.

You chuckled and looked to Bradley to continue. “Alright, alright,” he started, “we have this friend, Max - great guy, really - that we both knew separately. But he’s convinced that he was going to set the two of us up anyway.”

You nodded. “We didn’t find out that I was the girl he was trying to set Bradley up with until a couple months ago, actually. But it’s kinda crazy to think about. Things just happen for a reason, I guess.”

“And this way I got to meet you earlier and find out how amazing you are on my own.” 

Penny cooed, knowing it would embarrass him, while Mav reached over the back of your chair to ruffle Bradley’s hair. 

It went without saying, though it really should be something he actually said more often, but for the last year or so Mav and Penny had been Bradley’s biggest supporters - with everything. 

From when he had asked them to look at houses with him and eventually buying one, to going over their house for the holidays, having them over for dinner, playing golf and going sailing together as a family with Amelia, to finally meeting you: they were there for Bradley. And loathe as he may have been to admit it a year ago, getting Mav’s approval of the girl he was dating meant a lot. 

A lot. 

It was almost like if his mom and dad - no, it was like if his mom and dad had approved of you. Because that was who Mav was to Bradley. And this past year had just confirmed that to him. Bradley had gone back for Maverick - had saved his life - at a time when he didn’t even like him. 

But he still loved him. He was his family and he loved him. Always had.

He wondered how Maverick would get along with your dad and Mary? They were of a similar generation, that had to count for something? He could totally see them hanging out and laughing together at the holidays, mainly Mary and Mav teasing your dad. (On the other hand, Bradley had a feeling Maverick and your mother wouldn’t get along terribly well, but he didn’t necessarily see that being a character flaw on Mav’s part.)

Like parents, they gave him advice and made sure he knew he was always welcome at their house and that they loved him. And it was so nice because it was something Bradley had been missing for so long. Missing having someone older, someone who loved him, looking out for him.

And sure, he had friends and colleagues that looked out for him, but they didn’t really know him. They didn’t really know Bradley. And he really liked just being Bradley sometimes. It was like that with you, too. And he had told you so last week, but he realized he needed to tell you that more often. 

Sometimes he felt spoiled. Like the other shoe was going to drop - and he’d lose you or get into another disagreement with Mav and he’d be all alone again. And Bradley had gotten used to not being alone anymore.

He felt himself getting flustered, unsettled. Like his bow tie was too tight. Like the medals and ribbons on his chest were too heavy. He heard your soft laugh and then his name echo through his ears. 

Slowly, he fell back into himself, realizing that he was very much not alone at the moment. That he was seated about a table with three of the people that meant the most to him in the entire world and that he was getting honored for saving one of them. That your hand was on his knee under the table grounding him to you. That you loved him. That you were there with him - for him. 

You squeezed his knee and he snapped his eyes up from his old fashioned, humming his acknowledgment. “Yeah?”

“Jake asked if we’re going to Natasha’s Halloween party?”

“Yeah, looking forward to it.” He left it at that, still a little shaken, but almost back to his normal self. 

Luckily, you chimed in with some additional details. “He’s going as Ted Lasso - blame the mustache,” you joked, getting chuckles from around the table - except from Admiral Simpson, who just grunted. 

Emily’s eyes lit up. “Oh, we love Ted Lasso! Such a cute little show! Do you have the Nikes and the sweater?”

You chuckled. “Yea, we even got him a visor.”

“Awww, that’ll be perfect - oh! And who are you going to be, one of the players?”

There was a pause before you replied. “Uhh, no. Either Rebecca or Sassy, I’m still undecided. Neither are too much of a stretch costume-wise, but it’ll be fun!”

“Fun for you…” Bradley grumbled, but without malice, trying to lighten the mood. You nudged his shoulder. 

“Oh, come on. You can pick next time, promise.” 

After another sip of your champagne, you turned back to Emily to continue the conversation, but Whiskey interrupted you. “So, Ted Lasso, are you big football fans then?”

Bradley looked at you and you both shrugged. “I’ll watch a Premier League match if I’m bored on a Saturday and we went to a San Diego Wave game when they played the Thorns, but not really?”

“Well,” Sarah preened, “I’m a huge Arsenal and Juventus fan. I was just gutted when Italy didn’t qualify.” Sure she was. “I’m rooting for Portugal in the World Cup.”

Conversation soon shifted onto next month’s event, with Jake supporting Argentina and Mav saying he had money on England going to the semis, then the question was turned on you. 

“Oh, I typically root for England, too, but I don’t know, I feel a bit conflicted about it this time around - not that I didn’t last time in Russia, but -” 

“- What?” Sarah interrupted, “you don’t like that it’s in Qatar?” She said it wrong. 

You nodded. “Actually, yeah. I think FIFA knows it can only get away with hosting the tournament in countries that can meet their outrageous expectations of stadiums and hotels and athletes villages if they award it to countries who give little thought as to how the job actually gets done? Lack of oversight on building practices, labor laws, and government corruption may be unethical, but they can get you a marquee sporting event like a World Cup or Olympic bid.

“And the country becomes so dependent on preparing for the event and ‘employing’ the laborers and ‘providing’ all these jobs that they don’t take into consideration what happens when the cranes come down and the tourists leave? Don’t even get me started on the fact that the matches have to be played at night and in the late fall since it’s so hot -”

“- Then where should they have these marquee sporting events, oh-wise-one?” Jake quipped. 

You shrugged. “I don’t know, someone paid more than me can figure it out, but until then,” you toasted your champagne flute, “I’m entitled to my opinion.”

“Well said,” Mav chimed in and toasted his glass to you. 

“I agree,” Cyclone chimed in for the first time. “FIFA on the whole is inherently corrupt - it needs a complete overhaul. More’s the pity for me, I always look forward to the matches, but am feeling similarly this year.”

No one quite knew what to say next, but Admiral Simpson was saved by the delivery of the main course and everyone quickly dug in once the whole table had been served. 

“These short ribs are excellent,” Cyclone said after a lengthy pause, accompanied only by the band doing a fairly decent rendition of Beyond the Sea. Bradley stifled his snort with a bite of his short ribs - which were in fact excellent - and out of the corner of his eye saw you doing something similar. 

Of all the people to try and keep the conversation going at the table, Bradley hadn’t thought it would be Cyclone. 

Ultimately, it was Penny who truly saved the day by asking how the Simpsons kids were doing at college. Her and Amelia were planning a couple visits in the spring and she wanted to know if Emily had any tips. Mary had already promised Amelia, Penny, and Maverick a behind the scenes tour of Berkeley over winter break, but one of the Simpsons went to USC, which Amelia was also interested in touring.

The six of you talked about college and upcoming holiday plans and whatnot for the remainder of the entree portion of the evening, while Jake and Sarah mainly chatted amongst themselves. You even remembered to bring up meeting a wonderful lieutenant who’s actually part of your Top Gun class, Admiral Simpson. Oh, Bradley what was his name again? Lieutenant Kopinski, right?

It was really nice, the ease with which the six of you chatted - well, maybe the five of you since Cyclone didn’t say much - but Bradley felt like you both really belonged. Like you had both passed some sort of test. He was proud of you, obviously, but he was also proud of himself. And he didn’t let himself be proud of himself very often.

Just then, the emcee for the evening came up to the microphone, saying the awards presentation would begin in five minutes. Bradley felt his stomach sink. Of all things he had to think about leading up to that evening, he’d given little thought to the actual awards presentation itself until earlier that evening. 

Would he have to stand up there in front of everyone? It was a small consideration that he knew Maverick didn’t like stuff like this either and he seemed relaxed? Or maybe he was just good at hiding it. It would be fine, it would be fine - you grabbed his hand underneath the table and gave it a little squeeze.

“It’ll be fine, I’m proud of you, bubs. No matter what,” you said for his ears only. 

Bradley squeezed your hand back, ready to say something further, except he was interrupted by Admiral Simpson calling for the table’s attention.

“Now, before I go up there and give the official, fully sanctioned version of this speech, I just want to say that I know some time has passed and some of you have gone onto different detachments and have different commanding officers, but I want you all to know that despite some aspects of the mission not going exactly to plan, I am very proud of the three of you. The success of that mission was one of the highlights of my career thanks in large part to your heroics that day and I am eternally grateful that you’re all sitting in front of me with your partners and colleagues cheering you on - that is all.”

“Well said, sir.” You nodded towards the admiral before smiling at Bradley. It made him feel about ten feet tall.

Everyone raised their glasses. “Cheers” echoed throughout the table and everyone took a hearty sip of their drink, Bradley’s a little more hearty than the others.

He discreetly reached behind your chair and poked Maverick’s shoulders. Mav gave Bradley a probing look and he flushed, embarrassed. “Do you think we uhh - we have to go up there? For the presentation and everything?”

A look of understanding crossed the older man’s face. “Hope we don’t, but if we do, you can stand behind me.”

“I don’t think that’ll help…” you quipped from between them and they both chuckled, tuning back into the others’ conversation. 

“- Meanwhile, Rooster was concussed out of his mind, pretty sure the NFL is using him as a CTE case study,” Hangman quipped.

At your shocked expression, Bradley tried to backpedal. It was stuff like this that reminded him why he wanted to keep his Navy life separate. You were really touchy about head injuries after your accident in high school. 

“That’s just a working theory, my test results were inconclusive -”

Jake cut him off. “ - Mav, back me up here.” 

Everyone turned towards the older pilot, who clearly hated being put on the spot. He tried to hide behind his drink, but eventually muttered out: “No comment.”

You leaned in to whisper in Bradley’s ear. “I’ve got a couple questions for you later, rocketman…” He knew that was coming. 

The band brought Fly Me to the Moon to a close before the final chorus as the emcee, Commander Davis, got back on stage to start the awards presentation. Luckily, you two were on the correct side of the table and didn’t have to turn around to face the stage like Hangman, Whiskey, and Emily did.

“Evening everyone! And what a lovely evening it is out here in Coronado. I’m sorry to drag you away from your delicious desserts and conversations, but it is time for us to celebrate the men and women we are honoring tonight throughout the Pacific Fleet.” There was polite applause. “Tonight’s award winners are being honored for their heroic efforts both in and out of the line of duty and will first be introduced by their commanding officer and then presented with their medal of distinction.” 

Well that cleared up the question of whether Bradley had to go on stage or not. Shit.

Commander Davis waited until the applause died down again. “Now, please let me call Captain Alexandra Caldwell to the stage to introduce our first award winner for this evening, Lieutenant Emma Vance!”

Both Lieutenant Vance and Captain Caldwell received a standing ovation as they took their place on the stage, with Lieutenant Vance standing just off to the side as her commanding officer took the mic. Once everyone settled down, Captain Caldwell started her speech. 

“Thank you, everyone, for such a warm welcome. I am thrilled to be here tonight to honor the kind, thoughtful, caring, and damn hard worker Lieutenant Emma Vance for her efforts in spearheading our local Covenant House chapter and sleepout…”

You leaned over to whisper in his ear. “My office works with them, too. I had no idea you guys had something on base with them.” 

Bradley shrugged. He hadn’t either. Seeming to understand you weren’t going to get a response out of him, you just squeezed his hand. 

He knew you could tell he was nervous and he appreciated your efforts to put him at ease. Throughout the rest of the speech, you kept glancing over at him and smiling softly, holding his hand and rubbing your thumb across his knuckles. 

It felt nice. It grounded him. Distracted him. And right now, he needed to distract himself. Focus on something else. Something like you. 

Admittedly, Bradley had been pretty proud of himself for having relatively chaste thoughts about you all evening - less carnal, more prideful. You had handled everything with such aplomb and grace, even the totally unexpected addition of Sarah to your table, and had made a surprising ally in Cyclone. But as Captain Caldwell droned on and on about Lieutenant Vance’s philanthropic efforts in the community, Bradley knew he was fighting a losing battle. (That wasn’t exactly fair to Lieutenant Vance, who Bradley was sure did an amazing job organizing the Pacific Fleet’s largest ever sleepout to raise money for homeless youth in San Diego. He was just stressed.)

It was that damn slit. And the fact that he knew what he would find if it inched up just a hair higher. If he could just brush his hand against your thigh…

Because dammit he wanted your attention. Luckily, the slit was on the leg next to Bradley - not Maverick, which if there ever was a buzzkill to exist, it was Bradley’s pseudo-father figure. 

That’s not to say that the two of you were into gratuitous PDA to begin with - he wasn’t about to finger fuck you at the table. You were a lady and Bradley wasn’t an animal. He was thirty-six, he could control himself. 

Instead, it was typically a kiss on the cheek or the forehead, an arm around each other’s shoulders or waist. It took a lot for both of you to really go at it in public. And Bradley wasn’t exactly going to start at an event with all his colleagues and superior officers. 

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t think about it or say anything to you. Kinda made it a little more fun that way anyway. It drew out the anticipation. 

And Bradley really wanted to draw out the anticipation that night. 

How would he start? You had been adamant that he was not going to have to take off your boob tape, which he couldn’t say he was really broken up over, but that probably meant he wouldn’t be the one to take your dress off. No, he’d wait for you to freshen up, get comfortable, get situated, see if that underwear was a matching set you were going to break out later. 

Maybe you would have a drink together on the patio in your room, snuggle up against each, debrief the evening, or even fawn a bit over Bradley in his uniform (he was only human, alright)? Eventually, you would crawl onto his lap, wrap your arms around his neck, and pull him close. He would become acquainted with whichever frothy piece of negligee was covering your breasts, all while you sighed and sighed, saying: 

Bradley, Bradley, Bradley. Please, please, please. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.

He wondered how many he could get out of you? How many times could he make you cum? Until you were a whiny, desperate, cock dumb mess, squirming underneath him? He felt his pants tightening at the thought. He wanted to be in charge tonight - he needed to be in charge tonight, especially since it was the one thing about that evening that he could actually control. He would still give you a choice - or at least the allusion of one - though. It gave him an idea.

“Hey,” Bradley whispered in your ear. You hummed, but didn’t look away from the stage. “Pick a number, one to five?”

At this, you did turn your head to look at him. “What? What does -” 

“- One to five…”

You looked like you were doing some sort of mental math in your head. “Five?”

Fuck him - five. He was going to have to accept this award with one hell of a semi if he didn’t calm himself down. Because he could do five. He got at least two or three out of you normally - five shouldn’t be too much of a stretch. He could do it - you on the other hand…

Bradley just smirked. “Five it is then.”

“Okay…” you muttered and went back to paying attention. But before he knew it, he found his mind drifting again - and this time the results weren’t as pleasant and were definitely a mood killer.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Cyclone get up from his spot and sneak off to the side of the stage. Shit, it was coming. Bradley could see the row of three medals, made even more bright and shiny and special, reflecting off the string lights overhead. He was going to have to wear that all night. He was going to have to wear that on his uniform forever. He was going to have to wear that and be reminded of the time he almost died - of the time Maverick almost died - forever. It would always be on his dress uniform, glaring up at him. Faker, faker, faker, fak -

You squeezed his hand, angling his body towards yours. 

“It’ll be over before you know it and then you can come back and dance with me, step on my toes all night if you need to, bubs.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” The words had barely left your lips when Bradley heard the call for him, Maverick, and Hangman to get onstage. 

He didn’t remember any of it. 

Someone, he assumed Cyclone, put the medal on his uniform. There were probably some words of congratulations or encouragement. Maybe even some clapping.

He didn’t remember any of it. 

Except…

When he walked back to his seat, the only person he could focus on was you and your smile that was just for him. That was just for Bradley. Because to you, he was just Bradley. Your Bradley. 

He walked a little faster to get back to his seat, blindly nodding to all his well wishers amidst the applause, but all he wanted to do was be in your arms, give you a hug, spin you around, and have you five ways till Sunday. 

Once he bridged the final gap between you, you wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him in for a fierce hug. He squeezed you just as tightly in return, even picking you up off your feet a bit, and the two of you just stood there for a moment. Bradley didn’t care if anyone was staring - let ‘em. Let them see how much he was loved and how much he loved you in return.

“You did it, bubs,” you whispered in his ear as he finally set you down. The pride and joy and love in your face set all his nerves to rest.

He chuckled dryly and glanced around as the crowd settled back into their seats, keen for the rest of the evening’s festivities to start. All the tension in his shoulders was gone, he felt ten pounds lighter. 

“Hope you took some pictures because I don’t remember any of that.” 

“You looked very…dashing,” you eventually decided upon. 

He scoffed. “Dashing?”

“Hey, you’re the one ready to whip out the thesaurus at any given opportunity, not me.” Bradley exaggerated an eye-roll, acting very much like a six year old than a thirty-six year old. “Fine, let’s go with debonair - no? Dapper? Sharp? Handsome? Suave? No, no - I got one.” 

He gave you a probing look and you cupped his cheek before replying. “Beautiful. You looked beautiful, Bradley.”

He broke eye contact, so taken aback and flustered by the sincerity in your words. He could feel the blush creeping up his neck to his cheeks and the tips of his ears. God, he loved you so much. 

So, he said it.

“I love you, too, bubs.” You kissed him on the lips this time. It didn’t last for too long, but it was just what he had needed.

Through the fog of Bradley’s brain, the opening guitar riff from My Girl seemed louder than any of the songs playing earlier in the evening as the first droves of couples made their way onto the dance floor. 

Not one to let a perfect opportunity pass by, let alone one that would keep you in his arms, Bradley held his hand out to you, palm side up, wordlessly asking you to dance. There was just the slightest hesitation on your part, barely a moment for you to teasingly bite your lip in thought, before you clasped his hand with your own. 

And then you were off. 

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

Later that evening, on his way back from having a celebratory cigar with Maverick, Fanboy, and Bob, Bradley easily spotted you on the dancefloor with Phoenix, Rory, and Halo, dancing to Wouldn’t It Be Nice. You looked so happy and carefree dancing with the three of them. Normally, Bradley wouldn’t have deserted you, but Phoenix and Halo promised to take care of you and it gave you and Rory a chance to catch up. 

After dinner, the two of you had danced for the better part of an hour, your dance moves getting sillier and sillier the more champagne you both had. It was fun, dancing to a live band under the cloudless October sky and knowing the hard part of the evening was over. You had originally worried that you would get chilly in your dress later in the evening, but you had to beg Bradley to take a breather after he broke out into an impassioned and impromptu dance routine to Rich Girl. Hopefully, there would be some slower music as the night wore on and you two could just sway back and forth -

“Rooster!” He heard Hangman calling his name. “Bradshaw?”

The blond finally caught up to him. “What’s up?”

If Bradley didn’t know any better, he would say Hangman looked contrite. “Listen, I wanted to say something earlier, but we were always around other people, so I just - I didn’t know you’d be here with your girl - I mean, I didn’t know that your date would be her. Shit, that didn’t come out right.” Jake took a deep breath. “I didn’t know the girl you were bringing tonight was your long term girlfriend and I sure as hell didn’t know it was the same one from that night before Japan.”

“Okay?”

“I mainly brought Whiskey to fuck with you - not your girl. So, if that made things awkward between you guys or anything then I’m sorry. You guys seem good together.”

It might’ve been the champagne, the general atmosphere, or the fact that while accepting their award Bradley was brutally reminded of the fact that Jake saved both his and Maverick’s lives, but Bradley believed him. He believed that Jake hadn’t been that casually cruel. 

Granted, he was still Hangman and wanted to fuck with him. But he hadn’t done it as a slight to you. He hadn’t purposely tried to make you feel less than. 

“And Whiskey and I have been seeing each other for the past couple weeks, but I probably wouldn’t have actually brought her with me tonight were it not for the fact that it would needle you, but yeah - that’s just shitty? So, we square?”

Bradley held his hand out. “Yeah, we’re good, Hangman.” He looked so relieved that Bradley felt compelled to keep the conversation going as long as Whiskey didn’t pop up anytime soon. “So, uhh you guys staying over?”

“Yeah,” Jake paused to take a sip of his drink, “we got one of those cabanas rooms, think Maverick did, too.”

Interesting. He was going to file away that piece of information for later. “You guys check in late or…” 

Jake nodded. “Yeah, Whiskey - Sarah had a thing this morning -”

A blurred figure in ivory cut Jake off as you practically ran into Bradley, looking a little giddy. “It’s your song, Bradley!” 

Sure enough, the starting notes to You Make Me Feel So Young echoed across the dance floor and he bit back a smile. “Then I guess we gotta dance, kid.” 

“Sorry,” you explained to Jake, “I gotta steal him away.”

Jake took it all in stride. “You kids have your fun, I think I’m gonna head out soon anyway. Still on Japan time. Goodnight.”

You and Bradley returned the sentiments and made your way back onto the dancefloor, passing by Penny and Maverick, who shot him a wink. “What was that about?”

“I’ll tell you later.” You raised an eyebrow in question, but took his proffered hand and got into a hold. “I promise, I just want to dance and talk to you - how was hanging out with the squad?”

“It was nice, I haven’t talked to Rory in a couple weeks - ever since I introduced them and Nat - so it was good to catch up. And then Callie walked me through her shoe debacle and - I guess it’s just been nice finally putting faces to all the names I’ve heard over the past couple months.” Bradley hummed. “Admiral Simpson, Mr. Coleman -”

“- Oh, Hondo is going to get a kick out that - Mr. Coleman -”

You ignore him. “- Mickey’s girlfriend Cielo, Commander Davis, Sarah…”

Instinctively, Bradley pulled you closer towards him. “Lots of interesting characters around these parts.”

“She’s pretty…” You didn’t need to clarify who you were talking about - as much as Bradley thought Cielo was pretty, he knew you meant Sarah.

“She’s also annoying - you really didn’t know what she looked like?”

“I’ve never looked up any of your exes,” you admitted, “Didn’t want to compare myself or anything. Plus, I’d probably cyberbully the fuck out of Ezra, piece of shit…”

Bradley felt his cheeks warm up at your protectiveness and pulled back to look you in the eye. “You wanna know a secret? I looked up yours.”

“What? Really?” 

“Mmhhmm.” He brought you back into the proper hold, except this time he laid his hand a little lower on your back. “And as much as it pains me to say this, kid, Jack has a receding hairline and is selling condos up in Torrey Pines.”

You let out something between a chuckle and a gasp. “You’re kidding?” Bradley shook his head, knowing he looked entirely too pleased about this. “He’s only - what, thirty? And he already has a receding hairline?”

“I can show you the picture when we get back to the table if you really want?” You giggled and it lit up your whole face. Bradley didn’t think he’d ever been more in love with you. 

He’d do anything to see you keep smiling like that, anything to let you know how thankful he was for all you’d done that night: for forgiving him for being an ass and not initially inviting you, for letting everyone else fall in love with how capable, smart, witty, and beautiful you were, for offering Bradley a reassuring word or squeeze of his hand when he got too inside his head, and for dancing with him when his colleagues became too much.

Plus, the five orgasms he was going to try and pull out of you later would also put a smile on your face - hopefully a dumb one. Should he tell you now and let the anticipation build? Or wait until later when you were back in the room and he could go into explicit detail of how he would drag each one out of you?

He smiled, feeling just a little cocky. Was it too early to leave? Drag you back to the room, fuck you out, order room service, and watch the end of Saturday Night Live? Couldn’t hurt to ask -

“Have you -”

“Do you think we could - sorry, you go first,” he said. 

You leaned back a little bit in your hold to look him in the eye. “You ever give any thought to what rank you want to retire at?” So much for his plan. Bradley furrowed his brow. “You retire as one more than what you are, right?”

“Yeah…I guess I haven’t thought about it too much? I don’t really know what I’d do instead? I mean, the Navy’s all I’ve ever really known?” You considered this. “But - I don’t know - I’m not really sure I could see myself as - did you know with Mav’s rank he’s technically the commanding officer of an aircraft carrier?”

Your jaw dropped, just a little. “No way? Is that something you’d want to do?”

“Maybe? I don’t know? I can be a Commander in about two years - if all goes well. And then I’d officially have my own squadron.” 

“Might be nice to be a Captain like Mav?” It would be cool to be a Captain. Growing up, all Bradley had wanted to be was like Maverick - everyone always got it twisted thinking he wanted to be like his dad, but his dad had been an RIO, not a pilot - it just made sense that he would want to follow in his footsteps now, too. “Everyone could call you Captain? Like Captain Von Trapp in the Sound of Music?”

He laughed. “We gonna have seven kids, too?”

“Hmmm good point, maybe six then?” 

“Funny.” 

The gave him a long look, like you were trying to figure something. "Who are you tonight, the Numbers King? First all that pick a number stuff and now we're the Von Trapps with our seven kids?"

Bradley smirked. Fuck he couldn't wait for you to find out. "Wouldn't you like to know...."

“I’ll figure it out.”

You both danced in silence for the final part of the song, until it transitioned out into something slower and more sultry. The amount of couples on the dance floor had thinned slightly, with some of the older crowd heading home or to their hotel rooms. 

“Hey, bubs?” Bradley hummed. “I know that having all of this come up again is resurfacing a lot of mixed feelings for you tonight, but I just want you to know that I’m proud of you every night and I love you every night. Not just when everyone else sees how amazing you are.”

He knew he was blushing like crazy. From the tips of his ears down to his neck, he was pink. No one had ever said anything like that to him before. No one had ever bestowed that amount of love and kindness towards Bradley since before his mom had passed away. God, he loved you. He loved you, he loved you, he loved you. His beautiful, kind, and clever girl. With eyes just for you.

“Thank you for making the night easier for me. I really don’t know what I would’ve done without you. Just having you by my side helped more than you’ll probably ever know.”

You dunked your head and tried to hide how flustered he had made you by glancing around the dance floor, watching all the couples around you with mixed interest. This, of course, meant your attention was not on Bradley and that would just not do. But the soft smile on your face quickly fell and you tensed. 

He followed your gaze and found it on Rear Admiral Porter, the asshole from after the Speaker’s visit. That one’s got quite a mouth on her. You retreated into yourself a little and Bradley had half a mind to go over and demand an apology, but he knew you would loathe making a scene. Plus, Porter probably didn’t even remember the incident even though you and Bradley did. 

“Hey, none of that.” He slipped his right hand lower on your bare back and pulled you even closer. You gasped at the sudden movement - and probably at the fact that Bradley’s hand was cupping the top of your ass in a way that was verging on indecent. “Weren't you just saying how proud of me you are? Eyes on me, kid” he teased.

Your eyes met and you seemed to center yourself. A teasing smile crept across your face. “Why? Do you only have eyes for me?” you asked, referencing the song playing. 

In response, he pulled you closer and you dug your fingers into his shoulder. “‘S my gala, want you lookin’ at me…”

“Aww, bubs,” you giggled. “Sorry, it’s just fun watching everyone - well, almost everyone. Maybe I’ll even let Pete take me for a spin again…”

Bradley huffed out a laugh and spun you out and back into him. “Not a chance, sweetheart.”

“Oh come on,” you whispered, “you don’t need to pull out all the stops tonight. You already saw your present for later…”

The piano melody from I Only Have Eyes for You faded out and transitioned into It’s Not for Me to Say. You both swayed in time. 

“True - hey, you know,” he said lightly, “I’ve behaved all night - barely touched you in a way that wasn’t befitting my station, but that hasn't stopped my thoughts from being decidedly less chaste…”

“Oh? What do you mean, Lieutenant Commander?”

It was almost too easy. For someone so clever, you always somehow managed to fall right into his trap. Or maybe Bradley had fallen right into yours? You had never called him that before. Lieutenant Commander. He didn’t think it would have as much of an effect on him as it did. You both continued dancing, not missing a step or bringing your voices above a whisper. 

“Wanted to slip my hand up the slit of that dress at dinner, skirt the edge of those panties I saw earlier. Can’t wait to unwrap my present.” He could feel you suck in a breath. “Fuck, I still can’t believe you wore a white dress -”

“- It’s ivory -” you corrected needlessly, but Bradley ignored you. 

“- trying to be all innocent when you and I both know how fucking desperate you are for me to fuck you. Bet I could take you right now - right off the dance floor - and you’d squirt all over my cock. Because you’ve been wet all night, haven’t you, sweetheart?”

You let out a pathetic whimper and rested your head against Bradley’s chest, skirting around all the ribbons and medals. To the outside observer, it would have just looked like you were tired or had gotten caught up in the music. But Bradley knew better. 

“I asked you a question, kid,” he whispered in your ear, “you’ve been wet all night, haven’t you?”

“Yes - I’m sorry, Bradley. I couldn’t help myself.”

He clicked his tongue. God, you were fucking putty in his hands. He loved whenever you got like this. It didn’t happen often, but he knew you liked it as much as he did. How fucking needy and desperate and submissive he could get you with some words - and on a dance floor surrounded by his colleagues, too. You would both be the epitome of grace and class out on the dancefloor, but after the band wrapped up and the bar gave its last call?

Fuck. 

He was going to have so much fun with you back in the room. 

Five times. Five times. Five times. 

And you had no idea. 

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

[next part]

a/n: thanks to everyone for sticking with me and being so supportive while i wrote and revised and wrote and revised - again. i'm definitely my own biggest critic, so special thanks to tiernan, kylie, cass, loren, and alexa for talking me off the ledge a couple times - hope you all enjoyed this part and look forward to the next 😉 (five times!!!)

#mila's early endless summer #rereading #if you love it reblog it

[pisupsala]

and even when we’re wrong in every way, we come out the other side okay (part 2.1)

Summary: in which lieutenant commander bradshaw is getting honored with an award and behaved like an absolute idiot when he didn’t initially ask his girlfriend to be his date even though she’s the best goddamn thing to ever happen to him

OR you take on the pacific fleet’s awards gala

Pairing: Rooster x Fem!Reader 9.8k

Warnings: 18+, explicit language, explicit sexual content (p in v, vaginal fingering and slight dom/sub and praise and rank kink elements), and shower sex and soapy titties

[Part 1] [Part 1.5] [Part 2.1] [Part 2.2]

A/N: this was really fucking long, so i split it up. the final final part will be posted soon! but i just want to thank everyone so so so much for all the absolutely amazing support i’ve gotten on this entire series including my little bradley and smart aleck drabbles and the respective lore about the two of them. i have so many people to thank for reaching out and leaving the absolute sweetest comments and replies and messages, but i’d be remiss if i didn’t call out sol, may, cass, ava, giza, and kylie for all their help and encouragement and listening to me complain via dms these past few weeks! so without further adieu…

and all these situations we go through, we come out the other side brand new

Bradley couldn’t believe it had almost been six months since the two of you had gotten together. Nearly six months of dinner dates, movie nights, cooking at each other’s places, beach trips, hikes (begrudgingly on your part), and even a couple jaunts down to Tijuana just for Caesar salads - all to say nothing about the sex.

Keep reading

#mila's early endless summer #rereading #if you love it reblog it

[pisupsala]

and even when we’re wrong in every way, we come out the other side okay (part 1.5/2)

Summary: in which bradley is getting honored with an award and his girlfriend tries to be there for him…even though her feelings towards the navy are complicated to say the least

OR you take on the pacific fleet’s awards gala

Pairing: Rooster x Fem!Reader

A/N: listen…even spunky, smart aleck girlfriends get down sometimes! so this little snippet is literally just angst (sorry!). but our favorite slutty couple will be back at it (literally) in all their depraved glory soon enough in part 2. takes place 6 months after Part 1. i wasn’t originally planning on showing anything from our best girl’s pov, but lord she needed to get this one out 😭 thanks to sol for all the encouragement and help on this one! (2.5k)

would it be enough if i could never give you peace?

Keep reading

#mila's early endless summer #if you love it reblog it #rereading

[pisupsala]

it's just the prologue, but it's still on my mind

My Father's Eyes - prologue

about: Bradley comes to terms with growing up without a father to guide him while quickly adapting to become one himself… to a child who wants nothing more than not to have him in her life.

word count: 2.5k

warnings: nsfw 18+, language, angst, fluff, smut [...probably]. no posting schedule.

You slipped your phone carefully into your backpack, cursing low. It hadn't stopped blowing up since you took the opportunity to unwind a little with a few after-work drinks. You were generally an automatic no, so giving the affirmative to a question perennially asked just to be polite was met with more confusion than excitement - you weren't sure how it made you feel. Your social skills felt like they were severely lacking (not to mention the pop culture references you were behind on unless it was, of course, Taylor Swift)... You simply weren't social anymore. 

You mostly tolerated your work associates, they were all friendly, smart, and considerate, but come Friday, you were on your time and couldn't wait to get home to start your weekend. You had wine, pizza and TV to catch up on and it would be perfect. Basic in its simplicity and you didn't care what anyone else thought.

"One more drink," your co-workers begged. 

"Let loose, we never get to hang out aside from work," they added.

And while you were having a pretty good night, you had other reasons to be home - 

But the revelry was about to end as hoots and hollers of patrons in the bar overcame a raucous Friday night crew as a group of sailors walked in. Grand in their whites, gleaming, broad grins, covers and sunglasses in the dim, overcrowded room. Your eyes scanned each one like they always did when moments like this materialised. 

Your heart rate elevated, and the hairs on your arm pricked up. Hands clammy - 

The warning signals in your brain were firing louder than an air raid siren. That face you never expected to see again among that crowd, and it was more handsome than you could even recall.

Bradley Bradshaw. Your first... everything. Young and dumb, you fell head over heels for that boy with his head in the clouds and that impish grin. He who dreamed big, much bigger than you ever could imagine.

Tall, broad, tanned, unassuming. He was surreal, it felt like a dream how he’d just returned your life without warning. This wasn’t his hometown, so you knew he was here for work. A nightmare occurred even as you rose from your place at the small cocktail table and started making your apologies for the drink just placed before you, reaching eagerly for your bag and other random belongings you’d whipped out. 

That you had to get home, "Oh, look at the time - " that you had to go - 

You had to just get the hell out of The Hard Deck. You knew better, even if the time to now had been on your side in previous ventures to the joint. 

