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#bradley rooster bradshaw x female reader
sometimesanalice · 16 hours
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Sun Stroke
Summary: It’s been a few months since you’ve broken up with your boyfriend and moved to San Diego. And when Rooster and his teammates introduce you to Dogfight football, you know you’ll never be the same again. Hard pressed and out of sorts, you take matters into your own hands.
Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw/Female Reader
Length: 8k
Warnings: smut, mentions of masturbation, an ode to the jorts.
(author's note: this is a prequel to the 'Like I Can' series, however it can be read on it's own!)
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Bradley Bradshaw was a dead man.
The hangover you’d woken up with was 100% his fault for pressing that final Blue Moon into your hand last night at the Hard Deck.
It had been a couple years since the last time the two of you had seen each other in person and even longer since you’d both lived in the same city, but he knew you. And he without a doubt knew better than to order you another drink when you were already fighting back the giggles.
But what were you going to do, not drink a free beer paid for by your longtime best friend? Not to mention the way he’d teasingly called you a lightweight in a way that sounded a little too much like a dare.
You’d only moved to San Diego a little over a month and a half ago, and maybe if you were going to own up to the role you played in earning this headache, you probably should have known better than to try and keep up with the group of aviators. But since he’d been the one to drive and you were having a good time, you’d thrown caution into the wind and cheers-ed his glass with your own with a grin.
Bad choices shouldn’t taste so good.
It was a citrus-kissed mistake you were paying for now with your head pounding as you rushed around your apartment in a frenzy trying to throw your things together to get out the door to meet everyone at the beach. It’s a feat that would have been so much more manageable if you hadn’t been surrounded by a sea of cardboard boxes, all in various stages of unpacked disarray. It’s an inconvenient maze made by your own procrastination.
Those pain relievers you’d popped not too long ago couldn’t kick in quick enough.
You were running late. You hate being late.
And the way your phone keeps pinging is stressing you out even further. You know it’s Bradley and you’ve been ignoring it in favor of trying to get your act together. It goes off again, barely a minute since the last text had come through, but this time you pause your rummaging to check it.
🔴 Rooster, 11:10 AM: where are you??
🔴 Rooster, 11:17 AM: on a scale from 1-10 how bad is your hangover?
🔴 Rooster, 11:22 AM: tick tock, kid.
🔴 Rooster, 11:23 AM: bring me a coffee?
You roll your eyes at the nerve of that last one. He was going to have to beg Jimmy to make him a tar-like pot from the Hard Deck’s ancient coffee maker if he wanted any. If you were suffering through a hangover, he could suffer through being undercaffeinated.
It didn’t help that you were feeling more high strung than usual. Your vibrator had died before you could finish last night and you’d meant to buffer in time for a quick orgasm this morning, but then you’d slept through your alarm.
You hadn’t had sex since you’d broken up with your ex almost three months ago. While you were doing just fine on your own, you were getting tired of the feel of your own hands and fingers.
When your boss had mentioned the promotion that he wanted to put you forward for, you were elated until he mentioned it would involve relocating to the West Coast office. You’d been on the fence, it was the next step towards your dream job, but you were content with your life in Boston. That night when you had casually mentioned the possibility of it to your boyfriend at the time, it seemed clear to you that it would be an either-or situation.
Either you’d stay in Boston with him or you’d move to San Diego on your own.
Not wanting to rock the boat, you didn’t mention it again. Even though you were still weighing the choice in your mind. It wasn’t until a phone call with Bradley, that you’d finally settled on the right choice for you. After breaking it off with your ex, the two of you had essentially lived like roommates until you’d left without a look back.
At the time, you thought it had been a brilliant idea to use some of your less worn clothes as packing protection for your things. But now as you desperately dig through your third box labeled Bedroom looking for the sporty black and white one piece with the zipper that you know you have but can’t seem to find, you’re starting to think you might be the biggest idiot on the West Coast.
The only beach appropriate thing you’d been able to find in your frantic searching was the bright red scalloped bikini you’d bought a few years ago for a bachelorette party in Tulum wrapped around a set of pretty glass candle holders. And while it made your boobs look great, it was much sexier and revealing than what you were going for to meet up with the Daggers on their home turf.
When your phone dings yet again, you finally admit defeat and give up on your search. In a huff, you put on the bikini, giving the bow behind your neck a good tug before pulling up your denim shorts with a couple jumps, trying to speed things along.
Earlier, you’d found the sticky note that said “FRIDGE!!!” underlined a few times by a heavy hand on top of the beach bag you vaguely remember packing for yourself the night before. The soft cooler bag covered with cheerful palm leaves had been haphazardly shoved onto the top shelf and was now sitting by the front door with the rest of your things, including the low sitting pink and white striped beach chair that Bradley had given to you as a ‘Welcome to San Diego’ gift.
You take one more passing glance around your apartment you look for any stray item that might have been missed- not that you’d be able to spot anything anyways through the cardboard battleground that is your apartment- and then you’re shoving your feet into your sandals and flying out the door in a flurry.
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Pulling into the private lot of the Hard Deck, you park in the open spot next to your best friend’s blue Bronco. The bar wouldn’t be open until later, but Penny had given the group of aviators’ carte blanche parking perks. It was something you were especially thankful for as you slung the heavy bags over your shoulder.
The warm coastal breeze and briny salt air were clearing the cobwebs from your head.
Even though the feel of it drifting over your bare skin reminded you of just how exposed you were in just your skimpy bikini top and frayed denim shorts, you’d only realized when you were halfway to the beach that you’d forgotten to put a shirt on in your haste to get out the door. But you were sure you’d packed an oversized linen shirt to cover up with if the sun got to be too hot.
As you pass by the well maintained, but sun-bleached patio, you see Penny sitting at one of the picnic tables with her laptop. She waves when she sees you and you raise the iced latte you’d stopped for up to her in greeting, as much as you can without having the beach chair slip off your shoulder.
Further down the beach, you see the group of energetic aviators. Nat looked a bit like an orchestral conductor the way she is directing the finishing touches on the set up. You weren’t too late, just fashionably so, but you were already planning to buy them all a round of drinks later anyways. Even though it’s just a casual hang out, you still want to make a good impression with Bradley’s friends.
It was been one of the things you’d been most worried about moving here. Rooster had opened the door for you to get to know his friends, but you didn’t want to be just an extension of your best friend in the way it felt like you had been in high school. You really liked these people and wanted to make your own friendships with them too.
You’re more than regretting the choice to try and bring everything in one go, with the way the sand is shifting under your feet and how your beach bag and chair keep bumping against each other with every step you take. And just as you’re contemplating ditching them for the moment to circle back for after you get rid of the cooler bag that’s weighing you down, you see Fritz nudge Bradley, pulling his attention away from his phone and pointing in your direction.
The wide grin that appears on his face is immediate and you feel the corners of your own mouth pulling up. California looked good on him. He seemed happier and lighter here, more like the boy you knew from back home. The one he’d been before he lost his mom and the man who’d helped raise him. You hope that one day it’ll look just as good on you. He gives the other man a quick pat on the back before he’s setting off towards you in an easy jog.
“Hey, where’s mine, kid?” Bradley asks, nodding to your drink with its ice cubes now more than half melted before effortlessly taking the heavy bag from you.
You’re so grateful for his help- now that you can feel your arm again- that you almost forget that you’re supposed to be annoyed at him.
“You know what you did, Br-adshaw,” you retort, catching on his name and hoping he could feel your attempt at a glare from behind your dark sunglasses.
It was a change you were still getting used to. You’ve known him since you were eight, he’s always been Bradley to you. But you’d caught on very quickly that everyone else here only ever seemed to call him ‘Rooster’ or ‘Bradshaw’. And he’d grinned so widely the first time you’d called him by his callsign that it seemed like a confirmation to the question you’d been too apprehensive to ask.
The man didn’t even have the courtesy to look guilty, the all too knowing smirk on his face confirmed everything you already knew, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 
“Mhmm, sure,” you say, flatly pressing your lips together in an unamused line. You’re tempted to flip him off now that you have a free hand, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction.
He tugs his sunglasses down his nose with a finger to look at you from over the top of them, more serious now, “But you had fun, right?”
And it’s too hard to keep up with the façade of being mad at him when he is looking at you so earnestly. When you were younger you had a higher tolerance against those big brown eyes, his ‘cow eyes’ as Carole had called them. Now that you lived here maybe you’d have a fighting chance against them again, but you felt yourself giving into them.
You were still getting use to the fact that you got to be around him all the time again, and sometimes it felt like you were relearning him as an adult. Your friendship with him felt just as familiar as it always had, but you could admit it was also different now.
“A little too much,” you say with a light laugh at your own expense, “But yes, I had fun, Rooster. I really like your friends.”
He smiles, pleased. “Ok, good.”
Bradley slings an arm over your shoulder and the two of you start walking towards the rest of the group. You hold your drink up for him to take a sip as a sign of truce.
He grimaces at the taste, “Why does it taste like I just licked some of that potpourri shit my Grandma Rose used to keep in her house?”
“Maybe because it’s a lavender latte,” you say, taking a smug sip of your own now that the two of you were even. The coffee shop you’d stopped at has become your favorite in the area. It was a little thing, but you liked having a go-to spot when so much still felt so new to you.
“You’ve only been here a few weeks and they’ve already got you drinking the California Kool-Aid? Coffee should taste like coffee, not a damn flower,” he gripes.
“You sound like you’re seventy. Next, you’ll be yelling at kids to get off your grass,” you tease, nudging his ribs with your elbow. “And I’ll have you know I liked these before I moved here. It was just an extra selling point getting one this morning because I know you aren’t going to drink it all when my back is turned.”
He barks a laugh, “Now that I know there were ulterior motives involved, I might just have to help you finish it.”
You stop and push your sunglasses onto the top of your head, giving him a firm look, “You’re still on friendship probation, tread carefully where my coffee is involved.”
Bradley playfully reaches out for your coffee, “You don’t scare me, kid.”  You attempt to push him away, but he doesn’t budge an inch.
The two of you had basically reached the rest of the group. The gentle crash of the waves was mingling with the sounds of Fleetwood Mac playing from a speaker and the bursts of easy laughter of his friends. Jake is a few feet from the two of you at the edge of the set up as he works to cover himself with sunscreen, the mist sparkling on the fine hairs on his forearms before he rubs it in. 
“You might have those curls figured out now, but I bet my mom still has photos of you with that terrible middle part from when you were thirteen. Don’t mess with me, Bradshaw.”
His head snaps towards you, “Your potpourri coffee is safe, I promise.” You can’t help but laugh at the panic in his voice and the way he warily eyes Jake, clearly not wanting the other man to get his hands on any potential blackmail material.
The sound of a low, exaggerated whistle pulls your attention over to Hangman. “Lookin’ good, kid,” Jake drawls, a pair of dimples punctuating his lazy grin on either cheek, “Red is definitely your color.” His pecs and abs are gleaming in the sun. He’s not your usual type, but it’s working for you more than it should.
God, you really needed to get laid. Or at least get a more reliable vibrator.
“Nah, I’m not having any of that,” Bradley warns, pointing a finger at him, “You cut that shit out right now, Seresin.”
Jake puts his hands up in surrender, but that sharp smile gets even wider, “Just givin’ the lady a compliment, Rooster, don’t get your feathers in a ruffle.” He sends you a wink and you think you hear Bradley grumble something under his breath.
The blonde with all his pretty boy looks was absolutely a shark when it came to finding ways to get under Rooster’s skin. You’d heard your best friend complain about him for years. And even after learning about their truce, you hadn’t been too sure about meeting him in person. But ultimately his easy charm had won you over pretty quickly. You could admit that now you had a lot of fun teaming up with Jake and riling Bradley up.
“Thank you, Jacob,” you sing, tugging on Rooster’s arm towards the spot that had been left open for you in between his things and what you recognized as Natasha’s oversized beach towel.
You gingerly balance your coffee on the arm of his deep green beach chair before dropping the rest of your things into the sand and take in the carefully curated beach arrangement.
Fritz and Harvard are off to the side casually tossing a frisbee back and forth between them. Callie and Nat were facing off against Coyote and Payback in a game of cornhole laughing as they shit talk. Yale looks like he is napping, but you spot the AirPods in his ears, probably trying to listen to the audiobook he’d recommend to you last night in peace. Next to him is Fanboy, who looks pretty engrossed in the comic book he’s reading. And Bob was making his way back up the beach towards the group from where he’d been down by the water.
“I’m going to go offload that and say ‘hi’ to people,” you tell Rooster. Taking the heavy cooler bag back from him, you set off towards the designated grazing area in the middle of the ocean-facing semicircle Nat had corralled people into, greeting his friends as you pass by.
You were more than a little curious about tipsy you had packed for the day. Unzipping the bag, the first thing you spot is the last thing you ever would have expected to find for a day at the beach.
“What the fuck?” you mutter to yourself, hesitating for a moment, unsure whether or not to add it to the rest of the things in the cooler.
“Are those pickles?” You turn to see Mickey standing behind you.
You hold the jar up for his inspection, “I can’t tell you what I was thinking by bringing them. Do you think I should put them in?”
He surprises you when he whoops and takes the jar from you, holding it above his head like a championship belt, “Yo, Payback! Look! The kid brought pickles!”
“Which kind?” Reuben calls back, taking a pause from the game with a beanbag still clutched in his hand.
“Claussen! The whole kind!”
“Oh, hell yeah!” he hoots, sending you a thumbs up. “Grab me one too, Fanboy.”
Mickey twists open the lid with a satisfying pop and fishes one out. “These are the best, thanks!” he says before excitedly hustling off towards Reuben to share, the cornhole game now on an indefinite pause.
You hadn’t been too sure what tipsy you had been thinking, but apparently the beach pickles were destined to be a hit. Either that or you weren’t the only one trying to shake off the tail end of a hangover this morning.
Bob swings by to grab a soda, but stops to help you unload the rest of the things from your bag. As the two of you work together, he tells you about the crab he’d found near the patio of the Hard Deck that he’d just released back into the ocean. 
Both of the large coolers were pretty packed, so no one would be going hungry or thirsty today. You make a note to shop around for one of your own and maybe a beach umbrella since no one else seems to have one. You were more of a sand, sea, shade type of girl.
Once everything is all put away, you grab a couple bottles of water and make your way back to your friend. You catch him taking another curious sip of your coffee, this time he nods like the taste might be growing on him. You let it slide because you see that while you’ve been away he’s set up your chair for you.
“Are you feeling peckish, Rooster?” you ask, plopping the water in his cup holder, eyeing the pilfered bag of trail mix he must have pulled out of your tote bag in his hands.
“What?” Bradley shrugs, unapologetically. You roll your eyes at him affectionately as he helps himself to another handful. “God, I’ve missed this. Japan has so much good food, but one of the perks of being back stateside after a year and a half is all the snacks. I’ve been going to Trader Joe’s like twice a week since I’ve been back.”
You still didn’t know anything about the mission that had brought him back to Top Gun. That phone call you’d had with him the night before he’d shipped off had played in your mind on repeat until he’d texted you that he was back safely in San Diego. The only thing you had been able to glean is that not everything went according to plan, based on his newest additions to his collection of scars. They were the first thing you’d noticed when he’d picked you up at the airport. Still shiny, pink, and fresh.
“Well, with that Hawaiian shirt collection of yours, you’d certainly fit in.”
He chuckles at that as he takes a moment to sort through the collection of various nuts and fruit and chocolate bits, he plucks out the raisins and drops them back in the bag. You bite back a smile because some things never change. He’s always pulled out the raisins, usually to replace them with more chocolate chips. Back when you were teens, his infamous ‘Bradshaw Mix’ was basically a 3-1 ratio of chocolate chips to anything else.
“Wait a second. Hold up, ‘peckish’?” His hand pauses halfway to his mouth, “Was that a joke at the expense of my callsign, kid?”
You point at yourself like who me? blinking innocently at him, “I would never.” Then grabbing a few of the nuts from his open hand you pop them into your mouth, shooting him a sunny grin.
Now that everything was all situated you felt like you could finally relax. You were like this when you traveled too, never at ease until you were through security with your bag stowed above your head. That tightness in your chest only releases after you’re buckled into your seat with all your in-flight necessities tucked away in the seat pocket in front of you.
Maybe that’s why it took you so long to notice the shirt that he was wearing. Well, mostly wearing. The sleeves had been cut off with an overenthusiastic hand and neared nip slip territory with the amount of Rooster’s golden skin that was on display.
“The Hooters shirt, really? Of all the things you could have held onto from your glory days, you chose that? How gauche.” You slide your sunglasses back on your face with your pinky exaggeratedly pointed up to the sky for dramatic flair.
He clutches his chest, “She’s got that fancy degree and been living in a big city and now she thinks she’s too good for Hooters? My, my how times have changed.” Bradley whips his tank off and tosses at you the same way he had done hundreds of times when the two of you were growing up.  Except the overpowering smell of teen spirit and axe body spray was replaced with a subtle, rich woodsy smell.
Rooster laughs when you succumb to the urge and throw him your middle finger. 
“Your motley crew of teenaged horndogs only went there because you all had a crush on Danielle Batula’s older sister,” you shoot back, folding up his shirt and putting it on top of your things.
“Hey now, we also went for the Lots-a-Tots. I’ve always been a feminist, kid, if a woman feels empowered wearing those spandex shorts then I’m going to support her,” he says with a wink, “Far be it from me to tell a woman what to wear.” You reach up to flick his nose and he bats at your hand, grinning even wider.
“And what’s the excuse for the reason you’re wearing jorts at the beach?”
Not that any man should be able to pull them off, but he wore them well. You were pretty sure he could pull off most anything with the body he’d worked for over the years, but the fact of the matter was that denim had no place mixing with sand.
“These are my beach jeans,” he says like it’s the most logical thing in the world, as he strikes a pose with his hip cocked out.
“I can see that, Rooster. But why?”
“It’s because they get him laid,” Javy cuts in with a booming laugh, slapping Bradley on the back as he passes by on his way towards the coolers, “Isn’t that right, Bradshaw? How many numbers did you score the last time we all did this? Like five?”
He runs his against the back of his neck, looking more sheepish than you’ve ever known him to be, “Yeah, yeah, yeah. She doesn’t need to hear about all that.”
“Oh.” It sounds just as stupid coming out of your mouth as you feel, not entirely sure how to respond or what to do with yourself.
Objectively speaking, you know your best friend is attractive. Tall, broad, and tan. You’d seen him get hit on more than a few times at the Hard Deck in the short time you’ve been here. But Rooster’s sex life wasn’t something you really wanted to hear about- or think about- especially when yours is nonexistent at the moment. 
However, it was one thing to generally know Bradley had no problem finding someone to take home and a different thing to hear just how easy it was for him. 
But you couldn’t say it surprised you though. During your first night out with everyone, you’d overheard a girl in the bathroom talking to her friend about him in more detail than you ever wanted to know, right down to confirming there had been more to the story he’d told you about how he’d earned his callsign.
You pointedly ignore the turn in conversation in favor of digging through your woven beach bag. You hadn’t had the time to apply sunscreen with all your rushing around to get here, and knowing Rooster he most likely hadn’t put any on either. His shoulders aren’t pink yet, but they undoubtedly will be by the end of the day. Even with the SPF 65 you’d purchased with him in mind.
Grabbing the bottle, you smoothly lob it to him, “Here, put that on. ‘Lobster’ isn’t nearly as cool of a callsign, Rooster.” You have to turn away from the chaotically haphazard way he rubs it all over his face. 
Leaving him to his own devices, you pull out a battered paperback book and toss it into your chair, only slightly mortified to see that tipsy you had been in a grocery store bodice ripper mood. If only you had noticed it earlier, you would have swapped it out for something less incriminating.
How you’d taken the time to unpack your books, and not all your clothes was beyond you.