The crowd swarmed them, and you took your opportunity to try and get out without being noticed. You knew Bradley had no idea you would be there. The beautiful man was immediately surrounded by striking women all vying for his attention, and although he appeared to enjoy it, he was keeping them all at bay. You could see that from your safe distance.

But that last tequila had done you in and you had to get to the bathroom before you got into the Uber - while you weren't feeling the effects of the alcohol, you felt could be ill at any moment. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," you hissed to yourself, slamming the cubicle door after you, the safety of the bathroom gave you small comfort but it relieved the feeling of someone standing on your chest in any way. 

Sitting, you had no choice but to overhear the gossip of the sudden arrival of the newly decorated squad who had just entered the place, sending the bar into a tizzy.

“ - Hangman is blonder - " 

" - suave Coyote was - "

"I don't know how Natasha can be around such sexy men all the time."

"Come on, she's as talented, and dear god, she as hot as them. Don't discount her rank because of some guys. I’m sure she deals with pissing contests 24/7.”

You silently cheered for the last person's comment, whoever this Natasha was. Good for her. 

But no mention of Bradley. 

"It's like the Navy put together the sexiest aviators they had - " this person was also right. They always grandstanded like they were in movies. And tonight, even Bradley.

Flushing, you pulled yourself together and made a hasty exit strategy in your brain as you furiously washed and dried your hands. The closest door from the bathroom was also the furthest from the pool table and you were in luck as you heard the roar and the familiar opening keys to Jerry Lee Lewis' Whole Lot of Shakin' Going On.

Come on over, baby, whole lotta shakin' goin' on, Yes, I said come on over, baby, baby, you can't go wrong...

And abruptly, you were young, dumb and 21 again. Falling for this schtick then and, by God, his voice deeper than it was and you could swear, better. Sexier. Older. Bolder. Not your shy, quiet reserved college boy on his summer vacation in San Diego... but look at you now, falling for this schtick again. The way he could sway people on full display as the crowd and his friends/teammates, how were you to know, tumbled over each other at the grubby old piano you’d never seen touched to now to spread the revelry with him.

"My old man listened to this album so much when I was a kid," Bradley said quietly, delicately handing the cover to you as he wandered over to the old turntable he'd mentioned was also his father's and you watched him intently. He could make you listen to white noise or nails on a blackboard and you’d be enthralled with it. "I don't have too much of his stuff," he explained, considerate as he dropped the pin on the record tenderly. "But this song," he laughed quietly as Great Balls of Fire filled his small room of the share house he stayed at that school break. "We sang this song a lot as a family. Please don’t hold it against me, I’m very aware Lewis was a fuckin’ creep of a dude,” and you couldn’t resist your smile as he offered you his hand and danced with him. 

And how often that summer that hand lead you down a garden path of trouble. 

You probably hadn't listened to Jerry Lee Lewis since it reminded you too much of him. And of course, the artist was controversial at best, just like Bradley said but you’d never, ever forgotten the words.

And as you headed towards the door, the need to see Bradley Bradshaw just one more time overwhelmed you. His jacket stripped and sleeves of his crisp, white shirt rolled to his thick golden forearms, the collar on his shirt strained around the thick ropes of muscles of his neck and throat as his cheeks pinked in the hot room. 

Aviators sliding down his strong nose in the exhilaration of being the centre of attention. He was thriving off it. 

He was as handsome as the day you met him. The way he captured your attention as he retrieved the football that landed near your beach bag that fateful day. His soft voice of apology as his buddies teased him down play. He apologised on their behalf and asked if he could make it up to you   The way he handled the room funny to you, your once shy, quiet boy now commanding the group at the bar, singing with him, vying for his attention... singing to just get that small piece of his time. 

Home soon kiddo. Hope you had a good night with Amelia, you texted quickly.

As the song ended and the place erupted again in enraptured applause, you slinked out as more sailors slipped in and took in a deep breath, the humid beach air filling your lungs and you called for the quickest car to get you home safely... to safety. 

"Hey," you heard the voice behind you. You were so fucking close to the car... so close to escaping without a trace... but just like the old days, his voice warming you to your bones. But you couldn't bring yourself to look at him, even as he gently took your wrist and guided your body towards his. "Holy shit," you heard the small flutter of laughter in a bubble against his lips. “It is you.” He was clearly as shocked as you were. 

The softness in his rough rasp. It had haunted the better part of the last 14, 15 or so years. Dreams, nightmares. 

You were so close to breaking free of the bar without him seeing you - but that was the thing about Bradley Bradshaw. In his quiet calm, he was always watching. 

...bringing yourself to raise your eyes to him was the hardest thing you’d ever had to do. To his warm, humoured honey ones, his grin just melted you like it always had. So much about him had changed, the moustache you were perplexed about. Some faint scars marred his handsome face that you didn’t recall but they certainly didn’t look new (even if new to you). They gave him a light ruggedness, maturing him. But you could only compare him to the senior in college, eagerly awaiting his acceptance into the Naval Academy. 

And he was big. Taller, broader, stronger. BIG. 

And white certainly was his shade. He chewed his lower lip, and you were reminded of the charming boy who left you all those years ago. The man now before you who didn’t even know he had changed the course of your life.

"Hello, Bradley," you finally said, and he stood to height, the recognition in your voice as you tried to keep his gaze. His tongue tracked his upper lip and he finally smiled, not the smug arrogance on display as he and his team ponied in earlier, but the sweet genuineness that was simply Bradley. 

"Hi," he swallowed. "Been a long time," he reckoned. 

"Yeah," you agreed. 

"Looks like time has been good to you," he said, low, appreciatively.

And you laughed as he visibly relaxed, the flirt enough to break you. You weren't sure if he was trying anything, but the air was finally making it to your lungs. 

"You still livin' around here?" 

You gave a soft nod. "Yeah." 

"I'm just in town a few days," he admitted as you nodded. "I - my team and I - were just promoted. Lieutenant Commander."

"This why you're all dressed up - or were?"

"My whites?" he asked.

"I saw you come in."

"And yet you tried to sneak out before you said hi," he teased.

"I'm sorry," you admitted. "But congrats on your promotion. Kind of a big deal?"

"Yeah," he said softly. "Kind of." 

Hearing the knocks on the glass, his attention was demanded back inside. Relief swept through you as he shooed them away with a swift flick of the bird and they howled inside but left him to his devices.

"How about coffee this weekend? It would be great to catch up," Bradley pressed. "Find out what you've been up to. Husband, family, work. All that stuff."

"Ha," your voice faltered. "I'm pretty sure it's nowhere near as exciting as yours," you forced a laugh, and he really didn't seem to take the hint. His pout at your near rejection only seemed to spur him on further.

"One coffee and I'll get back on the boat and be out of your life forever," his lips quirked, and you remembered how you felt when he made that face without the moustache. He could get away with a lot then, just like he was getting away with it now. "Look... here's my number," he urged, holding out this hand as you sighed and unlocked your phone to enter the digits. You saw how he'd saved it.

Bradley Bradshaw (a big deal?). You had to laugh as he winked, relieved for the smile that crossed your features but you weren't sure if he was offended or not when you didn't offer yours in reply. 

"Kind of a big deal," you confirmed with a giggle, those nerves bubbling under the surface rapidly now. He shrugged, the cheekiness of the boy you knew still evident in the man before you.

"Text me if you wanna catch up. I wanna hear about what you've been up to since graduation all those years ago. I fly back to Virginia Tuesday."

"Fleeting."

"Very much," he agreed. Sighing (with relief, but Bradley would never catch that), your Uber was right before you. He moved around you to open the passenger door. "Been a long time..."

"Longer than you know," you admitted, slipping into the car and he carefully closed the door behind you as the driver recalled your address and you left Bradley Bradshaw for what you hoped was the last time. 

Your fingers itched to delete his number, but all you had to do was get through the next few days without the temptation to text him and it would be fine. 

Life would go on and he's sail off into the sunset again like he promised.

Home ten or so minutes later, you made a beeline for upstairs. The bedroom door closed and silent from the other side. You pushed your way in quietly, the room dark, and you sat on the side of the bed, your hands drifting to the mess of dirty dark blonde curls splayed across your daughter's pillow as she read on her phone with her earphones on.

"Hi, sweetheart," you whispered, gently pushing back a tendril on your daughter's forehead. "Bedtime?" you suggested as she shrugged. Ahh, teens. You kissed her forehead before standing and leaving her room, your beautiful girl protected under the snuggly covers. 

You didn't know how you were going to tell her that you saw her father tonight. After all these years and radio silence, doing what you could to protect her from the hurt you knew you'd caused by keeping this very real secret from Bradley. 

"Shit," you muttered, wandering the hallway to your bedroom, your nerves shot, hot tears threatening and everything you'd done so well protecting to now... about to shatter into a million pieces with the return of Lieutenant Commander Bradley Bradshaw.

masterlist.

A/N: the tag list no longer exists. To keep up to date, give @notroosterbradshaw-library a follow x

#mila's early endless summer #if you love it reblog it #rereading

[pisupsala]

The Younger Kind Part 43 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: While you couldn't stop people from talking about you and Bradley, you could absolutely stand up for yourself and your family. Bradley continued to prove that he was the man of your dreams, and you decided to show him some spur of the moment appreciation. Bradley loves you, and he recognizes that spending time with you and Noah always fills his heart to the brim.

Warnings: Swearing, angst, fluff, smut, oral sex, and age gap (18+)

Length: 4400 words

Pairing: Single dad!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x babysitter!female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! The Younger Kind masterlist.

There was no way you were going to tolerate someone talking about you like you were a brainless child who didn't deserve to be with your boyfriend. You hadn't forgotten about those engagement rings you saw on Bradley's phone. You spent half of your time thinking about Noah. Both of them were yours.

As your skirt fabric fell from your hands, you squared your shoulders and unlatched the stall door. Your heart was thudding in your chest, but it was too late now. You were met with startled eyes from the three woman, and you took a second to examine each of them in turn. You saw nothing special. You saw ordinary women who should find something else to do with their time instead of gossiping about you.

You walked right up to the sink, and they scooted out of your way as you washed your hands and dried them with one of the rolled up hand towels. After you dropped it into the discard basket, you carefully examined your still pristine makeup one last time as they stared at you in the mirror. Then you took your dark lipstick out of your pocket, swiped a little more on and pressed your lips together.

"What?" you asked, making eye contact with the redhead as you pocketed it again. "The three of you have nothing to say now?" When you were met with silence you stepped away from the sink and shrugged at the woman with black hair. "I guess I should go get my Daddy to take me home since it's past my curfew." 

You pouted a little bit and rolled your eyes when they still said nothing. But when the one who had been the most verbally aggressive toward Bradley, going so far as to threaten to touch him, opened her mouth to speak, you didn't let her. "By the way, if you want to 'accidentally' bump into my boyfriend, be my guest. There's no way he'd ever touch you otherwise."

She gasped at you as you stepped past her and made your way to the door without rushing. You didn't stick around for a response as your blood pumped hot and hard through your veins. Bradley was the only thing you wanted at the moment, and you had to bite your lip to keep from moaning as you thought about him. 

There he was, right where you left him, still talking to Natasha. When you got close enough, you could hear her telling Bradley, "I'm not leading him on, Rooster. He knows what this is. Just because you were looking for your soulmate and actually found her doesn't mean that's everyone's mission."

She smiled at you as you wrapped your arms around Bradley's waist. His forearm settled across your shoulders without hesitation as he said, "I hate that I have to be nice to you since you're the one who put that fucking dating app on my phone to begin with. Now please don't come whining to me when you break Javy's heart."

She poked his hat so it was crooked before walking away, and then you saw the three bitchy women from the restroom, and of course they were looking right at you. When you smiled at them and wiggled your fingers in a little wave as Bradley kissed the top of your head, they all turned away. 

"Hey, Daddy. Who are those women?" you asked, gesturing in their direction. 

He looked at them with a completely blank expression as he said, "The dark haired one on the left is Halo. She's a WSO, but I hardly ever fly with her. The other two work in admin on base. I have no idea what their names are. Why?"

"Just curious," you said, letting your hand slide down his body to the front of his pants. Bradley's eyes lit up and you smiled as he started to blush. "Come with me, Daddy. Let's check out which of the rare flowers are blooming."

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

"Baby, the rare flower exhibit is closed for the night," Bradley said for the second time as you and he walked deeper into the greenhouse. The pulsing beat of the music faded a bit as you led him past a sign that said EXHIBIT TEMPORARILY CLOSED, PLEASE DO NOT ENTER.

"I don't think anyone will notice if we just explore a little bit on our own," you said softly as you ducked underneath the red velvet rope that was hanging across the doorway. Bradley followed you, stooping low enough to make it underneath, but then he pulled you closer to him. The walkways were wider in here, but the lights were dimmed pretty low, and Bradley didn't want you tripping on the stone floor. 

"What do you want to look at?" he asked, but you didn't seem to be focused on any of the plants at all. You paused next to a small fountain toward the back of the room and glanced around with a smile on your lips. 

"I don't want to look at anything," you whispered, kissing him softly as you draped your arms around his neck. Your wildflower scent was better than anything else the gardens could provide. "I just wanted to show you a little appreciation."

Now he was just confused. "For what?" he asked, letting his hands come to rest on your hips as you licked his mustache. He wondered if you were still tipsy from all the champagne and berries you'd enjoyed. But when you giggled and rubbed yourself against him, he started to get the picture. 

"For being the world's best Daddy. I'm going to get you a new mug for your ridiculous collection. It'll say Noah's Daddy in the streets. Princess's Daddy in the sheets."

Bradley smiled as you laughed. "Baby, I'd use it every day."

"I know you would, because you're the best. And you're mine." Your tongue darted out one more time, swiping along his lips, but when he leaned in to kiss you, he was treated to the sight of you sinking to your knees in front of him. "Mine."

You kissed him through his snug white pants, and Bradley knew in the back of his mind that anyone else could duck under that velvet rope if they really felt like it. Two turns along the stone path, and they would know exactly what was happening here. But when you looked up at him and licked those pretty lips, the only thing he cared about was feeling them wrapped around his cock. 

"Go ahead. Show me some appreciation," he rasped, and you moaned as you tugged down his zipper and undid his button. You nuzzled your nose against his underwear as he widened his stance just a bit. It wasn't long before he was hard and huge and ready for you, and you were treating him like a treat you wanted to savor. "God, you're something else, aren't you?" he mumbled, brushing his fingers along your cheek. "Perfect."

Your eyes were wide and bright as you tugged down all of the white fabric just a few inches, and Bradley's cock sprang free, tapping your lips and leaving a streak of his precum on your cupid's bow. You wrapped one hand gently around his length, and with one swipe of your tongue, Bradley's eyes were already rolling back. 

"Oh, fuck," he grunted, taking a deep breath before he looked at you again. He was throbbing in your hand as you kissed his tip and along his length with a lazy little grin on your lips. You weren't in any sort of hurry as you moved in time with the thumping party music still going strong in the distance. Your tongue swirled along his balls before you took one between your lips and sucked gently. "Princess."

"Hmm," you hummed, looking up at him. Your eyelashes brushed your cheeks every time your eyes drifted slowly closed, but whenever they were open, they were focused on his face. You were his gorgeous Princess, and you were always taking care of him. Your tongue was like velvet as his cock rested on your cheek, throbbing in response to your welcome attention. When you released his balls to lick back along his length to his tip, you sighed. "I love you, Daddy."

You sucked on his head, lips pursed in a pretty pout, and when you finally took more of his cock between your lips, Bradley readjusted his stance and placed one big palm at the back of your head. "Nice and slow. Yeah. Just like that." It was heavenly the way you took him deep until you gagged before bobbing on his length. Then you did it again, eyes watering as you made that pretty sound at the back of your throat. "You're so fucking good at this."

You moaned and whined louder, and Bradley looked around to be sure the two of you were still alone as you gagged all over his cock. He tried to guide you slower, but you popped him free and grinned up at him as you pumped your fist along his length. "Do you like this? In the greenhouse?" you asked, gingerly kissing his tip again. 

He growled and pushed your head as you squealed with delight until he was tapping the back of your throat again. He could only grunt. "Yeah. I like this. You spoil me." 

Now your fingers were rubbing and teasing his balls, and Bradley was trying to be gentle with his palm at the back of your head, but you had him close to the edge. He groaned your name, stroking his thumb along the shell of your ear and down to your jaw as you worked him into a babbling mess. You kept your eyes fixed on his as he fucked your face while you bobbed and sucked. The wet sounds and soft moans were obscene, and so were Bradley's words.

"God, Baby. You're a fucking dream. You let me cum everywhere, in every hole. You gonna swallow me down?"

"Mmhmm," you hummed, somehow never releasing the perfect suction you had around him. Your saliva was dripping onto your chest and down to your beaded top, coating your cleavage. Your brow was pinched. Your hands were tight around the base of his cock and his hip. You were ready for him. 

"Good girl," he praised as he came with his cock at the back of your throat. You sputtered and gagged, but you swallowed him down. Your lips parted with him resting on your tongue, and he watched you swallow with little gulps as you tried to catch your breath. 

Your eyes were watery as you licked his tip clean, never pulling him away from your mouth. Each soft swipe of your tongue was accompanied by a quiet whimper of your pleasure, and finally Bradley had to pull away before he got hard again. You kissed along the front of his pants again and let your cheek rest high on his thigh as he tucked his cock back inside his pants. What a sight you were, on the stone floor in front of him, snuggled against his uniform pants. He coaxed your chin up with his fingers so you were looking at him again, and he committed the sight to memory. 

"I love you, Princess."

Your smile made him soft inside, and when he reached for your hand and pulled you to your feet, you came willingly to his arms. He tasted himself on your lips when you kissed him and straightened out his hat. Your fingernails were raking along the stubble that was starting to grow in along his jaw as you whispered, "I got a little lipstick on your pants."

"Good," he said with a smirk. He literally didn't give a shit if everyone knew you gave him head during the retirement party. "You want to grab one more glass of champagne and start saying goodbye to everyone? It's pretty late, and I want to get back to relieve Amelia."

You nodded and let Bradley lead you slowly along the stone path back toward the main part of the greenhouse. 

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

It was almost midnight when you chewed on one last raspberry while Natasha eyed the front of Bradley's pants and then your lips. "You know, I do think it's amusing the way you get on me about my questionable decisions," she told him with a bland look. "But it's nice to see that mom and dad had a fun night out."

Bradley chuckled as he leaned against the bar sipping a glass of water. He had absolutely no shame right now, and it was making you a little flustered. Sure, you'd been the one to boldly instigate the activity that took place in the rare plants room, but now you were feeling a little more bashful about it as he stood there with his dress whites a bit marked up and his arm around your waist. 

You bit your lip as you looked up at him, and he kissed the tip of your nose. "Don't go and get shy on me now," he whispered, and then you saw the three women from the ladies' room walk past. They were all looking at him, but he didn't spare a glance in their direction as he said, "Ready to go home to Noah and Skittles?"

"Yes," you replied softly, and he finished the rest of his water in two gulps. 

"Let's go."

"Wait," you said as he started to head toward Admiral Bates. "We're not dropping Natasha off?"

He shook his head and said, "Nope. She's going with Javy. Gonna break his heart."

Sure enough, the two of them were sneaking off together as you said goodbye to Admiral Bates and his wife. You watched Bradley stand at attention and salute his commanding officers, and a little flicker of lust rippled through your body. Nobody said anything about his pants, but he was kind of just flaunting it now as you tried to get him outside. 

"Shameless," you murmured once you were out in the cool night air, the salty smell of the ocean all around you.

"I'm with you, and I don't give a fuck who knows about it, Princess. Now let's get home where I can show you a little appreciation."

The drive was quick and quiet as Bradley sang to you. When his favorite song popped up on his playlist, you turned the volume down a little bit so you could hear his steady voice louder over the music, and it gave you goosebumps. He'd sung it for you countless times and always told you it reminded him of you, and tonight was no exception. 

"I always think of you now. All the time."

You ended up on his lap once he parked in the driveway, knocking his hat off so you could run your fingers through his hair as you whispered, "I love you." He carried you carefully up to the porch, your poofy skirt becoming a bit of a tripping hazard that made both of you laugh. And you were still in his arms when he tried the doorknob to find it was locked.

"Okay," he told you with a pleased nod. "She's got the house sealed up just like you always did. I like that."

"So Amelia Benjamin is for sure our new permanent babysitter?"

Bradley slid his key into the lock and said, "As long as Noah had fun, I think so." He turned the knob and opened the door as he called out, "It's just us!" 

Amelia was rolling the ball across the floor for Skittles while she read a book, and she looked up and asked, "Did you have fun?" 

You quickly stepped in front of Bradley, hiding his pants from view as you said, "So much fun."

"Yeah, it was pretty good," Bradley added as he patted your butt and turned to head for the stash of cash behind the TV so he could pay her. "How was Noah?"

"Great! We had fun with the puppy, and he went right to bed."

"Perfect," Bradley said as he counted out some bills, and now you had to play hide the pants as Bradley casually handed her payment to her. 

"Thanks. Are my mom and Mav still there, or did they head back already?" she asked.

You were holding some of the layers of your skirt out to the side in front of your boyfriend like a weirdo as you answered her. "They must have left, because we didn't see them when we were heading out."

Amelia knelt down to pat Skittles on the head before the dog carried her ball over to Bradley's feet with a little limp in her step. "Sounds good. Call me if you need me to watch Noah again," she said, waving as she headed out. "Goodnight." 

"Thank you," Bradley called after her as he picked Skittles up and let her lick his face.

"You need to go take your pants off. I'm dropping them at the dry cleaner first thing on Monday."

Bradley laughed as he said, "I thought you were very proud of yourself."

"I was... until a literal teenager was about to see it!" you told him as you unbuttoned and unzipped his pants before glaring up at him. "Just take them off while I check on Noah."

You walked away with your skirt billowing behind you, and you quietly slipped into his bedroom. He was sound asleep, his breathing soft and even as you let your hand rest on his shoulder. "Hi, sweet Noah," you whispered. You felt like you'd barely seen him all day with the amount of time you'd been out and the hours you had taken to get ready with Natasha. Your fingers grazed his warm cheek before you pushed his hair back from his forehead and gave him a kiss. "I love you." 

When you turned toward the door, Bradley was standing there with his pants unzipped and Skittles in one big hand. "It's time for me to show you a little oral appreciation, Baby," he whispered as he took your hand. 

As soon as he had you on your back in the middle of your bed with your skirt pushed way up, he found out you weren't wearing any underwear. Your pussy was wet, and you were ready for him, but when he nipped your lips as he teased you with his fingers, you broke the kiss. "Can we have a fun family day tomorrow? Us and Noah?" you gasped, your fingers clutching at the insignia pins on his jacket.

Bradley's smirk turned into a smile before he kissed you so gently, you whimpered. He kissed back to your ear as he slid one long finger into your pussy and circled your clit with his thumb. "Absolutely. I love you. Oh, I fucking adore you, Princess."

He worked you over good after that. Your fingers were in your own mouth as Bradley propped you up with his hand for better access. He was making you get a little too loud as his soft tongue and bristly mustache met your clit while he finger fucked you. And then the broad stripes of his tongue that ended in little swirls around your clit let you know exactly what he was planning to do.

"Daddy!" you gasped, hips jerking as you clenched around his thick fingers. He knew he had you. He knew just the right amount of pressure to apply. You squirted for him. You were wet everywhere; it felt like you were laying in a little puddle. 

"Oh, fuck me," he moaned, and then he was on top of you, shoving his cock inside your dripping pussy and making your back arch off the bed. His face was wet with you as he kissed you and let you lick his mouth clean. You felt good if not overstimulated and a little boneless, but with just a few deep thrusts, he came inside you.

His body weight was heavy but soothing as he eased himself down on top of you. "Well," he whispered, "looks like you'll need to take your dress to the dry cleaner along with my uniform." 

You smirked. "I'll put it on my Princess credit card."

"You're damn right."

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

If Saturday night at the retirement party was fun, then the impromptu family day on Sunday was spectacular. Bradley hadn't done anything quite like this, well... ever.

"Mommy!" Noah called out, handing you a purple golf ball at the little putt putt course next to the beach. Then Noah selected a yellow ball for himself and handed Bradley bright green.

"Perfect, Bub," he said, kissing his son while you took him by the hand. Bradley's attention just fluctuated between how pretty you were in your little sundress and how happy Noah looked. He was so preoccupied, you had to keep reminding him it was his turn.

"You're up, Daddy," you said, nudging his foot with your putter. "Why are you so distracted?"

He shook his head and nudged your putter right back before he kissed your cheek. "Just having a good day," he replied. "Thinking about how nice this is."

"We can have family Sundays whenever we're not too busy. Oh, and there's a dog friendly beach trail, so next time we can bring Skittles."

"She's getting her cast off soon," Bradley reminded you.

"Then she can sleep in my bed!" Noah said, hitting his yellow ball very badly. "You promised!"

"Yeah. You promised," you echoed. Bradley was met with Noah's look of excitement and your smug smile. Then you added, "You're just the best, Daddy."

He groaned and bent to scoop Noah up as he giggled uncontrollably. "Let's tickle Mommy," Bradley whispered loudly. He chased you around while Noah stretched his arms out and wiggled his fingers at you. When you pretended to get caught, you smothered first Noah and then Bradley in kisses. Then the three of you eventually returned to the golf game, and Bradley silently congratulated himself for successfully distracting the two of you. 

Because honestly, he was already kind of attached to having Skittles sleep in her little bed in the room with you and him. He didn't want to say it out loud though, especially since he was the one who didn't want a dog in the first place. But he liked having her trot over to him when he got out of bed in the morning, and he liked settling her into her spot at night. And he knew Skittles preferred to be taken outside by him.

"I can't believe I have an eight pound dog named Skittles," he murmured. "How is this my life now?"

Not that he was complaining. He looked at you helping Noah line up his shot at the last hole, and then you and he managed to get a hole in one together before both turning to look at him in surprise. "Did you see that?" you asked.

"Yeah, I saw it," he replied with a smile. "It was incredible. Now let's go celebrate by not asking you to cook tonight."

Dinner consisted of nothing but takeout sandwiches and a picnic table, but it was the perfect end to the day. Bradley was just mesmerized by you as you cleaned Noah's hands with a wet wipe and then cut his sandwich up into little bite sized pieces for him. Then you kissed him on the temple and asked if he would like to have Amelia come babysit him again.

"Remember when you were my babysitter?" he asked you, his eyes wide as you smiled down at him.

"Yeah. I remember, sweet Noah."

He bit into a piece of his sandwich before he said, "I liked that a whole lot, but I like it better now that you're my mommy instead."

"I like it better now, too," Bradley added, and he watched your smile grow.

"Yeah," Noah said, "because you're always at our house now, and you never have to leave."

"That's right. You belong with us, Princess." Bradley thought maybe you always had, and he and Noah were just waiting for it all to fall into place.

You looked pleased as you told them, "I'm not going anywhere."

When Bradley finally pulled the Bronco in the driveway, it was dark out, and both you and Noah were yawning nonstop. "Do I need to carry both of you inside?" he asked.

"Yes," you and Noah answered in unison. 

He picked you up for a piggy back ride before getting Noah out of the backseat, and then he carried both of you up to the porch and unlocked the door. You took Noah with you to get him ready for bed while Bradley led Skittles out the back door. 

"Yeah, I know I'm your favorite," he whispered as Skittles licked his hand before hobbling out to the grass. He'd follow up with the shelter about having her cast removed, and he get her some special treats for a reward as she built her strength up again. 

A few minutes later, he carried the pup down the hallway past Noah's room where his son was already sound asleep. When he walked into his own bedroom, you were already snuggled up in bed with the covers pulled up to your chin. "You sleepy, Baby?"

"Mmhmm," you hummed before yawning again. "All the champagne and mini golfing caught up with me, I guess. Not to mention the blowjobs."

Bradley chuckled as he set Skittles down in her bed with a little pat on her purple bow. Then he joined you after kicking his shoes off. He snuggled up next to you on top of the blankets, still needing to get ready for bed. But he kissed you and watched as your eyelids grew heavier. "Can't forget about the blowjobs," he whispered, and you smiled. "I love you, Princess."

"Love you." Then you were asleep. 

When he got to work tomorrow morning, Bradley would talk to Admiral Simpson about flying in the air show even though he really didn't want to have to chat with him about anything. Not after Cyclone's continual desire to flirt with the one woman who was Bradley's. But he'd do it anyway, because he wanted to make you happy. Then he pulled his phone out of his pocket, and after he verified you were really asleep, he opened his internet browser to check those tabs again.

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

Silence, peasants....she is a Princess. Can't wait for Bradley's conversation with Cyclone at work. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 44

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@chassy21

@solacestyles

@daisyhollyxox

@wintercap89

@blog-name6996

@bcon24

@chaoticassidy

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187

@katiebby04

@marantha

@averyhotchner

@abaker74

@heli991113

@k-k0129

@noz4a2

@tallyovie

@shanimallina87

@little-wiseone

@ccbb2222

@lilyevanswhore

@xoxabs88xox

@thedroneranger

@bradshawsbitch

@cherrycola27

@fanboyswhore9

@xomrsalliej4787xo

@desert-fern

@sylviebell

@wkndwlff

@horseslovers2016

@gennyanydots

@mattyskies

@hookslove1592

@blahehblah

@sadpetalsstuff

@local-spidey

@schoollover

@lex-winchester

@magicalmorg

@nicole01-23

@jessicab1991

@happyrebelruins

@samsgoddess

@ughthisisntright

@bellaireland1981

@sagittarius-flowerchild

#mila's early endless summer #if you love it reblog it #catching up!!

[pisupsala]

The Younger Kind Part 42 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: The retirement party for Admiral Bates is well underway when you and Bradley run into Beau Simpson. He's just one reminder that some things will never change for the two of you. While you're really enjoying the evening out with your boyfriend, it's starting to feel like nobody else wants you to.

Warnings: Swearing, angst, fluff, and age gap (18+)

Length: 4800 words

Pairing: Single dad!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x babysitter!female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! The Younger Kind masterlist.

On the way up to the San Diego Botanic Gardens, Bradley held your hand and sang while he drove. Nat was in the backseat humming along with him, and you were simply looking out the window at the ocean and the rocky cliffs along the wilder more rustic beaches north of the city. The sun was setting, and the orange and purple streaks along the horizon cast everything in a dreamy light. 

Then you thought about Noah and wondered if you left enough ants on logs for him and Amelia to eat for a bedtime snack. You weren't sure if you got his favorite pajamas out of the dryer before you started getting dressed for the night. "Should I text Amelia and check on Noah?"

Bradley chuckled and glanced at you as he drove. "We just left, Baby. I told her to call me if she needed anything, so I'm sure they're fine."

You tugged gently on his hand. "You texted me all the time when I was Noah's babysitter. Even when you were out on app dates."

Bradley squeezed your thigh through all of the layers of your skirt as he quickly glanced at Nat in his rearview mirror. "I wasn't texting you to check on Noah, because I knew he was perfectly fine in your care. I was texting you because I couldn't focus on whichever woman was right in front of me when I knew you were waiting at home." You smiled as warmth washed through your body. "I was a complete fucking mess on every single one of those dates. Running back home to see if you were sitting on the couch or at the kitchen table. Curious about which color Skittle was touching your lips and tongue. That's why I texted. And that's why you're not my babysitter anymore."

If Natasha could hear your conversation, she was thankfully pretending she couldn't. You brought Bradley's rough hand up to your lips and kissed him. "I'm a complete fucking mess for Noah's daddy." Bradley grabbed your chin and ran his thumb along your bottom lip, and you were shamefully a little turned on while someone else was in the car with you. 

After that he dropped his hand back to your thigh, but you could see the flushed shade of pink on his cheeks and knew he was feeling as warm as you were. "I want you to have fun tonight, Princess. I love the way you always think about Noah, but I'm not going to worry about anything at home unless Amelia contacts us, okay?"

You let your head tip back against the seat as you said, "Okay. You're right."

Bradley pulled off of the main road into the parking lot of the beautifully lit up glass greenhouse structure of the gardens as he said, "I'll get a little champagne in your belly, and then you'll be focused on me." He was smiling as he found a parking spot, and you leaned over to kiss his cheek.

"Well, this has been lovely, but I'll meet you both inside," Nat announced as she hopped out as soon as the Bronco came to a stop. You watched her yank her black dress up in her hand and walk as quickly as she could across the parking lot in her massively high heels while you laughed. 

"She thinks we're gross," you whispered as you crawled onto his lap. You kissed his mustache as you reached for his hat and put it on him. His eyes were soft as he examined your face, stroking his thumb along your cheek. You kissed him again, trying to remember that he was wearing all white while you were wearing dark lipstick. But now it was smudged on his lips and you whimpered softly. 

"We are gross," he confirmed, wrapping his arms around you and holding you on his lap. "Now... who are you going to stay with all evening?"

You smirked. "My Daddy."

"Perfect," he replied, stroking the bare skin along your lower back, making you shiver. "Let's go find Mav and Penny and get some champagne."

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

Bradley would never get over the fact that you were such a headturner, but with you in your formal dress, things were even worse than the night he took you to the Hard Deck in your worn out jeans. He should have bought you an actual crown to go with your outfit, because it would have matched perfectly with your flawless face and your poised demeanor. It would have made you stand out even more. 

The difference tonight was the number of spouses and significant others who were present, and many of them were Bradley's age. As you and he walked inside the sprawling greenhouse enclosure which was filled with orchids, topiaries and rare plants, Bradley felt like he was cast in a spotlight. He kept his arm wrapped around your waist as you chatted away about wanting to see the rare flowers that were supposedly blooming tonight. 

"We can check them out," he assured you, fully aware that you were completely oblivious to the women glaring at you and the men smirking at Bradley. "We just need to find the man of the hour and get you a glass of champagne first."

But the crowd of people moving deeper into the greenhouse slowed, so Bradley pulled you closer to him. You went willingly and stood with your chest pressed to his as you looked up at him and smiled. His hands fell to the swell of your hips as you touched all of his pins again. In your high heels, your lips met his neck more easily, and you whispered, "I think I'm the youngest person here," with a little laugh. 

"You have no idea, do you?" he asked, taking a few steps forward with the crowd as he guided you along the stone pathway. When you looked up at him, clearly puzzled, he added, "You don't know how people look at you." He brought his fingers up to the smooth strip of skin above your skirt and watched you turn your head and look around the indoor garden as someone started playing the grand piano set off in the corner. Your cheek rested briefly against his white jacket before you looked up at him again. 

"People are looking at me," you whispered, poking his hat so it was crooked on his head. 

"Mmhmm."

"It's just because I'm younger, and I'm here with a very old man," you said with an innocent expression. 

Bradley squeezed your ass and stroked your lips with his thumb as he said, "Blaming it on the age gap is only going to get you so far, Princess. You're beautiful, and people notice."

You grinned up at him and muttered, "You're such a daddy," just as someone in a tuxedo holding a platter of champagne flutes came past. "You're hot, too. That's why there are women looking at us." 

Bradley snatched two flutes as he realized that you and he were actually in the line to shake hands with Admiral Bates. He wanted to argue and say that he wasn't the reason anyone took notice, but he could see Warlock and his wife now.

"Okay, Baby," he whispered, handing you a glass. "Make me look good in front of my bosses." And then he noticed that Cyclone and Maverick were there, too. And now Cyclone was looking at you like you were the midnight snack he tried to take home with him from the Hard Deck. 

"Oh, it's that guy again," you whispered as you turned to face the front of the line. "The one who bought me drinks at your Navy bar."

"Admiral Simpson." Bradley had to fight the urge to grab at your body and taste your tongue, even though the only thing he wanted to do was make it clear to Admiral Simpson and everyone else that you were with him and him alone. His cock twitched in his dress whites just thinking about parading you around this retirement party with your hair wrecked and your skirt crooked and a fucked out little smile on your face. 

He grunted as he laced his fingers with yours, and Cyclone met his eyes. He had to fight to keep his expression neutral as the other man's gaze traveled to your face and dipped down your body, and when he met Bradley's brown eyes again, he smirked. So Bradley smirked, too. 

Then you and he were right there in front of the lineup of Maverick, Cyclone, Warlock and his wife. He let go of your hand to salute the others, and then Warlock's wife started to make an absolute fuss over him. But not before he heard what Cyclone said to you.

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

You were young, but you weren't stupid, and you didn't appreciate the way most men besides Bradley looked at you. He never stared at your chest instead of your face when talking to you, and he never made you feel uncomfortable. You chalked it up to him being older and more mature than guys your own age. So it was almost laughable when Admiral Simpson, who was at least fifteen years older than your boyfriend, greeted you by saying, "I remember you. From the Hard Deck. You'd be impossible to forget."

As if he'd done anything besides piss you off when he touched your cheek. As if you hadn't pushed his hand away and strolled off with the drinks he insisted upon paying for. You wanted to make a snide remark, you really did. When he shook your hand and asked to be reminded about your name, you wanted to tell him to fuck off. But you knew that Bradley reported to both him and Maverick at work, so you decided to play nice. 

You glanced up at Bradley who was sort of glaring at Admiral Simpson even though he was talking to Admiral Bates. You told Simpson your name, and then he gave your hand a little squeeze. "Please, call me Beau."

"Sure," you said cooly, carefully extracting your hand from his. "Beau."

"So, I heard that you're actually Bradshaw's babysitter."

The words made your skin prickle coming from him. "I'm working full time as a nurse now."

He smirked. "Are you still looking for a babysitting job after hours?"

You raised one eyebrow and sipped your champagne before you asked, "Do you have kids?"

"No, none," he replied easily, his steely gray eyes locked on your face. "But I'm sure I could still find something for you to do with your set of skills."

You were torn between throwing your champagne at him and loudly asking him to explain what he meant by that. But you didn't want to waste the drink when there was a delicious looking raspberry waiting for you at the bottom, and you were certain you already knew what he was getting at. So you simply said, "I'm kept very busy all day as a pediatric nurse and all night as Lieutenant Bradshaw's girlfriend. I just don't see how I could fit you in."

You turned away from his smirking lips when Admiral Bates' wife absolutely lit up and asked, "You're a pediatric nurse? That was my career for almost thirty years!" You were blessedly saved from having to talk to Beau any longer as Admiral and Mrs. Bates kindly asked you about your job and didn't treat you like a child. She even said, "I'll absolutely look for you again later tonight. I had no idea Lieutenant Bradshaw was dating a pediatric nurse!"

After you bid them farewell, you realized Bradley and Beau were standing very close together, and your boyfriend did not look happy. The last thing you wanted was to be the reason he didn't enjoy himself tonight. You downed the remainder of your champagne and bit into the perfectly ripe berry before you reached for his hand.

"Come on, Daddy," you said loud enough for Beau to hear as well. "I feel like dancing." With one firm tug, you got him moving away from the other man. "It sounds like there's a DJ in another part of the arboretum," you mused as he came along.

"I heard what he said to you." You looked up to see Bradley's expression was annoyed. "It's always going to be like this. You know that, right?"

You reached for two more champagne glasses as they came parading past you. "Save your berry for me," you instructed Bradly when you handed one to him. "It's my favorite part."

"Did you hear what I said?" he asked, stopping you when you tried to head off toward the louder music. 

"Yes, I heard you, Bradley. But you're the one who keeps telling me to ignore it. You tell me it doesn't matter, and that you love me and that I shouldn't let it bother me. So what would you have me do? Ask you to yell at Maverick's boss for being weird?"

He sighed and said, "It's never going to stop. Because you're young and hot."

Now you were getting a little annoyed. "Well, can you live with it or not? And this is a two way street here, because I've had to deal with my fair share of Caseys and Helens. You're hot. You have a sweet little boy and a dog. You have your shit together. You're a man in your thirties, who could have any woman he wants, and it shows. But you told me you want me. And I want you. So Beau Simpson can just stand over there next to the seven foot tall brassavola nodosa orchid and look like an ass for all I really care."

Bradley was gaping at you as you put your hands on your hips and added, "Don't forget to save me your raspberry. Now I said I wanted to dance. Are you coming or should I go find Nat?"

"I'm coming," he whispered. 

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

Bradley wasn't sure how many glasses of champagne you'd had, but an hour later, you were still dancing with him inside the humid fountain room surrounded by rare ferns and imported shrubs while you giggled. The music was starting to pick up as the night wore on, and after you and he had danced to a handful of slower, romantic songs, a few with faster tempos played in a row. 

He kissed your temple and whispered, "Let's take a break."

You scoffed and tightened your arms around him, your breasts pressed to his jacked inside your beaded top. "You're so old," you said, but it came out as more of a whine. "And sexy. And I want to keep dancing with you."

It was that easy for you to keep him on the dancefloor near Maverick and Penny. Even Nat was dancing nearby with Coyote, and Bradley was pretty sure he knew what that meant. "I'll bet you Nat goes home with Javy," he whispered next to your ear. 

You gasped and turned to look at them over your shoulder. "Oh, I hope she does. He's so hot."

"Hey," he grumbled, tucking his fingers inside the waistband of your skirt and drawing your attention back to him. 

"I mean... ewww, he's way too young! He's like thirty! I hate that."

"That's better." He leaned down to kiss you, and it was just starting to get a little dirty when Maverick cleared his throat. 

"Just thought maybe I could cut in for a bit," he said with a smile at you.

"Sure!" you replied, and Bradley left you with his godfather after giving you a soft peck on the cheek. Then he went off in search of Penny at the bar where she was drinking a martini in her pretty blue dress. 

"Oh, there you are," she said, flagging down the bartender again for him. "You want a martini?"

"Sure," Bradley replied. He was keeping track of how much he had so he could drive him later. Now he was also going to have to check in with Javy and see how much he'd consumed. "Amelia would text me if there was an issue, right?" he asked Penny. 

"I'm sure she would. She probably has Noah in bed by now and is reading one of those horror novels she likes. Either that, or she's playing with the dog."

Bradley nodded and glanced to make sure you were still with Mav. "He really wanted to dance with your future wife," Penny said when Bradley's martini got dropped off. 

He groaned. "Mav told you I'm looking at rings? Because I specifically asked him not to."

Penny laughed. "He's terrible at keeping secrets. You should have known better."

"I'll know better for next time," Bradley told her playfully. "And I don't care if she dances with him for the rest of the night, I just need to keep most of these other assholes away from her."

Penny laughed with the rim of her martini glass pressed to her lips. After she took a sip, she said, "I'm not surprised you feel that way. She's sweet and she's young. And while I miss having her living on my street, I'm sure you must be happy she's living with you now. The trip to the lake house was really special, and it's easy to see how much Noah loves her."

Bradley smiled. "She fell in love with Noah before she fell in love with me."

"Anyone would, Bradley."

He and Penny were sipping their martinis when Maverick joined them, and Bradley turned so fast to see where you'd gone. "Seriously, Mav? You left her with Hangman?"

Maverick glanced back as well to watch Jake's hands all over that soft skin above the top of your skirt. Bradley's jaw clenched; nobody else should have access to you there. Even Mav had kept his hands respectfully on the back of your beaded top. And Jake looked handsome tonight. Bradley knew dress whites made any officer at least ten percent more attractive; it was something Nat told him years ago when he got asked out ten times at his promotion banquet.

"She'll be fine," he replied with a shrug, ordering himself a beer. "What's the worst that could happen?"

You asked him barely an hour ago if he could live with this or not. He had assured you he could. But this was Jake. He'd actually managed to kiss you in the middle of Bradley's kitchen. Jake knew what your lipgloss tasted like. "Fuck," Bradley grunted when Jake met his gaze. Because now he was smiling like the cat who got the cream while he let his hands drift a little further south toward your ass. 

You were talking to him, about what, Bradley had no idea. Then you reached for his hands and guided them back up to your waist while Jake gave you the most distressingly fake innocent look he could muster up. When you glanced Bradley's way, you rolled your eyes before turning back to Jake, but when that song ended, you came over to the bar. Before you even made it all the way to him, Bradley secured you a glass of champagne with a raspberry.

"Princess," he said, handing it to you. "Did you have fun with Jake?"

"Not particularly," you said blandly, but Bradley could tell you were ready to laugh. "He invited me to the charity air show next month that he's flying in. Claimed he's donating five thousand dollars to the children's hospital and asked if I'd want to go since I work with kids. He also stressed that it wouldn't be a date, and that I would get to tour the hospital with him."

Bradley chuckled. He'd thrown his name on the list of volunteers as well, and he knew for a fact the selections hadn't even been made yet. "That's wishful thinking on his part." Bradley leaned in and kissed your cheek. "Do you want to go on a tour of the children's hospital?"

"Kind of," you said with a shrug while you gulped down your champagne just to get to the raspberry which made him smile. "But not with Jake. Obviously."

He tucked his fingers under your chin so you were looking at him. "Do you want to go with me if I get to fly in the air show?"

Your face let up. "Of course! I didn't want to say anything, but the whole day sounded pretty great, actually. Can you fly in it, too?"

"I'll see what I can do," Bradley said softly, looking across the crowded room and past the fountain to where Cyclone and Warlock were chatting. As much as he didn't want to, he could ask Warlock on one of his last days at work to push his name to the top if possible. And he'd rather choke on one of the raspberries, but he could feasibly ask Cyclone. 

Bradley watched you pluck another glass of champagne from a passing tray before leaving your empty one on the bar. "Baby, how many have you had?" he asked with a laugh.

"Not as many as Natasha," you replied, nodding to where she and Javy were making out in the middle of the dancing couples. Actually, a lot of Bradley's colleagues were pretty drunk now. Even Maverick had rosy cheeks and a bit of extra swagger in his step. 

Bradley set his empty martini glass down, already knowing that was his last drink for the night. Your eyes lit up as you finished yet another glass of champagne, and Bradley recognized the remix of the song as one from the kid friendly playlist you made for Noah. You shook the raspberry into your mouth and chewed it up before you kissed him. 

"Dance with me," you demanded, and Bradley wrapped his arm around your waist and led you out to where everyone was bouncing around. The lights had been dimmed, and the fountain in the background was illuminated now. You danced wildly in his arms, and Bradley knew you were probably going to have a hangover tomorrow. When you spun around as you sang along, your ass grinding against him, Bradey leaned in close and kissed your neck.

"I love you, Baby," he said over the music as he ran his hands along any bare skin he could find. You responded by grinding a little harder against him, so he knew you heard him. He licked the shell of your ear and kissed you there as the song came to an end. 

"I love you too, Daddy," you told him, kissing him solidly on the lips. "I think I'll have one more glass of champagne."

He was not convinced that was a good idea, but he took you back to the bar anyway. And now everyone was over here including Nat and Javy who looked very cozy together. You had another champagne flute in your hand when he asked Nat, "You're not going to need a ride home from me, are you?"

She smirked and shrugged at him. "Doesn't look that way."

"How long has this been going on this time?" he asked as you tugged on his arm.

"Daddy, can I have your wallet?" you asked loudly in front of everyone accumulated at the bar. Javy gaped at Bradley while Mav and Penny tried not to laugh. Nat was ready to gag just like she was every time she heard you call him that. You were probably a little drunk, but you probably also didn't care who heard you. Bradley pulled it out of his pocket and handed it to you, and you kissed his cheek and walked away with it. 

"I feel like I should be concerned," he muttered to himself.

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

You were quite tipsy now, and everything seemed like a good idea. Once you secured Bradley's wallet, you giggled as you went off to find that one guy carrying around the champagne who looked about your age. When you located him, you smiled and waved him down.

He looked like he was going to drop his entire tray as he eagerly asked, "How can I help you?"

Then you told him your name and said, "I was hoping you could do me a favor."

"Anything," he said quickly, and you couldn't help but laugh which made him smile. You probably didn't even need the wallet after all, but you took out fifty bucks and pointed across the room. "You see that guy standing over there in the dress whites?" You knew that didn't really narrow it down in this crowd, but luckily at the moment Beau Simpson was mostly surrounded by women and men in gowns and suits. 

"Yes."

"Any chance you can go to the bar, get a glass of top shelf bourbon and take it to him?"

He shrugged and said, "Sure."

Then you handed him the fifty and said, "Please make sure you tell him it's from Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw and his girlfriend." 

"Done," he replied, his eyes lighting up at the prospect of making some easy money. 

As he walked away, you smiled to yourself and strolled back to Bradley. He seemed to be arguing with Natasha about something, so you carefully tucked his wallet into his pocket. He turned to face you, and you kissed his cheek and whispered, "I'll be back after I use the ladies' room."

"Don't take too long," he told you, patting your butt before returning to his conversation with his best friend. 

You nearly tripped when you saw Admiral Beau Simpson being delivered his glass of bourbon, and it seemed to do what you had hoped it would. He was laughing as he searched the crowd, and then he took a sip of it with an appreciative look on his face before joining Admiral Bates in conversation. You were practically cackling as you made your way to the restroom with your poofy skirt billowing around you.

Tonight you really felt like a princess, and when you checked yourself in the ladies' room mirror, you were delighted to see that the makeup job Natasha did still looked really good. You clicked across the marble floor in your heels and tucked yourself in one of the stalls. Very carefully you bunched your skirt up, and just as you finished and flushed the toilet, you heard the main door open, and a few voices echoed through the room.

"She's way too young for him," said one woman, and you tried your best to keep your skirt bunched up as you peeked through the slit between the stall door and the wall. She was kind of pretty; she kind of looked like an older version of you. "Whoever she is, she looks like she's about twenty. Her purple dress is pretty though."

You froze, and the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end.

"He's just having his midlife crises a few years early. All men have one," another woman, this one with red hair, told the first one. You were nearly certain they were talking about you and Bradley, and you had to keep bunching your skirt up so they wouldn't see it under the stall door. "But he's got a kid, doesn't he?"

"Yeah," replied a third woman with black hair, who was fixing her makeup. "He's a cute little thing. Rooster brought him to base a few times."

Your heart was pounding as you stood there and listened to someone you'd never even seen before talk about how cute Noah was. You couldn't decide if you wanted to scream or cry as she said, "He'll snap out of it soon when he realizes he can do better. I'm sure she's got nothing to offer other than being young and eager. He'll get tired of that soon enough."

The first woman laughed merrily as tears stung your eyes. You were standing in a bathroom stall holding the bunched up skirt of the formal dress Bradley bought for you while three women you didn't even know trashed you for no good reason.

Then the second woman said, "She wasn't even with him when we passed him on our way here."

"Yeah, it's probably past her curfew."

Now all three of them laughed as your lip quivered. 

You watched the first woman wiggle the top of her dress a little lower as she fixed her cleavage. "Listen, he looks hot in his dress whites. If she's not there when we go back out, I'm going to accidentally bump into him."

"No, you're not!" came one reply.

"I dare you," came the other.

You let the fabric fall from your hands as you squared your shoulders. They were talking about Bradley. They were talking about Noah. They were talking about you and your family. You were tired of being treated like you were a fucking joke. Then you unlatched the stall door and were met with three pairs of surprised eyes. 

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

Who do they even think they are? And Bradley better fly in the air show, because I want Princess to get to visit the children's hospital. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 43

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@chassy21

@solacestyles

@daisyhollyxox

@wintercap89

@blog-name6996

@bcon24

@chaoticassidy

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187

@katiebby04

@marantha

@averyhotchner

@abaker74

@heli991113

@k-k0129

@noz4a2

@tallyovie

@shanimallina87

@little-wiseone

@ccbb2222

@lilyevanswhore

@xoxabs88xox

@thedroneranger

@bradshawsbitch

@cherrycola27

@fanboyswhore9

@xomrsalliej4787xo

@desert-fern

@sylviebell

@wkndwlff

@horseslovers2016

@gennyanydots

@mattyskies

@hookslove1592

@blahehblah

@sadpetalsstuff

@local-spidey

@schoollover

@lex-winchester

@magicalmorg

@nicole01-23

@jessicab1991

@happyrebelruins

@samsgoddess

@ughthisisntright

@bellaireland1981

@sagittarius-flowerchild

#mila's early endless summer #if you love it reblog it #catching up!

[pisupsala]

The Younger Kind Part 41 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: When Bradley really does have to work late, you spend a fun evening with Noah, but Bradley starts to realize all the ways his life is holding yours back when you go out with friends. Then as soon as you let Bradley see you in your formal dress, he wants to take it off of you. In fact, it'll be a miracle if the two of you make it through the retirement party at all.

Warnings: Swearing, angst, fluff, smut, spitting, butt plug, and age gap (18+)

Length: 4900 words

Pairing: Single dad!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x babysitter!female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! The Younger Kind masterlist.

Your phone screen lit up with a call from Bradley just as you shoved the last bite of your sandwich into your mouth while you were typing up a patient's chart. "Hello?" you managed while you chewed.

"Baby, I'm going to be late today. For real," he said, sounding a bit cautious. "Here, talk to Nat. You're on speaker."

"Hi," came his best friend's voice as you finally swallowed. "He's stupid and annoying, but he's not lying. We're staying late with the new mechanical crew to learn about an update."

"I'm assuming you're calling to make sure I can pick Noah up?" you asked as you smiled. It almost made you feel good that Bradley was being so cautious this time around. 

"Yeah. Can you?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Okay, perfect. I know I've been asking a lot of you," he said, his voice soft and deep. "But I trust you with everything. And I'll make it up to you."

Now you were smirking as you looked around to be sure none of your coworkers were around. "Are you going to make it up to me in our bed or in the shower, Daddy?"

He made a strangled noise and you heard Nat shriek in the background. "Baby, I said you were on speaker," he whispered. "Well, now you're not."

You had to stifle your laughter as you said, "I need to go. I'll get Noah from daycare. And then I'll try my pretty dress on for you if you're good, Daddy."

"Fuck," he muttered. "Yeah, I'll be good. I'll be so good."

You had to squeeze your thighs together at the prospect of making him beg. The retirement party for Admiral Bates was just a few days away, but you hadn't let Bradley see you in the purple dress yet. For the past few days, ever since you told him what Casey said to you, Bradley had been letting you hold all the cards. When he came home from work that day and told you that Casey shouldn't be a problem for you anymore, you gasped. He told you what he'd said to her, and then you gave him a blowjob. 

"I'll see you at home later tonight," you told him softly. "In my pretty Princess dress."

"I can't wait."

"Oh, and don't forget I have happy hour with my work friends on Thursday."

"I'll make absolutely certain I leave work on time on Thursday," he promised.

When you made it to the preschool to pick Noah up, you smiled at Casey. "Oh, hi. I'm here for Noah," you told her, annunciating each word like she was very stupid. She rolled her eyes and handed you the clipboard as you asked, "No bakery box today?"

She didn't acknowledge you or say a single word as she walked to the classroom door and went inside. You filled out the sheet on the clipboard, smiling as you saw Bradley's signature from earlier this morning. Then Noah came streaking out toward you. "Can we take Skittles on a hike?" he asked as he ran into your arms. 

"Of course," you told him, kissing his soft curls as you practically threw the clipboard at Casey and led Noah outside. "Daddy will be home late, so we can do whatever we want."

His face lit up as you buckled him in his car seat. "Can we get ice cream?"

You pretended to consider your answer before saying, "Of course we can get ice cream!"

You drove home with the windows down and the kid friendly playlist on. When you stopped at a traffic light, you turned around to sing along with Noah. And when you parked your car in the driveway, you carried him inside while you sang the dinosaur song together. 

"I love you so much," you told him as he wrapped his arms around your neck. You unlocked the front door and went right to the crate in the kitchen. Skittles was looking up at the two of you with the biggest, sappiest brown eyes you'd ever seen. Well, other than the ones the Bradshaw boys frequently gave you. 

Noah squirmed out of your arms and went to open the crate door just the way you showed him how. He was so gentle with the little pup, and she whimpered and whined until she was able to lick Noah's hands and face. "Come on, Skittles," you called as you opened the back door. She limped her way across the kitchen floor, and you had to force yourself not to pick her up since she was supposed to be moving around on her own. It was bad enough that Bradley carried her around all the time. She looked at you, and you bent to ruffle her purple bow before she wandered outside to the grass. 

"Should we go get ice cream first and then eat dinner after that?" you asked Noah with a smile.

"Yeah! We can pretend it's opposite day!"

"Great idea."

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

When Bradley got home, he was irritated. The mechanics took forever to get everything in order so he could sign off and leave for the day. The downside of being responsible for his jet was that he was really responsible for every little detail. When he let himself inside, he could hear the bath water running and laughter coming from the bathroom. 

He poked his head inside to find you kneeling on the floor next to the tub while Noah played, and you were both giggling. Skittles perked up and ran for Bradley, and then Noah saw him too. "Daddy!"

You whipped your head around to face him with a bright smile on your gorgeous face. "Hi, Daddy. You'll never guess what today is."

"Tell me," he said as he walked in still wearing his flight suit and boots, scooping Skittles up in one hand. He knelt on the mat next to you with a soft groan and then buried his face against your neck with a little nip. "I'm dying to know," he whispered as he kissed your ear. Then he reached for Noah and kissed his wet cheek as you turned the water off. 

"It's opposite day!" Noah exclaimed. "The water is dry, and I don't like dinosaurs," he said before bursting into a fit of giggles. 

"Opposite day?" Bradley asked, pretending to need help with the concept while Skittles licked his face. "Can I have another example?"

"We had ice cream before dinner!"

"Noah," you scolded playfully. "You weren't supposed to tell him that!" You eyed Bradley sheepishly. "We did end up eating dinner... just after dessert."

He kissed your cheek. "You're the best Mommy ever. You make everything fun."

"Were you good today?" you asked softly while Noah claimed all of his rubber duckies were sinking when they were clearly floating. 

"So good," he promised. The way you bit your lip reminded Bradley that it had been a few days since you and he had sex. He thought maybe you were ovulating, but it didn't really matter. He needed to do a better job of keeping you full regardless. 

Things had just been a bit hectic, and the tiny dog in his hand was evidence of that. If you got pregnant, things would get even wilder around here, but he didn't mind it. He actually craved it at times. And when he reminded himself that he finally had a teammate in you, things always felt manageable. 

"I have an idea," he said as you washed Noah's hair. "After this, I'll get Noah in bed and let Skittles out one more time, and then you can take your time getting ready while I get a shower."

You nodded. "Did you hear that, Noah? It's time to wake up instead of go to bed."

He laughed again. "Will you read me a good morning story?" he asked Bradley.

"Absolutely, Bub," he replied. "I mean... no, I won't? Opposite day is confusing."

When he got Noah to change into pajamas under the guise that he was really getting dressed for daycare, Bradley heard you get into the shower. Once Noah was tucked in, he took Skittles outside. The bedroom door was closed, so you must be in there putting on your purple dress for the retirement party. He couldn't wait to see it.

Bradley got in the shower and took his time, but he was yawning almost nonstop. He needed to get it together so he could fuck you if that's what you wanted. He'd made a lot of promises about that kind of thing, and he didn't want his age to start catching up with him. "Shit," he mumbled as he toweled his hair off before wrapping it around his waist. 

But he shouldn't have worried. As soon as he walked into his bedroom, Bradley stopped short. You were bending and petting Skittles in her little dog bed, but you really did look like a princess. 

"You're wearing your crown," he rasped, and you stood to your full height and turned to look at him. "Jesus." The purple dress was indeed two pieces, and the top was beaded and very tastefully showcased your tits. Then the skirt was some sort of sheer flowy materials in a million layers, and Bradley wanted to run his hands all over it. But not as much as he wanted to run his fingers along the strip of your skin that showed just above your belly button. 

"You like it?" you asked, twirling for him as you brought one hand up to hold your paper crown on your head. "You paid for it," you said with a laugh. 

The fabric of the skirt swung around your body and moved with you. Bradley was entranced. "Yeah, I like it," he whispered. "Everyone else at the retirement party is going to like it too." Maybe a little too much, but there was nothing to be done about it now. And Nat was right when she'd said you would look incredible next to him in his dress white. "Fuck."

"Daddy," you gasped, looking up at him as his towel fell away from his waist. He was half erect, and he hadn't even touched you. All he had to do was look at you or smell you, and he was ready to go. 

You were standing very close, but you didn't let your hands meet his body, and you seemed too perfect right now for him to touch you without permission. Just like actual royalty. "Princess," he whispered as you licked your lips. "Will you let me pull that pretty skirt up and fuck you?"

In response, you brought your hands up to your hips and jutted your chin in the air. "That was very lewd, Daddy." He grunted as the fabric of your skirt brushed along the head of his cock. He could smell your body wash as you ran your hands up to your top and over your breasts. He could practically taste your pussy as his mouth watered. "You better start begging."

Your gaze followed him as he slowly dropped to his knees in front of you and buried his face in your skirt. He kissed the soft layers as he asked, "Please, Baby? I'll do anything you want. Just let me have your pussy. Please."

You brought your fingers up to stroke his cheek and run your thumb across his lips. "You can do better than that."

His cock was throbbing now. "Anything you want. I'll get you off just right. You know I will. I'll worship you." He kissed the soft skin just below your beaded top with the gentlest touch of his lips, and you moaned his name.

Bradley kissed and nuzzled his nose against you, whispering please over and over again before you finally said, "Stand up." He was on his feet immediately, cock at attention and cheeks warm. "Don't mess up my dress," you told him, running your fingertips along his abs as you walked over to the bed. You bent at the waist with your arms and cheek pressed to the soft bedding. You looked so innocent and perfect with your teeth digging into your glossy lip, but you sounded dirty as hell when you said, "Come fuck me, Daddy."

Bradley growled as he reached for your hips through all the layers of your pretty skirt. He forced himself to go slow, pushing the fabric up inch by inch and savoring the way it felt in his hands. Eventually your perfect thighs gave way to your wet pussy, but then Bradley's head tipped back as the most ridiculous noise escaped his lips. 

"Baby," he moaned, rubbing his cock all over your ass and through your wet warmth as you gasped and grabbed at the bedding. You were wearing your purple plug and puckering around it beautifully. So needy, the way you were grinding forward against the edge of the bed. "This is fucking gorgeous," he crooned, gently pushing on the base of the plug and giving you more pressure. 

You rolled your hips back against his hand and raised up on your tiptoes. He knew you wanted your pussy full as well as your ass, and he was going to give you his cock and his cum. Eventually. But first he knelt behind you as you whined, and he pinned your hips in place. "Bradley," you gasped, trying to fight the hold he had on you, but he wouldn't allow it. With your voluminous skirt pushed up to your waist, Bradley kissed you from behind and swiped his tongue through your wet folds. 

"Oh," you gasped loudly, trying to thrust back to meet him.

"Shh," he warned, pressing your plug with his nose. "I'll fuck you just right, but I want you to cum on my mustache first."

It took almost no time, not with how sensitive you were. He debated edging you until you squirted for him, but he figured it was better to ruin the dress after the retirement party. So Bradley ate your pussy like the meal it was until you were on the verge of tears. Every long stripe of his tongue had your legs shaking a little harder. He just wanted a little more before he let you come. So he licked up to your plug and spit, watching his saliva drip back down to your pussy as he finally let you have a little pressure on your clit with his middle finger. 

"Daddy!" you nearly screamed as he rubbed you with steady circles. Your hips jerked as you got his mustache even wetter, crying out against the bedding. But Bradley didn't stop the motion with his middle finger. He kept going as he stood and smiled at your face buried between your fisted hands. 

"That's a good girl. Keep nice and quiet." 

He fucked you, bending over your body and gently kissing your back as he rammed himself deep a few times. You felt somehow even fucking tighter when you were wearing the plug, and Bradley made sure he pressed it deeper as he railed you. 

When he kissed your shoulder, your pussy clenched around him. He wasn't even sure if you were still on your first orgasm or if you'd started to come again, but either way, he felt like your knight right now. When you turned your head to take a deep breath, your crown rolled off, and Bradley watched you look back at him as he fucked into you and bottomed out.

"Am I allowed to come, too?" he grunted, leaning in and licking at your glossy lips. 

"Yes," you whispered, kissing his tongue before he stood at his full height, grabbed you by your hips and thrusted and unloaded. 

Bradley ran one hand up along your beaded top, stroking your bare skin when he came across it. He listened as you hummed and laughed softly while he looked at your purple outfit, your purple plug, and your purple crown on the bed. He'd never had anything so bright in his life before you. 

"Don't mess up my dress," you reminded him, and Bradley just stood there with his cock still inside you and his hands full of fabric. 

"Well, what do you suggest I do back here, Princess?" he asked as you giggled and reached your hands back to hold some of the fabric. You bunched it up higher as you slowly stood, and then Bradley could feel the cool beads of your top against his abs and chest. 

"I think it's safe," you whispered. Bradley withdrew himself, and with a grin, he dropped to his knees behind you. He watched his cum drip down your inner thighs, and when you tried to press your legs together he told you no.

He shoved his hand between your thighs and whispered, "No, it's too pretty," as his semen dripped right from your pussy to his palm. "God, it's so fucking pretty." He kissed along the backs of your legs and the base of your plug, but he didn't move his hand until his palm was coated. 

When he stood again, he whispered, "I'll go get a wet washcloth so I can help you get undressed." But before he could leave the room, you met his eyes and raised his hand to your lips to kiss his cum covered palm and swiped your tongue through it. "Oh, shit," he groaned, watching as you cleaned him up. "How's that taste?"

"Mmm," you hummed, licking your lips. "Good. Like me and you."

His mouth was on yours immediately, needing to taste it for himself as he wrapped his still wet hand around the back of your neck. His tongue met yours, and he tasted himself there along with the sweetness of your pussy. "God damn, Baby. I hope I can keep up with you."

You nodded as he pressed some soft kisses to your lips. "You always do."

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

On Thursday, you were getting ready for happy hour with your coworkers when Bradley walked into the bedroom. "You look pretty," he said as you applied some of your lip gloss. You smiled at him in the mirror, and he walked a little closer. There was something about you this week that he couldn't quite put his finger on, but he had the urge to fuck you nearly nonstop. 

"Thanks, Daddy," you sang as he rubbed his hand along your lower back. 

"Hey," he whispered, letting his lips meet your ear. "You think we have time for a quickie?"

You knew. You must have known by the way you were smiling. He literally couldn't keep his hands off you. "You just like calling me your little cream donut," you replied, but you didn't say no. 

"I really do," he said, reaching for your jeans zipper, but you took his hand in yours and pulled it away. 

"We don't have time," you scolded, kissing his lips and lacing your fingers with his. "You need to get Noah in the car so you boys can drop me off."

"Who's driving you home again?" Bradley asked, needing to be sure you wouldn't get in the car with anyone who'd been drinking. 

"Sarah," you told him, cupping his cheek gently. "She's seven months pregnant. The hardest thing she'll be drinking is ginger ale."

"Alright," he agreed, letting you finish up as he put Noah in the Bronco. Then he drove you and dropped you off at a trendy looking bar in the Gaslamp Quarter which was filled with people your own age. 

"Looks like a bunch of hipsters," he mumbled as he parked in the loading zone at the curb. He could almost imagine Greyson and his idiot friends hanging out here, and he reached for your hand. 

You laughed as he kissed your fingers. "Everyone under thirty looks like a hipster to you. And I mean that with love."

"You don't look like a hipster," he said, brow furrowed as he looked at your hand and briefly wondered why he hadn't taken the time to buy you a ring yet. 