You’re about to step around to the front of your pink and white striped chair when you feel a firm tug on the belt loop of your shorts, making you stop to turn back towards your best friend.
“Woah, get back here. We can’t have you frying, kid.” He squeezes some sunscreen into his hand, “Turn around and I’ll get your back for you.”
“Oh, absolutely not,” you say, adamantly shaking your head, “I trust you with a lot of things, but I am not trusting you to put the SPF on me. You haven’t even rubbed it all the way in on your face yet.” You thumb at the smear of white on his cheek to further emphasize the point.
“Hey, these hands handle a multimillion-dollar fighter jet, I’m more than capable of covering your back with sunscreen,” Rooster huffs, “Now, c’mere.”
Natasha laughs beside you as you dart out of his reach and around your chair to stand by her instead. She must have just walked up, because the last time you’d seen her she had been over on the other side of the group talking to Callie. But you had every confidence she would back you up with this since her friendship with Bradley was one that spanned years, and she’s undoubtedly seen him fried to a crisp before too.
“She makes a good point,” she says with a smirk, pinning him with a sharp raise of her eyebrow, “The last time I asked one of you guys, I ended up with the worst tan lines.”
The look of betrayal on his face is comical, “And here I thought we were friends.”
“I’ve decided to upgrade,” she says pointing to you. You beam in victory towards him and he just shakes his head at you before looking down at the large blob so sunscreen in the center of his large palm like he doesn’t know what to do with it.
You take Natasha up on her offer to help you cover the spots you can’t reach. All the while, you can hear him grumbling to himself as he works on rubbing in the dollop that had been meant for you over his shoulders and chest. After she’s done with your back, you shimmy out of your shorts and work on getting your arms and legs covered.
As Nat pulls up her thick, shiny hair onto the top of her head- the reason she must have come over here in the first place- and reminds Rooster about the plan to play ‘Dogfight’ football a little later before setting off again. You’d heard of flag football, but that name was new for you. You’d seen enough football with your ex and you were suddenly very grateful you’d brought a book to keep yourself occupied, even if it was a bodice ripper. 
You double check your set up, ready to hunker down, when you feel Rooster’s eyes trained on you, “What?”
“Just looking for evidence of this tattoo you allegedly have,” he says, doubtfully, “Considering that I only found out about last night. Since when do we keep secrets?”
“I told you it’s not for the viewing public, so it’s none of your business. Now, stop hovering and go play with your friends. You’re annoying me,” you say without heat, shooing him away.
“Are you bossing me around, kid?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Yep,” you say breezily, getting comfortable in your chair and opening your book, “You’d think you’d be used to it by now.”
“You’d think,” Rooster agrees with a laugh. He squeezes your shoulder before strutting off to go join where Coyote, Harvard, and Fanboy are already tossing a football back and forth not too far away.
Now that you’re on your own, you lose yourself in the words printed on the cheap paper of your smutty bargain book. You’re too engrossed in the tension and build-up of the story you’re reading to pay attention to anything else. And you’re reminded why this particular book has never made it into a donation box when you do your spring cleaning, it’s got the best combination of all your favorite tropes. By the fourth chapter you’re completely immersed in the story, and all the chatter happening around you becomes white noise.
The only signal of time passing is marked by the melted ice in your empty coffee cup, by the crinkle of swiftly turning of pages, and by the sun as it rises higher and higher in the sky.
What minimal marine layer there had been when you’d first arrived is long gone. You’re probably due for another layer of sunscreen by now, but you can’t be bothered when you’re in the middle of possibly one of the hottest sex scenes you’ve ever read.
It’s so well written, so incredibly vivid that you can almost feel greedy hands and wandering mouths along every inch of you. The blood thrumming in your ears has drowned out the sound of crashing waves. You’re so hyperaware of your body. It’s as if you can feel every individual grain of sand on your skin. Tucked between your fingers, on your shin, in the nook of your ankle bone. The high heat of the day has your hair sticking to the back of your neck and sweat collecting in the hollow of your collarbone. You’re too keenly aware of the prickling sensation on your shoulders and the tops of your thighs.
You thought living vicariously through the main character might help take the edge off. Instead, all it’s done is given fresh life to the ruined orgasm from the night before, like an echo of need reverberating throughout your whole body. A reminder of how untouched you’ve been over the last few months. You can’t help the way you’re shifting in your chair, trying to relieve the way your clit is throbbing in time with your heartbeat. The moment your cunt clenches around nothing, you close your book with a sharp snap. Not even bothering to mark the page you left off at.
You feel fidgety and keyed up. 
Needing something to do, you grab your tote looking for the lightweight linen coverup you assumed was packed. But digging around all you can find is Rooster’s Hooters shirt from earlier.
You’re more than a little irritated at yourself for not double-checking you had everything before you left for the day, and because your tipsy self had clearly fucked you over. You don’t know anyone else as well as you know Bradley to rummage through their things to look for some other form of sun protection, so with a huff you pull it on over your head. The cotton is soft and warm to the touch. You’re grateful for the way it covers your shoulders, but you’re already mentally preparing yourself for how smug he’ll be when he sees you in it, especially after all the shit you gave him earlier.
Still needing to keep yourself occupied from wanting to crawl out of your skin, you crack open the water bottle you’d grabbed earlier and swallow down a few large gulps. You’d heard when Natasha had rallied the group for their game, but you hadn’t taken a moment to find out what ‘Dogfight’ Football actually was.
You’re not even the slightest bit prepared for what you see playing out in front of you down by the water. You’d figured watching some of their football game would help your act together, but now you feel even more spun out of control than before at the sight of so much skin.
Fuck.
The sun is bouncing off of their hard, athletic bodies. Under the shiny sheen of sunscreen and sweat, their muscles look bigger and the divots and ridges more pronounced. You knew these were some of the best and brightest the Navy had to offer, but seeing them in action was something else entirely. The power of their legs was impressive as they ran and spun around their opponents. The precision of their aim as they threw the football to a teammate. Every single one of them was in peak shape. Those weren’t vanity muscles, those were earned and honed by hard work.
You couldn’t tear your eyes away from any of it.
The lithe line of Natasha’s toned thighs. The full, defined pecs on Jake’s massive chest. The way Bob’s large hands easily wrapped around most of the curved football he’d just caught. The skin over the wide expanse of Javy’s back was pulled taut, his muscles flexing as he twists and bends. The way Mickey was breathing hard made his chiseled abs stand out even more than they already did.
It was a lot. Especially for someone who couldn’t remember the last time they’d been good and truly fucked.
And then there was Rooster.
There had been a few moments since moving here where you’d been struck by this version of him. It was almost like your brain couldn’t connect the tall, broad man in front of you racing across the beach with the long-limbed, gangly boy you’d known with the red and black braces. Or the one in the teal shirt who’d scooped ice cream for his first job. Or the one who’d helped you pass Algebra 2 when the math teacher cared more about coaching the basketball team than he did trying to make sure his students understood the material.
Seeing him now, like this? This version of him was new to you.
Rooster’s chest and face were flushed pink, those curls of his are an absolute riot. The sweat he’d worked up made it look like his golden skin was gleaming in the bright afternoon sun, even with the patches of gritty sand that were sticking to him. Power and control radiated off every inch of him, the embodiment of physical strength and agility. Every movement he made was purposeful and precise, like he knew exactly what he was capable of.
You knew he was built, but the casual perfection of his body still takes you by surprise.
The broadness of his shoulders, the definition of his biceps and arms, the jutting v-shaped muscle that ran diagonally from his hipbones towards the trail of fine hair below his belly button. The long tendon that ran along the side of his neck was on full display as he throws his head back to laugh at something one of his teammates says. It was impossible to miss the unapologetic confidence in his swagger or the way those ridiculous jorts were clinging to his thick thighs. They were absolutely soaked through, the light wash darkened by the Pacific, and the denim was molded to him in a way that left nothing to the imagination. 
When did Bradley get an ass like that?
The startling intrusive thought about your best friend has you shooting up from your chair in a flash, your book tumbling off your lap and into the warm sand.
Jesus Christ, you needed to get a grip.
Shade. You needed shade and to get out of the heat. And you definitely needed to get away from the overwhelming display of sunkissed sweaty skin and peak physical prowess playing out before you.
And then you’re off like a shot towards the Hard Deck.
The burst of cool air you’re hit with as soon as you’re pushing through the patio door that Penny left unlocked for the group is more than welcomed against your overheated skin, even as it makes goosebumps erupt along your body.
You sigh in relief once you flip the lock to the worn wooden door of the bathroom closed. Leaning against the cool surface that’s littered with faded stickers from all around the world, you squeeze your eyes shut, willing your racing heartbeat to slow down. You’re breathing hard like you’ve run a marathon, your lungs uncooperative to the point where you don’t feel like you can take a full breath. You’ve never felt this antsy before, it’s like there’s a live wire under your skin.
In the mirror, you catch a glimpse of yourself. You’re more than a little windblown, but it’s the wild gleam in your eyes that surprises you the most, it’s a look on yourself that you’ve never seen before. Your thighs rub together as you shift your weight on your feet and it makes the pulsing of your clit impossible to ignore.
You weren’t. You shouldn’t.
But you have no idea how you’re going to make it through the rest of the afternoon and evening if you didn’t with how on edge you are.
Bringing your hand up to your chest, you press it there and let your thumb soothingly skim the side of your neck, trying to use whatever techniques you’d learned in those overpriced yoga classes you’d started taking before you’d left Boston to calm yourself down. But your fluttery pulse won’t be pacified.
Every part of you feels hypersensitive, you can feel every thread of Rooster’s shirt against your too tight skin. The desire to be touched is overwhelming. Your breasts feel heavy and you’re all too aware of your peaked nipples against the cups of your swimsuit. You’re craving hands other than your own.
It’s been so long since someone else has made you come. Even longer since you’ve had a back-arching, toe-curling, steal-your-breath kind of orgasm. You want to be pressed into the door, you want a firm, solid body fitted against yours. You want to be kissed and touched and fucked.
You keep telling yourself that you aren’t going to, even as your hand trails down the soft cotton between the valley of your breasts and over your stomach down even further. Your fingers sneak easily beneath the top of your bikini bottoms since you’d left without pulling your denim shorts back on. There are no thoughts left in your head, only the ringing in your ears. You need, you need.
There’s a small whimper that escapes you at the first touch of your fingertips against your slippery clit. The sensation has your hips jerking forward on their own, seeing out more. You’re so wet already.
There’s no finesse or slow build up. No gentle teasing or trying to draw this out. Your fingers are making quick, tight circles on that pulsing part of you. In the quiet of the bathroom, the rhythmic slick sounds you’re creating feel almost too loud.
You already know it’s not going to take you long to get there, but you still can’t help but let your mind wander. You think of big hands with thick fingers, ones that are calloused and rougher than your own touching you in just the way you like. The thought of a thick thigh pressed in between your own, on you could rock and grind against, has you rolling your hips harder against your fingertips. You can almost feel the ghosting of hot lips, a wet mouth, and a teasing tongue along your neck. All you want is a raspy voice in your ear whispering filthy words and murmuring pretty praise.
Couldn’t even wait until you got home. C’mon then, dirty girl, show me how you touch yourself when you’re alone and no one’s watching.
Go on, give that needy clit the attention it deserves. Spread your thighs open further- yes, just like that- I want to see how wet you are for me.
Jesus, look how hard you’re working for it. You’re going to make yourself come, and then I’m going to fuck you so hard that everyone will know what we did in here. They’ll all know how desperate you were for this cock.
A soft whine makes its way out of you, and with your free hand you pull up the collar of the shirt you’re wearing over your mouth to try and muffle your sounds as you tremble all over.
You’re hit with the scent of clean laundry and the warm, woodsy scent of expensive cologne. It’s rich and cozy, it reminds you of the trees that grow everywhere in your hometown. And underneath that, there’s a smell that you’d know anywhere, one you’ve always been familiar with. It smells like Br--
You come open-mouthed with stars blooming behind your eyelids, the force of it hitting you so hard that your knees nearly give out beneath you. The hand that had been covering your mouth slaps against the door for support. Your hips writhe against your fingertips as you chase those last shimmery moments of your release.
In your post-orgasm satisfaction, you feel like you can finally breathe again, now that all your antsy, unsettled energy has been freed from your body.
When you can feel your legs again, you go wash your hands once and then again for good measure. Like somehow it’ll erase the last few minutes from the Hard Deck’s history books, even though you’re sure it’s seen much worse. You chance a peek at yourself in the mirror, you look more relaxed than you did when you’d arrived.
Unlocking the door, you leave the sanctuary of the quiet bathroom. The only thing on your mind is the glass of ice water that’s calling your name. You’re about to round the corner out of the hallway when you collide into someone’s chest. A firm, sweaty, shirtless chest.
“Oh hey, there you are,” Rooster says, his big hand steadying you at the waist. “You ok? You look overheated, kid.”
Your face heats up immediately. You’re too flustered by what just occurred barely five minutes ago to look him in the eye. You feel embarrassment trying to bubble its way to the surface, but you push it back down in the name of self-care. Plus, you could always blame it on sunstroke if you had to, not that you were ever planning on telling anyone about it.
“Probably just dehydrated,” you ramble, trying to sound unaffected. Your eyes are trained on a spot just under his ear. “But you’re one to talk. You’re fried, Rooster.” With a finger you press lightly on his bright pink shoulder. His hisses and knocks your hand away.
“Nah, I’m just working on my base tan.” You don’t see as much as you feel the moment he notices what you’re wearing. Smugness rolling off of him in waves, “Not too good for Hooters now, are you?”
“Shut up,” you mumble.
“C’mon, let’s get you some water.” Tucking you under his arm as he steers you back towards the bar. “So what did you think of Dogfight football? Did you catch any of it or did your highbrow literary choice have your full, undivided attention?”
Your mind starts to whirl, unable to think of a reply. Thankfully you’re spared giving him an answer as the rest of the clamorous team spills in through the open patio door. The commotion is a godsend, because it’s almost like he forgot he even asked the question in the first place in the all the activity. The real answer will forever be a secret between you and the Hard Deck.
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The late afternoon melts into evening like hand-churned ice cream, smooth and silky.
Eventually, the beach set up is packed away into trunks of cars as the party moves inside the bar. You end up back in your denim shorts, the Hooters shirt is the crowning glory to your ensemble for the rest of the night. You don’t even feel guilty getting people to call Rooster ‘Flamingo’ after the third time someone asks you about being out of uniform regulation. But he isn’t faring much better in the too-tight shirt he was borrowing, since it turns out that out of everyone in the group only Bob had been the one with enough common sense to pack a spare one.
As predicted, the pink hue of Rooster’s skin deepens with every passing hour until he’s bribing you into leaving early with the promise of burgers and milkshakes in exchange for putting on aloe for him back at his place.
He’s sprawled face down on his couch in a pair of loose sweatpants with his eyes closed, contentedly humming as you work on applying a second coat of the cool, soothing gel to his hot-to-the-touch skin. One of the movies the two of you use to watch all the time plays on in the background, the crumpled wrappers and empty cups of your dinner sitting out still on his coffee table. Every time you come here you can’t help but seek out any little touches that look like him, but much like yours, his condo seems to be a work in progress.
“It’s nice having you around, kid,” Rooster says with a sigh. “I’ve missed you.”
“You don’t have to butter me up, Bradshaw, I’ll put one more layer on for you before I leave,” you tease, as your hand follows the freckles along his back.
He squeezes your knee, “No, seriously. I don’t know if I’ve said it yet, but I’m really happy you’re here.” And you know that if you were to look in his brown eyes, you’d see nothing but fondness reflected in them.
You give him a soft smile, “I’m happy I’m here too.”
It’s late by the time you get back to your place.
It seems pointless with the cardboard boxes still scattered around your apartment, but you still go through the motion of putting all your things away. Like wiping out your cooler bag and throwing your clothes in the washing machine, including the well-worn Hooters shirt. You’ve already decided to spend the rest of your weekend trying to unpack your things, you’re ready to make your space feel more like your home.
It’s a slow sinking feeling that settles over you as you wash the sand and sea salt from your skin in the shower. Your day has been so filled with chatter and laughter, that it feels uncomfortably quiet. It was different from the peaceful quiet you’d had at Rooster’s place, this was the empty kind of quiet. 
You turn the tv on in your room and crawl into bed, savoring the way the cool cotton of your sheets feels against your legs. Checking your phone, you see that Nat has sent you some pictures that she must have taken during the day. Scrolling through them you like the windblown, carefree girl you see in them.
For as good as the day you’ve had, you can’t quite shake off how lonely you’re feeling now. You can’t help but think about how nice it would be to come home and have someone here to laugh and relax with. Someone just to be with.
You pull your lower lip in between your teeth as you click into the app store feature on your phone. Taking a few moments to skim the options, you download the dating app with the highest rating and best reviews, deciding that it can’t hurt to try.
Not everyone got to have a fresh start in a new city, and you wanted to make the most of it. A new city with new places to go and new people to meet.
And you are ready to embrace every bit of it with open arms and a hopeful heart.
California was going to look good on you.
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Bradley Bradshaw, you liked that lavender latte and you're not fooling any of us!
Many thanks to @gretagerwigsmuse and @callsignspark for being the best babes to swoon over pretty pilots with!
If you want to see what happens next for these two, click here!
You can read more of my stories here!
taglist:
@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader
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notroosterbradshaw · 2 years
Text
The Boyfriend Experience - Part 2 /2
7k words of Rooster being your super wonderful, pretend plus one! A few swears, but it’s the Navy, goddammit! The fluffiness should make up for it. 
The Boyfriend Experience 1 / 2
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“Thank God you didn’t catch the bouquet,” Rooster rolled his eyes as you wandered back, bored. "Could you look any less interested?" he bit back a smile.
“I could, yes," you told him, patting his cheek with a gentle thwack as he chuckled.
”Well, you made sure I didn't have a run there to fake propose in front of all these witnesses. Left my fake engagement ring in my dresser drawer back at base,” he snapped his fingers. "Fuck."
"You'd have really ruined this wedding if you proposed. Even you must know the lack of decorum of proposing at someone else's wedding. You probably wouldn't need to go to those extremes," you laughed quietly.
He nodded and grinned. "I'd guarantee you a life of no more wedding BS though."
"You're probably right. How long you been sitting on that?”
"Just came to me," he admitted. "But you can't tell me it's not an amazing idea to get everyone off your ass."
"Thank you for not going to those lengths," you said as his head fell back and he kept giggling. Yes, Rooster was a giggler after a few drinks. And it was adorable.
Looking back at you, he said, "I guess we're almost done though. Since I have this," Rooster grinned widely, flinging the bride’s baby blue garter at your face. You flicked it right back and he caught it easily. He'd mortified you that he'd made such a spectacle to get his mitts on it earlier in the evening - he literally speared a dude to get to the front and leapt over the Best Man to catch it. "My Little League coach would be so proud today."
"You're the worst," you reached for his whiskey as he looked on proudly.
"You disappointed us as a couple and missed the bouquet to boot but I forgive you because you've graduated to a very sexy drink. That's my girl," he raised his eyebrow, waiting patiently for your sip, which you did gladly.
"You're such a dick," you could only respond, handing the glass back as he chuckled, putting the garter back in his breast pocket, patting it safely.
"Taken you 30 years to figure it out - that's more on you than me though," he teased.
"Last song of the night, friends," the MC of the band announced as Rooster offered you his hand. "Your bride and groom are ready to kick into matrimonial bliss part of the night and we all have to head home at some point!"
"You're not getting out of this. It's our last dance as fake lovers," he said, giving you the creepiest bedroom eyes, or you supposed, that you’d ever seen. How had he managed to bed so many women if that was his game, you'd never know (you assumed it was probably a lot less effort than batting his lashes, to be completely honest), and you shook your head with a smile. He stood to his full height and offered you his calloused palm. You naturally accepted, lacing your fingers through his. You loved the warmth his hands gave yours.