"I see them," you said, pointing out the window before you leaned in to peck his lips. "I'll let you know when I'm on my way home." Then you crawled halfway over the seat and kissed Noah who was already yawning. "Night, sweet Noah," you whispered before kissing Bradley one more time and hopping out. 

He watched you wave to the group of other nurses he'd met briefly. All of them were around your age, and sure enough he saw Sarah with her pregnant belly. He looked at your elegant body; you looked so damn young, but you seemed older than twenty four. And you'd look just right with a belly like that. Bradley groaned and put the Bronco in drive when he saw a group of guys walk toward you and your coworkers as you were about to head inside the bar. You ignored them in favor of waving to Bradley, and he did you the service of waving back before he started driving home. 

You trusted him, and he trusted you. That was all there was to it. He refused to let Casey try to upset you with her bullshit, and you wouldn't chat up random guys. 

"I miss Mommy," Noah said as he yawned again. 

It had literally been five minutes since you got out of the Bronco, but Bradley honestly said, "Me, too." 

And he felt like an idiot after he let Noah eat the ants on logs you left for them. It was nights like this when he started to feel like he was holding you back. He still had engagement rings open on his phone internet tabs, and he knew you'd say yes when he asked. You and he had talked about forever. But these nights out would become almost nonexistent if you got pregnant and there were two kids to look after. 

Noah whined for you at bedtime, and Bradley had to bribe him with extra books since he couldn't have another goodnight kiss from you. Luckily that kid was usually asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, but once he was out, Bradley was left alone with his thoughts. He tried to watch TV and even attempted a nap on the couch until you got home. He ended up drinking a beer and holding Skittles on his lap as she licked at the condensation on the bottle. 

"You are begrudgingly very fucking cute," he told the pup as she curled up on his thigh with her casted leg sticking out straight. He petted Skittles until she was sound asleep, her body rising and falling in a soothing rhythm. Bradley finished the beer as he tried not to think about you, which only made it worse. But he kept telling himself you wouldn't still be here right now if you didn't want to be. You'd stayed through Meredith and all of Bradley's bullshit, and you were still here now.

His phone vibrated with a text. My Princess: I'll be home soon!

Home. It was your home, too. You belonged here. So maybe he was supposed to miss you a little bit on nights like this. Perhaps it was normal to notice that your warmth was missing from the room. 

He closed his eyes, about to doze off, when twenty minutes later, you came bursting through the front door. Skittles carefully jumped off his lap and ran to see you as you pulled your shoes off. You looked a little exasperated as you bent to pet the dog before heading his way. 

"Did you have fun?" he asked, about to stand, but you headed right for his lap.

You groaned and settled in so you and he were chest to chest and you tangled your fingers up in his hair, your purple painted nails grazing his scalp. "Everyone my age is exhausting," you said before claiming his lips.

He rubbed his hands up your thighs and smiled against your lips as he asked, "You prefer the older crowd?"

You kissed the side of his neck and yawned before letting your cheek rest on his shoulder. "You know I do. I'm crazy about you and your checkbook and your inability to use a smartphone correctly."

"Well you came to the right place," he whispered. "I have all of the old man shit for you right here."

You giggled before kissing his neck again. "I love you."

Bradley wrapped his arms around you and held you close. This is where you belonged. "I love you, too. You want me to take you to bed?"

You yawned again and said, "I was thinking about you all night, you know? Dirty stuff."

"Dirty stuff?" he asked as you nodded. 

"Mmhmm. You wanna fuck a baby into me?" you asked as your fingers loosened in his hair and your hand came to rest on his chest. "We could do that," you murmured, your lips moving along his neck. "If you want."

Bradley chuckled and held you a little tighter. As much as he loved fucking you, he loved taking care of you even more. "Let's go snuggle, Princess." He scooped you up and carried you to bed where you immediately fell asleep in his arms.

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

"This was not a good idea," Bradley murmured as he paced around his living room in his dress whites with his uniform hat in his hands. When he peeked out the front door, Amelia Benjamin was holding Skittles on a leash, and she and Noah were blowing bubbles. He checked the time and groaned. "Such a bad idea."

He could hear laughter coming from his bedroom, and he had to fight the urge to walk back down the hallway and knock on the door again. He knew what the response would be if he asked how much longer it was going to take before you and Nat were ready to go.

"You can't rush perfection," he mumbled to himself as he rolled his eyes and dropped back onto the couch. You already looked perfect all the time. And Nat always looked the same. So he didn't really get the point of the two of you spending the entirety of Saturday afternoon doing each other's hair and makeup just for Admiral Bates' retirement party. It was at the Botanic Garden; it would probably be so humid and crowded inside, everyone would look gross after an hour anyway. 

"Jesus," he grunted when he heard two female voices laughing about mascara. He stood and walked to the kitchen, considering making himself another cup of coffee to help him stay awake all night while he rubbed elbows with his superiors, but then your voice sounded louder. He returned to the living room and waited.

"I think your hair looks perfect," you said as Nat walked in wearing a pretty black dress that hugged her figure. Bradley could appreciate that she seemed to have more makeup on than normal, because her eyes looked bigger and more playful than usual. 

"You look nice," Bradley told her, but then his jaw dropped as you strolled in like you dressed up to impress every day. That purple dress. Fuck. He would always associate it with taking you from behind on the bed. But you looked incredible. "Holy shit, Baby."

"I know," you said with a grin as you spun into his arms. "Nat did my makeup." You kissed his lips, and Bradley didn't even care if that dark lipstick left a mark. Shit. He kind of wanted you to kiss him all over right now. 

"Beautiful," he whispered, cupping your cheek in his palm. You looked the same as you always did, really, with just a little something extra to drive him crazy tonight. 

"You look good, too," you said, running your fingers all over his service pins before taking his hat and plopping it down crooked on his head. He ran his hands down the back of your beaded top and pulled you snug against him. "We'll have a lot of fun with all of this later, Daddy."

Nat cleared her throat and clapped her hands. "Well, on that rather disturbing note, let's get going." 

Bradley looked you up and down one more time, kind of wishing you and he didn't have to go to the event at all. But Amelia was already here to watch Noah and Skittles, and if he didn't get you and Nat into the Bronco soon, you would all be late.

"After you," Bradley said as he opened the front door for Nat to talk outside. When you tried to follow, he wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you close again as you laughed. "Not you," he whispered. "You're mine, Baby. I want you with me all night, okay? No wandering off. You know how those Navy guys can be."

"Oh, I know," you replied as he ran his hand along that little strip of skin that showed above your skirt. "They can be very handsy."

"Mmm," he hummed as he looked down into your eyes. "So you'll stay with me?"

"Yeah. I'll stay with you."

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

Princess is going to look so pretty at the Botanic Gardens. Wonder if she'll end up with that skirt pulled up around her waist again. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 42

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#mila's early endless summer #if you love it reblog it #catching up!!

[pisupsala]

Faking It | Part III

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x F!Reader

Ahhh you guys! Thank you so much for all the love on this story! Your comments truly make my day! Here is Part 3.. I actually had to split it up because it was too long.. oops XD

Hope you like it!

Summary: Fake dating your friend, Bradley Bradshaw - what could possibly go wrong? Your sister is getting married and you need a date. You enlist Bradley's help and the rest is history.

CW: swearing, clingy ex, and a bit of protective Bradley for you (just a taste of what's to come, really)

Start from the beginning: Part I

You douse your face in one final misting of setting spray and, with your eyes closed, fan yourself with your hands.

“What are you doing?”

Your eyes fly open and, in the reflection of the bathroom mirror, you see Bradley standing in the open doorway with a curious expression on his face. “Setting my makeup,” you say matter-of-factly, as if you’re surprised that he’s not familiar with the practice.

He nods slowly. “Are you almost done in here?” he asks. “I was going to take a shower.”

“I’m done,” you say, zipping up your makeup bag. You squeeze past him in the doorway, careful not to let any part of you brush up against any part of him.

Bradley lifts his eyebrows, watching you squirm, and then narrows his eyes. “Everything alright?” he asks, the corners of his mouth twitching as he tries to suppress a grin.

You glance up at him just as you clear his shoulder. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

He surveys your face suspiciously. Though, after a moment, he seems to reconsider interrogating you, turning and disappearing into the bathroom. Before the door is fully shut, however, he opens it again, sticking his head out and asking, “Will I see you before you go?”

You meet his gaze as you lift your bag onto the bed. “Depends on how long you’re planning on showering,” you respond.

Bradley purses his lips, but you can still detect the slim smile playing on his face. “I won’t be long,” he says. “Will you wait?”

You blink at him. “I’ll wait,” you say, suddenly curious as to why he’s insisting on seeing you again before you leave.

Once he’s gone, you dig into your bag to pull out the sparkly, black dress you purchased for the occasion. You slip into the outfit, adjusting the twisted straps and pulling on the hem that had not appeared as short in the store’s changing room as it does in front of the full-length mirror hanging on the paneled wall of the chalet. It will, without a doubt, be riding up your thighs all evening. Nonetheless, the dress looks stunning on you, and you turn to the side, admiring your figure in the reflection.

You’re just touching up your hair when Bradley walks out of the bathroom, pulling a tank top over his head. When he sees you, he stops abruptly at the foot of the bed.

You look at him questioningly. “Am I in your way?” you ask, shifting closer to the wall.

“No, no,” he says, still staring at you. “You can stand anywhere you like,” he adds, waving his arm to indicate the entire space of the room.

“Thank you?” you say.

He lets out a resolute sigh and his expression darkens slightly. “Thanks for waiting,” he says, walking over to his bag.

You follow him with your eyes, but he seems distracted and isn’t looking at you anymore, so you bend down to slip on your heels. They are extremely high and extremely uncomfortable but, most importantly, they are extremely sexy. So, in summary, they rock. You straighten your back just as Bradley returns, his eyes sweeping over your face as he nears.

“You’re getting there,” he says, holding his hand over your head and measuring your new height against himself.

“Fuck off,” you say, laughing and giving his shoulder a hard smack, which sends you stumbling backward.

Bradley’s reaction is instantaneous; he steps forward, his arm sliding behind your waist before you fall to the floor. “Well, that was an overreaction,” he says, a lopsided grin on his face.

He helps you regain your footing but, with his hand still on your back, you are unquestionably at risk of losing it again. “Shut up, Bradshaw,” you say, ignoring the literal sparks set off by the friction of his fingers as they trail down to your hip. “You want me to hit you again?”

Bradley chuckles and you realize just how close he is when his breath washes over your cheek. “Kind of,” he admits. You glance up at him and he sucks in his cheeks, fighting to keep a straight face. “But you should probably pick on someone your own size,” he adds, his smirk widening.

You shake your head, rolling your eyes. Bradley’s hand is slowly sliding down your side and you wish he would release you already. At the same time, you wish he would take a hold of you somewhere between your waist and your hip – you’re not too picky – and yank you forward unceremoniously, without any regard for the delicate material of your dress or the unpredictable nature of the situation. He could bring you in right up against his body and you could look up into his eyes and – fuck.

No, not that. No, you wouldn’t fuck. Yet.

You let out a sigh, realizing that the two of you have been staring at one another for the entire time you’ve been picturing him –

“I have something for you,” he says.

You break eye contact first. Because the tips of his fingers still lingering on your hip send wave after wave of exhilaration through you that you have intended to repress for the remainder of the trip. And looking at him only seems to be making it worse. “Okay,” you say, taking a step back.

He holds out his hand and you reach for it instinctively. He drops a small cannister into your palm.

You raise your eyebrows. “Pepper spray?” you ask. “Where do you think I’m going?”

“Just take it,” he says. “You never know.”

You take the bottle from his hand. “This is such an eyesore,” you say, stuffing it into your tiny purse and trying to zip it up over the bulge it’s created.

“Do you know how to use it?” he asks, ignoring your grumbling.

“I’m sure I can figure it out.”

“That’s not good enough,” he says. “Let’s practice.”

You scoff. “Are you kidding, Bradshaw? I have to go.”

“This isn’t the same as setting your makeup,” he says, reaching for your purse and extracting the cannister.

“You mean I don’t aim it at my own face?”

He gives you a humorless look as though he’s severely unimpressed. Then, he holds the bottle out in front of himself. “You want to hold it against your palm,” he says.

“Is that what I want to do?” you say mockingly.

Bradley looks over at you crossly. “This is serious.”

You watch him with a small smile. “I know, okay? Safety off, press the red button.”

Bradley hands you the cannister. “Show me.”

You sigh audibly, making sure he’s amply aware of just how annoyed you are. You hold your hand out straight in front of you and pretend to push the red button with your index finger. But before your finger even touches the button, Bradley grabs the spray right out of your hand and points it at you. You roll your eyes, shaking your head. “You did not just do that,” you say.

“This isn’t a joke,” he says. “You’re holding it wrong.”

“Bradley, I am late. Come on!”

“You want to keep” – Bradley starts, then pauses, giving you an irritated look before rewording his instructions – “you’re going to keep the cannister closer to your body, while holding your other arm out to make sure your assailant can’t get near it.” Bradley demonstrates the position as he walks you through it. “You’re going to hold down the actuator with your thumb. That will make it easier for you to aim and harder for someone to grab it out of your hand.”

“Look, I don’t have time right now for a lesson in self-defence,” you say. “Maybe tomorrow during the wedding speeches, alright?”

He watches you coolly. “Try it again,” he says.

“For fuck’s sake, Bradshaw!” you groan. “You know, I have gone out before. This isn’t my first time –”

“Humor me,” he says, holding the cannister out. “Please.”

You take the cannister from him and bring it to your chest, holding out your other arm with your palm facing out just as he’d demonstrated.

Bradley walks around you and places his hand over yours on the pepper spray. “That’s a little too close,” he says somewhere in the vicinity of your ear.

A little too close, indeed.You hold back a shiver, looking up at him as he lowers his face to examine your grip on the bottle.

He brings his hand up to reposition your arm. “Hold it tightly, like you’re making a fist around it,” he says. He squeezes his fingers around your hand while you try to contend with your galloping heart as it knocks around inside of you as though it’s determined to break free of your ribcage.

You close your eyes when his chest brushes your shoulder. “I think I get it, Bradley,” you say quietly. “Thanks.” You step away and drop the cannister into your purse. Swinging your purse over your shoulder, you look back to see him watching you soberly. “Have a good night,” you say.

He nods. “I’ll see you later, Y/N.”

You step outside and close the door behind yourself, letting out a long sigh. But your hand doesn’t even release the doorknob when it turns in your grasp and the door is pulled open. You look up at Bradley, who nearly runs into you trying to get outside.

He presses his lips together into a smile. “I, uh, forgot to say have fun,” he mutters sheepishly.

You stare at him in a daze. He’s backlit with the warm lamplight coming from inside the room and his stupid, lopsided grin is summoning more butterflies than your stomach could handle. “Yeah,” you respond, tapping on the bulge in your purse. “So far, so good.”

He chuckles lightly. Then, his eyes drop momentarily before meeting your gaze once again. “You look nice,” he says.

You roll your eyes and start to turn away. “There’s nobody around, Bradshaw,” you say, making your way toward the road. “Who’re you trying to impress?”

“You?” he calls.

You laugh, glancing back at him over your shoulder as you shake your head. “Have a good night,” you call back after looking away. You raise your arm over your head to wave goodbye as you walk.

…

“What is he doing here?” you say when you spot Steven making his way through the crowd to get to your table at the club.

Your sister, who is already heavily inebriated, blinks in the direction you are looking. “Aww,” she says. “Are you guys back together?”

You roll your eyes at her and glare up at Steven as he slides into your booth.

“This is a private party,” you say incredulously. You’re a bit concerned that your first thought upon seeing him is to reach into your purse for Bradley’s pepper spray. Unfortunately, wiping the idiotic grin off Steven’s face is not exactly its intended use.

“How private are we talking?” Steven wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

Your fingers curl around the cannister in your purse. “You need to leave,” you say.

“Come on, Y/N,” he says. “I just need a minute.”

“Give him a minute!” one of your sister’s friends chimes in.

“He’s so romantic!” another girl squeals and you throw her an annoyed look.

“Why aren’t you at the Bachelor party, Steven?” you ask, shoving him out of the booth to avoid further mediation from the other well-meaning bridesmaids.

“Let’s dance,” he says, pulling you to your feet.

“I’m not dancing with you!” you say through gritted teeth, wrenching your hands free of his grasp.

“Y/N,” he says. “We don’t have to get married, okay? I’m over it.”

“Oh, you’re over it?” You let out a spiteful laugh. When, two months ago, Steven had proposed to you and you insisted on taking some time to think about it, he blew a goddamn gasket. Now, apparently, he’s over it.

“We can do whatever you want,” he says, his hands curling around your arms to bring you closer.

You struggle against his grip. “I don’t want anything,” you respond in exasperation.

“I love you, okay?” he says forcefully, pulling you closer so that he can nudge your head with his. You detect the alcohol on his breath. “Why do you think I came to this stupid wedding?”

“Let go of me,” you say, ripping his hands off and backing away. “You need to leave,” you repeat threateningly.

He shakes his head. “You know you still love me.” He watches you levelly as the girls in the booth make whooping and kissing noises.

You continue glaring at him angrily. “I’m dating Bradley,” you say.

“But you’re not in love with him,” he says confidently. You wish you could slap him.

“He’s a good guy,” you say, trying to justify yourself even though you don’t owe him an explanation.

“If you say so.”

“If he finds out you came here –”

“He doesn’t have to find out,” Steven says, stepping closer to you again.

“Steven, I don’t want to be with you!” you yell. “I’m over it. Over you.”

He narrows his eyes. Then he laughs derisively, shaking his head. “You’re making a mistake.” He turns to leave.

You let out a breath, your body shaking with anger as you watch him disappear into the crowd. Then, you rejoin the girls at the table and pick up the bottle of Grey Goose out of the ice bucket. “Let’s do this,” you say, nodding at the shot glasses on the sparkly tabletop.

You’re done thinking about Steven. You’re done thinking about Bradley. What you’re going to do now is get wasted.

Read Part IV

Tag List:

The rest of the tag list is in the comments.

You guys, I'm sorry to say this but these tag lists are getting a bit out of control haha I'll also be closing the Rooster one shortly. I *might* re-open it in the future, possibly with some sort of automation so that there's less room for error XD

I'll add the first few tag list requests on this post as well but I'm really sorry if I don't get to you. Please know that I love and appreciate your support! Feel free to follow my blog or check back for updates if you don't end up on a list <3 I update my stories fairly often!

Story requests are still open for Top Gun and TGM! I'm trying to practice the art of the short story (which truly is an art!), so please feel free to contribute a prompt!

@lonelywitchv2

@fanboyluvr

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@shanimallina87

#mila's early endless summer #if you love it reblog it #reread

[pisupsala]

Faking It | Part II

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x F!Reader

You guys, I can't believe how much the first part of this story blew up!! Whaaat? I truly was not expecting that! Ya'll are amazing, thank you so much! Hope you enjoy part 2. Caution: I adore a good slow burn.

Summary: Fake dating your friend, Bradley Bradshaw - what could possibly go wrong? Your sister is getting married and you need a date. You enlist Bradley's help and the rest is history.

CW: Shirtless Rooster? Twice? I think that's it.. oh and yes, I will be shamelessly exploiting the one bed trope. Also: swearing. But I probably had you at shirtless Rooster, amirite?

Start from the beginning: Part I

“Steven is,” Bradley pauses, trying to think of an appropriate word, “underwhelming.”

You snort as the two of you make your way out of the restaurant. You feel Bradley’s eyes on you, waiting for you to expand on the subject, but you have no interest in reminiscing about the shittiest relationship you’ve ever been in, so you just hop down the steps and pick up your pace as you take the little path toward the chalets on the water.

“Did you date for long?” he asks, taking bigger strides to catch up with you.

“Long enough,” you respond.

Bradley purses his lips. “I see we’re in a talking mood.”

“I just want to get this long weekend over with,” you grumble.

He nods, sticking his hands into his pockets.

You make it all the way to your chalet in silence. Bradley opens the door and gestures for you to go inside. You walk in and flick on the light and your heart drops into your stomach as you stare at the one bed in the middle of the room. Behind you, Bradley slowly closes the door. You look back to see him glancing between you and the bed.

Your eyes meet and you’re pretty sure you know exactly what he’s thinking: that he didn’t sign up for this shit. “We forgot to get our bags from the car,” you say, as if you’ve hardly noticed the elephant in the room.

“I’ll go grab them,” he says, also choosing to ignore the glaring complication in your, thus far, flawless scheme.

He leaves and you turn to glare at the bed as though it’s a cruel joke and you have no sense of humor. You wonder why the idea of sleeping in the same bed with Bradley is distressing you enough to make you this uncomfortable. You’ve shared beds with friends before.

You persistently overlook the memory of Bradley’s hand on your back and the subsequent butterflies assailing your stomach. Those butterflies could have easily been attributed to surprise and you don’t plan on hosting them again anytime soon. Certainly not in Bradley’s presence. You just barely got the guy to agree to entertain a fake relationship, there is no way he’d ever consider something real with you. Besides, you don’t like him like that.

Bradley returns with your bags. He drops them on the floor near the door and quickly says, “I’ll take the couch.”

You look over at the two-seater near the door skeptically. “You won’t fit on that,” you say.

“I’ll make it work,” he says, digging into his bag for a toothbrush.

You imagine Bradley scrunched up on the tiny sofa and wince. “I’ll take the couch,” you say.

Bradley straightens his back and gives you an unwavering look. “No deal,” he responds. He shrugs off his Hawaiian shirt and walks past you toward the bathroom.

You change into your pajama shorts and top while Bradley brushes his teeth and gets ready for bed. He walks out of the bathroom and pulls off his tank top, tossing it into his bag as he heads for the couch. You stare at his bare back for a split second before tearing your gaze away and biting into your bottom lip as the image of his back muscles engrains itself into your memory for all of time.

You let out a shallow breath, reaching into your bag for your face wash, and then you practically run into the bathroom, doing your best not to watch Bradley remove his pants before sitting down onto the couch.

You brush your teeth while wondering why you’re all of a sudden possibly attracted to Bradley Bradshaw. Sure, the guy is hot. But you’ve never seen him as anything more than a friend – a slightly annoying one, at that. On the other hand, you’ve also never seen him shirtless until two minutes ago, and that changes things. Sort of. You would never have asked Bradley to pretend to be your boyfriend had you had feelings for him.

You spit out the toothpaste, your mind swarming as you try to rationalize Bradley’s unforeseen sex appeal. It’s fine, really. So, you find him moderately good-looking. You’re only human. And this is all temporary, probably prompted by your dedication to the role of being Bradley Bradshaw’s girlfriend. Meanwhile, the image of Bradley’s rippling back muscles hijacks each and every one of your thoughts.

You walk out of the bathroom and quickly slip into the bed, paranoid that Bradley might sense something off about your behavior. The faster you fall asleep, the faster all of this will be over. You close your eyes.

“Hey, Y/N,” Bradley calls from the couch.

You turn your head to look over at him.

“Forget something?” he asks with his eyebrows raised.

“What?” you ask, your heart beating at the sound of his relaxed voice as he settles into the cushions of the couch. You’re not thinking about the thin blanket pulled over his chest or trying to imagine what’s underneath.

“The light?”

“Oh,” you say. “Right.”

“I’ll get it,” he says, lifting himself up. He stands, letting the blanket slip off to reveal his chiselled torso and black boxer briefs.

You hold your breath and avert your gaze as he walks over to the light switch, swallowing uneasily as your face heats up. “Thanks,” you say as he walks back to the couch in the darkness.

…

You wake up to find Bradley sleeping with one leg hanging right off the couch and the other bent in half and upright. The blanket has mostly slipped off to the floor save for a small corner that still covers his lower abdomen and hips. You cringe at the awkward position of his body, watching him sympathetically for a couple of moments. Then, you decide to grab the both of you some coffee and breakfast.

You change quickly and head out without waking him. Returning with two bagels and two coffees, you struggle to hold everything in one hand as you attempt to open the door. Before you can get a proper grip on the handle, you hear music coming from the other side of the chalet. You walk around the porch to see Bradley lounging in one of the chairs on the deck, looking out onto the water.

He turns to look at you and smiles. “Wondered where you went,” he says.

You return his smile. “Brought you a coffee,” you say, handing him a cup.

“Well, aren’t you just the perfect girlfriend?” he says, smirking. He nods at the other lounge chair. “Join me.”

You sit down after handing Bradley his bagel and start to unwrap yours.

“Hand me your coffee for a sec,” he says.

You narrow your eyes at him. “Why?” you ask, slowly extending your arm out so he can lift the cup out of your hand.

Bradley takes the cup, then reaches over and grabs the edge of your lounge chair, pulling it toward him. You let out a startled yelp and he chuckles. “You were too far,” he says.

You glance over his face, laughing uneasily, before returning your attention to the bagel in your hand. “How did you sleep?” you ask.

“Not bad.”

You scoff. “Yeah, right. You looked so uncomfortable this morning.”

He shrugs. “It was fine.”

You look out at the glassy water and sigh. “Just a couple more days,” you say. “Bachelorette tonight, wedding tomorrow. And then home after brunch the next day.”

Bradley nods. “Easy.”

You give him a skeptical look. “At least it’s beautiful here,” you muse, scanning the cliffside across the lake.

Bradley looks over at you, squinting his eyes because the sun is coming up right over your head. “It is,” he agrees.

You take a sip of your coffee to hide the flush in your face when his gaze lingers on you for a little longer than usual. “My sister said you’re invited to the Bachelor party. Are you going to go?”

He shrugs. “Why not?”

You smile at him gratefully. “Thank you for doing this,” you say.

He leans back in his lounge chair and closes his eyes. “My pleasure.”

You chuckle. “My offer still stands. Anything you want, Bradshaw,” you say. “Feel free to get creative.”

He peeks up at you with one eye, smirking. “Careful what you wish for.”

…

You spend the day swimming and sunbathing with Bradley, whose sculpted physique you try to ignore despite his numerous trips into and out of the water. It’s late afternoon and almost time for the two of you to head back to your chalet and get ready for the evening out. Bradley takes one last dip and, upon emerging from the lake a glistening spectacle of a man, starts brushing his hand through his hair to shake out the water. He makes his way toward you and you bring your hand up to your forehead and furrow your brow as though you’re thoroughly focused on the book in your lap when, in reality, you’ve been reading the same sentence for the past twenty minutes and you still don’t have a clue what the fuck it says.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see him bend down to grab his towel from the chair. He starts drying his face and hair, completely disregarding his dripping torso.

“You’re getting water on my book, Bradshaw,” you say, not looking up at him.

He stops wiping the back of his neck and looks over at you. Then, he nudges your knee with his leg and you flinch as his soaking swim shorts brush against your thigh.

“Bradley!” you scream, leaping out of your seat.

He laughs. “Aww, c’mon, Y/N,” he calls after you as you back away. He extends his arms out. “You look like you need a hug.”

“Bradley, I spent the last half an hour drying off! Stay away!” you yelp as he chases after you through the sand.

You stop short at the edge of the water, holding your arm out as he nears you slowly, a mischievous smirk on his face. You shake your head at him threateningly and, by chance, notice movement to your right. You glance over to the row of chalets near the beach and see your mother and aunt having tea on their balcony a few hundred yards away. Your cries must have attracted their attention because they are both looking in your direction.

Bradley follows your gaze and then looks back at you sheepishly. He shrugs and you know exactly what he’s thinking without him having to say a word. You have an audience now, so you have to hug him. He’s practically dry at this point and, were you actually his girlfriend, there would be no reason for you not to.

You step forward tentatively and his smile falters slightly as he watches you approach. The slight breeze coming off the water that covers your skin in goosebumps makes you suddenly painfully aware that you’re wearing the tiniest bikini known to man. You shiver slightly, biting your bottom lip when the two of you meet halfway and, for some reason, you’re distinctly conscious of all the spit in your mouth, gulping it down with much more effort than swallowing spit should require.

Bradley lifts his arm, putting his hand behind your shoulder to gently pull you closer. You bring your arms in – partly because you need a barrier between your bodies that’s thicker than the fabric of your bathing suit, partly because you’re cold as fuck – and you lean into his chest cautiously. Bradley wraps his other arm around your back and rests his chin on top of your head as you lay your cheek over his collarbone.

You endeavor to steady your breathing as your heart runs a marathon inside your ribcage, while Bradley’s soft skin warms your body.

“You’re not cold,” you mutter into his shoulder.

“Why would I be cold?” Bradley chuckles.

“You were wet,” you say.

“Are you cold?” he asks, starting to run his hand up and down your arm before you even respond.

You nod into his neck and he tightens his arms around your body. You sink into him slightly, relishing in his warmth, before finally pulling away.

Bradley gives you a tight smile and then turns to walk back to your beach chairs and collect your things. You let out a shaky sigh and then look up to your mother’s balcony. She’s still watching you, so you lift your hand to give her a small wave.

Your aunt enthusiastically waves back.

Read Part 3

Tag List:

@lonelywitchv2

@fanboyluvr

@marrianena

@anotherr-fine-mess

@mrs-obrien

@living-in-my-imagination88

@kindablackenedsuperhero

@whitewolfsbitch

@beebslebobs

@gretagerwigsmuse

@mak-32

@strangunddurm

@desert-fern

@maverick-wingman

@jamielovesbucky

@n3ssm0nique

@misshoneypaper

@roosterscockpit

@jakexfmc

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@averyhotchner

@bxwitched

@yeetzel

@xoxabs88xox

@cynisarmy

@kwanimations

@onlygetaway

@hope-love-equality2

@shanimallina87

#mila's early endless summer #if you love it reblog it #rereading

[pisupsala]

Faking It | Part I

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x F!Reader

Summary: Fake dating your friend, Bradley Bradshaw - what could possibly go wrong? Your sister is getting married and you need a date. You enlist Bradley's help and the rest is history.

CW: none that I can think of except that the reader's height is described as shorter than Rooster's.

This idea has been plaguing me so I had to get it out haha Hope y'all enjoy!

Bradley watches you skeptically. You have yet to convince him that pretending to be your date for your sister’s wedding is an outstanding idea. Your mother has undoubtedly invited a whole slew of bachelors because she thinks you might need some help in the romance department. You decidedly do not. Despite the fact that you are struggling to even get a fake date.

You make a face at him. “I will owe you,” you say. “Anything you want.”

He shrugs. “I don’t want anything.”

You roll your eyes. “C’mon, Bradshaw,” you plead. “I’ll do your laundry for a week.”

He purses his lips, not looking overly enticed.

“I’ll come over once a day and do all your dishes.”

“We’ve got Hangman for that.”

“Hangman does your dishes?” you ask incredulously, trying to picture Jake Seresin in an apron with a dishtowel thrown over his shoulder.

Bradley chuckles. “He lost a bet last week.”

You let out a soft laugh, then get back to business. “I’ll clean your room,” you offer.

“I’ll have you know that my room is immaculate,” Bradley replies.

You scoff. “Then do this for me out of the goodness of your heart!”

Bradley chuckles slightly. “I don’t know, Y/N. This is a big ask.”

“Please, my mother is rounding up all the eligible males on the western seaboard as we speak.”

Bradley laughs. “What does your mother have against landlocked states?”

“I don’t know. Political ideology?”

Bradley snorts. “Have you asked Hangman?”

You groan. “Please don’t make me ask Hangman. He will never let me live this down.”

Bradley nods. “That is true.”

“It’s just a weekend. A few photos here and there. Some superficial chitchat with my grandparents about the importance of educational funding for our nation’s youth. My niece loves airplanes so you can tell her all about your latest mission” –

“My classified mission?”

“Well, leave out the classified parts,” you retort impatiently.

Bradley contemplates your proposal while your mind scrambles trying to determine something that might make it worth his while.

“Free drinks for a week,” you say, wiping the already dry bar to give your free hand something to do.

Bradley raises his eyebrows. “You can’t do that.”

You roll your eyes. Bradley Bradshaw will never go along with a scheme unless it is one hundred percent above board. “Meaning I will pay for them. I get a discount on the alcohol.”

Bradley gives you an amused look. “So, you wish to buy my services.”

You let out a frustrated groan. “I told you, I will do anything you want.”

“Well, I don’t want you paying my tab,” he replies casually.

You lean into the bar with a heavy sigh, bringing your face closer to his. “You are really grinding my gears, Bradshaw,” you say.

His eyes lift to your face as he lets out a wry chuckle.

“Do you really think a weekend with me will be so torturous?” you ask.

“Nah,” he says, leaning back in his stool nonchalantly, but you wonder if he does it to expand the space between your faces. “I wasn't actually going to refuse. Just like to see you sweat.”

He chuckles, ducking as you go to smack him with the towel you just used to wipe the bar.

…

“Aunt Barb is a hard-ass,” you say in a low voice, turning your head toward Bradley as your aunt makes a beeline for you at the rehearsal dinner. You end up talking into Bradley’s shoulder because he’s so much taller than you and he instinctively lowers his head so he can hear you better.

“What’s that, shorty?” he mutters, and you roll your eyes at the nickname. But the next moment, you can feel his breath on your forehead and you gulp when his palm flattens against your back. You had been the one who'd asked him to pretend to be your boyfriend, but you hadn’t actually considered what that might entail. Apparently, it entails Bradley Bradshaw’s hand on your lower back and a woozy sensation in your gut akin to a 200-foot roller coaster drop. You aren’t too fond of roller coasters.

You glance up at him and your eyes meet for a split second. Bradley promptly straightens his back. You let out an unsteady sigh and say, “Aunt Barb will be questioning you; be prepared. Have you read my notes?”

Bradley gives you a pointed look. “Of course, I read your notes.”