"Can you never say 'lovers' again?" you asked, spirited, as he spun you under his arm, leading you to the dancefloor, laughing loudly.
"Never," he promised as the song began. The band started Elvis' "I'm All Shook Up", most people in the room made their way to the dancefloor and Rooster praised the gods. You liked the song but loved the joy it clearly stirred in Rooster more. You adored how much he loved music, though he admitted he was never taught piano, guitar, or even drums but was pretty good at each of them, or he liked to think so. He played by ear and enjoyed experimenting with sounds. You'd romanticised Rooster playing at home in the quiet, just for himself, tinkering with keys, strumming strings. It made you kind of weak to think of him creatively like that. He was certainly full of surprises and you were yearning to know more.
He was unlike anyone you knew - you'd learned so much tonight and appreciated the human he was more than just the talented pilot most assumed of him, you thought maybe he appreciated people thought he was fairly one-dimensional, he liked his space and privacy. "New one to learn for the bar?" you offered as he pondered the question.
"Shit, maybe," he contemplated with a nod and he pulled you close. While not an incredibly slow song, Rooster actually moved quite well. Yet another thing you had learned about him tonight and he pulled your back to his chest, keeping you pressed to him, his hands spreading across your belly, keeping a respectful amount of space between your bodies. He took your hand and spun you back to him, facing the other again and he smiled slow, a smile you'd certainly never seen before but enjoyed thoroughly as his hands moved to the back of your ribs, dragging you closer to him.
He loosened a hand and put your arms around his neck, the height difference between you bringing your body crushed against him and it felt kind of... perfect.
"Thank you for tonight," you said, just between the two of you. He smiled faintly, his hands caressing your back. Once he'd found access to skin, his hand kept a close touch all night and your back felt cold without it.
"It's really me that should be thanking you," he admitted, lips dangerously close to your ear and you'd deny it, but it shook you to the core. Looking at him, your feet stopped moving and the world may have stopped too. Here he was, right in front of you, just like he always had been... but he was completely new to you now. "I haven't had a night like this in a really long time," he continued earnestly. "Almost felt like a real date."
You had lost the ability to talk, because thinking about it later, you'd realise, this was the first of many nights like this. But it wouldn't pretend anymore. He would be yours, and you would be his right back. And the pretence would be gone; traded for romance that didn't need to be held back, touches on skin that meant something because it was their skin you'd touched so many times before, still able to draw the same spark as it had tonight.
Rooster's lips met your forehead, leaving a lingering kiss against your skin and you held him just a little bit tighter. "I got you, kid," he told you softly but wasn't quite sure why he added, "You're safe with me."
And you may have believed him.
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"Do you two want a lift?" Annie asked as the festivities started to come to a close. The bride and groom had left, guests were starting to organise themselves to do the same, the band was packing up and the music was over for the generic 'get the fuck out of our venue now' muzak. After your last duties for the evening to help Sarah's parents collect the gifts and load their car, you went back to the table to collect your belongings, thankful it was all finally over... as well as the evening.
It was a long day, and saying you were exhausted, physically, mentally... emotionally, was an understatement. Things were a bit muddled to you now and you were feeling a little unhinged at the growing flutters in your tummy while so close to Rooster. He was currently holding your bouquet and your clutch like it was absolutely no big thing.
"Rooster, I don't think you should drive. I can get you both back. I'm the designated driver for another three weeks and one day," she looked at her belly, accusingly. "Unless you'd like to come sooner, please?"
"Shit," he muttered. He had probably had one or two drinks too many, he realised. Palming his keys in his pants pocket, he replied he would just walk back to base. Wasn't at all far, he had his credentials. Fresh air would sober him up anyway.
"You sure?"
"Yeah, absolutely. Thank you though. I'm sure your little sister will get me back safely," he joked entirely for Annie's benefit. But your feet, your poor feet were shredded. You gave yourself kudos, you'd done the right thing and kept your heels on the duration of the day, but all you could imagine was peeling them off and preparing for the onslaught of blisters and discomfort as soon as humanly possible.
"Okay," she grinned. "Take care, Rooster," she hugged him and he hugged her back, trying to avoid her baby bump politely. "So good to see you."
"You too, Annie," he replied fondly. "I had a great night."
"Don't be a stranger when you're in town. Let's do this again soon. Come over for dinner, bring her," she nodded to you.
"I might," Rooster gave her a shy smile and Annie hugged him again. "I'm thinking of moving back so you may be seeing a bit more of me anyway," he said and your ears pricked up, this was brand new information and your palms may have clammed up a little.
"You should, everyone would be so happy you're home," she told him.
"Definitely thinking about it," he promised.
"Good, Please get my sister home safely?" she warned him.
"Of course, she's precious cargo," he smiled as Annie kissed you and waddled over to Arron, her extremely drunk hubby.
"I could have gone with that lift," you told him as you watched them leave. Your poor feet.
"Nah, you're okay," he said. "Let's go for a walk."
"Rooster," you protested. "I might cry."
Rooster pouted. "Then I'll piggyback you," he broke into a smile as a few of the single bridesmaids said goodnight to you both. "Come with me. Got an idea," he urged, nodding towards the door, not waiting for you and taking off in his strides in that direction. Moving as quick and gracefully as the heels would allow, you caught him at the door where he took your hand and you followed him to the beach. It was pitch black minus the moon's reflection on the water, nearing midnight when he stopped at the edge of the grass to sand and watched him unbutton his jacket to sit. You did the same. "Feet, please?" he asked quietly.
Confused, you weren't sure why you offered him your left foot, but his fingers made haste unbuckling the silver heel you had been wearing for hours and hours.
"Gentle," he told himself as he pulled the off, and held his palm out for your other foot that you gratefully offered, the relief almost instantaneous. Putting your heels together, he lightly pressed into the arches of your feet, your ankles, your calves, the pain worth it for a few moments, looking at you with a gentle frown to make sure he wasn't hurting you, but it was definitely worth it. "Okay?" you nodded as he slipped off his jacket and left it in a pile with your shoes, purse and bouquet. He unlaced his loafers, took his socks with them and cuffed his slacks up to his lower calf although there was little give to them. "Shit," he muttered, pulling at the wrong piece of his bowtie and knotting it tighter.
"Here, Roost," you said softly, sitting up to kneel, he watched you in keen interest as your fingers worked to loosen the tie. Knowing he'd made it worse before it unravelled under your touch, you smiled as he happily unbuttoned the first few holes on his shirt, showing a little of his strong, golden chest and a light smattering of dark hair.
"Thank you," he said quietly. "Up," he got up slowly, finding the buttons on the cuffs of his shirt and rolling both to his muscular forearms. He smiled, offering his hand. He pulled you up, your sore feet sending you careening into him softly. He nodded towards the water and followed you through the sand.
The night was cool, but in the height of summer, not unbearable by any stretch of the imagination. Stopping right before the waves, you looked back at him.
"I promise you, those feet will feel a million bucks in about 15 seconds," and he hitched you into his arms, taking you out to his knees, lowering you amid squeals of cold and a now damp skirt around your thighs. He didn't give you space, he stood behind you, his hands resting on your belly, chin on your hair. You felt him sigh behind you.
"Dammit, Rooster," you cursed him although grinning in the madness, trying not to shiver as the waves splashed around you. It was a little chillier in the water than you would have liked, but Rooster was close and he was almost radiator hot. "It's f-f-freezing," you chattered.
"It's the ocean at midnight," he said in your ear. "What were you expecting?" he posed a good question. "But your feet don't hurt now, do they?"
"Actually, I can't feel them... because they're numb," you replied, your toes thumbing in the sand beneath you, it grounded you and felt so familiar. You loved it, craved it. The grains felt good and if you squinted, you could almost avoid the slight needling of your feet as they started to relax and unwind.
"You're the water," he murmured to you quietly, his voice lower than the ocean's bustle around you. "I know I'm the clouds. But you're the ocean. You need it. I've always known that about you. I see you some mornings down here, in the waves if I run late. I never see a crease or concern on your features, you're just one with the water. It's pretty sexy, actually."
You wished he'd stop talking because as he adjusted his hold on you, leaving one hand on your hip, the other arm wrapping around your shoulders, you only reaffirmed how good you fit against him. "I love that," you admitted, taking his hand and he sighed again. He was right, though cold, this was your happy place. This is where you desired to be, in the water and the freedom and terror that came with it, how it could make you teeter so easily and push you out of your comfort zone. And he knew all about it.
Above you, Rooster smiled to himself. He was starting to really enjoy holding you close, learning the curves of your body, how you could find the perfect place to find calm in his arms. "Hey?"
"Hmm?"
"I had a really good time tonight. It... didn't feel forced or contrived. Why haven't you and I done this before?"
Because we didn't see each other this way before Natasha threw us together, you wanted to say. We can laugh, we can play and have fun, team against anyone and not think anything of it... but tonight has categorically changed our friendship because I can't go back to just being your friend, Rooster. I think it would be easier to lose you than find out you didn't want to be with me this way again.
You stayed silent, you had just tortured yourself with your inner monologue as it was. "You are absolutely shaking," Rooster said, softly, maybe now regretting his idea and his fat fucking mouth just a little. "I think it's time to get you out of the water."
"I'm okay," you lied as he rubbed your arms where he could see the goose pimples rise. He couldn't stop the shuddering even in his stranglehold.
"Out you get, kid."
You nodded thankfully. The adrenaline coursing through your veins was not enough to keep you warm and only caused you to tremble more. "Sorry," you said as he released you from his clutches and moved before he could say anything else.
And just like that, the moment passed.
Rooster sighed, watching you make your way to the beach. He knew he'd scared you. You knew he was opening his heart to you, and just like Natasha joked about your commitment fear, maybe it wasn't too far off the mark and that made him sad for all that you had missed and what you could miss out on. He began to follow you as you sat back near all the gear you'd removed, closing in on yourself. Rooster ran the last little while up the beach and retrieved his jacket, putting it over your shoulders. "You okay, kid? You're blue."
"Can't stop shaking," you could only reply and he swore he heard your teeth chatter. "But I'm okay."
"Come on, let's get you home," he tossed all the gear except the flowers into his jacket and tucked it under his arm then offered you his hand to help you up. He used a little more force, driving you into him and he wrapped you into his arms - he was very good at bringing you close and he knew, not once had you fought it. "I didn't want to scare you before. I'm sorry I was so forward."
You gave a little shrug. "Don't worry about it, Rooster. I'm just a big girl with big problems," you said simply.
"Do you think you know... why you don't want to get close to me?" he asked, almost not wanting to know the answer.
You looked up at him and he knew the kicker was coming. "You have I have very different daddy issues," you told him. "When my dad left, I thought he'd come back. For years I thought I could try and make him want us again... but my sister and I weren't enough and if he could leave us, who he was supposed to love so fucking easily, it doesn't give you much confidence as an adult. He picked another family over us, I have other siblings I don't even know. The shit sticks."
Holy shit, Rooster thought, his knuckles rubbing against your back. He paused and held you tightly. He didn't know that... hell, he did but certainly not to that deep an extent and maybe your issues were a little more deeply rooted than Natasha had alluded to. He certainly couldn't blame you for that.
"You mean something to me, and ruining anything with you would destroy me," you continued. "I appreciate our friendship and that comfort that brings me."
He nodded. It felt like a kiss-off, that was for sure. "I wasn't asking for the rest of our lives," he said quietly.
"I know," you pulled back, needing to be completely out of his reach. "But I just don't know what to tell you right now."
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"And that is the end of our first fake date," Rooster said, hating to admit he was kind of relieved as you got back to your apartment. He followed you to the front door and wanted you to feel as safe as you could in his presence because you hadn't said it... but everything had changed, and he knew it too. He didn't expect the night to go like this, but he knew, like you... things couldn't be the same again now.
You gave him a gentle smile and his heart fluttered, he'd always loved your smile, but shit... it was his now. He left your heels neatly at the stoop. "I hope today wasn't a total bust for you. Now you know how good I am at ruining good things," you poked fun at yourself. "It's a wicked character trait."
He sighed, dropping his eyes. "Why would you think that being honest with me would ruin anything?" he had to ask, putting his hands in his pockets. "Don't you think I appreciate that more?"
"I dunno," you leaned back against the door as he looked back at you, chewing your lip and God, he wanted to be the one chewing that lip. Vulnerability to most people could be seen as a red flag but to him? You were telling him things that you'd never told anyone, and that was almost sacred and it would always mean more. He knew you trusted him, but made him uneasy that it wasn't with your heart. "Do you?"
He rolled his eyes, a faint grin on his face. "Yes. I do appreciate that more. I've learned more about you tonight than I have in the last 30 years, which is kind of awesome... and terrifying."
"Terrifying?" you repeated, a little disappointed as he stepped closer.
"If you think for one second that you scaring me is a bad thing, you are kidding yourself," of this he was certain. He wasn't scared to be out of his comfort zone with you.
You finally smiled and shook your head gently. "I had a wonderful time tonight. Thank you, Rooster. I owe you, big time."
"Don't be crazy. I drank top-shelf booze, ate more cake than I have eaten for years, and I got to spend my night with you. We'll call it even."
"Well, thank you. It really meant a lot. And it won't happen again, there are no weddings or other OTT celebrations in the foreseeable future."
"That's a shame," he laughed quietly.
There was a slight beat before your rationality kicked in. "Well, I should go in," you told him, pushing back off the door and reaching for your keys in your clutch. "I'm sure you've got an early morning."
"Class," he acknowledged.
You nodded. There would always be something. "Goodnight, Rooster," you said as you unlocked the door and took a step in before pausing. Rationality be damned. "Unless you wanna come in?" you called softly in the dead quiet of the night. You could see his brain working a million miles a moment.
This wasn't something you and Rooster did, you didn't hang out together this way, it was always in a group, always someone else to play the distraction. "Yeah, I really do," he admitted,  standing before you. The air around you had changed and you swore it wasn't just you that noticed it. For the first time tonight, his nervousness was evident and he put his palm on your cool cheek. Licking his lips, he admitted, "I really wanna come in," he said quietly, resting his forehead against yours.
His eyes searched yours as you pushed the door open and your hand found his. He followed willingly, quietly kicking the front door closed as you led him down the small hallway to your living room. Low lit from the lamp you'd left on for your late arrival, Rooster was interested to check out your place. Quaint, but it was quintessentially you. Linen in neutral and blue, a stash of books on the coffee table. A home. "Do you want a drink?" you asked.
Erring on the side of caution, he responded 'water'. He was starting to cut it fine of being in a proper state for the following morning and while he could take his liquor, the last thing he wanted was a hangover in an F-18. You came back to him with a cool glass and he gave you a small smile of thanks. He tossed his suit jacket on the end of the couch, finally happy to be rid of the silly thing.
"Do you mind if I get changed? This dress is clogged with sand, it's wet and damp."
"Course not. Go make yourself comfy," he said with a small smile as he watched you walk away before he preoccupied himself with the endless photos on your wall. A tasteful aesthetic of beautiful white frames with a mix of colour and black and white photos stored in them, he felt the love and consideration you'd put into the curation of images. And holy shit, if it wasn't you on his Mom's hip. You were crying and she was trying to appease you in any way she could. He took the photo from the wall and you wandered back a few minutes later, hair down, oversized Lakers t-shirt and you saw what he stared at.
"Mom said I had just been told I couldn't get an ice cream from the ice cream truck," you filled him in. Rooster actually laughed.
"That's the cutest fucking thing I ever heard."
"And Carole was trying to tell me she could get me ice cream from your place even though my mom was saying no, but I didn't want it anyway because it didn't come from the ice cream man. Naturally."
"That's amazing. This is about the last photo I would have ever expected to have seen, you know?"
"You can have it if you want. I mean, I'm a screaming three-year-old, but your mom looks absolutely beautiful."
"Always," he said softly and put the photo back carefully on the wall. "You keep it, it gives me something to see when I am here."
You shrugged easily and took a seat on the couch. He took a hint and went to join you, taking a cool sip of water to regulate. This was just not how he saw the night going. Sure, he was a man, he had eyes in perfect working order. He wouldn't lie and say he hadn't memorised every curve of your body, your smile and that absolutely devastating self-deprecating wit but there were plenty of other distractions in his wake. But here you were, right before him. And you, at that moment, were perfect but he didn't know what you wanted from him and it ate him alive.
"What time is class tomorrow?"
"Eight," he replied.
You gently reached for his hand, avoiding his eyes and tracing over the callouses and his lifelines. "I'm sorry about before," you said finally. "I am really good at finding ways to make a night nosedive."
He shook his head, laying an arm against the length of the couch in hopes you'd shift just a little closer again. "No, fuck no. Please don't apologise."
"You know more about me tonight than most people know in a lifetime. I'm really not the sharing kind."
"That... I knew," he with a smile. "I kind of figured we were a bit alike that way anyway. But it gives me a little bit of hope. I'll weasel my way in," he said confidently. "You'll regret opening yourself up to me," he teased as you laughed heartily.
"Using my trauma against me," you fist-pumped and he was so relieved you could see the funny side to it as he scooted a little closer since you didn't. "Awesome."
"I promise I never would do that," he said sincerely. "I have enough baggage to take everyone in this damn town out."
"That's true," you agreed. "What a mess we are."
"You're not a mess. You have your reasons, just like I do," he let go of your hand and reached into his shirt, pulling out his dog tags. "These have been driving me mad all night. Think they're imprinted into my chest..."
"Can I see?" you asked as he shrugged and slipped it over his head, gently putting it over yours and letting the tags jangle across your heart. You picked it up and looked at the imprints of his name. "Bradley N. Bradshaw," you spoke. "What do you think your parents were thinking when they gave you more or less the same first and last names?"
He laughed loudly. "Bradley was my mom's dad's name," he explained. "And it was the 80's. I guess they thought it just sounded cool. They didn't think of what it might be like for me at 34."
You grinned, tracing the bumps of his ID. "I forgot what these felt like. Dad's, Grandpa's. Having them in my hands like they were a toy, and what they really stand for."
Rooster didn't speak. He understood what you meant without having to go into it.
"Roost?"
He hummed in reply.
"Have you thought about settling down?"
"I've thought about it," he shrugged simply. "I haven't really found anyone who I want to settle down with. Last thing I want is something that doesn't last. I want to feel like my parents did - I can hardly remember it... but the way Mom spoke about Dad after he died? That's something to strive for, you know? I know she was sick... but she really died of a broken heart in the end," he said quietly.
Holy shit... you thought.
"When I find the one, I'll know," he added, taking your hand back into his and this time, he avoided your gaze as he drew circles around the pads of your palm. "I'm sure of it." He was sure of it.
"And here I was thinking you loved being a bachelor and the notoriety of the Navy," you said, and he appreciated the teasing as he laughed, scratching his neck.
"I mean, yeah. There are some benefits to not settling," lifting his gaze back to you, he pondered again. "I'm not really that guy that falls quickly."
You nodded, you knew what that felt like and you knew he was growing weary of sharing hour, so you decided to make things more interesting. "I've asked Natasha this and was not remotely surprised with her response. But I'll ask you too because I know you wouldn't lie to me... What's the greater thrill: flying... or fucking, Rooster?"
Rooster chuckled quietly. "That is going directly for the jugular," you saw his lips move, but sounds didn't follow through. "I love flying," he looked up. "My fate is sealed, but the right person? Jesus, fucking the right person could make you wanna give it all up, you know?"
"No, I don't," you pressed, your brain trying to decipher his answer. "That's why I asked."
He smiled, a small tint of red creeping up to his cheeks. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
"I think I like making you squirm," you said simply as dropped his eyes, coy all of a sudden.
"Oh, I get it now," he thought about it. "If it was life and death, I would, I can't believe I'm saying this... but I'd fly."