But as Aunt Barb approaches, you feel Bradley’s touch along your back waver until his hand finally drops at his side.

“Y/N!” your aunt exclaims, giving you a kiss on each cheek. She blinks up at Bradley expectantly.

“This is Bradley,” you say. “This is my aunt, Barb.”

Bradley holds out his hand. “It’s great to meet you,” he says.

Aunt Barb gives him a crafty smile. “Is this your boyfriend, Y/N?” she asks, but her question is directed more at Bradley than at you.

Bradley returns her smile. “That’s me,” he replies, giving you a quick glance.

“Oh, good,” your aunt says. “We were starting to get worried after that whole fiasco with Steven.”

You stare at her as Bradley turns to you. “Who’s Steven?” he asks.

Aunt Barb gives him a probing look. “You don’t know?”

Bradley eyes you inquisitively. “Should I?” he asks, still looking at you.

“Her ex, of course,” Barb continues. “He’s here, you know?”

You peel your gaze away from Bradley to look at your aunt. “What? Why?”

She shrugs. “He’s friends with the groom, of course. Or have you forgotten?”

You grimace. You don’t remember Steven being exceedingly close with your sister’s fiancé, so the fact that he somehow weaseled his way into this function aggravates you greatly.

When your aunt walks away, Bradley turns to you with his eyebrows raised. “Steven wasn’t in your notes.”

You give him a sour look. “He wasn’t supposed to be here.”

Bradley shrugs. “Still think you should’ve mentioned him. Was it serious?”

“Nope,” you respond curtly, ready to put the topic to rest.

Bradley seems to sense your reluctance to engage in this particular conversation and drops the subject. “Shall we go grab some drinks?”

You’re about to respond when your mother appears before you and you nearly bump into her. “Mom!” you exclaim in surprise.

“Y/N, why are you so jumpy?” she asks.

You shoot a nervous glance in Bradley’s direction, but he appears unfazed. “Afternoon, ma’am,” he says, bowing his head slightly.

Your mother looks over at Bradley with a judgemental air. “Are you the aviator?” she asks with a hint of distaste in her tone.

“Indeed,” Bradley responds, giving you a confident look before glancing back at your mother.

But your mother is no longer paying Bradley any attention. She turns back to you. “Steven is here,” she says.

You let out a sigh. “Yes, I know, mother.”

She gives you a knowing look before glancing back at Bradley. “We all thought they were going to get married,” she says with an artificial smile.

Bradley raises his eyebrows and nods his head slowly. “You must be disappointed,” he says.

Your mother seems pleased with his response and nods at Bradley vehemently. “They have a lot of history,” she says.

You close your eyes. “Mom, stop.”

“I’m just saying, he’s here,” your mom says. “Do with that what you will.”

You blink at her. “I will do nothing.”

Bradley watches you squirm sympathetically and, when you glance up at him defeatedly, he takes you by the hand. “Ma’am, it’s been a pleasure,” he says and starts to pull you away. “We just want to hit the bar before the first course.”

“Sure.” Your mom gives him a quick nod and throws a pointed look in your direction.

You cling to Bradley’s hand gratefully, even going as far as clutching at his arm with your other hand just to get away faster. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” you whimper.

He looks down at you, squeezing your hand. “It’s why I’m here, right?” he says.

“Right,” you agree, feeling his bicep flex under your fingers as his hand tightens around yours.

…

After dinner, you make your way through the crowd to the bathroom. The evening is nearly over and it seems that you and Bradley have put on a reasonably convincing charade. Bradley’s relaxed disposition has made the evening infinitely more enjoyable than you could have imagined and you find yourself feeling almost sorry that the night is coming to an end. Almost. Because, after all, you won’t be able to take a real breath of relief until you’re in the comfort of your room.

You’re lost in your thoughts as you walk back to your table and you completely miss the fact that your ex-boyfriend has spotted you and is heading your way.

“Y/N!” he exclaims as if he’s surprised to see you attending your own sister’s wedding rehearsal.

You blink at him in alarm. “Steven,” you say with a slight grimace, kicking yourself for not checking your surroundings before making your way across the open floor.

Your eyes scan the tables, desperately searching for Bradley. When you locate him, you can see that he’s already watching you.

Steven steps closer to you, holding out his hands. “It’s good to see you, Y/N,” he says, leaning in for a hug.

You recoil as he tries to put his arms around you. “Is it?” you ask, holding up your hand to keep him back. The last time you saw him, he was throwing every insult imaginable in your direction.

Over Steven’s shoulder, you can see Bradley getting out his seat and starting to make his way toward the two of you, a stony expression on his face.

“You look great,” Steven continues, finally lowering his arms.

“Uh, thanks,” you say uneasily just as Bradley steps around Steven to face him.

“Everything alright here?” Bradley asks, his eyes sliding between you and Steven.

“Mm-hm,” you say, instinctively shifting closer to Bradley as Steven continues to scrutinize your every move.

“I’m Bradley,” he introduces himself, confidently extending his hand to Steven.

“Steven.” Steven takes his hand tentatively and you can see the slight wince on his face as Bradley crushes his hand in a handshake.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Steven,” Bradley says, and you look up at him sharply.

“Oh, really?” Steven lifts his eyebrows, giving you a smirk.

“No,” Bradley replies flatly.

Steven blinks at him in confusion, clearly taken aback.

Bradley slides his arm around your waist possessively and you lean into him slightly, relieved that he’s playing his part so perfectly.

Steven gives Bradley a hostile look which Bradley expertly returns. Then, he lowers his face, saying, “Drink?”

“Yes, please,” you say, letting out a sigh.

“You take care, Steven,” Bradley says, wheeling you around in the direction of the bar.

Part 2

#mila's early endless summer #if you love it reblog it #rereading

[pisupsala]

Remember You Even When I Don't (8)

Summary: A training accident, the doctor had told him. A nasty one that led him here, laying in a hospital bed with a splitting headache and an inability to remember the woman sitting beside him. What he did know, though, was that you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and you felt important to him. That, as it turns out, would become an understatement.

Words: 5.5K

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw/Reader (no use of y/n, so can be read as unnamed oc)

Warnings: angst, hospitals, memory loss, language, suggestive themes, smut

Notes: Please note the updated warnings. These next few chapters are a new stage of Bradley and Pumpkin growing back together, and while I'm very excited about it, I know it may not be for everyone. For everyone who sticks around, please continue to comment and reblog, and my inbox is always open! I love to talk about these two :)

This was inspired by a one shot by the lovely @roosterforme and would not exist without her assistance. If you haven't read any of her stuff, please check out her masterlist - you won't be disappointed! All of the thanks to her and @mak-32 for being the best cheerleaders and friends I could ask for!

-------

You’re working today. You hadn’t wanted to, but a local congresswoman you had requested an interview with months ago finally agreed to a conversation in her office, and Bradley wouldn’t let you pass it up. It was only for a few hours, but he finds himself missing you while you’re gone. 

This is the first time he had really been alone in the house for a long period of time since he got back from the hospital a month ago, and he didn’t quite know what to do with himself. He had tried to read a book, or get lost in a movie, but nothing had really kept his attention. He was laying on the couch, the news on the tv in the background, aimlessly scrolling through his phone. He hadn’t fully dove into all that it contained, and he figured now was the time to do it, even if you weren’t here to answer any questions that he might have. 

It’s interesting, seeing himself this way. Groupchats where he was an active participant, talking about parties or plans he has no recollection of, or discussing flight schedules for the week. He swaps Star Wars and Harry Potter trivia with Fanboy and gym regimes with Hangman and sends music back and forth with Coyote.  

When he opens the text thread he has with you, the only one pinned to the top of his messages, his breath catches at the last message received. 

 I love you so much. Please don’t leave me.

It was sent the day of his accident, and he knew by the time stamp that it was sent after the crash. You must have texted that to him while you were waiting for news on his condition, and not for the first time, he feels both guilt and gratitude go through him; he’s so sorry that he’s hurt you like this, but he’s so glad he’s here now. 

He scrolls for a while, reading you rambling to him about your work day and bouncing ideas for articles off of him, jumping from one topic to the next while you know he’s in the air or teaching a class so he doesn’t have his phone on him. Based on his responses that come later on, he knows he never minded the almost nonsensical messages. Even now, he finds it adorable and enjoys reading through them. There are conversations about dinner and what true crime documentary the two of you were going to watch that weekend. 

There’s a little bit of everything in these messages between the two of you, but his brow furrows when he gets to a point about a week before his accident. 

I’m on my way home, he had texted you, You better be ready for me, Pumpkin. 

He scrolls further up, trying to find the beginning of the conversation that led to that, and he almost wishes he wouldn’t have. 

You had texted him earlier that morning, when he barely must have left the house to go to base, a picture of you. There was a playful smirk on your lips, and you had what looked to be the cap from his formal dress whites perched crooked on your head. That in and of itself wasn’t what made his breath hitch, though. It was the fact that you were still in bed, your arm draped over your chest where he could see everything but everything, you hanging onto only a single shred of decency. 

Fly well today, Lieutenant Commander. 

It had descended into a day full of teasing from there, each message dirtier than the one before. Descriptions of what you wanted him to do to you and him warning you of what he would do when he got his hands on you. He feels flushed all over, but he keeps scrolling up. He bypasses recipes you wanted his opinion on and a reminder of what the Hulu password was, and eventually finds more pictures. Some are more risque than others, but all of them make him feel like the temperature in the room rose by multiple degrees. 

There’s a tickle in his brain again, and he finds himself closing the messaging app and going to his photo albums. There’s a locked album there, and he knows, he just knows what it’s going to contain. 

He shouldn’t. He knows that he shouldn’t. It feels like a strange invasion of privacy. But he’s wracking his mind to try and remember what the code would be to get into it anyway, and he curses when he gets it wrong first once, then a second time. He enters your birthday on the third attempt and groans out loud when he’s immediately met with the filthiest images he’s ever seen. 

It’s a whole gallery of you, or the two of you together, and Bradley can’t stop himself from looking. He bites his lip as he takes in the photos, his mind so overrun with thoughts of how fucking stunning you are that he can barely think straight at all. 

He stops at one in particular, clicking to enlarge it, and loses all thoughts entirely. Neither of your faces are in it, but he doesn’t need to guess that it’s the two of you. You’re sitting back against his chest, his ankles hooked over your legs, forcing them wide for him. He can see your nails biting into his thighs, but it’s his own hand that draws his attention. With the hand that’s not taking the selfie style photo, his fingers are gliding through the wetness gathered between your legs. You shine against the dark wedding band on his left land, one that’s noticeably absent from his finger now. He’s practically panting as he stares. 

He’s so hypnotized by the way the two of you look together that he doesn’t hear the garage door open or the sound of you walking into the house. 

“Baby?” 

Your voice makes him jump so high that his phone goes flying out of his hand, a curse leaving his lips. He scrambles to pick it up when he sees you reaching for it as well, and your eyebrows are raised high as you look at him in surprise. 

“Hey,” his voice cracks, higher pitched than normal, and he blushes. Your eyebrows raise a little bit higher. “Hi, sorry. Didn’t hear you come in.” 

“Are you okay?” 

“Yup,” he nods, faking a cough so he could try to clear his throat, his face flushed. “Totally fine.” 

It’s not difficult to see how skeptical you are, and it’s hard for him to maintain eye contact with you and not let his eyes flicker down your body now that he has an idea of what rests underneath the smart dress you wore. 

You eye him suspiciously, “Are you sure?”  

He contemplates for a moment, trying to figure out a way to get himself out of this conversation, because the longer you looked at him like that the hotter he became under the collar. He took a deep breath, nodding again. 

“I was looking at messages and pictures,” he says all in one breath, not liking the idea of completely lying to you. He rationalized that a different version of the truth was okay, even as the pictures flashed in his mind again. “Trying to see if anything jogged my memory.” 

You search his eyes, and he tries his best to appear innocent, willing the hardening in his jeans to go down before you took notice. He suspected you already might have from the hint of a blush on your cheeks. “Did it?” 

If he thought hard enough he swore he could almost feel you. Your back against his chest, how soft your inner thighs left. How warm your wetness felt against his fingers as he took you to the edge. 

“No,” he stutters out after a moment, shaking his head, his face burning, “nothing yet.” 

________

He finds himself rubbing his thumb against the fading tan line on his left ring finger, something he had seen you do time and time again. He hadn’t really wondered up until this point where his ring was, but ever since he saw the picture with it so clearly against your skin, he couldn’t get it out of his head. 

He’s helping you in the kitchen a few days later, mesmerized as always by how efficient and easy you made everything look. You roll your eyes when he comments on it.

“It’s cookies, Bradley. Nothing fancy.”

“But they’re from scratch. The dough isn’t pre-made. That’s fancy!” 

You laugh at him in response, shaking your head. You take the rings on your left hand off, sitting them beside the sink as you wash your hands before the two of you get started. It raises the subject back to the forefront of his mind. He had been desperate to ask you for the last few days, but hadn’t built up the courage to do it. But he can almost feel it on his finger now, can feel a ghost of your fingers as you slide it into place, and it’s suddenly more of a need to know. 

“Can I uh…can I ask you something?” 

“Of course.” 

“What happened to my wedding ring?” 

You pause from where you’re cracking an egg into the mixing bowl, your eyebrows raised high. You set it down gently, turning to face him. 

“Does it bother you…that I wear mine, still?” 

“No!” he insists, hating even the idea of you taking it off. “It doesn’t bother me at all. I promise. We just have never acknowledged mine? I know that I wear one - I remember wearing one, and I’ve seen it in pictures, too.” 

“You love your ring,” you tell him softly, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. 

“We don’t have to talk about it,” he says, not wanting to make you uncomfortable. But you give him a small smile, though he can see the pain in your eyes, and shake your head. 

“You don’t fly with it on,” you explain, “you tried, at first, but you had been flying so long without anything on your hands that you couldn’t get used to it being there when you were operating the controls.” 

He thinks for a moment and the words come to him slowly. “You were the one who told me to start taking it off when I fly.” 

“I was.” 

“Why?”

Your lips quirk and you shrug. “I’m more worried about you flying safely than wearing your ring at all times. You keep it in one of the pockets of your flight suit when you go up in the air now.” 

Of course you were more worried for him. He should have expected nothing less from you and the way you effortlessly care for him. He can also picture that, he thinks. It’s easy to imagine not wanting to be separated from the physical reminder that he belongs to you, so even if he couldn’t wear it, he’d at least have it on him, in the inner chest pocket right above his heart. 

“So..” He doesn’t quite know how to ask his question, but you must read it on his face. 

You twist your own ring on your finger in the way you always seemed to do to center yourself. Pain flashed across your face and Bradley knew you were remembering, too. “They uh..they had to cut your flight suit off, before you went into surgery. You weren’t breathing and were bleeding…” you cut yourself off, squeezing your eyes shut and shaking the visual from your head. “But it was still in your pocket. So. I have it.” 

He sets down the bag of chocolate chips he had been holding and walks the few steps to where you’re standing at the counter. When he holds his arms open, you don’t hesitate to step into them. He presses a kiss to the top of your head as he breathes in your scent. 

“I’m so sorry I put you through that,” he whispers into the strands of your hair, and he feels the way you squeeze him in response. 

“You’re okay now,” you speak into his chest, and he thinks he might feel you press a kiss there, directly over the spot where that inner pocket of his flight suit would be, where he kept you when he had no other choice. 

The two of you stand there wrapped up together for a long moment. When you lift your head, your eyes are glassy, but you give him a smile and a small kiss to his lips. 

Later, after the cookies have been made and devoured, you join him on the back porch. You had taken to sitting on the swing together and when you sit beside him tonight, he sees you rolling something between your fingers. His breath catches when he sees exactly what it is. You’re staring at it too, your gaze intense and pondering. He doesn’t speak, not quite knowing what to say. Eventually, you break out of your haze and meet his eyes. 

“You don’t have to put it back on,” you tell him, holding your hand out to him. His wedding band sits on your palm, shining against your skin. For a moment he sees you in white standing right in front of him, wildflowers in your hair.  

His fingertips brush yours when he takes it from you, admiring the piece of jewelry he wasn’t aware that he missed until it was back in his possession. 

“But it’s yours. I want - I want you to have it.”

He rolls it between his fingers, contemplating for a moment. He swallows, suddenly overcome with emotion he hadn’t seen coming and that tingling that’s starting to become familiar to him. You had picked it out yourself and he knows when he looks, he’ll see an engraving of your initials beside his. He was always so proud to be able to wear this, knowing that it symbolized being with you, a small way of telling anyone who saw it that he was lucky enough to be your husband. 

But he wasn’t him - not yet, not completely. Everyday brought him closer to thinking that he could be, though.

“Pumpkin, I…” he trailed off, not sure what to say. 

“Hey,” you murmur, cupping his cheek and turning his head to meet your eyes. You didn’t look mad, or upset, and you’re giving him the gentlest, kindest look anyone ever had. But your eyes didn’t hold pity or sympathy either - just a trust and love that he’s still not sure what he could have ever done to deserve. “Whenever you’re ready. And if you never are-” 

“I will be,” he cut you off; he wanted nothing more than to be ready. “I just…I still have something to prove to myself.” 

You nod, and Bradley leans forward to kiss you softly. He leaves his forehead pressed against yours when he pulls away, relishing in the calm you brought him. 

“I’ll get there,” he says, “I promise.” 

—------

He’s spent time alone, but he hasn’t spent time away from you with other people. He’s hesitant to accept the invite from Mav to visit the hanger he had here. But planes and his godfather had been a staple of Bradley’s childhood, an influence on his whole life, really. He had been cleared to drive earlier in the week, so that Saturday, he leaves early. He’s anxious at the thought of being away from you but he knows that the him from before wouldn’t have said no to the invitation and he was so determined to get back to who that was. And he knows that you have a life outside of taking care of him, too. You’re getting brunch with Nat and Coyote’s wife later and he knows you’re excited, even if you hung onto him a little bit longer than a normal hug when he said goodbye. You had made him promise that he would call you if he needed anything and the whole way to the desert, his fingers twitched, wanting to call you just to hear your voice. 

Mav greets him with a large smile and a tight hug, “I’m glad you could make it.” 

“Me too,” Bradley says. He means it, even if he does miss you already. He looks around the hanger, taking note of the few planes and motorcycles throughout the long stretch. It was a lot more than the collection he had when Bradley was 17. “What are we working on today?” 

Mav gives him his signature grin. “I want to show you something.” 

He follows him to the end of the hanger, where a large blue tarp is covering what can’t be anything but a plane. His godfather gestures to it. Bradley raises an eyebrow but walks up to it, grabbing hold of the tarp and yanking it back. Like he suspected, he’s greeted by a Cessna. It’s a classic 172 by the looks of it, a smaller four seater. It’s a sleek white in color with subtle burnt orange line work. Bradley whistles. It was beautiful in a way that only planes like this could be. 

“When’d you get this one?” 

Mav smirks, shaking his head. “I didn’t.” 

“What?” 

“Take a look at the other side.” He nods his head, urging Bradley forward. Confused and intrigued, he follows the instructions, walking around to the other side of the small plane. He gets what Mav was saying, then, and sucks in a breath. Right there emblazoned on the side, in an elegant script, was Pumpkin.

This wasn’t Mav’s plane; it was his. 

“You got her about six months ago,” he says softly when he joins him at his side. 

Bradley reaches up and runs his fingers over the name. It’s foggy, but he thinks he can remember now. He had always wanted to own his own plane since the first time his godfather took him up in one at 6 years old. It was always a pipedream, though. He was never in one place for long enough, and while he was generally good with saving money, it was a bigger purchase than he had ever made. But then the two of you got married and a permanent station here in California. Between both of your savings and what he still had of his parents life insurance, the funds were there. It was you who had made the suggestion of finally pulling the trigger, and it was him who had suggested a four seater instead of a two seater so that if the two of you ever had children, you could all fly together. You cried when he showed you the name he had painted on it. 

“Still needs some work done before she’s flyable. I thought maybe you’d want to work on it today.” 

An eager smile appears on his face and he nods, already peeling his jacket off and heading toward the toolbox. If Mav noticed that he didn’t need to instruct him on where it was, he didn’t comment on it. 

The two work in tandem for hours. It had only been six weeks since his accident, but he couldn’t recall a time since flight school that he had gone this long without being near a plane and it felt good doing so again. It’s easy, getting into the rhythm of twisting bolts and tinkering with the engine wires. He thinks it won’t be long until he can get this cleared to go in the air and he knows without a doubt that you’re going to be the first passenger. 

His phone buzzes in the early afternoon and he doesn’t hesitate to put down the wrench he was working with and dig it out of his jeans pocket. You had sent him a selfie earlier when you had gotten to brunch, sunglasses on and a bright smile on your face with a mimosa in your hand, and he hoped it was another picture. His eyebrows furrow when he sees it’s Phoenix calling him, instead. He picks up, bringing the phone to his ear. 

“Nat?” 

“Your wife got stung by a bee. We’re on our way to the hospital.” 

He can feel the dread as it settles over him. His heart beats faster in his chest. “What?” 

She sighs on the other line, and he can hear commotion in the background. “She’s severely allergic, Rooster. We sat outside at brunch and we didn’t even realize it happened at first. She didn’t have her epipen on her so we had to call an ambulance. She’s going to be fine, but you should get here anyway, okay?” 

He feels like he can barely breathe, like the room is closing in on him a little bit. Mav must notice the panic written all over him because he’s quick to come over and take the phone out of his hand, taking over the conversation. He can barely hear him over the roaring in his head. You were hurt. He knew you were extremely allergic to bees. That was something he had remembered. You were supposed to carry an epipen on you at all times. He can’t remember if you’d ever gotten stung when he was there. He can’t remember how bad it got if you ever were. But now you were in the back of an ambulance and on your way to a hospital and he could feel his fear all the way down to his bones. 

“Bradley, hey. Look at me.” 

Mav is in front of him, hands gripping his shoulders. He meets his eyes and tries to breathe, but all he can see is you, struggling to catch a breath and being loaded into the back of an ambulance. 

“I’ll drive, okay? Let’s go.” 

He follows him to the car, not really calculating anything other than the fact that he was almost an hour away from you and what if there was traffic and why didn’t you have your epipen on you? 

“She’s going to be okay.” 

“But-” 

“Phoenix said the paramedics administered epi as soon as they arrived, and it didn’t take them long to get to her. She was awake and was already breathing easier when they left for the hospital. Didn’t even need to use the sirens.” 

That doesn’t make him feel better. Not really. Knowing that trained professionals weren’t panicking must have meant that you were okay, but he knows how serious anaphylaxis is, too. 

He can’t reconcile everything that he’s feeling right now. He has never, ever felt like this before. The thought of something happening to you is scarier than any mission he had ever been on, any enemy he had encountered in the air. 

“Mav I can’t - I can’t lose her. I just got her.” 

“You aren’t going to.” 

Bradley doesn’t say anything, can’t think of a single thing to say, and instead buries his head in his hands from his spot in the passenger seat. You were going to be okay. You had to be okay. Because he may not remember everything about the two of you, but he did know for certain that if something ever happened to you, he would never, ever recover from it. 

He doesn’t wait for Mav once they get to the hospital, the older man opting to drop him off at the front before going to find parking. He’s practically sprinting as he goes through the emergency room doors and vaguely, he remembers you telling him about the time this happened before, when you took yourself to the hospital and ended up needing surgery. He can almost feel that panic now, and it makes what he’s already feeling worse. 

“Can I help-“

“I’m looking for my wife. She was brought in because of a bee sting-“

“Sir-“

“She’s really allergic and-“

“Sir!” The nurse behind the counter snaps, raising her voice over his to get through to him. “I need your wife’s name if I’m going to find her for you.”

Oh. Yes, he thinks, your name. They need your name. 

It’s the first time he’s said your full name, and your first and his last name feel so right coming off his tongue. But he can’t focus on that right now, giving all of his attention to the nurse who is typing so slowly. 

Before she can even hit enter, though, he hears his callsign echo behind him. He spins, heart racing with anxiety, and spots Nat making her way over to him. She gives the annoyed nurse a kind, charming smile as she grabs Bradley by the arm 

“Sorry about him, ma’am. I got him from here.”

She pulls him away without another word, heading toward the hallway off the packed waiting room. 

“Is she okay? Nat, is-“

“She’s fine, Rooster. Coming down from the adrenaline rush that the epinephrine gave her, but she’ll be okay.”

“What about-“

Nat stops in front of a closed door, lowering her voice. “Bradley. She’s okay.” 

He’s pushing past her before she even finishes, spotting you on the bed through the glass and half drawn curtain. You look so small amongst the crinkly white sheets, still in the clothes you wore to brunch. Your makeup is a bit smudged and your eyes are red and he hates to think that you were scared enough to start crying. You’re holding an oxygen mask in your hand at your side. 

“Hi baby.” Even your voice sounds more pitched. He’s quick to make it to your side. 

Your breathing is slightly elevated, and the heart monitor is beating a little bit faster than he thinks is normal. He grabs the hand holding the mask, placing it over your mouth to start providing you with the supplemental air again. You make a small sound of surprise, but take in a deep breath of it anyway before pushing his hand away. 

“I’m okay.”

But your hands are shaking and your eyes are wider than normal. The skin that he can see is splotchy with hives. 

He looks back at Nat, who is still hovering in the doorway, an eyebrow arched and a small smirk on her face. He ignores the look. “Can you grab a doctor?”

You protest from the bed, but Bradley doesn’t waiver. With a fond roll of her eyes, Nat disappears from view. 

“Bradley. Sweetheart.” You grip his wrist, trying to get him to focus on you. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m fine.”

“You’re in the emergency room because you went into anaphylactic shock. You are not fine.” 

“But I am,” you insist, smiling softly at him, even as your body trembles as it works to burn through the adrenaline that was injected into it, “medicine worked just fine.” 

The door slides open before he can respond, an attending doctor who looks like he’s been up for longer than is healthy and in wrinkled green scrubs introducing himself as he walks in.

“Is she okay?” Bradley demands immediately, and the tired man looks startled for a moment at how abrupt the question was. Bradley stares at him, his eyes wide and unblinking as he waits for the answer. His heart is still pounding in his chest. He feels you tangle one of your hands with one of his and he squeezes back when he feels the pressure from you. He knows you’re trying to reassure him. 

“And you are…?” 

“I’m her husband,” he answers easily, the words falling off his tongue like he had said them a thousand times before. You suck in a small breath and tighten your grip on his hand again. 

“Ah,” the doctor hums, flipping through the chart he’s holding. Bradley wonders if all non-military hospitals move this slowly or if it was just because of how anxious he is at this moment, but he really, really needs him to answer his question. 

“Is she okay?” he repeats. 

“Bradley,” you murmur, but he keeps his eyes trained on the man in the scrubs and white coat. 

“She responded well to the epinephrine that was administered by the paramedics who brought her in,” he finally says, looking up from the chart and taking a step toward your side. He stops when he sees that Bradley doesn’t move an inch. He sighs, switching direction to go to your other side instead. “How are you feeling Mrs. Bradshaw?”

You answer his questions as they come, Bradley paying rapt attention the whole time. Your throat doesn’t feel tight anymore. You aren’t lightheaded, but you do feel a little shortness of breath. You feel jittery - wired, almost. You’re both assured that it’s completely normal as the drug works its way out of your system. They can give you something to try and calm you down, and they want you to stay for a few hours to make sure you don’t go back into the allergic reaction once the epinephrine has worn off. The thought makes his blood run cold. 

“Should she stay overnight?” he asks, but the doctor shakes his head no. 

“The standard observation timeslot should be just fine, Mr. Bradshaw. But we’ll make sure you both know what to look out for when you leave.” 

He walks out without saying much else. Bradley feels you tug on his hand, his name leaving your lips in a whisper. He meets your gaze and he watches as your eyes soften even more. 

“Sit down, honey.” 

He listens to you, dragging the chair beside your bed as close as possible. He rests his elbows on the mattress beside you, holding your hand tightly between both of his. 

“I’m okay,” you repeat again.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your fingers and taking a deep breath. “I…this really scared me.” 

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” you say softly, running your thumb over one of the hands holding yours, soothing the skin and helping his racing heart. Your touch is like magic to him, providing an almost instant calm that he desperately needed. Guilt curled in his stomach, knowing that even now, you’re the one helping him. 

“I should be the one comforting you, not the other way around.” 

“We comfort each other, baby. That’s how this works.” 

“Why didn’t you have your epipen on you, Pumpkin? Don’t you normally carry it?” he asks quietly, a touch of urgency still in his tone. He couldn’t stop thinking about what would have happened if you were alone and this happened, with no one around to call 911. He could have lost you, all over a silly little bee sting, and he can’t wrap his mind around that. He just got you. He had had you, he knew. But he was just getting you back. 

“I switched bags this morning and forgot to take it out of the pocket of the old one, I guess. I haven’t had to use one since college. I forget about it, sometimes.” 

He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and trying to rid himself of the worst case scenarios. He’s the one that normally reminds you to always have it on you, he thinks. He vaguely recalls having a spare in the glove compartment of the Bronco, and in the drawer in the kitchen and maybe one in the bedroom, too. 

Not for the first time, he curses his memory and the accident that took it from him. 

When he opens his eyes, his look is intense, “Never again, okay?” 

“Okay,” you say, but Bradley shakes his head. 

“No. Promise me. Please?”

Your lips part and you stare at him for a long moment. His gaze never waivers from yours. He needs you to listen to him. To hear him. 

“I promise,” you finally whisper. 

He rises from the chair, pressing a kiss to your lips. He keeps his forehead against yours, breathing you in. 

“Will you lay with me?” You ask quietly, shy in a way reminiscent of when you asked him to say I love you on the porch all those weeks ago. He hates that you felt you even needed to ask. 

With no hesitation, he maneuvered himself into the small bed beside you. He kisses your forehead once, twice, three times, holding you as tightly as he could. Your body still gave the occasional tremble but they had lessened now, your breaths coming a little bit easier, and he felt the tightness in his chest ease. 

“Sorry for being a mess,” he whispers into your hair. 

“Don’t,” you whisper back, and he feels you shake your head from where it’s tucked into his chest. “It means you care.”

The words are there, right on the tip of his tongue, but he can’t say them, not yet or here. You deserve more than a frantic hospital room confession.

-------

Part Nine :: Series Masterlist :: Main Masterlist

Notes: I hope you liked this one! We're nearing the end, but I think everyone is really going to like the next chapter. Would love to hear any thoughts you may have :)

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#mila's early endless summer #if you love it reblog it #im catching up!

[pisupsala]

Remember You Even When I Don't (7)

Summary: A training accident, the doctor had told him. A nasty one that led him here, laying in a hospital bed with a splitting headache and an inability to remember the woman sitting beside him. What he did know, though, was that you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and you felt important to him. That, as it turns out, would become an understatement.

Words: 5.2K

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw/Reader (no use of y/n, so can be read as unnamed oc)

Warnings: angst, hospitals, memory loss, language, suggestive themes, smut

Notes: Please note the updated warnings. These next few chapters are a new stage of Bradley and Pumpkin growing back together, and while I'm very excited about it, I know it may not be for everyone. For everyone who sticks around, please continue to comment and reblog, and my inbox is always open! I love to talk about these two :)

This was inspired by a one shot by the lovely @roosterforme and would not exist without her assistance. If you haven't read any of her stuff, please check out her masterlist - you won't be disappointed! All of the thanks to her and @mak-32 for being the best cheerleaders and friends I could ask for!

--------

Your picture is there as his background photo, and seeing you helps his hand stop shaking. 

He hadn’t used his phone much since he got home from the hospital. You had given it to him right away, but he kept it in the drawer of the bedside table in the guest room until he had retrieved it to make your failed dinner reservations. He hadn’t been ready to face the reality it would bring. Text message threads he didn’t understand, group chats he didn’t remember being a part of, notifications from apps that didn’t even exist four years ago. As it turns out, you had silenced his notifications for him before you gave it back to him. He would never get over how thoughtful you were. 

He finds the name easy in his contact list, hovering over it as he breathes through his nerves. You had reassured him that he could take all the time in the world to make this call, that there wasn’t any rush and that he understood. But it had been a month since his accident now, and a dream about snowy fields and short runways and a funeral for an uncle he didn’t remember dying had shaken him awake early this morning. 

He presses down on the name, bringing the phone to his ear. He almost thinks he’s not going to answer by how long it rings, but he does. 

“Bradley?” 

His tone is hesitant, but Bradley can hear the relief and the worry mixed in with it, and for some reason part of him wants to cry. It had been entirely too long, and he missed him more than he would admit to himself. 

“Hey, Mav.” 

________

You’re the one who answers the door, and Bradley stays a few paces behind you, hands stuffed in his pockets. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” Mav says, and even with your back currently turned, Bradley knows that you’re smiling as you embrace him. 

“Hey Pete. It’s good to see you.” You step back, closer to Bradley’s side. He takes a deep breath, finding comfort in your presence, and looks back toward the door. 

When Mav steps forward to wrap his arms around him in a tight hug that was so reminiscent of Bradley’s childhood, even if he was now several inches taller than the older man, he didn’t hesitate to return the embrace. 

“Hey, kid,” Mav breathes. He keeps a grasp on his shoulders when he pulls away, smiling as he looks at him. “Been a long time.” 

Bradley chuckles, nodding his head. “Longer for me, I guess.” 

To his credit, Mav doesn’t miss a beat and laughs along with him. “How are you, Bradley?” 

“I’m good,” he says, “glad to be home.” 

He can’t help but look over his shoulder to where he knows you are. You’re smiling at the two of them gently, your arms folded in front of you as you lean against the back of the couch. When you catch his eye, you send him a wink before straightening yourself and walking toward the stairs. You squeeze his arm in reassurance as you pass, saying you’re going to leave them alone and go up to your office for a bit. 

Part of him really wishes you wouldn’t, but the other part knows that it’s for the best. 

Mav’s giving him a knowing look when he finally pulls his eyes away when you disappear from view, and despite himself, Bradley feels a small flush on his cheeks at being caught. 

“Shut up,” he mutters under his breath. 

This time, the older man lets out a full laugh. He slaps him hard on the back in the fatherly way he’d always done when he was younger. “How about we sit down and talk? I’m sure you have a lot of questions.” 

Seeing his godfather again after so many years - to him, at least - isn’t as tumultuous of a meeting as he thought it would be. The bitterness had faded, replaced by the comfort of memories and the feel of reconciliation. They talk for a long time, catching up on everything. Mav asks him questions that Bradley is sure he already knows the answers to from his time between them last seeing one another before being called back, but he appreciates getting to tell him all over again.

“The doctors told me I’ll probably be out of the air for 3 months, minimum.”

Maverick hmmm’s in response. “How do you feel about that?” 

Bradley shrugs, toying with his answer. Flying was in his blood - an integral part of his sense of self and identity. But he had been forced to reevaluate what that identity really meant the last few weeks, and he finds himself unsure of where it fell on his priority list, now. “I don’t really know. And I think…I think having the time to focus on..other things will be good for me. You know?” 

His godfather nods in what looks like understanding. “There will always be a spot for you on my team, Rooster. Flying will be waiting for you when, and if, you’re ready.”

He hears you coming down the stairs, then, his eyes automatically moving to see you. You offer to throw something together for the three of you for dinner, heading into the kitchen. Bradley’s eyes track you the entire time. He doesn’t look away until Mav chuckles softly under his breath. He turns back to look at him, his eyebrows furrowed in question. Mav nods his head toward you. “I think focusing on other things will be good for you, too.” 

______

Seeing Mav gives him the courage to talk to the others, too. You’re cautiously optimistic when he approaches you asking if you think it would be a good idea, meeting up with the so-called Dagger Squad. You tell him that it’s completely his choice. Of course his friends want to see him, but they’ve so far completely respected his space. He knows that you’ve been providing general updates to everyone; it’s still a little hard for him to believe there’s enough people that would want to receive them. 

“I think I’m ready.” 

You look proud of him, and that’s how he knows it was the right call. Still, though, he can’t help the nerves fluttering through him as the two of you get out of the car in the Hard Deck parking lot the following Friday. You stop him before you go in with a hand on his arm. 

“We can leave at any time, okay?” 

You look so earnest, so concerned for him, that Bradley can’t help but lean down and place a gentle kiss to your lips. He likes that he’s allowed to do that now - kiss you when he wants to. You still hadn’t gone any further than that, and it was getting harder and harder to resist you every single day, because every kiss felt better than the one before. 

You’re smiling up at him when he pulls away, and the nerves from being here have turned into the butterflies he always has around you. He takes a step forward and opens the door, holding it for you to walk through first. 

“We got this,” he says, and he knows you picked up on the use of the word we by how your eyes light up. 

Bradley didn’t expect cheers and applause to break out from the entire bar when he walks in, coming the loudest from the corner by the pool tables, but it’s enough to have his heart swell and a smile break out on his face. There are a number of people who pat him on the back as he passes them, following where you’re leading him by the hand, but he’s glad no one stops him and lingers. 

He spots Nat first, and she’s smirking when she walks up to them. “Well look who finally decided to show up!” 

He had spoken to her a few times since being home, but hadn’t seen her since that day in the hospital. It feels good, hugging his best friend again. He finds quickly that it feels good being around everyone here. Everyone that he knew before the accident moves to greet him first, and Phoenix does a quick introduction to those he may not remember. He watches you out of the corner of his eye as you get hugs from everyone, too, and he knows that you fit in to all of this just as well as he does.

A drink makes its way into his hand, his preferred brand of beer, and he sees that you’ve been handed your drink of choice as well. He sips it as he’s drawn into the conversations all around him. There are some inside jokes he doesn’t quite understand, and some stories he’s never heard, but he does his best to keep up with everyone.  No one treats him like a stranger or like someone they have to treat with child gloves. It’s familiar, almost comfortable, and even after only 30 minutes around them, it’s easy to see why he considers everyone family. 

“Bradshaw. As I live and breathe.” 

That tickling sensation hits him again, and he’s not surprised when he turns to see Hangman standing there. 

“Hangman. You look…good.” It feels like deja vu when the words come out of his mouth; he knows he’s said them before, maybe even in this exact spot. 

The blonde chuckles, his eyes full of mischief and fondness, a look Bradley had never seen before. He knows they’re friends, close ones at that, but still finds himself surprised when he holds out a hand to him. But Bradley takes it anyway, returning the firm handshake. 

“It’s good to see you, man.”

Bradley nods, not quite knowing what else to say, but he’s saved from having to when you appear at Jake’s side from where you had been talking to Coyote near the dart board. You knock the back of your hand against his bicep, drawing the other man’s attention down to you. 

“You’re late,” you comment, a scowl on your face that Bradley isn’t sure is serious, but he assumes it’s not when Hangman rolls his eyes and leans down to hug you tightly and you accept it easily. 

“Blame your godfather-in-law, not me. Had some last minute paperwork that needed filling out that he conveniently forgot to give me until 4pm. Need a refill?” 

The glass in your hand is indeed almost empty, and Bradley hates it a little bit that he wasn’t the one who noticed first. The phone call between the two of you that he had overheard and how frustrated he had been over it flashes in his mind. 

“I’ll get it,” he finds himself saying, and both of you turn to look at him. You smile, and he takes that as your gratitude and acceptance at the offer. He swallows down the insecurity he still feels, calling back the pride in your face at him wanting to interact with these people, at wanting to reconnect to his life. He clears his throat, motioning toward the bar. “Hangman? Can I get you a drink?” 

The other aviator doesn’t make a witty comment or smart remark. Instead, he nods his head, following him to the bar. 

“I’m gonna be honest,” Bradley comments when they reach it, “your drink order is not something that I remember.” 

Jake laughs, a loud, genuine sound. He flags down Penny Benjamin without a word, and to Bradley’s surprise, rattles off an accurate order for all three of you. When she walks away, Jake doesn’t hesitate to get right to the heart of all that Bradley had been able to think about since seeing him. 

“She told me about the fight, after you heard her on the phone with me. About the pregnancy test.”

He clears his throat awkwardly. “Not my finest moment.” 

“Maybe not, but understandable. I want you to know that there’s nothing you need to worry about in regards to the two of us.” 

Bradley raises an eyebrow, surprised at how bluntly he said that, even though he shouldn’t be. The Hangman he remembers doesn’t beat around the bush, and it’s almost nice to be reminded that some things never change. 

“I wasn’t. Do I need to?” 

“She’s one of my best friends,” he confides, and Bradley would be blind if he missed the fondness in his eyes. He waits for him to continue, sensing that’s not the end of it. “We have…similar family history, I guess you could say.” 

Bradley knows enough to know that that could mean a lot of things, but he’s not going to press him for specifics. “She reminds me of an annoying little sister I can’t get rid of, but that’s it. I’d do a lot for her, and she’d do the same for me. And I’d do the same for you, hard as it is to believe.” 

The blonde does roll his eyes now, and Bradley feels a quirk of amusement despite himself. 

“Thank you,” he says, and this time he thinks he’s the one that’s taking the other man by surprise. “She told me…how you were there, almost everyday, and how you and the rest of the team made sure she was taken care of. It…means a lot.” 

Jake nods slowly, eyeing him for a long moment. His eyes flick to where you are back with the team and back to him. “You two seem good.” 

“We are,” Bradley confirms. A happy smile makes its way onto his face. “I’m finding she’s a little hard to forget.” 

Jake smiles too, giving him a friendly pat on the back that Bradley feels isn’t out of place. “Your benefit there, brother.”  

Penny returns then, placing two bottles and another glass of your preferred sour down in front of them. She greets him with a familiarity she had never had with Bradley before and he knows his godfather’s long term girlfriend is someone he’ll have to get reacquainted with, too. 

“On the house,” she says with a wink toward them before she turns to her other customers. 

Jake picks up one of the bottles, leaving the other two drinks for Bradley to grab. He holds his up, clinking it against his own. “Welcome back, Rooster.” 

“Thanks, Hangman.” 

The two make their way back over to the larger group and you raise up on your toes to press a kiss to his cheek when he hands you your refreshed drink.

“Are you having fun?” you ask quietly, just for him.

“Yeah,” he says and he genuinely means it. He sticks close to you, his hand a constant presence on the small of your back as you join back in on the conversation. He’s eventually roped into playing a game of pool with Coyote against Phoenix and Hangman, which he tries to deny at first, but you push him toward the pool table with a laugh. 

“Kick their asses! Don’t let them tell you that you and Javy don’t have a winning streak!” 

“Knew you were my favorite, dollface!” Coyote yells, blowing you a kiss playfully, which you jokingly return. 

Bradley likes seeing you like this. Surrounded by the people that you love and call family, laughing and smiling in a way that only happens when you’re with the best of friends. It fills him with warmth, seeing you fit in with these people so effortlessly, knowing that they’d always be there to support you if you needed them; they had already proved as much. 

It doesn’t take long for him to get sucked into the game of 9 ball, which quickly leads to the best two out of three. You were right in that he and Coyote were the better players, but he shouldn’t have been surprised; he was learning you were always right. When they win the third game, Nat throws her pool cue down with a curse, saying she was done. Bradley laughs at her familiar dramatics as he sets his own stick down. He turns to the direction you had been in the last time he looked, but you aren’t standing talking with Bob anymore, who had joined in on the conversation with Payback and Fanboy in your absence. 

He frowns, his eyes scanning the room for you. He spots you at the bar, but his breath of relief is short-lived when he sees you being talked up by a man who was standing a little too close to you for Bradley’s liking. By the look on your face and the way you’re angling yourself away, he knows that you’re uncomfortable, too. 

He’s walking in your direction without a second thought. He weaves himself through the Friday night crowd that had developed, and he’s halfway to you when he sees the stranger put his hand on your arm. You immediately move out of his grasp and Bradley quickens his stride. He makes it to you just in time to hear you say that you said you weren’t interested. When you take a step back, it’s right into Bradley’s chest, and his hands fall to your hips to steady you. He feels the way you relax without even having to look at him, and he can’t help the feeling that bursts through him at that. 

“Is there a problem here?” he asks, his voice deep and commanding. He hears the breath you suck in at the words. 

“No problem, man. Was just seeing if the little lady would let me buy her a drink.” Bradley could smell the liquor coming off the man from here, and he suddenly really wanted to punch him in his smirking face. 

“I think she’s good,” he says instead, squeezing your hips through the thin material of the short, long sleeved floral dress you were wearing tonight. “You can go now.” 

The guy must have some sense after all, because he barely spares the two of you another look before he holds his hands up in surrender, stumbling back to his friends with a drunken laugh. Bradley doesn’t take his eyes off of his retreating form until he’s out of sight and he feels you turn in his arms. They settle back against your waist as you look up at him. 

“Are you alright?” he asks instantly. You nod, not saying anything, and Bradley feels another wave of something go through him. “Are you sure?” 

“I’m sure,” you murmur, placing a hand over his racing heart. 

He closes his eyes, rolling his neck to crack it, as he lets out a deep breath. When he opens his eyes, you’re still looking at him. There’s a small smirk that looks right at home on your face; you seem almost giddy. 

“You’re jealous,” 

You’re right, Bradley knows, and there’s no point in denying it. He just nods. You hum softly. “You don’t have to be.” 

“I didn’t-” he starts, stopping himself to take another breath. You let him take his moment; you never rush him, not even with this. “I didn’t like that.”

“Like what?” you prompt, and he swallows thickly, his arms tightening around you. 

“Seeing someone else put their hands on you.” He has to force the words out, and they don’t taste good in his mouth. He hates being jealous, especially when deep down he knows he has no reason to be. But the thought of someone else touching you, especially when Bradley can’t even remember doing it himself…it’s almost too much for him. 

You run your hands that were settled on his chest up the rest of his body to loop around his neck. 

“Oh?” 

A completely faux innocent look had taken over your face. Bradley groans, knowing that you’re toying with him now. But he can’t lie and say that the teasing and the small laugh you let out at the sound doesn’t ease the green feeling that had been tightening inside of him, calming him down to somewhere closer than he had been before. 

“Do you like it when I get jealous?” he asks, shaking his head in mock exasperation. 

“I like it when you remind me that I’m just yours.” He doesn’t know if they were intended that way, but the words send a flash of heat through him. Bradley can’t help but pull you closer to him, the busy bar completely fading away. 

“Oh yeah?” he asks, and his voice has dropped. You shiver against him, and he spends a moment just breathing in the scent of you and feeling your body against his. 

“Yes,” you finally say, and he knows what you’re going to say next is going to knock him off his feet before the words even leave your mouth by the look in your eyes. “It usually ends well for me.” 

You spin out of his arms before he can say anything else. His mouth is agape when you turn back to him with two waters in your hand, and you giggle as he fumbles to find his words. You hand him a glass, and even as you sip from your own, he can see the smirk still on your face. 

It looks good on you. Very good. 

“You’ll have to expand on that for me.” He gulps some of the water you gave him, suddenly feeling parched and like the bar had gotten a little warmer. You raise an eyebrow, and he immediately knows that he still doesn’t have the upper hand in this conversation.

“You sure you can handle that?” 

He groans again, shaking his head. “To be honest? Not totally sure.”

You let out a full on laugh at that, stepping close to him again. You toy with one of the buttons on his white and yellow Hawaiian shirt as you tilt your head back to meet his eyes. “If it’s any consolation, I get the exact same way when girls hit on you, too.” 

“I get hit on?” He asks, his eyebrows raising in disbelief. 

You snort, nodding your head. “Probably more than I do. Have you seen yourself?”

He sees his opening, then. He places a hand back on your lower back, pressing firmly until your front is flush against his. He leans down close, his cheek brushing against yours as he whispers in your ear. 

“I bet I like it when you get possessive over me, too, Pumpkin.” 

You let out a small gasp, gripping his shirt, and when he pulls away enough to look at your face, your eyes are closed and your lips slightly parted. It’s reminiscent of the first morning you woke up together in your shared bed. Bradley feels another flash of heat go through him, remembering the shower he had to take afterwards. You open your eyes, and they’re dark when they meet his. 

“You do,” you confirm. The two of you stare at each other for a moment, Bradley imagining the possibilities as he’s sure you’re remembering what that actually means. 

“We should get back,” you finally murmur after a long moment, and the bar and all the people around them reenter Bradley’s senses. He nods, hand rubbing up and down your back for a moment. He leans down to press a kiss to your hairline, breathing in the scent of vanilla and lavender that he’d started associating with you, before he steps away. He grabs your hand, though, lacing his fingers with yours. He only lets go to wrap his arm around your shoulders instead when you resume your place with your friends.

Your body is warm against his side, and as the night goes on, he almost feels like he’s fading in and out of the present as different images assault his mind. It ranges from nights playing pool to serenading the bar on the piano with Jerry Lee Lewis or Billy Joel to playing football on the beach to less than appropriate flashes of you pressed against the bathroom sink. He’s not sure if they’re memories or wishful thinking or both. 

Eventually, it becomes a little too much for him and he leans down to whisper in your ear.  

“Can we go home?” 

You agree without any hesitation, and the two of you begin your goodbyes despite the loud protests from your friends. It takes a few minutes to get through all the hugs and promises to see them again soon. By the time the two of you make it outside, the fall San Diego night air does little to cool the whirring in his brain and under his skin.

You’re getting your keys out of your purse when he stops you, turning you by the arm. Your back hits the driver’s side door and his arms cage you in against it. 

You gasp lightly, but it’s swallowed up when he places a kiss against your lips. 

“What was that for?” 

“We’ve had sex in the bathroom here before,” he says, and by the way you suck in a breath, he knows that he’s right. “Haven’t we?” 

“Yes,” you breathe, gripping the opening of his shirt and pulling him closer.

Maybe it’s the few drinks he has in his system or the jealousy he felt earlier or maybe even the way you’re responding to him now, but he’s emboldened in a way he hasn’t been previously. “You had on a dress just like this one, and I pulled it up, and we had sex right there by the sink.” 

“It was a skirt,” you correct breathlessly, “Both times, it was a skirt.” 

The groan he lets out comes from deep in his chest. He had only gotten flashes of the one time, but now you’re saying there were multiple occasions. He moves his hands from the metal on either side of your head and threads them through your hair instead, crushing his lips against yours. You open for him willingly, and the remaining hint of your beer mixed with a taste that he thinks is uniquely you is something he chases after. Your arms wrap around him, and the feel of your nails scratching down his back causes another sound to come from his throat. 

“Was it this way the first time?” he asks, pulling away long enough to draw in a breath before diving in for another kiss. “Was I this way with you so quickly before?” 

He knows the answer is yes. But hearing you say it out loud to him in your current tone of voice is a completely new revelation. He kisses you for a long time, feeling all the curves of your body against his through your clothes. Your hair is soft between his fingers, and eventually one of his hands makes its way back down your body to grip your thigh, pulling it tight around his hip as he pushes you harder against the side of your car. You whimper when you feel him hard against your center, and the sound makes him dizzy. 

“Baby,” you moan, pulling away from his mouth, “Sweetheart, we need to stop.” 

Your lips are swollen, not a single trace of your lipstick left, and your face is flushed so prettily. Your chest heaves as you take in large gulps of air, and he knows he looks just as disheveled. 

“I know,” he pants, “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t,” you shake your head, gripping him tightly, “don’t ever apologize for kissing me like that. Don’t ever apologize for feeling like this for me. Please. But we said…we said slow.” 

He nods, knowing that you’re right. You both had agreed to relearn each other and to grow together again. But he was so infatuated with you. You were all he could think about, and the subject of the majority of the things that he remembered. You were the only one he felt completely confident and comfortable being around, even if you were constantly keeping him on his toes. Going slow was proving to be incredibly difficult, especially knowing that the first time the two of you did this, slow wasn’t part of the vocabulary. 

But this wasn’t then, and he knows he needs to treat the situation differently. So he presses a lingering kiss to your forehead and takes a step away from you. He picks the keys up from where you had dropped them and opens the door for you when he presses the unlock button. You’re both still breathing heavily as you slip into the driver’s side. 

You are the most addicting thing he has ever encountered. He wants to completely lose himself in you and the connection that the two of you have, and he knows how easily he could. 

—---------

He learns that Sundays are lazy, easy days for the two of you. 

You’ve skipped out on it the last few weeks, but the Sunday following the night at the Hard Deck, you reintroduce him to the routine. You sleep in and then bring coffee into bed with you - iced for you, hot for him - and it’s the only time he’s seen the tv you have in here turned on as you watch the Sunday morning national news and wait for the breakfast you ordered on DoorDash to be delivered. He retrieves it from the front porch once it does, and doesn’t even bother grabbing plates from the kitchen before he takes it back upstairs. Florry had curled herself up on his side during his absence, and the insulted look that must be on his face makes you laugh, but you pick her up and move her to the end of the bed nonetheless, and Bradley happily reclaims the spot. 

You eat and eventually change the channel to watch NFL pregame shows, all the while staying comfortably tucked under the covers in only your pajamas. Your glasses are perched on your nose and your hair is a mess, but you’re still the most stunning woman that Bradley has ever seen. 

You don’t make your way downstairs until early afternoon, where you basically continue the same routine, but from the couch instead. You spend the afternoon watching football and eating snacks. When dinner rolls around, the two of you eat leftovers out on the back porch, enjoying the slight breeze of early November in San Diego. He likes watching how the sunset plays with the color of your hair and reflects off the shade of your eyes. 

When the sun was long gone and the two of you were back in the house, you tucked into the corner of the sectional you seemed to favor while he sits beside you, a blanket covering both of your laps, he finds himself paying closer attention to you than the documentary playing on the tv. 

“Hey,” he says. 

You look over to him and smile, and god, he wants to remember everything about you so badly. “Hi.” 

“I liked when you called me baby yesterday.” 

You raise your eyebrows, seemingly a little surprised by the suddenness of his statement. But you don’t question him, or tease him like you were oh so good at. 

“Okay,” you say simply, nodding, “I’ll do it more.” 

“Good.” 

You bite your lip, a happy blush on your cheeks, and hold out the bowl of grapes you had been snacking on in a wordless offering. 

He thinks it’s one of his favorite days ever that he can remember, and he can’t wait to experience them for the rest of his life with you. 

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

Part Eight :: Series Masterlist :: Main Masterlist

Notes: I hope you liked this one! Nervous is an understatement. Would love to hear any thoughts you may have :)

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#mila's early endless summer #if you love it reblog it #im catching up!

[pisupsala]

Remember You Even When I Don't (6)

Summary: A training accident, the doctor had told him. A nasty one that led him here, laying in a hospital bed with a splitting headache and an inability to remember the woman sitting beside him. What he did know, though, was that you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and you felt important to him. That, as it turns out, would become an understatement.

Words: 5.0K

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw/Reader (no use of y/n, so can be read as unnamed oc)

Warnings: angst, hospitals, memory loss, language, suggestive themes, smut

Notes: Please note the updated warnings. These next few chapters are a new stage of Bradley and Pumpkin growing back together, and while I'm very excited about it, I know it may not be for everyone. For everyone who sticks around, please continue to comment and reblog, and my inbox is always open! I love to talk about these two :)

This was inspired by a one shot by the lovely @roosterforme and would not exist without her assistance. If you haven't read any of her stuff, please check out her masterlist - you won't be disappointed! All of the thanks to her and @mak-32 for being the best cheerleaders and friends I could ask for!

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By the time the two of you untangle yourselves from the porch and make your way back inside, the moon was high in the sky, the sun long disappeared. Your stomach is rumbling, and Bradley realizes how late it is. 

“I can make something for dinner.”

Despite the emotional rollercoaster you’d been on this evening, you chuckle, and something eases inside of him. 

“Your cooking hasn’t improved in the last four years,” you tease softly. 

He rolls his eyes, chuckling at you. “I bet I can still make a mean grilled cheese. Take a seat.” 

Your grin is wide as you settle onto one of the bar stools at the island, watching him work. It’s the biggest smile he’s seen from you in the last two weeks, and his heart races knowing that he’s the cause of it. 

The crusts are only a little bit burnt, but you insist that you like them that way. You talk while you eat, and it’s like the tension that had been hovering over you has diminished. When the plates are loaded into the dishwasher and the kitchen lights are flipped off, you let out a shuddering breath and hold out your hand. 

“You can sleep in our bed,” you whisper, and Bradley’s heart clenches in something that feels like relief. You give a little shrug, self conscious of your own words, like he would ever possibly reject you, “Just sleep. If you want.” 

He takes your hand and lets you guide him. Your hand feels at home in his, the warmth of your rings is smooth against his calloused skin. 

Your shared bedroom was the one room he hadn’t explored yet. The furniture is wood toned and there are flashes of green and gold and orange. He can tell which side of the bed is his right away by the books on the nightstand, and there’s still a sweatshirt of his strewn over the chair in the corner by the closet door. There’s a jewelry box on the dresser and he thinks there may be a section in there for his uniform pins, too. 

He can feel you in here so strongly. More than that, though, he can feel himself, and the two of you together. He can sense, more so than in the rest of the house, that this space is purely for the two of you. 

You go into the en suite bathroom to change, leaving him in the bedroom to do the same, and he knows which drawers are his and which ones aren’t. He sinks down on his side of the bed, picking up the picture frame that’s there by an F18 manual and a Captain America comic book. A grin tugs at the corner of his mouth as he looks at it. You’re both bundled up in head to toe green and white Eagles gear and wrapped around one another. There’s snow falling and there’s crowds of people and the field in the background and the two of you look so happy, and Bradley knew the happiness had nothing to do with the game. 

“We lost that one.” 

He looks up and his breath catches. You’re walking toward him in a shirt that has to be a few sizes too big for you, Top Gun emblazoned across the chest. Your hair is piled on your head and you’re still rubbing some of your moisturizer into your face. 

He didn’t think he’d ever get used to how beautiful you were. 

“Did we?” he manages, and his heart thuds in his chest when you round the bed to pull down the comforter on your side, throwing all of the throw pillows onto the floor. 

“We did. It was actually a terrible game.”

Bradley looks back down at the photo, tracing the smile on your face before he sets it back down, and something tells him the score wasn’t what really mattered to him that day. He stands, mimicking your motion of turning down the bed. “We looked like we were having a good time.”

You pause for a moment, giving him a gentle smile and a nod. “We were. It was an amazing weekend.”

There was a distance enough for another body between you when you switch the light off and slip under the covers. The room is quiet and he can hear both of your breathing. Your eyes are trained on one another from across the expanse of the king size bed, and Bradley feels his fingers twitch. 

This didn’t feel right, laying like this. 

He scoots forward, closer to the center of the bed, and you do the same. Before he realizes what he was doing, he has an arm wrapped around you, pulling you closer to him. Your breath catches in your throat and he pauses. 

“What are you doing?” You whispered, and Bradley wondered if you could hear him swallow his nerves. 

“I think - we don’t sleep on opposite sides. Right? I usually…hold you?” He’s unsure now, panicking a little bit, but you slowly rest a hand on his chest over his racing heart. If you felt how hard it was beating, you didn’t comment on it. 

“You do,” you confirmed, your gaze open and full of trust and compassion. “But I want you to do what feels comfortable to you.”

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. A tickle is there in his mind again, and he reaches for it. 

The arm that had pulled you to him brings you a little bit closer, and he lets his hand rest on your hip. 

“This?” you murmur, and Bradley nods as he brushes a shy kiss into your hair. 

“Yeah,” he whispers with a gentle squeeze of your hip, “this is a lot better.”

————-

Sleeping in the same bed with you is the best sleep he thinks he’s ever gotten. He feels rested in a way he can’t remember feeling before, and he knows deep in his bones that this has always been what it feels like with you. 

He comes to wakefulness slowly, and vanilla and lavender immediately fill his senses. Your hair is in his face and he marvels at how soft it is against his skin. Your back is flush against his chest, one arm wrapped tight around you while the other is trapped under your pillow. He’s so comfortable, so content having you in his arms like this, that he can’t help but press closer. It feels so right, so familiar, that he forgets that he doesn’t remember always having this for a moment. 

He nuzzles into your neck, finding your skin and pressing a gentle kiss there. 

You smell so good, and you’re soft, too. 

His hand spreads out where it was resting on your stomach. His fingertips circle over the material of the oversized shirt you’re wearing that he suspects might be his.  

You shiver, and Bradley can feel his body react to the movement. 

You’re invading every single one of his senses right now. 

You hum, reaching back to thread your fingers through his sleep mussed hair. His nose trails up your neck, inhaling the scent of you as his lips place fluttering kisses against your skin. His palm presses into your cotton covered stomach, almost as if to try and pull you impossibly closer. You let out a soft, sleepy sound that shoots straight through him. He thrusts his hips into yours from his spot behind you, grinding slowly. Your fingers tighten in his hair and he can’t help but scrape his teeth against your jugular, soothing it over with his tongue. 

“Bradley,” you moan. His name breaks through the fog that had settled over his mind and the two of you freeze. His breathing is heavy, and so is yours, and he doesn’t want to move from this spot. But you shift in his arms just far enough away to turn so that you’re laying facing him. Your eyes are wide and your face is flushed. For a moment, Bradley swears he can see you sprawled in this bed, your hair a halo on the pillow with your head thrown back as he moves on top of you. He blinks and the image is gone, but you’re still right here, staring at him with such longing and pure want. He knows he shares the same look. 

Your shared breathing is the only sound that fills the room for a long moment, and he swears that the more he looks at you, the hotter and harder he feels. No one has ever had this effect on him. The tension was thick over the two of you. 

“Good morning, Pumpkin,” he finally rasps. He doesn’t think you mean to let out the whimper that you do, but the sound makes him dizzy. He swallows, trying to reign himself in. 

Sleep, you had said the night before, just sleep. 

“Morning,” you respond, your voice breathy.  Bradley has to squeeze his eyes shut and take a calming breath. When he opens them, your gaze has shifted to something of curiosity, but the previous heat still simmers there, too. 

“How’d you sleep?” 

“Great,” you mutter, but your eyes have moved further down his face, “You?” 

“So good,” he breathes, watching you as you watch him. Your hand twitches on the sheets from where they rested in the small space between your two bodies. You raise it slowly, letting your fingertips graze the stubble that had appeared on his chin the last few days. You looked like you were almost in a trance, and he wondered if you could feel how hard his heart was beating. Your thumb ghosts near his bottom lip. He sucks in a breath of air, shifting just the slightest bit closer to you. Your eyes flicker back up to his.

You look as wrecked as he feels. He had to get out of this bed. But he also wants to prolong this torture for as long as he could. You were addicting, in every single way. 

“I’m uh, I’m sorry for the wake up call,” he stutters out. 

You hum in response, your fingertips still exploring his face. They trace over the scars, and he didn’t think the thing he hated so much could possibly be an erogenous zone until this moment, because a flash of fire goes through him again. “I thought I was dreaming,” you admit softly. 

Bradley gulps, but he doesn’t resist the urge he feels to settle his hand on your hip. Your eyes flutter shut and he squeezes softly. His thumb mimics yours, rubbing slowly back and forth. He wishes there wasn’t cotton separating him from feeling your skin. 

“Is that something you dream about?” he dares himself to ask. 

Your lips part and your breathing shifts. You turn your face into the pillow slightly, almost like you’re fighting against yourself. When your eyes open again, it’s like you’re staring directly into his soul. 

“Yes.” 

He wasn’t prepared for you to answer him, and he really needs to get out of this bed. He was finally getting somewhere with you after two weeks of awkward tension, and he really didn’t want to ruin it by moving too fast, despite every instinct in him saying this was completely natural between the two of you. 

He squeezes your hip again, lingering for a moment, before forcing himself to roll away from you. “I’m going to go take a shower.” 

His voice is hoarse, rougher than it had been. When he takes a peek at you over his shoulder from his spot sitting on the edge of the bed, there’s the smallest of smirks pulling at your lips. You know the effect you have on him. He likes that. 

“Use the en suite,” you suggest, snuggling back into the blankets that surround you. “The water pressure is better.” 

He finds it hard to look away from how your hair is spread out all over the pillow and how he can see the outline of your body through the white sheets. He forces himself to stand, but before he can take a step, your hand shoots out to grab his. 

“It’s okay,” you murmured, and he didn’t realize he needed reassurance of what had just transpired until he had it. He squeezes your hand in thanks and you let it drop, rolling onto your back as he walks into the bathroom. He debated for a second if he should close the door, settling on leaving it cracked just the smallest amount. He wanted you to know that if you needed in here before he was done, he was okay with that. 

Stripping down and stepping into the steam, he groans in relief. The water pressure was better here. 

The shower was spacious, despite there being a larger tub in the room as well. In what was meant to be a fleeting thought, he wondered which one you preferred, and suddenly he could see it so clearly, you laying in a bath full of bubbles, your hair on top of your head and candles lit throughout the room, beckoning him toward you with a coy smile on your face. 

He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head, trying to shake the visual away. He braces himself against the wall of the shower, letting the hot water rain over him, and he could just as clearly see your back pressed against the same tiles. He swears he can feel your weight in his arms as he holds you up. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, his hands curling into fists. He probably shouldn’t be thinking about you like this, right? He should give it more time. But then his mind conjures up the taste of your skin from just a few minutes ago, and the way your body felt pressed against his. 

He catches sight of your shampoo and conditioner bottles on the corner shelf and remembers how amazing your hair smelt when his face was buried in your neck. He reached for the bottle of conditioner, popping the cap and bringing it to his nose. He inhales deeply and has to bite his lip to stop himself from groaning. 

He shakes his head again, but it was a futile attempt; all he can think about was you. He can still hear the soft little mewl you let out when you felt him against you as you woke up, and the whimper when he said good morning. 

It takes him a moment to realize it might not just be echoing through his head.

It’s quiet, so quiet that he steps out from under the water to make sure it was even there. He stands completely still, holding his breath, and oh, fuck. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he groans, because he can hear you. Just barely, but when he strains his ears hard enough, the softest of moans floats through the hardly there crack he left in the door. A quiet hum follows it, and he knows, as surely as he knows that he’s falling for you quicker than he can comprehend, again, that you’re laying in the bed the two of you share, bringing yourself pleasure. 

He doesn’t stop himself this time from bringing a hand down to wrap around himself. He hisses at the contact. He’s so hard that it hurts; he knows he’s not going to last long. He’s slow with it at first, so focused on his ability to hear you. His grip is firm as he touches himself with complete strokes, squeezing when he gets to the base. As you speed up, so does he. 

He closes his eyes, tilting his head back as one hand remains braced against the tiles. He tightens his grip and through his shuddery breaths, he can almost feel what your touch would be like instead. Your hands are soft, not sporting the same calluses that he does. After a sparing moment of consideration, he reaches for your conditioner again, squirting a small amount into his hand before he grips himself again. The smell of lavender and vanilla surround him like a blanket and he groans. Yes.  

He’s hit with a muffled moan of his name, your voice catching and a breathy gasp leaving you, and he somehow knows that’s the way you sound when you climax. 

The shift in him is instant. He doesn’t hold back, jerking himself in earnest. He’s desperate for it now, picturing you spread out in that big bed, your chest heaving, and it’s the knowledge that just as he's thinking of you, he has no doubt that you’re thinking of him, too, that finally pushes him over the edge. 

Because you’re his wife, and he’s your husband. 

He’s still recovering from the power of it, fighting to catch his breath, when a soft knock echoes at the door. His eyes shoot in that direction, but the shower curtain blocks him from seeing anything. 