"Oh, my God," your jaw may have hit the floor. It just was not the response you were expecting but told you a lot about Rooster's priorities.
"As I said, if it was the right person..." he tried to over-correct himself as you bit back your grin, covering your mouth with your joined hands.
"I'm speechless," you continued to needle him.
"Okay, if this is the little game we want to play - " he announced, smacking the top of your hand.
Oh, fuck.
"My turn, then," he said straightening up and you panicked, and he grinned because he could see you were clearly panicking. "Why haven't you really settled? You could have found the guy that it could have all worked with. You're smart, fucking hilarious, beautiful. Now don't get me wrong... but for most guys, that's all they need. We're not overly complex creatures."
"Honestly?"
His hand that was in yours clamped down and was trapped in his strong grasp. "Honestly."
"I don't think I'm ever going to find what I'm looking for. I haven't found someone that can keep my attention for long enough."
He stayed silent, he wasn't convinced.
You grunted and continued. "I date. A lot. I am just not broadcasting how average these dudes are I'm dating. Why do I want to spend my time with someone with who I don't spark with?"
"Do you really have a problem with commitment?" he asked pointedly.
"No, I have a problem with assholes," you replied smartly. "You haven't settled down, do you have a problem with a commitment?" you threw back.
He rubbed his moustache and he considered his answer. "No, I'm content with not being ready to settle down yet."
"So, yeah. You kind of have a problem with commitment," you laughed as he nudged you.
"I realise I'm in my prime," he shrugged, giving his ego receiving a nice self-stroking. You didn't mind Rooster talking himself up, it was incredibly sexy, truth be told. He was generally pretty modest about all that kind of stuff and kept his business to himself but really, he wasn't completely unlike his friends and co-workers. He knew he good a good-looking dude, his voice could turn you inside out (you figured), he could command a presence fairly easily, and women were putty in his hands. It wasn't a lot of effort on his behalf.
Grinning widely, you snuck closer to him, sitting on your knees and he watched his hands fall to his thighs as you released yourself from his grasp. God, you loved making him writhe and he dared you to ask what you were thinking. "I'm not stupid, Rooster. I know you get a handful of numbers when we go out."
"How many of those girls do you think I call?" he asked, thoughtfully. He knew you were getting off on this, taking the focus off you and pinning it on him. He didn't mind, he knew you were enjoying this little game of cat and mouse, and you weren't really offended by any of his questions, so he couldn't be either.
"You tell me," you whispered.
He adjusted his posture and he took your chin in his palm, his thumb imprinting on your chin. God, you were right there, so close... desperate to be kissed. "I like the chase," his voice low. "But the chase isn't all that much a challenge much anymore," he admitted and his wrist started beeping. 4am. He needed to go. He silenced it. "Saved by the bell," he announced. "That's my alarm."
"And just when we were getting to the juicy bits," you sighed as he kept your gaze, a small smile on his face.
"We can continue this if you like. At a more respectable hour."
"No thank you," you said quickly and he chuckled quietly.
"I'm not surprised by that."
You smiled shyly. "Sorry."
"Fuck, you're so beautiful, do you know that?" he couldn't stop himself from saying. It just had to be said and put out there. Great, now it was done, he reasoned. You didn't break his gaze, you were daring him to make a move. He licked his lips and had to laugh. He'd already made the move. If you wanted him, he decided... the ball was in your court. Come and claim me, he wished.
"Roost?" you said again.
He raised an eyebrow in reply.
"Stay."
"No," he said, sitting forward. Fight for me.
You got to your feet and pushed him back against the couch, a small grunt bristling as you stepped between his wide legs. He reached for your hamstrings, his hands massaging against your bare skin as he raised his eyes to you. It was powerful and intimate and he didn't know if he trusted himself to be touching you like this.
"If you've got something to say... this would be the time to say it," his voice thick with desire, daring you.
"Stay," you repeated, your fingers coiling into his sun-kissed ringlets, giving them a gentle tug as he slowly licked his lips.
"Gonna need more than that," he told you, pulling you flush against him, helping you straddle him, his arms in a vice grip around you.
"Stay for me."
He bristled a laugh as you reached for a button on his shirt, dainty fingers making light work of the straining material over his chest. "Think I'm gonna just fuck you after all this?" he removed your hands, placing them back in your lap where he silently prayed you'd keep them because his strength was waning and if you tried really hard, you'd have him exactly where you wanted him. "You really wanna make this about a quick fuck and I just up and leave?" he shook his head. "I think you know by now I want a little more than that."
"What do you want, Rooster?" you asked, your fingers tracing his scars, finding one on his jaw you were particularly fond of and tracing it, feeling him tremor beneath you. "Tell me," you said reaching for the hem of your shirt and he knew he was going for martyrdom as he held your shirt down, whispering a curse. "You don't want me?" you asked, easing back just a little, shocked and a little more than embarrassed.
"More than anything. Can't you fuckin' see that?" he took your face in his palms and he could see your resolve crumble, breaking him as your eyes shone with tears. "That's why we gotta wait."
Your gaze dropped, you hadn't felt rejected like this in a long time. You didn't feel sexy, you didn't feel desired and you absolutely did not feel like he wanted you regardless of the apparent sincerity of his words.
"Listen to me," his voice raspy from alcohol and exhaustion. "Tonight, before tonight," he confided. "I've thought about taking you in every position my mind could imagine. But every one of them was crude and in my mind, pure fantasy. Why do you think I didn't even think about saying no to any of this tonight? All these years and all we have to show for us is a cheap fuck? I got a little more respect for you than that, baby girl. I wanna turn you inside out," he whispered against your skin. "Why do you think I never made a move before? If you give me the green light, I will absolutely pray to you."
You had forgotten how to breathe and he kept your eyes locked to his.
"I want to worship you," he told you, repeating your name like a mantra. "Don't you get it?"
The blood was pumping so loud in your ears that you were finding it hard to focus. You were drawn out of your stupor as his alarm started buzzing on his wrist again. He was getting later.
"I gotta go," he murmured, his face so close. "Just think about it, okay?" he said quietly, kissing your temple.
"That will be the problem," you confided as he hummed.
"I hope so," he helped detangle yourself from him, letting you stand although your legs were absolutely jelly. He smiled at you finally, thoroughly wretched, and all due to him. "So many things I want to do to you," he breathed. "But now, I gotta go." He'd been short on time before, but nothing as bad as this made him feel.
"I'm not asking you to stay again," you threatened pathetically, and he heard the lies as clearly as you did.
He nodded. But he couldn't and he knew he didn't have to explain his duty... because of anyone who knew him, you understood this most. "See me out?" he asked.
"Okay," you murmured, following him by the hand down the hallway. You unlocked the door, and he pushed it closed again, leaving his palm and weight against it. You raised a surprised eyebrow.
"I just can't - " he closed his eyes, dropping everything he was holding and grasping your face tenderly between his calloused palms. "Please think about this."
"And if I fuck it up?" you asked, scared as reality started to kick in.
"What if I do?" he challenged. "Do we not owe it to ourselves to find out?"
You nodded, almost pained, pressing your hands to his chest because you needed the last few touches before he left you. "Yes, we do," and with that, his lips were on yours. Soft, unobtrusive, it felt like you'd been kissing him your whole life. Familiar and right, you didn't realise how long you'd been waiting for this. He was such a good kisser, and there was no going back now. The words were out there... his kiss had tainted you.
His hands left your face, tangling into your hair, it felt incredible. He smiled against your lips and lightly pulled back. "You only needed to say yes," he told you, holding your face, his warm hazel eyes dancing and he kissed you again, a little rougher this time, his large hands tangling into your hair, tugging at strands as they moved to your back, dangerously close to your ass. "I'm holding back so bad right now, because the second I give in, I will stay."
"Can't you call in?" you asked hopefully, reaching for his lips again, your hands drifting to his hips and his head fell back with a quiet sigh. He pleaded for your hands anywhere further north.
"If I don't front up today... every single person we know will know exactly where I am... and why," he said, voice laced in mirth.
You told him softly, "I will make it worth your while."
He groaned loudly, his body already ready and willing, pressed unyielding against you. "I believe you," he breathed. "The idea of being with you will be all I'll be able to think about today. God damn," he hissed, his alarm going off again. "Can I see you later?"
"I think that's a good idea."
He gave a small smile, pushing some hair from your eyes. "Good morning, fake girlfriend," he kissed you gently again, let go of you to collect his gear at your feet and forced himself into opening the door, stepping over the threshold purposefully. He leaned back and kissed you once more. "I'll call you later," he breathed, trying to gather some resolve.
"Tonight?"
He nodded. "Tonight."
"Okay. Good morning, fake boyfriend." But now... there was nothing fake about it.
"Oh, before I forget," Rooster pointed at you. You raised an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe, the adrenaline of the evening waning as he started to wander away. "What are you doing the last Saturday of next month?"
You outwardly shrugged. At this point you didn't know how today would even pan out as he wandered back to you, lips painfully close to yours, his arms slipping around your waist again and you didn't want him to let go. "I dunno. Why?"
"I got a wedding invite through the week," he smiled kindly and you bit back a laugh. "Thought maybe you'd like to go with me..."
"Think you can keep this fake dating thing going until then?" you asked, caressing his cheek.
"I'm pretty confident we may not be fake dating then..." he said quietly, kissing you just one more time.
"Ballsy of you to assume."
He nodded. "Yep," his eyebrow quirked.
"Do you have to wear your dress uniform?"
"Yes," he sighed, recalling your first conversation.
"Damn. This suit is really good," you playfully teased him, knowing his dress uniform would likely bring you to your knees. White or blue, you didn't care. It would be utter carnage.
"I don't even think a dry cleaner would bring this back to its original glory," he admitted with a chuckle.
"Shame."
"Jesus Christ, I want to stay. Please tell me to leave," his eyes fluttered closed.
You smiled as he took a wide step back. "You'd better go."
He nodded, thankful for your push. "I'll see you later," he said and forcibly turned away, his feet taking him away from you and when he was out of your view, you felt the weight of his dog tags on your chest.