“Bradley,” you call, and the sound of his name from your mouth, so different from how he just heard it, almost makes him groan out loud again, “Do you mind if I come in and brush my teeth really quick?”

“Please,” he grits out, immediately flushing at the needy tone of his voice. He wants to be able to tell you to join him in the shower - to pull you in here with him and recreate the image of holding you against the tiles that he thought he saw in his head. He wants to say so much more. But instead, all he said was, “Be my guest.”

_______

There’s a noticeable shift following your night on the porch and your morning in bed. There’s less hesitation from both of you. Bradley didn’t know if things would ever be whatever used to be the same, but they’re better, so, so much better, and he thinks that together, maybe you can find a new normal. 

He had been worried initially that there would be that same awkward tension that had filled the house after he woke you up the way he did on the first night he slept with his arms wrapped around you. Instead, though, there’s a different kind of tension. Something anticipatory and exciting. He doesn’t shy away from initiating contact with you anymore, and neither do you. 

He starts seeing flashes, after that night. They aren’t always full fledged memories, but it’s enough. His dreams are more detailed than that first week provided him. He doesn’t shy away from asking you about them anymore, and from underneath the blankets of your shared bed, you fill in the blanks for him.

You honeymooned in Mexico. The two of you only lived in your small DC apartment together for a few months before you moved to California, where you bought and renovated this home together. He’s developed a love for seafood, and you’re allergic to bees. 

He loves waking up like that with you, even if it’s only been happening for less than a handful of days. 

He knows, in the deepest parts of him, that he loves you. His mind may not remember, but his body does. His heart does. He knows it instinctively and that night and next morning gives him the courage to lean into it, to explore it, even if he’s not ready to really say it out loud again. 

He wants to do something special for you. His heart is racing in his chest as he makes his way up the stairs. You’re in your home office, catching up on a few emails from the last few weeks you’ve been on leave. You’re curled up in your desk chair in an oversized sweater, your hair bunched on the top of your head and your glasses perched on your nose; even now, you completely blow him away. 

He clears his throat and knocks his knuckles against the door frame. A smile instantly appears on your face when you turn to him. 

“Am I interrupting anything?” He asks. He’s so nervous his palms are sweating. 

“Never. What’s up?” 

He notices how your eyes shift down to his right arm, where his hand is noticeably behind his back hiding something from you. Inhaling a deep breath, he unveils a small bouquet of wildflowers, holding them out to you. 

You gasp, a look of surprise overtaking you, and your eyes lift back to meet his as you gently take the arrangement from him. 

“I was wondering if you had any plans tonight?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart. I feel like I’m maybe about to.”

The blush is instantaneous; you’re the only one who has ever been able to get reactions Iike this from him - no wonder he married you. You had no problem in keeping him on his toes and oh, he loved that. 

He clears his throat again, determined not to let you completely overpower him like this, if only for his own ego. He stands up a little straighter, sending you a smirk and a wink even as he could still feel the heat on his face. 

“Be ready to go by 7,” he tells you, turning to walk out of the room before tossing over his shoulder, “dress nice.”

————-

His brain short circuits when you come down the stairs right at 7:00 that night.

You’re in a dark green dress that seems to flow down your body to your calves. The sleeves are billowy but clinch tight at your wrists. Your hair is down and your makeup is done and he wants to kiss that soft shade of pink right off your lips.

“Wow,” he whispers, “you look…”

For a second, he sees you opening the door for him instead of walking down the staircase. He’s seen this before, he thinks. 

When he fails to finish, you laugh nervously. “Nice, I hope?”

But Bradley shakes his head.  “Beautiful,” he says instead, “you look beautiful.”

He made reservations at a nice restaurant not too far from your house, and he’s glad he hasn’t been cleared to drive just yet, because there’s no way he would have been able to concentrate on the road with you in his passenger seat looking like that. 

His hand is firm on the small of your back as he leads you inside. Even in your pretty nude shoes, he’s still a head taller than you, and he can’t help but puff his chest knowing that everyone who saw you walk in together knows that you’re here with him. 

He gives the hostess his name, rubbing small circles on your back as you wait. You shiver at his touch and move just the slightest bit closer to him. He can feel the side of your body against his side. 

His bubble bursts, however, when the red headed hostess gives him an remorseful, panicked look. 

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Bradshaw. I was the one you spoke with this morning but I accidentally put your reservation for this time next week. I’m so, so sorry.” 

Looking behind her into the restaurant itself, he knows it would be futile to ask if there were any reservations available for tonight. He bites the inside of his cheek, trying to curb his frustration at the situation. She couldn’t be older than 22 or 23, and she looks genuinely apologetic at the situation. With a deep sigh, he musters a reassuring smile, telling the young girl that it was okay. 

To his surprise, you don’t seem upset at all. In fact, you look practically giddy at the disruption of his plans. 

“We can go somewhere else,” you swear, nearly bouncing in your heels, tugging him out of the crowded restaurant. 

“You look incredibly happy for someone who might not be getting dinner tonight.”

You throw your head back as you lead him toward your car, your laughter spreading through the full parking lot. “Like you’d ever let me starve.”

His lips quirk, knowing that no, he would certainly not. 

When you get to the car, instead of unlocking it, you whip around to face him. You had turned so fast that he doesn’t have time to keep himself from running into you. He grabs onto your waist to keep from knocking you over, but leaves them there when you settle your hands on his chest. 

“Forget trying to impress me with fancy dinners. What’s something fun you used to do on weekends when you were a kid? I want you to take me there.” 

He sucks in a breath and his hands tighten on your waist. 

Suddenly, he’s in another parking lot. It’s colder outside, but under the jacket you’re wearing, he spots the same green dress. Your hair is a little bit shorter, maybe a little bit darker, but your eyes sparkle in the shine of the street lights just as they are now. You’re leaning against the side of his Bronco, speaking the exact same words after another messed up reservation. 

When he snaps out of it, one of your hands has moved to cup his cheek, your thumb running over his skin. 

This wasn’t the first time this has happened on a first date with you, and suddenly your giddiness makes sense. The two of you are getting almost an exact do-over, even if he didn’t realize it at first.  

He leans in and kisses you. You let out a surprised sound, but don’t hesitate in returning it, your nails scratching through the scruff on his face before coming back down to settle on his chest. When he pulls away, both of you are grinning. 

“How do you feel about arcade games and pizza?” 

Two hours later, you had demolished an arcade bar pizza and mozzarella sticks, and he was sipping on a cheap beer while you had a vodka and ginger ale, and he truly can’t remember ever being so happy. He had beat you at ski ball and Pac Man, but you were giving him an absolute run for his money at air hockey. Seeing you so dialed in directly across from him was distracting, and when he tried to use that as his excuse when you inevitably beat him, your giggle mixed in with the loud games and music surrounding them.

He holds your hand tightly as you weave your way through the crowded arcade, trying to find the giant jenga you promised you’d beat him at. He’s starting to buzz a little bit underneath his skin, jittery in a way that he thinks may be a normal side effect of being in your presence. When you finally break your way through the crowd to the outdoor area of the bar, he pulls you away from where all the other people are, finding a corner outside of the reach of the lights they have woven through the palm trees and around the building. He pushes you gently into the brick, mindful of your head and your dress and the heels you’re still wearing. 

“I think I remember how this ended the first time,” he says, resting one hand on your hip while the other braces against the building beside your head, effectively caging you in. 

“Oh yeah?” you breathe out, threading your fingers through your hair. 

He hums in response, leaning in to whisper in your ear, all the people and sound fading away from around the two of you, “I told you I loved you.” 

Your fingers tighten in his hair for a moment, and he lets you tug him away from your neck to meet your eyes again. 

“I told you you were crazy then, saying that on our first date,” you provided, and Bradley nods, agreeing with you. You gulp slightly, but your eyes are still shining, hopeful and happy. 

“And now?” you whisper, bringing both arms to wrap around his neck, “how are you feeling now?” 

He takes a step closer until his body is flush against yours. He takes a deep breath, breathing in the scent of you, and places a lingering kiss on your forehead. “I’m feeling like I’m remembering why I said it the first time, and why I said it every time after that, too.” 

You push yourself up, capturing his lips with yours, and like he thought over three years ago, he thinks he could kiss you for the rest of his life and die happy. 

It’s after midnight when the two of you get home. He intertwined his fingers with yours as soon as you both got out of the car. He doesn’t let go when you step into the house from the garage, or as you kick off the nude heels you had worn all night. Florry perks her head up from where she’s laying on top of one of the pillows on the couch, but settles back down when she notices it’s just the two of you. You don’t bother turning any of the lights on, making your way to and up the stairs. He tugs you to a halt when you reach the open door to your bedroom. You raise an eyebrow, silently questioning him. 

“I know I’ve been sleeping in there with you the last few days,” he murmurs, “but I can’t walk you to your front door like on a proper date. The bedroom door seems like the next best thing.”

The small smile you had on your face the whole way home quirks up even higher as you take a step over the threshold and into the room, keeping his hand in yours as you go. “I asked you inside that night, too. Come to bed, sweetheart.” 

He holds you tight that night, his legs intertwined with yours and his arm draped over your waist as you lay facing him. You don’t do more than exchange a few long, lingering kisses, because despite how much he wants to take it further, he knows the two of you aren’t there yet. 

He’s going to earn it, to be certain that you love this version of him as much as you loved the version he doesn’t quite remember yet. He’s looking forward to proving it to the both of you that you can. 

-------

Part Seven :: Series Masterlist :: Main Masterlist

Notes: I hope you liked this one! Nervous is an understatement. Would love to hear any thoughts you may have :)

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#mila's early endless summer #if you love it reblog it #im catching up!

[pisupsala]

I love love love the dynamic in this story, it's so sharp and playful, the tension is so great. Everything is so well executed, which makes it so immersive and great to read, every time. This is one of the Hangman fics I've read, and honestly, it set a standard.

Less Talk | Part VIII

Jake Seresin x F!Reader

A/N: Wooooh we're finally back! Hope y'all enjoy this infuriating little tale of will they won't they XD

Summary: Jake can't stand Bradley's best friend. What's more, he's probably in love with her, which really pisses him off.

CW: Swearing, suggestive dialogue and actions, it's an angsty one

Masterlist | Part I

Jake senses Bradley stiffen in the seat to his right and suppresses a scowl. He's been regulating the outward expression of his feelings for you since the day you met, so what's a couple more hours?

Bradley cranes his neck, watching you step out of the car while Mustang examines his taillights with a frown. You shut your own door and join him near the trunk when he finally straightens his back. Then the two of you head for the entrance.

“I fucking knew it,” Bradley mutters.

Jake releases a steady breath, trying his best to mask his own misery. “Are you gonna tell me what’s going on with her?” he says casually.

Bradley looks at Jake with a sour expression. “You spend more time with her than I do these days. You tell me.”

Jake swears under his breath as Bradley rises from his chair. For a moment, he considers completely ignoring you and your piece of shit excuse for a boyfriend. ­Ex-boyfriend, he reminds himself adamantly, finally getting out of his seat. He's not sure why Bradley's so distraught by Mustang's presence, but he's getting tired of all the mystery.

He looks up when you walk into the restaurant, his eyes meeting yours the moment you enter. You’ve got your arm hooked through Mustang’s and Jake nearly sits back down.

But the smug look on Mustang’s face makes him reconsider. Jake Seresin isn’t one to shy away from a fight, if that’s what it comes down to. And whatever your reason is for arriving with this jackass, Jake deserves to know it. He steps around the table and marches alongside Bradley as he approaches the two of you.

You glance between Bradley and Jake innocently, as though you’ve absolutely no idea why the two men are stopping you before you even reach the table.

“Is everything okay here?” Bradley asks commandingly, his eyes sliding between you and Mustang.

You give him a jolly smile that is so far from genuine, it borders on comical, and say, “Of course.” Jake narrows his eyes at you, but you avoid his gaze and blink up at Mustang instead. “Shall we find a seat?” You're carrying a gift bag that's big enough to fit a small toddler and you look as though it might tip you over at any moment.

“Hold it,” Jake says sternly.

Mustang gives him a sharp look, but Jake keeps his eyes on you. You meet his gaze reluctantly.

For a split second, Jake wonders if he’s the crazy one. If he’s been so infatuated with you that he’s completely misread the situation. Maybe he’s got no reason to be upset. Maybe it was just a kiss. Two, he reminds himself adamantly. It was two.

You transfer the gift bag from one hand to the other impatiently and shake out the unburdened arm.

Jake reaches for the gift bag and takes it out of your grasp, holding it out to Mustang pointedly. This idiot can't take a hint, apparently.

Mustang stares at the bag and then blinks up at Jake, so Jake shoves it forcefully into his stomach. “Try to make yourself useful, son,” he says flatly.

Mustang takes the bag obediently even though his features are still twisted in confusion.

“Can I steal you for a minute?” Jake asks, returning his attention to you.

Mustang snaps out of his trance and steps forward as if to assert his dominance, but you place a hand on his arm and nod mutely. “I'll meet you at the table,” you say gingerly.

Jake gestures for you to lead the way, not even bothering to grace Mustang with a farewell.

You take a few steps away and stop, but Jake is right behind you and gives you a slight nudge to keep you moving. You glance up at him and he nods toward the back of the restaurant. You oblige, navigating the narrow spaces between the tables on your way to the rear while Jake keeps a couple of fingers on your lower back.

You round the corner into the corridor leading into the kitchen and turn to look at him with a blank expression. Jake studies you quietly for a moment, wondering if you might try to explain yourself before he has to ask. When you raise your eyebrows questioningly, he scoffs, saying, “What the fuck?”

You appear taken aback by his brusqueness, but he isn’t overly concerned with hurting your delicate feelings. In fact, riling you is probably the easiest way to get you to talk.

“What the fuck is he doing here?” he asks, taking a step forward.

You compensate by taking a step back. “We’re working things out,” you respond nonchalantly, as though Jake should have seen this coming.

Jake watches you broodingly until you finally lower your gaze. “No, you’re not,” he says finally.

You look up at him abruptly and he can sense the hostility in your eyes. “What do you want, Seresin?” you ask irritably, like he’s getting on your last nerve.

“I want you to tell me what he’s doing here,” he repeats, taking another step toward you.

You swallow uncomfortably but don’t retreat again. “We decided to give it another shot,” you say, shrugging.

Jake shakes his head when you avert your gaze once more. “You’re lying,” he says. He knows you, and something about you feels off.

You let out a frustrated sigh but obstinately keep your eyes on the ground.

“What about yesterday?” he asks.

You glance up at him reproachfully. “What about it?” you say with a grimace.

Jake takes a final step forward, towering over you while you lift your face to maintain eye contact. “Want me to remind you?” he says quietly, each strike of his accelerating heartbeat growing closer to his throat.

You roll your eyes, apparently completely unfazed by his advances. “It was just a kiss, Seresin,” you say. “It didn’t mean anything.”

Jake makes another attempt. “It was two,” he points out.

You sigh, glancing over Jake’s shoulder anxiously to check that the two of you are still alone. “One, two, twenty – who cares?” you say jadedly.

Jake tightens his jaw, not even attempting to conceal the bitterness in his voice. “Are you really just gonna stand here and pretend like you don’t feel it too?” he says. Normally, he’d have walked away by now. But he’ll be damned if this doesn't work out on account of your stupid ego. Or his, for that matter.

“Come on, Jake,” you say cynically, crossing your arms. “You’re not the feeling type.”

Jake exhales forcefully; you’re not wrong, but he doesn't want to get into it. How could he possibly explain that this assessment is no longer as accurate as he’s led you to believe? How could he tell you that things have changed in recent weeks – that he’s changed?

He can’t. Not without baring his soul. And he’s not prepared to do that for anybody.

“You’re right,” he murmurs, taking your elbow gently and drawing you forward. He detects a hint of citrus as you near and it dizzies him. “I actually don’t give a shit about you at all.”

He sees the twitch of your lips as you attempt to hold back a smile and lowers his head to rest it over yours. “There he is,” you mutter softly.

“Couldn't care less,” he adds, coasting his fingers up your arms as you unfold them.

“Sounds about right,” you breathe, and he can feel your fingers slowly twist into the material of his dress shirt. It’s all he can do not to steer you backward into the wall and run his hands up the curves of your waist and capture your mouth in his and –

He lets the tip of his nose brush the bridge of yours lightly while the torrent inside him rages on. “You drive me up the wall, I swear,” he admits, his voice cracking as a short-lived chuckle escapes with his words.

“It comes naturally,” you respond, and he can hear your smile without having to see it.

“I bet.”

“I can’t stand you,” you mutter as your fingers tangle further into the gaps between the buttons of his shirt.

Jake closes his eyes when said fingers make contact with his skin. “I don’t blame you,” he whispers, his mouth hovering just above yours.

Your hands relax slightly as your fingers graze his stomach through the slits of his shirt. “Anything else?” you ask, your eyes lifting to meet his gaze.

Jake nods slowly. “You’re really fucking annoying,” he says, bringing his hand up to trace the outline of your face.

Your smile widens. “I’m sorry about that.”

Jake shakes his head. “Don’t be,” he whispers, sliding his hand behind your head and pulling you forward. But, being the complete idiot he is, just before kissing you, he asks again, “Why’d you bring him?”

You let your face fall slightly, so that your forehead lands right on his lips. He doesn’t miss this opportunity to kiss it. “He and I aren’t together anymore, Jake,” you respond. “We’re just here as friends,” you add, but you still withdraw slightly.

Jake isn’t sure how to respond and his hands fall away from you as you retreat. Your message is fairly straightforward, but your tone has an air of ambiguity to it which gives him pause.

“He’s trying to be nice,” you continue. “He offered me a ride.”

“I could’ve given you a ride,” Jake says impulsively; defensively. There’s no way this asshole is here because you were short on a mode of transportation.

You sigh. “There’s more to it.”

“No shit,” he responds.

“Look, I don’t have to explain myself to you,” you snap. “Just – don’t get involved. Please.”

Jake fixes you with a defiant sort of scowl. “Did he threaten you?” he asks, his voice somewhat gravelly as he tries to suppress his anger.

“It’s not like that,” you say quickly. “Let it go.”

Jake juts out his jaw and sucks in his cheeks, nodding. “Okay,” he says finally. “Go ahead and enjoy your friend’s company, then.” He gestures for you to go back into the dining room.

You give him a sardonic look and approach him with a small smile. “Try to behave,” you say in a soft, sultry voice that sends a ripple through his body.

He turns to follow you and lowers his head to mutter, “Did you give Mustang the same instructions?” just as the two of you enter the dining room.

You glance up at him with a chuckle. “I’m far more concerned about you.”

Jake grins. “You’re concerned about me?” He claps a hand to his chest. “I’m touched.”

You roll your eyes as the two of you approach the table. “Behave,” you repeat.

Jake pulls a chair out for you as you greet the rest of the party. He leans in to whisper, “No promises,” as you lower yourself into the seat beside Bradley.

…

“They’re not together,” Bradley states with a hint of skepticism as he observes your interaction with Mustang at the bar.

Jake watches the two of you sourly. “They’re just friends,” he confirms as Mustang aims a broad grin in your direction and hands you a tropical looking drink.

“He’s a chauffeur,” Bradley adds with a shrug.

Jake nods, still staring you down as you take a sip and smile, pretending to enjoy the beverage. “She hates orange juice,” Jake states.

Bradley raises his eyebrows and looks over at him.

“Why doesn’t she just tell him that she hates orange juice?” Jake asks irritably, shifting his weight restlessly as he debates walking right up to Mustang and communicating the information, himself.

Bradley glances back at you. “She doesn’t seem to mind it.”

Jake narrows his eyes, marvelling at how easily you carry out the charade, wondering what your angle is.

“Is that cake?” Bradley says suddenly, interrupting Jake’s train of thought.

Impassively, Jake looks over at the table where the party guests have begun to help themselves to the assortment of desserts. “It’s from the bakery across the street,” he mutters, returning his attention to the bar where Mustang appears to be sliding closer and closer to you, nearly pinning you to the counter.

“You brought cake?” Bradley sounds bemused.

Jake sighs loudly. “Of course, I brought cake, Bradshaw. It’s a damn birthday.” Meanwhile, he sees you laughing at something Mustang said as though you actually think he’s funny.

“What kind?”

Jake looks back at Bradley absently. “What?”

“The cake?” Bradley asks.

Jake grimaces. “How should I know?”

Bradley stares at him in confusion. “Are you okay?”

“Is he flirting with her?” Jake says distractedly, watching as Mustang places his hand on your back and leans his head in to whisper something in your ear.

Bradley looks back over at you and shrugs. “I wasn’t buying the whole friend thing, anyway,” he says.

Jake grunts in response. “You want cake?” he asks, seeing you pull Mustang toward the table of sweets.

Bradley hesitates. “It depends what kind –”

But Jake doesn’t let him finish. “Yeah, me too,” he says, starting to shove Bradley in the direction of the dessert table. He arrives at the same time you do and gives you a tarty look while Bradley clears his throat uncomfortably.

“How’s it going?” Bradley flashes a quick grin in Mustang’s direction.

You eye Jake nervously before lowering your gaze and it nearly kills him that Mustang’s got his hand planted snugly on your hip. Just friends don’t grope one another, and Jake is about to point this little tidbit out when Mustang speaks. “I think we need to start over,” he says in a grandiose tone, extending his hand to Jake.

Jake slowly tears his eyes away from you to give Mustang a stony look. “I don’t think that’s necessary,” he responds coldly. He can feel your aggravation without even looking at you, but this doesn’t discourage him in the slightest. Your soft spot for Mustang is slowly eating away at him and he can’t help the animosity that’s burning up his veins.

Mustang laughs off Jake’s curt response and puts a second arm around you, as though he means to claim his territory. Jake narrows his eyes at him, clenching his jaw as he watches you pat Mustang on the belly before casually squirming out of his embrace. You give Jake a stern expression and then aim a gracious smile at Mustang. “Don’t mind him,” you say. “Jake doesn’t play nice with anybody.”

Jake rolls his eyes despite the pointed glance he receives from Bradley.

“Can’t we all just get along?” Mustang offers, shooting Jake a smarmy grin.

You nod your head at Mustang, apparently completely missing the blatant insincerity of his statement, and Jake could swear this gesture makes his blood boil. He shifts closer to you and, before he can stop himself, he lifts his hand and hooks a finger through one of the belt loops on the back of your shorts, giving you a small, but purposeful tug.

You glance at him over your shoulder but, otherwise, act like nothing is amiss. Of course, despite being amply aware that this sort of stunt isn’t altogether becoming, the fact that you don’t seem overly opposed to his discreetly possessive behavior gives him a fair bit of comfort. So much so that he even gives the loop another soft pull, bringing your back into his chest. It’s a microscopic movement since the four of you are already jammed so close together in the midst of the crowd, but he swears that you lean into him for a moment, letting your shoulder blades rest on his pecs before you straighten your posture.

“Want to catch a movie tonight?” Mustang asks you, grabbing a plate for himself once he reaches the table.

“She’s busy,” Jake responds before you can say anything. He takes a plate from the stack and hands it to you, ignoring your arching eyebrows as you give him an incredulous look.

He also ignores Bradley’s amused expression even as the latter turns away, pretending not to have heard the exchange.

When you open your mouth to protest, Jake meets your gaze and says, “Trust me, you’re busy.”

You purse your lips, but Jake can tell that you’re suppressing a smile, so he swipes his thumb over the delicate skin of your lower back, just above the waistband of your shorts. He savors the fleeting lapse in your façade; the subtle flutter of your eyelids as you experience the thrill of his touch – however faint it might be. And it rattles him. Your momentary slip, the nearly imperceptible manifestation of pleasure that hijacks your features, rattles him, as though the arousal had been his own.

And he wants more. He wants to witness every cadence of bliss on your face. He wants to savor every single intake of breath. He wants you, alone, uninhibited.

His grasp constricts around the loop of your waistband, tightening its circumference around your waist. You submit willingly to this additional tug, letting your backside connect with his body as if you want him to pull you closer. To hold you firmer. To grip you harder.

…

“Can I buy you a proper drink?” Jake asks, approaching your seated figure at the bar.

Your gaze drifts up Jake’s body as he situates himself on the stool beside you. You let out a humorless laugh, pointedly pushing away the Screwdriver you’ve been nursing for the past hour.

“Having a good time?” he asks after hailing over the bartender to put in the drink order.

You eye him warily before dropping your gaze into your lap and dragging your teeth over your bottom lip. Jake glances around to confirm that there’s nobody nearby. He hooks a hand behind your calf and rotates you to face him on your stool. You lift your eyes carefully. “Are you?”

Jake holds your gaze. “Not particularly.”

You lift your eyebrows unsympathetically. “You should work on your people skills. Might make social gatherings more enjoyable.”

Jake suppresses a grin. “Are you lecturing me on people skills?”

“As a matter of fact, I get along with everybody but you,” you respond haughtily.

Jake smiles, his gaze drifting down to your mouth as you try to keep a straight face. “That’s because you’re not comfortable being yourself with anybody else.” His hand is still tucked into the crevice behind your knee, and he squeezes the muscle of your leg gently.

You scoff, shaking your head. “You’re so fucking full of yourself.”

Jake skims his fingers along the underside of your thigh. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

Your eyes slide over Jake’s shoulder. “He’s just outside,” you say, your voice suddenly on edge.

Jake tilts his head to the side as though he’s puzzled. He’s not; in fact, he was waiting for this reaction. “Your driver?” he asks brazenly.

You give him a flat look. “Oh, you’re being a dick. What a surprise.”

Jake shrugs, curbing the nausea in the pit of his stomach – which definitely doesn’t need a label – with a gulp of beer. He’s not the jealous type. “Why would ‘just a friend’ take issue with our conversation?”

You watch him coolly without responding. Finally, you turn back to the counter and Jake drops his hand from your leg.

Despite his frequent quips about your tendency to distribute your opinion like it’s a courtesy to mankind, the irony of finding himself wondering what’s actually on your mind is not lost on him. Not your stance on the import of exotic fruit or the numerous ways he could reduce his carbon footprint. Not even your unfortunate disdain for his beloved truck, although he might circle back to that one at a later date.

No. These aren’t the things that matter. Not immediately, anyway. What you’re holding back is far more personal. And, with an unpleasant – and therefore significant – pang, Jake realizes that he wants to know. That he isn’t just a stand-in, waiting for Bradley to swoop in and provide timely emotional support. He isn’t an acquaintance making small talk just to pass the time. He isn’t a friend of a friend. Not anymore. Not for a long time. And he cares. He cares about you and your feelings and he cares about your ridiculous principles. He’s unplugged his goddamn table fan, for crying out loud. He mowed his lawn.

“Why did you bring him?” he asks. It’s the same question as before but it’s vulnerable this time around. He’s not demanding an answer. He’s begging for one.

Absently, you twist the stem of your fresh glass between your fingers. For a moment, Jake thinks you might ignore the question. Then, you let out a heavy sigh. “I need him,” you say.

Jake narrows his eyes. Need can take on many forms and he could use an elaboration. “In what sense?” he asks, a little hurt that you don’t seem to need him.

“Can we just move on?” you say irritably, taking a sip of your drink.

Jake shifts his jaw, considering your request. Finally, he shakes his head. “I can’t.”

You look over at him sharply and he can tell that his response has taken you by surprise. If he’s being honest, it’s a bit of a shock to him as well. He’s not one to dwell on matters that don’t concern him. He’s not one to pry. So why won’t he just drop it?

But he’s on his feet before he can process his own actions. He’s speaking before he can gather his thoughts. “You know where I stand, princess,” he says in a low, but assertive voice, somewhere far too close to your ear to resemble a friendly exchange. His hand drifts along the hem of your shorts before he finally turns to walk away.

It takes exactly two seconds for you to call out, “Jake!”

He rotates slowly to look at you, swallowing uncomfortably as he awaits your next move. He watches you calmly, trying his best to quell the hope that’s disturbing his breathing.

You’re gazing at him anxiously, as though the last thing you want is for him to depart. And the regret on your face makes him believe you might reconsider keeping him in the dark. So, against his better judgement, he takes a step back toward you.

And what a relief this brings; as though you’ve got him hooked on a tension cable. But before he can take another step, he hears the front door open, and Mustang’s voice carry confidently over the other patrons’ conversations.

“There’s something I need to get off my chest!” he announces as he makes his way toward the bar.

Jake witnesses the lightning transformation of your face as he nears: confusion – alarm – a forced but terrified smile.

Mustang crashes into the counter clumsily and throws a heavy arm over your shoulders, the weight of which makes you wince. You whisper something indiscernible to him, but he waves a dismissive hand at you before you even finish.

“We wanted to wait until after the party,” he continues in a booming voice as your eyes slide nervously to Jake and then search the restaurant for Bradley. “Because we didn’t want to take away from Mickey’s birthday celebration…”

“What the fuck is going on?” Jake turns to see Bradley at his side.

Jake shakes his head. “He’s hammered.”

Bradley looks down at his watch. “It’s barely noon.”

Jake narrows his eyes as he watches you fidget under Mustang’s arm. This can’t be what you want out of life. It just can’t.

“But I suck at keeping secrets,” Mustang continues with a chuckle.

This piques Jake’s interest. If you’re not going to share with the class, perhaps he can get the necessary intel from Mustang. And he’s almost pleased with this turn of events. Until, that is, Mustang speaks again. And shortly thereafter, Jake feels like he might just throw up.

Mustang grins broadly and looks down at you lovingly. He cups your cheek with his hand tenderly. He kisses your forehead. And then he turns back to the growing crowd of spectators. “We’re engaged!” he declares. “We’re getting married!”

Read Part 9

A/N: Thank you for reading! Hope you guys liked this chapter! Sometimes I wanna shake these two and say, in my best Mav voice, "Don't think just talk!" They still have a ways to go.. Until next time! xoxo

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#mila's early endless summer #if you love it reblog it #rereading

[pisupsala]

Less Talk | Part VII

Jake Seresin x F!Reader

Summary: Jake can't stand Bradley's best friend. What's more, he's probably in love with her, which really pisses him off.

CW: Swearing, suggestive language, excessive banter & fluff

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Masterlist

Jake walks out onto the porch, closing the door behind him. You’re sitting on the top step with your elbows resting on your knees and your chin in your hands.

“You look happy,” Jake comments, taking a seat beside you.

You glance over at him jadedly. “I’ve had a day,” you respond.

Jake gives you a pointed look. “You don’t say,” he notes sarcastically. He had gathered as much when you fled the living room after snapping at Bradley for trying to interrogate you once more.

You roll your eyes, but your mouth moves into a slight grin. “Shut up, Seresin.”

Jake leans sideways to nudge you gently on the shoulder. “Wanna get out of here?”

You furrow your eyebrows. “This is your party.”

Jake waves a hand. “It’s Bradley’s party.”

You eye him skeptically. “Right,” you say, seemingly unconvinced. “What’s he celebrating again?”

Jake endeavors to keep a straight face while meeting your gaze. “How should I know?” he asks.

You half-scoff, half-laugh in response and this makes Jake bizarrely happy. It’s stupid how giddy getting you to smile makes him feel.

He watches you steadily, wondering how many times you’ve caught him staring at you when even he hadn’t realized it. “Seriously,” he says. “What’s stopping us from just taking off?”

You glance at him with a somewhat bewildered expression. “Where would we even go?” you ask.

Jake shrugs. “Wherever you want to go.”

You narrow your eyes distrustfully. “You’re doing it again,” you say.

Jake grimaces. “What?”

“Being nice.”

“It’s strange that you find kindness suspicious,” he responds. “It’s kind of a red flag.”

You let out a soft laugh. “In my defense, I don’t ever expect it out of you.”

Jake nods, not entirely surprised at your response. Nonetheless, he exhales wearily and turns to face forward.

He feels your shoulder as you nudge him back. “Well, don’t sulk about it, you big baby,” you say playfully. “Is it my fault you’re usually an asshole?”

Jake stares at the porch steps before him stiffly, having barely registered your insult. You’re still leaning into him and, as a result, his entire body is in a state of acute arousal. Thoughts of reaching over and sinking his hand into your thigh to pull you in and wrap your leg around his torso are trampling his original intentions of carrying on a respectable conversation. “Did you just call me baby?” he mutters absently.

“Umm.” There’s an awkward pause after this articulation during which you straighten your back, thereby releasing Jake from the stupor caused by your innocent – yet noticeably prolonged – nudge.

Jake turns to look at you, still mildly dazed. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I missed that last part.”

You blink at him mutely, then tear your gaze away and rise to your feet. “I said, you’re an asshole,” you say causally.

Jake creases his eyebrows, glancing after you as you skip down the steps. “I might’ve missed a little more than just the last part, then,” he mumbles, mostly to himself. Then he gets up. “You know who’s an asshole?” he says, confidence gaining in his voice. “Mustang.”

You roll your eyes. “You don’t even know him.”

Jake cocks his head inquisitively, wondering if your ex might have something to do with your elusive behavior. “I know enough,” he says, hoping to provoke you into conversation.

You kick at the overgrown yard. “You should cut your grass,” you say moodily, clearly attempting to change the subject.

Jake sighs, disappointed that you didn’t take the bait. “It’s No Mow May,” Jake says half-heartedly, surprised that you aren’t familiar with the trend considering your aggressive views on environmental preservation.

You give him a disgusted look. “Don’t tell me you buy that crap.”

Jake gawks at you. “I’m saving the bees!”

You lift an eyebrow judgementally. “For a month?”

“Look at all my dandelions!”

You shake your head disapprovingly. “All you’re doing is delaying the inevitable. Your weeds are already outgrowing your grass and you’re going to end up needing pesticides before the summer is through, thus negating your supposed act of good will.”

“It’s about spreading awareness, genius,” Jake bites back.

“It’s about a lack of awareness, actually.”

Jake sighs audibly, rolling his head back to glance upward in frustration. He puts his hands on his hips before looking back down at you. “Must you always be so goddamn pessimistic?”

You scoff indignantly. “And what happens when you mow your lawn in June? You destroy the food source of all your precious pollinators. Maybe chop up some unsuspecting field mice or bunnies that have taken up shelter in your luscious yard.”

Jake’s jaw drops in horror. “Stop talking,” he says with a cringe.

“Well, don’t be an idiot and cut your damn grass, Seresin.”

“It was Bradshaw’s idea,” Jake retorts. Now that he’s learned your opinion, he no longer needs to take credit for the so-called eco-friendly practice of propagating weeds.

You eye the unkempt grass skeptically, apparently not sold on the notion that Bradley Bradshaw should be on the receiving end of your criticism. But just when you open your mouth to voice your displeasure on the matter, Jake lets out a resolute breath, takes a swift step toward you, and plants his lips right on top of yours.

It takes a moment for him to even realize what he’s doing, let alone recognize that you aren’t pulling away or shrieking in alarm or punching the living daylights out of him. On the contrary, you’re completely still, frozen in place; possibly traumatized.

And Jake, well, Jake is just as shocked as you are, if not more. And, as a result, just as immobile. Never in all his years has Jake Seresin underperformed so tremendously. Never has he delivered such an inadequate kiss. A kiss? Could he even call it that? He ponders as his lips remain glued motionless on top of yours.

And then, you shift ever so slightly forward. And this gesture, this cue – because that is how Jake decides to interpret your movement which could just as easily be attributed to uncomfortable footwear – gives him a much-needed confidence boost. He places his hands firmly on your hips, clutching you with purpose, with conviction.

In response, you slide further into him, forcing him to wrap his arms all the way around your waist. And you open your mouth, letting him slip his tongue inside while your lips brush softly over his. And, when he feels your hands rest tentatively on his abdomen, he nearly loses his balance, paralyzed all over again.

He takes your hand – the one creeping up his chest – easing the tension in your curled-up fist as his kiss draws you closer and closer. He is so consumed by the feel of your body in his arms, so stunned that you’re actually allowing him to hold you, that your earlier argument about – birds, was it? – has thoroughly been swept from his mind. And your previously puzzling behavior is but a distant memory.

Until, that is, the front door creaks open and the two of you abruptly disperse, and you have the audacity to welcome the intrusion with a wide, guilt-ridden smile. “Bradley!” you exclaim. “We were just commending your decision to participate in No Mow May!”

Jake turns to look at you in awe.

Bradley appears skeptical. “You were?”

Jake watches you sourly before turning to his roommate. “She was going on and on about it,” he confirms.

Bradley glances between the two of you suspiciously. “So, you guys are just out here admiring the lawn?”

Jake purses his lips. “More or less,” he responds.

Bradley nods slowly. “Yeah, I think it was a good decision,” he says finally.

Jake watches you take in a controlled breath and grins. “Definitely,” he says. “If nothing else, it serves as excellent fodder for conversation.”

“Not that the two of you ever lack fodder,” Bradley notes sarcastically.

“Speaking of fodder,” you say, placing a hand over your stomach. “I’m hungry.” You start for the door, but Jake intervenes before you even reach the porch.

“But,” he says, “our…the…” He sighs. “Don’t you think we should finish our conversation?”

Bradley steps aside to let you pass and turns to Jake. “I didn’t realize you were this enthusiastic about biodiversity.”

Jake gives Bradley a flat look. “Who isn’t?”

Bradley nods appreciatively. “Want to talk to me about it?” he asks.

Jake narrows his eyes at him as though he can’t believe that his friend isn’t catching on yet. “Not really.” Then he hops up onto the porch after you. “You’re going inside?” he asks, catching up to you. You glance up at him and he meets your gaze in a bit of a panic. “It was quite a riveting discussion we were having that Rooster so rudely interrupted,” he says, giving Bradley another pointed look before turning back to you. “Don’t you have anything to add?”

Bradley rolls his eyes and folds his arms across his chest. “Do you really have that much more to say on the topic of grass, Hangman?”

Jake makes a face at him. “Bradshaw, don’t you have a party to host?”

You let out a quiet chuckle and Jake reverts his attention to you. You grace him with a tight smile and say, “We can chat later, Seresin.”

Jake stares at you dizzily, trying to determine whether the two of you are on the same page, metaphorically speaking. When your eyes linger suggestively on his, he dares to return your smile. “Looking forward to it,” he responds cheekily.

Then, Bradley, who, by this point, has also made it back up onto the porch, clears his throat. “Actually, while we’re on the topic of local ecosystems” – he says, but Jake interrupts him before he can finish.

“Good god, are you still here?”

Bradley stops talking and blinks between you and Jake. “Did I interrupt something?” he says.

“No,” you reply.

At the same time, Jake says, “Yes.” You give him a sharp look and he adds, “An argument.”

“Ah.” Bradley nods, apparently completely satisfied with this response.

“And it was very heated,” Jake continues.

You roll your eyes.

“Well, I guess it’s a good thing I came out when I did,” Bradley says, resting his hands on both yours and Jake’s shoulders. “Before things got physical.”

Jake draws a deep, irritated breath, eyeing you knowingly while you avoid his gaze. “Yeah, we definitely wouldn’t want that,” he says tersely.

…

After finally losing Bradley, who seems hellbent on speaking with you in private, Jake watches you head downstairs with an entire bowl of sliced watermelon. He sets down his beer and proceeds after you, rushing down the steps until he arrives at the bottom together with you.

You look over your shoulder in surprise, and he grins at you broadly.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he says cheerily.

You snort, making your way into the rec room with your bowl.

Jake follows you leisurely, as though he isn’t utterly dying to get his hands on you again. “What’s with the fruit?”

You set the bowl down on a side table and plop down onto the couch. “This is the best watermelon I’ve ever eaten.”

Jake raises his eyebrows, approaching the couch. “Guess who picked out that watermelon.”

You throw him a taunting smile. “It’s ridiculous how proud you are about this.”

Jake scoffs, staring at you in amazement. “You just said it’s the best watermelon you’ve ever had! Of course, I’m proud. You’re a hard woman to please.”

Your smile widens and you lower your gaze in a – if Jake didn’t know any better – bashful manner. “Have you been trying?” you ask, glancing back up at him. “To please me?”

Hearing the words please and me come out of your mouth in direct succession sends a significant amount of his blood south, leaving insufficient quantities for frivolous brain functions such as, for instance, speech, so it takes him a minute to formulate a response. “Extensively,” he finally says, his throat a little dry and his voice a little hoarse.

Despite his frankness, you regard him with an air of suspicion, as though his assertion isn't altogether reliable. When he moves to take a seat on the couch, you say, “Did you know that there’s actually a method of picking a good watermelon?”

Jake smiles as he plants himself on the opposite end of the couch, realizing that he finds your evasive techniques remarkably endearing. He looks up at you with feigned interest and says with a hint of sarcasm, “I bet I’m about to.”

You give him an impassive look. “I don’t have to tell you if you don’t want to know.”

Jake laughs. “Are you telling me that, all this time, I could have just asked you to stop talking?”

You pucker your lips trying to keep a straight face. You pull the bowl off the table and extend your arm. “Want some?”

“Some of the best watermelon you’ve ever had?” he asks facetiously.

You roll your eyes. “Get over it, cowboy.”

Jake chuckles. “I’m good,” he says. You shrug and take a slice out of the bowl for yourself. Meanwhile, Jake is in the mood for something entirely different but not any less sweet.

“Hey, Seresin,” you say, setting the bowl back down and sinking further into the couch, getting cozy. You pull your legs up and sit cross-legged, biting into your watermelon. “I have a sort of weird question for you.”

Jake stretches his arm over the back of the couch, facing you. “That is weird,” he says. “Normally, all you have are answers.”

You make a face at him but continue, “What do you want out of life?”

Jake watches you carefully, wondering if this is yet another attempt to pull his leg.

“I mean” – you wave your hand casually – “disregarding the fact that we are tiny, meaningless specks of matter in an infinite expanse of universe, and our existence is inconceivably fleeting in the grand scheme of things and thus our desires absolutely irrelevant.” You meet his gaze earnestly. “What do you want?”

Jake raises his eyebrows. “Disregarding all of that?” he asks wryly.

You sigh impatiently. “Don’t be a dick.”

“It’s hard.” Jake cringes. “Sorry, bad joke,” he adds. “I’ll stop.”

You shake your head and look away. “Forget it.”

Jake takes advantage of your brief lapse in vigilance to slide a little closer. “Does this weird question have anything to do with that thing you don’t want to talk about?”

Your silence confirms Jake’s theory. His arm is still stretched over the back of the couch only, now that he’s closer, his hand is resting right behind your head. Hesitantly, he lifts it and skims his fingertips up the back of your neck. You look over at him sharply, startling him enough that he nearly jumps.

You study him guardedly, but the intensity of your gaze isn’t the threatening kind. Your teeth graze your bottom lip as your eyes flit down to his mouth. Meanwhile, Jake sits very still, trying to supress any physical manifestations of the pandemonium surging in his gut and setting his insides ablaze.

Finally, you relax your posture and slump into the couch, resting your head back, right into his hand. Jake curls his fingers into your hair and runs his thumb along the curve of your ear, admiring your side profile. After several minutes, you turn your head so that your face rests in his palm and give him a small smile.

Jake debates whether he should kiss you again since you seemed to not mind it so much the first time around. Besides, now that he’s tasted your lips, he can hardly think of anything else. So, before you have a chance to bestow upon him yet another random piece of wisdom, he leans forward and brushes your lips with his.

And he can feel your face lift from his hand as you stretch your neck to kiss him back, and he compensates by sliding his hand down your neck. And you reach outward to grab a chunk of his shirt to pull him in, and he obliges by moving closer. And you gasp softly into his mouth when his other hand finds its way to the side of your face, and Jake lets it linger over your cheek because you seem to like it there.

And the way your tongue rolls gently against his; the way your breaths coincide with his every movement; the way you whisper, “Jake,” like he’s the source of your pleasure has him on the brink of a very precarious precipice.

He cups your face between his hands, breathing out steadily as he tries to control the unrelenting urge to rip the clothes right off of your body. The way you’re panting against his mouth tells him that you may be anticipating a similar scenario.

And maybe he should. Maybe he should just give it to you right here in the middle of the rec room in the musty, old basement. Maybe he should just take you right now in the midst of your mysterious, emotional crisis. Maybe he should just get you out of his system and move on.

Only, he already knows that you’re not that kind of girl. The kind of girl he could just fuck and forget.

Only, he isn’t the kind of guy who could get over a girl like you. Not anymore.

Only, your kiss is interrupted again. This time, however, it's Bob, and he's stumbling down the stairs in search of an unoccupied bathroom in which he could, in his own words, violently hurl and subsequently die and possibly piss, if he remembers to do so.

And, as Jake directs him to the facilities, you wander back upstairs and Jake, who spends a good hour ensuring that Bob doesn't, in fact, die, doesn't see you again until the following morning at Mickey's birthday brunch, to which you arrive in a white fucking mustang.

Read Part 8

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#mila's early endless summer #if you love it reblog it #rereading

[pisupsala]

The Younger Kind Part 40 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: When Casey is obnoxious to you once again, you try your best to go about your day even though you're on the verge of tears. Bradley knew he shouldn't have been lying to you, but he didn't see any other way of dealing with things. Especially not when he was making some last minute changes.

Warnings: Swearing, angst, fluff, mentions of smut and age gap (18+)

Length: 5000 words

Pairing: Single dad!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x babysitter!female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! The Younger Kind masterlist.

Bradley didn't answer his phone when you called him on your way to work. Casey was trying to bait you, of that you were almost positive. But Bradley was acting strange all on his own, and the twin bakery boxes made you a little more anxious than you wanted to admit, even to yourself. 

This was going to be the downside to being with Bradley. He was older and sexy and had a real job and a cute kid, and other people were always going to take notice of that. But he put you in his will. He'd talked about rings, and you'd seen them in his internet tabs. There was no way he wasn't serious about this, because even if he was messing with you, he wouldn't mess with Noah. 

But you still felt jealous and petty as you drove to work. That crown shaped donut was adorable and delicious, but at what cost? Now you wished you had taken the time to see what was inside the pastry box Casey had at the daycare. You called Bradley one more time as you walked into work, but of course he didn't answer even though he should still have his phone on him at this hour. The urge to text or call Natasha was strong right now.

After you took care of a few of your patients, you caved and dug your phone out of your bag. Bradley finally responded to you.

Bradley Bradshaw: Hey, I know you said you're going grocery shopping on your way home today, but I need you to pick up Noah. I'll be late again.

You rolled your eyes as you texted him back.

Why exactly will you be late today?

You didn't have time to wait for a response, because you had to get the exam rooms ready for the upcoming patients. Dr. Kelly was dealing with an emergency in exam room one, and there was another child throwing up all over the waiting room. At the rate you were going here, you'd be lucky if you could even get to Noah on time after work. You felt like you were being pulled in four different directions, and you weren't in the mood for Bradley's bullshit. 

When nobody else wanted to clean up the waiting room, you went ahead and did it without complaining; it wasn't that kid's fault he had food poisoning. But you ended up crawling around on the floor for fifteen minutes with rubber gloves on, and then you just got more backed up with the child who was waiting for you in the last exam room. You didn't have time to eat lunch, but you took a quick bathroom break and checked your phone. 

There was nothing from Bradley, but Natasha had texted asking what you were wearing to Admiral Bates' retirement party. You pressed your lips together and took a screenshot of the poofy purple skirt and top that should be arriving today and sent it to her. Before she could respond, you sent another quick message.

Are you working late with Bradley today? Did you have to work late with him yesterday?

You used the bathroom and washed your hands, and you checked your phone one last time. 

Natasha Trace: I haven't been working late, and I followed him out of the parking garage yesterday. That shade of purple is going to look stunning next to Bradley's dress whites. I can't decide between my own dress whites or a formal gown. What's your opinion? Look like one of the guys or look like I'm trying too hard? Like I can't fucking win here, you know?

You absolutely loved that she wanted to ramble to you about her black tie options, you really did. But now you felt uncomfortable in your own skin. She just confirmed for you that Bradley left work on time yesterday. At the bare minimum he was lying to you again, but he could be doing something behind your back that would hurt you even more than that.

"Fuck," you muttered, knowing you had to get back to work. You smiled at your patients and let them take their time picking out stickers all afternoon. You cleaned and disinfected the exam rooms. You entered all of the information into the electronic charts while you answered questions for parents. You did it all without freaking out like you wanted to. 

When you were dismissed, you grabbed your things and rushed to your car to make it to the daycare in time to get Noah. Tears already stung your eyes, because you just knew you'd feel so much better when you got to see him and get a hug. You were still trying to decide if it was better or worse if Casey was still here as you parked and headed inside. Then her eyes locked with yours as soon as you entered the small lobby, and she still looked so smug in her cute outfit. But at least this meant she wasn't with Bradley. 

"Oh, it's you again," she said pleasantly as you walked to the counter. 

You put your hand out for the clipboard and said, "Yep. It's me. Told you I wasn't going anywhere. Could you please bring Noah out?"

"I will," she replied, reaching into that fucking blue box and pulling out a crown shaped donut. She nibbled on the end before setting it down again and handing you the clipboard. "You're the last one to arrive for pickup, which actually makes sense when I think about it. Bradley has you running all over the place for him, doesn't he?"

You ground your molars together to keep your mouth shut and signed your name as she took another bite of the donut. 

"I guess that's what babysitters do though. But it's funny that he didn't mention you at all when he and I were at the bakery yesterday."

Your eyes snapped up to meet her self satisfied gaze, and you wanted to rip that pretty donut out of her hand. "Just go get Noah."

"Gladly," she replied, heading for the classroom door. "You're holding me up right now anyway. I need to get back to Sweet Dreams to meet up with someone who looks damn good in a pair of aviator sunglasses. It's so nice having the best bakery in the city right in my neighborhood. It's a great spot to meet up with people."

If Bradley came home with another blue pastry box and claimed he was at work late again, you were going to throw the box back in his pretty face. 

"Mommy!" Noah called as he streaked across the lobby to you a second later. "I painted a purple dog for you!" He was holding up a painting of a purple blob with eyes and a nose, and you couldn't hold back your smile. 

"I love it," you whispered as you picked him up and kissed his chubby cheek. You made the decision to completely ignore Casey as you turned and walked out to the parking lot. "Hey, we need to stop and get groceries, so how about you pick what you want for dinner tonight."

He looked at you with those brown eyes that were identical to his dad's, except that these ones didn't have to try to look innocent, they just were. "Probably mac and cheese and ants on logs."

"Sounds perfect."

Once you and he got inside the grocery store, you were feeling extra ridiculous. You thought about making it a point to run up Bradley's credit card bill as high as you could by selecting imported exotic fruits and a bottle of champagne, but you just couldn't waste the money. You did buy yourself some expensive chocolate that you ate on the drive home though as you wondered just how late he was going to be tonight. 

You were kind of shocked as you pulled down the block with Noah and a trunk full of groceries to see the Bronco parked in the driveway. It was 6:45, so he must have arrived just before you, and you couldn't wait to put him on the spot. You slammed your door before unbuckling Noah from his seat in the back, and you really did feel like the fucking babysitter again right now. 

"Let's go, sweet Noah," you told him, leaving the groceries where they were for now. Hand in hand, the two of you walked up to the porch while he told you how many raisins he wanted on his carrots, but you barely heard him. When you opened the front door, Bradley was standing right there in the middle of the living room with a stupid smile on his face. He was holding another blue pastry box. 

"Hi," he said, leaning down to kiss you, but you backed away. His face scrunched in concern. "Everything okay?"

Noah was already bugging to see what was in the box this time, and you noticed Bradley had his other hand tucked behind his broad back. 

"I mean... no, not really," you said, slightly embarrassed by the way your voice shook. "Did you see Casey at the bakery again today? Just like last night?"

He looked completely taken aback. "How did you know I saw Casey last night?"

You crossed your arms over your chest and whispered, "Why do you keep lying to me about coming home late?"

Bradley sighed and pressed his lips together. "Look, I didn't want to have to lie to you, okay? That wasn't really my original plan, but then things got a little out of hand, and I didn't really see any other option."

"Just say it," you whispered, ready to reach for the box as your hands shook.

"I just wanted it to be a surprise," he said blandly as he pulled his hand out from behind his back. You gasped, and Noah immediately gave up on his mission to get something sweet out of the blue box.

"A dog!" Noah shouted as you looked at the tiny little Yorkshire terrier that Bradley was holding around the middle with one hand. It had a purple bow on top of its head and one leg in a cast, and it was honestly one of the cutest things you'd ever seen in your life. "A dog! A dog!" 

Bradley dropped down to kneel so Noah could get a closer look, but he kept his eyes on you as he said, "I adopted her from the shelter across town. It's on the same block as that fancy bakery. She has a broken leg, so we need to be really gentle with her while she's healing, okay?" He set the box down on the floor and sat with Noah, and now you were feeling pretty embarrassed. You still wanted to know what Casey was doing, but you tentatively sat down on the floor as well. 

When Bradley held his other arm out, you crawled in to give him a huge while Noah petted the little brown bundle of fur. He was showing how gently he could be, and the dog started licking his hands. You kissed Bradley's cheek, but he looked a little stern as he softly said, "You know I did this for you, right? You and Noah."

You didn't know what else to say, so you simply said, "Thank you."

He sighed and kissed your lips. "I saw Casey for like five minutes while I waited in line to buy your crown donut, okay? The guy from the shelter needed to interview me about getting a dog with an injury, so he and I sat in the bakery for a while and talked. I dropped off a check this afternoon, because they don't accept app payments, and I stopped at the bakery again for you. Then the guy from the shelter came by and did a quick inspection of the house and our backyard like an hour ago. And he left the dog with me. That's all."

You wrapped your arms around his neck and whispered, "I love you, and I love the dog. And I'm happy you got to use your checkbook without anyone laughing at you."

Bradley chuckled as you ran your fingers through the dog's fur. She looked up at you with brown eyes that you swore perfectly matched those of the Bradshaw boys. 

"What's her name?" Noah asked as he got his face licked.

"Whatever you want it to be," Bradley replied. "She doesn't have one yet."

You and Noah made eye contact and both smiled brightly. "Skittles!"

Bradley groaned and laid back on the area rug right next to the snag, and he plopped Skittles down on his chest. "You already had a name picked out? And it's Skittles?"

"Yes!" Noah replied, also laying on Bradley's chest to get better access to his new pet.

"We picked a name that could work for a boy dog or a girl dog," you told Bradley, your heart feeling lighter than it had for the past day. "She's so adorable," you crooned as you ran your dand down her back. "Hi, Skittles. You're precious." Her brown eyes were transfixed on your face as you scratched just the right spot behind her ear. "Why is she in a cast?"

Bradley propped his hands behind his head, and the pup carefully walked up to lick his neck and face as you took a few pictures. "Hit by a car. She was abandoned down near Imperial Beach and someone dropped her at the shelter last week. I mentioned I was looking for a small puppy or younger dog that didn't shed, and Bob found her on the shelter website."

"You were left all alone? You sweet thing," you whispered, getting close enough for a lick across your nose. "She's darling!"

"Can she sleep with me in my bed?" Noah asked as Skittles climbed carefully onto Bradley's bicep and then onto the rug. She sniffed around the pastry box before plopping down bedside Bradley with her broken leg sticking out in front of her. 

"Maybe after her cast comes off, Bub."

Noah tried his best to pout, but you saw right through it, and a few seconds later he was smiling again. "Noah, what do you say to Daddy?" you reminded him. Then he was in Bradley's arms saying thank you a million times in a row.

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

While Bradley unloaded the groceries, you and Noah played on the living room floor with Skittles. He shook his head as he locked your car. "Skittles," he muttered, hauling the last few bags inside. "You've got to be shitting me." He chuckled to himself. You'd come into his life with your candy and your glossy lips and your sweetness and upended everything. He owned a fucking dog now, and you'd named it after your favorite snack. He even had a reminder in his phone to pay off his credit card balance so he could start shopping for a ring next month.

You smiled up at him from the floor as Noah squeaked a toy and held it out to the dog. Damn it, she was actually adorable. And the shelter gave her a little purple bow when he asked for that color. And she definitely had the puppy eyes down pat, because Bradley couldn't even walk through the room without stopping to pet her. 

He ended up carrying Skittles around the house for the rest of the night after you made mac and cheese for dinner. The dog was already trained to go to the bathroom outside, but he needed to be careful with her cast. The staff from the animal shelter had absolutely grilled him for information before they even came out to inspect whether or not the house and yard were safe for her. 

"Yeah, this is your yard now," he whispered to the dog as he carried her outside in one hand. She licked his cheek before he set her down and watched her sniff around as it got darker outside. She was only a year or two old, which is what he wanted. This way Noah and potentially his younger sibling could have more time with her as the dog grew older. 

"Come here," Bradley called, and Skittles moved as quickly as her little casted leg would allow her to. She stopped at his feet and looked up at him. "Fuck. You really are cute. And I'm going to look like an asshole when I take you for walks." But he was smiling as he picked her up again. When he turned, you were standing in the open doorway.

"You won't look like an asshole, Daddy. You'll look as adorable as Skittles does."

He kissed your forehead and asked, "Is Noah in bed?"

"Yeah. He wants you to go in and say goodnight. And may I please hold the dog for a few minutes?" you asked with a little pout. 

"Nope," he replied, kissing your cheek. "Gotta let Noah say goodnight to her, too."

"Then can I play with her?"

Bradley held the dog's face up to his ear. "What's that, Skittles? You said you like me the best and want me to keep holding you? That's what I thought."

"Hey!" you complained, playfully hitting his arm as the pup licked his ear. You looked happier right now than you had earlier, but Bradley knew he needed to have a conversation about Casey. He couldn't understand what set you off so much earlier. 

As he carried Skittles toward Noah's room, he replayed the events from yesterday in his mind. He'd been sitting in the bakery for about an hour before he finished talking to the representative from the animal shelter, and when he stood up, Casey was already there. And yeah, she was a nuisance as usual. She put her hand on Bradley's forearm and mentioned that she liked his uniform, but she always tried to do that shit. Then she waited in line like she was with him instead of behind or in front of him, and she went on and on about how she lived right around the corner.

When he finally managed to leave with the bakery box and your cute donut, he was exhausted. And he'd only had to listen to her for a few minutes. Then she stood next to the Bronco with him like she expected a ride home or something, which was ridiculous since she told him so many times that she lived around the corner. 

He sighed and kissed Skittles on the head as he carried her in to say goodnight to Noah. "I love her," his son said as Bradley held her so she could lick his face. "I'll be really careful so she can sleep in here with me," he pleaded. 

Bradley kissed his cheek. "Not tonight, Bub. I already told you, she needs to heal up first."

Noah reached out to pet her before rolling onto his side with a little scowl, but he was already asleep by the time Bradley left the room. And then he went into his bedroom which always smelled like wildflowers and found you on the bed wearing that sexy little purple nightie you bought online. For a brief second he wondered if you were wearing your plug, but then he remembered he needed to have a conversation with you. 

You held your hands out to Skittles, but Bradley just shook his head and carried her to the little plush bed he set up in the corner and set her there. She walked in a delicate circle before plopping down and yawning. "How are you this cute?" he asked the animal before turning back to where you were sitting with your arms crossed.

"Why won't you let me hold Skittles?"

"Because we need to talk," he replied immediately. You flopped back against the pillows as Bradley climbed in bed with you. "Come here," he whispered, patting his chest, and sure enough, you crawled over and snuggled against him. "Tell me what's bothering you."

You draped your arm across his abs and said, "You won't let me hold Skittles!"

"That's not what I'm talking about," he murmured, kissing the top of your head. He didn't want to have to be the one to say it, so he stroked your bare arm and waited. 

You sighed softly and said, "Casey always tries to bait me when I see her at daycare dropoff or pick up. I'm sorry I came in hot with you today. But you should hear what she says."

Bradley thought he'd made it clear that he wasn't interested in her after he returned from his last deployment. He made no secret of grabbing at you and kissing you in front of Casey. He knew it was probably because you and she were the same age, and Casey definitely saw the way he doted on you. "She's probably just jealous, because I like to spoil you."

You snorted. "She's jealous, because you're hot, Daddy."

Bradley could feel his cheeks flush with heat as you shifted slightly and looked up at him. "What did she say to you today?" he asked.

Your eyes fluttered closed in embarrassment, and you looked bashful as you whispered, "She made it seem like she met you at the bakery. Like it was something you and she planned ahead of time. And she had a blue bakery box and a princess crown donut, and she ate it in front of me. And now I'm starting to realize how ridiculous this sounds, because I trust you."

"I know you do, Princess," he replied as he looked at your purple crown on the bedpost. "And I trust you. But I just can't believe she did that." He studied your gorgeous face and ran his knuckles along your cheek. "I'm sorry I lied to you about staying at work late. That was shitty. I just wanted you and Noah both to be surprised since you've both been bugging for a dog. I just wanted to get you something special."

"Apology accepted. And dog accepted, too," you whispered as he stroked the soft skin of your neck.

"Listen. I'm not interested in Casey. I'm never going to be interested in Casey. I saw her for five or ten minutes at the bakery, and she asked why I was on that side of town. I told her the other guy was from the shelter and I was thinking about getting a dog. She waited with me in line and practically gave me a migraine from how much she talks. I didn't pay attention to what she bought, so if she had a princess crown donut, then she bought it herself."

You smiled up at him. "Those donuts are so good. Pissed me off that she had one and tried to rub it in my face. She must have heard what you ordered."

He smirked. "Yeah well, you're the one getting cream filled donuts and a cream filled pussy anytime you want."

"Daddy!" you gasped. "That's fucking naughty."

"Get up here," he whispered, and then you moved up his body until your lips met his. "I love you. You're Noah's mommy. You're my Princess. I want to be with you. Don't worry about Casey." But he knew he'd have to have another conversation tomorrow, which he was more than happy to do for you. 

You pressed soft kisses to his mustache as he ran his hand up your thigh, curious if you were wearing panties. You were not. "You know what I really want, Daddy?"

"Tell me, and I'll give it to you."

You gently bit his bottom lip before releasing it and giggling. "I want to play with Skittles."

Bradley groaned as you scrambled off of his semi hard cock and climbed out of bed. He got a delicious view of your bare ass as you bent to pick the dog up and carry her back to bed. "You're the cutest little girl! Look at you in your purple bow! Oh, I just love you!"

Then he watched as you climbed back onto the bed with all the care in the world and had the pup cradled against you. When he chuckled and left the room, you didn't even seem to notice. He used the bathroom and went to the kitchen in search of the blue pastry box while he planned out what he'd say to Casey. He wasn't about to tolerate someone intentionally making you uncomfortable, especially when it came to him. 

He grabbed a plate and the fresh princess crown donut, wondering if he could get the bakery to make one that looked like a wedding ring. Then he carried the plate back to the bedroom where Skittles was laying on her back while you tickled her tummy. Bradley just stood there and held the plate as he watched you play and listened to you laugh. You kissed the dog and said, "I'm going to buy you a purple collar and leash with Daddy's credit card. And when your cast comes off, Noah and I will take you for hikes around the block. And Daddy is so big, he's going to look so hot walking such a tiny dog. Either that, or he'll look like an asshole."

"I'm standing right here." 

You smirked when you looked at him. "I know," you said, scratching Skittles on her belly as she squirmed around. "Is it okay if I order her a leash and some snacks?"

"Get whatever you want," he said, handing you the plate and kissing you before he stole the dog from your grasp.

"Hey!" you complained with a laugh.

"It's time for Skittles to go to bed. Eat your princess donut, and then I'll fill you with cream if you're in the mood for it."

You just looked at him coyly as you nibbled on the donut, and he put the pup in her little bed once again.

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

The next morning, Bradley let you sleep in a little later than usual while he got Noah ready and packed you a sandwich for your lunch. He'd kept you up pretty late, fucking you slow and steady until he got a shaking orgasm out of you. Then he took his time as you babbled and kissed him sweetly, finally filling you up with his cum. He called you his little donut as you fell asleep. 

"Fuck," he grunted as he thought about it, starting to get hard in his flight suit as he made your peanut butter and jelly sandwich. 

"Morning," you sang as you strolled into the kitchen in your scrubs. You kissed his cheek and then pet Skittles where she sat looking up at the sandwich, hoping some would fall on the floor. Then you sat down next to Noah as he ate his cereal and told you that he loved Skittles even more than dinosaurs.

"More than dinosaurs?" you asked, brushing his hair back from his forehead as he dipped his spoon back into his bowl. "That's a whole lot."

"Yep," he agreed. "I love Skittles almost as much as I love you and Daddy."

Bradley watched you kiss his son on the cheek before you got your own bowl of cereal ready. "Should we thank Daddy again for bringing her home?"

"Thanks, Daddy," you and Noah sang out in unison. 

Bradley just smiled and said, "You're welcome. Noah, finish eating so we're not late. Princess, can you put Skittles in her crate before you leave?"

"Yes," you told him between bites of breakfast. "And I'll order her leash and stuff later today."

He kissed you hard before bringing you coffee in the mug that said Noah's Daddy. Then he scooped Noah up and carried him off to get his shoes on. It was getting seriously late at this point, and he knew he'd be in the daycare for an extra minute or two this morning. "I love you, Baby," he called out, rushing back into the kitchen for a second when he was finally ready to leave. 

You gave him and Noah one last kiss apiece, and then Noah hugged Skittles. "We gotta go," Bradley told him, rushing him out to the Bronco. It only took a few minutes to get to the daycare, and Bradley had a good idea what he wanted to say. He found himself hoping that Casey was at the front desk this morning, not wanting to draw this shit out any longer. 

When he walked Noah inside, hand in hand, Bradley saw her right away. She looked up at him with parted lips and a little smile as he tugged his aviators off. Then she looked at his son and said, "Good morning, Noah!" Her eyes darted back up as she added in a softer voice, "And Bradley."

He watched her walk Noah into the classroom before he signed his name on the clipboard. When Casey walked back toward him, there was nobody else in the lobby. He held out the clipboard for her and said, "I'd actually prefer it if you called me Lieutenant Bradshaw."

She giggled as if she was being treated to something even better than use of his first name, and Bradley had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. "Okay, Lieutenant Bradshaw," she whispered, tossing her hair over her shoulder. 

He cleared his throat. "Can we chat for a minute?"

Casey set the clipboard down and came to stand alarmingly close to him. This was every bit as bad as you had claimed, and frankly he was more than a little bit surprised by how bold she was. Bradley took a step away and shook his head. "Look Casey, this is never going to happen."

She froze on the spot, and her cheeks turned a soft shade of pink. "Oh."

"Right. And I really don't want to have to go to your boss, so I need you to just knock it off, okay? My girl and I don't keep secrets from each other, so I know about how you talk to her, and I don't appreciate it at all. She's as good as being Noah's mom and my wife."

Now her cheeks were a deeper shade of red, and she was rushing back around to the other side of the desk. "Okay," she whispered. "I'm just surprised she said something to you about it."

"Don't be. Like I said, we talk about everything. And if you pull some more shit, I'll hear about that, too. Promise."

He stood his ground until she looked up at him. All she said was, "Okay," and then Bradley put his aviators back on as he turned toward the door. 

"You have a great day."

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

Casey, you literal nightmare. She'd be delighted if she broke them up. Can't wait to see her next time Princess shows up. And Daddy shouldn't even try to be sneaky. Just no, Daddy. But welcome, Skittles! Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 41

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#mila's early endless summer #if you love it reblog it #catching up!