"Oh, shit."
masterlist.
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A/N: Want to learn more about these crazy kids? Here we go! 
The Relationship Experience - prologue
4K notes · View notes
witchwyfe · 1 year
Text
care for you - brb
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I pairing: bradley (rooster) bradshaw x female reader
I précis: bradley loves taking care of you, so you take care of him<3 4 +1 ways bradley shows you he cares, and one extra for him.
I word count: 1,388
I content + warnings: mentions of alcohol, mentions of food
also tagging @familyvideostevie i'm so glad you're a rooster gal now<3 welcome
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one
You hadn’t even asked him to. You’d mentioned it in passing, more as a reminder to yourself. The tire pressure light on your dashboard is something you can and have easily taken care of before.
When you leave for work the next morning, Bradley’s already gone. You plug your keys into the ignition and wait for the light to glow. It never lights up, your brows furrowing in confusion. 
You mean to text Bradley about it, about how strange it was. The weather hasn’t been particularly cold so there’s no reason your tire pressure light should turn on and off like that. But once you get to work, you’re bombarded with things to do, and the busyness of the day pushes the thought from your head. 
Bradley is on the couch when you get home, and he jumps up when he hears the key in the lock.
“Baby!” He coos, drawing you into his arms and against his chest. His lips are at the crown of your head, dragging his hand up and down your back. “My sweet girl, how was work?”
“It was fine.” You pull away to smile at him. “What about you? Everything go, okay?”
He nods fondly, reaching to trace the apple of your cheek with his thumb. 
“Oh!” You exclaim, as the thought of your car just pops into your head. “My car light was off babe.”
“Hmm?”
“It was on yesterday, but this morning it was off.” You furrow your brows until it clicks.
“Wait, did you put air in my tires?” You wonder, looking up at him.
Heat rises on his cheeks as he gives you a sheepish grin. “I took your car this morning before I left.”
“I could’ve gotten it!” You say softly, enthralled by him. 
“I know darlin’, but I wanted to do it for you, so that you didn’t have to worry about it.”
“Bradley,” You groan, letting your head fall against his chest. “You’re way too sweet to me.”
“No such thing.”
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two
You don’t always realize it, but Bradley is always paying attention to what you’re drinking. He likes to make sure that you always have what you need.
Whether it’s refilling your wine glass when it gets low or picking up a package of Gatorade when you’re sick, Bradley wants to make sure you’re drinking something.
He has a half day today and doesn’t need to leave until about noon. You lined up your work so that you could work from home and spend a little extra time with him in the morning. So, after sleeping in with your body pressed against his, you’d been woken up to coffee—made just how you like it—and a plethora of kisses from your boyfriend. 
Now, in your pajamas, you’re hunched over your laptop while Bradley rushes around to get his things together. He’s been eyeing your water bottle all morning, after he filled it with ice water and handed it to you. According to his observations, you’ve had more coffee than water and he doesn’t want you to get a headache later.
“Hey sweetheart?” He calls, earning your attention. 
“Yeah?”
“Can you do something for me before I leave?”
“Yes, what do you need?”
He comes over to stand over your desk, fingertips digging softly into the back of your neck, massaging gently.
“Finish your water for me.” He says, nudging the bottle over to you.
“Seriously?” You scoff. “That’s all you needed?”
He nods, a smug grin on his face. You keep eye contact while you take the last few sips before smiling. 
“Happy now?”
“Very.”
He takes it and walks right over to fill it with more ice and water. When he sets it right in front of you, he presses a kiss to the top of your head. “I want that finished by the time I’m home today.”
“You got it.” You salute at him, watching his cheeks flush pink as he ducks down for another kiss. 
“I gotta keep my girl hydrated.” He murmurs against your hair, sliding a warm palm down your shoulder.
“If I’m doing it, you have to, too.” You say, pointedly looking over at his empty coffee mug. “Is that all you’ve had to drink this morning?”
He looks sheepish as he goes to get and fill his own water bottle. 
“Now, I want that finished by the time you get home today.” You use his earlier words, but there’s such a fondness swimming in your eyes that Bradley can’t even find it in himself to tease you.
“Thanks baby, I’ll see you later.”
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three
When you get to work and open your laptop, a tiny sticky note flutters out. The yellow paper falls into your lap and reach for it with a smile on your face.
In Rooster’s familiar scrawl, you read the note:
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You shoot him a text, telling him you can’t wait with a smiley face. Ever since you told him early in your relationship that you like when he plans dates, he’s been going all out. Your favorite is the notes he leaves you, or the Google Calendar events he sends you to RSVP. 
And sometimes when you go out, he comes home with flowers and nerves of a first date, smiling as he kisses your cheek.
He’s so cute.
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four 
Bradley, to your surprise, is an excellent cook. He loves to find new recipes—and learn ones you love—and cook for you. You cook as well, but if he’s home and has time, he usually wants to do it.
You’re always there to “help” him, which usually consists of stealing ingredients to snack on, and wrapping your arms around his waist.
But one thing Bradley always does, no matter what, is the dishes. Even when you claim, “you cooked, so I clean up!” He brushes you off, usually telling you to pick dessert and a movie to watch. 
As far as you can tell, he doesn’t love washing the dishes, but he always does it without complaining. And you don’t remember the small comment you once made about hating to wash dishes, but he remembers, and that’s why he makes sure that you don’t even have to go near the sink after a meal.
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 + one extra
In the early hours of the morning, you can’t fall back asleep, and you don’t want to, not until he’s gone. You want to soak up every moment with him. You’re on the bathroom counter, watching as he runs through his morning routine. After he washes his face, he pulls out his shaving cream and razor. He sets it on the marble counter with a light tap, rubbing his hand comfortingly, up your thigh.
There’s sleep still prominent on his face, and in the corners of his eyes. You reach up to cup his jaw, studying his peaceful features.
When he reaches for the razor, you grab his wrist. “Can I do it?”
“You wanna shave my face?” He wonders, lips quirking up in an endeared smile.
You nod. “You’re always doing things for me, so let me do this for you.”
His heart leaps in his chest. “Go ‘ahead baby.” 
You set the razor down, using the legs you have wrapped around his waist to tug him closer. After squirting a generous amount of shaving cream into your palm, you carefully spread it over the lower half of Bradley’s face—careful to avoid his mustache.
You’re over careful with the razor, taking firm but slow strokes of the blade down his cheeks and chin. You use a warm washcloth to wipe the residual shaving cream and then lean back to admire your work. Fondness dances in Bradley’s eyes, his hands on your waist, and he doesn’t even notice that you’ve finished.
Once he’s collected himself, he makes eye contact, raising an eyebrow.
“You missed a spot.” He jokes, gesturing to his mustache.
“That’s not even funny babe,” You give him a stern look. “You can’t shave that off.”
“Ever?”
You shake your head. “If you lose the stache, you lose me, sorry stud.” You giggle at your joke, watching his warm eyes dance with amusement.
He gasps, feigning shock as he hits his hand to his heart. “Guess I’m keeping the mustache.”
“Yeah, you are, baby.” You lean forward to peck his lips.
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© witchwyfe 2022. absolutely no reposting, translating, or modifying, even with credit.
1K notes · View notes
roosterbruiser · 1 year
Note
Hi, please could I request a super fluffy, adorable and sickeningly sweet blurb for Bradley Bradshaw??
Sweet Rooster has a ridiculously tight hold on my heart right now
🐓
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𝐒𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐲𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝
𝐚 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐛
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Rooster didn't realize how touch deprived he was until he met you. It's silly, really, because how could he not know? He was almost always alone and--more often than not--on a carrier in the middle of an ocean surrounded by testosterone. Maybe he didn't notice for so long because he didn't really care--or he thought he didn't care.
But then one night, only a month into what would become a very serious relationship, he was blinking himself awake as the two of you tried to get through Kill Bill: Volume 2 for the third time that week. He couldn't help that he was so tired, really. He got up at the crack of fucking dawn (which you thought was endlessly funny given his call-sign) and pushed his body to its limit all day on base in the hot sun. You didn't mind, really, and only teased him lightly about it. He obviously wanted to spend time with you, which was why you were sitting in his dark living room despite his desire to just sleep.
You're pretending not to notice him blinking himself awake and his big, brown eyes that are cartoonishly drooping. He's slumped over on the couch with his arm wrapped lazily around your waist.
In the middle of the movie, just after he dozes off for the third time, you turn to look at him. He's so dazed with exhaustion that he doesn't even feel your gaze, his thumb stroking long and complete circles over your bicep in a repetition that is surely aiding in lulling him to sleep.
"Roos," you whisper.
He slowly turns to look at you, raising his eyebrows, giving you a pathetic excuse of a smile. For a moment, he's worried you're mad at him. He really doesn't want to give you the wrong impression by watching the same movie three times in one week because he keeps fucking falling asleep while you're here. But when he sees your face, partly made up of shadows and partly made up of the flashing TV lights, he sees how open and gentle you look. Your eyes are soft and wide, lips tugging upwards, eyebrows blanched. You're not mad at all and he knows that immediately.
"M'so sorry," he says despite knowing you're not angry. He still wants to kick himself for not being able to just stay the fuck awake. "I really want you to know that I like you so much--like so, so, so much and you aren't, like, boring me or anything it's just that--!"
You don't know exactly why you do it, but you're glad you do. You have delicately tangled your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck and it has rendered him entirely speechless--sentence coming to a screeching halt. It literally takes his breath away when you begin to very lightly scratch his scalp.
"Found your off button," you whisper, a grin creeping up your lips.
He wants to say something back, something witty and sharp, but he is so overcome with the desire to lean into your touch that he can do nothing but. His head grows heavy in your hands and you accept it with grace, laughing softly. It's a laugh that tells him for once in his life, he shouldn't be worried about imposing himself on others. He should just let you play with his hair.
"That's...that's real nice," he whispers finally, his voice thin.
You love seeing him like this: his lips parted, his eyes slipped shut, his Adam's apple bobbing thickly, his eyebrows pinched just so. He looks even more beautiful to you now than he did before--and it's because he's letting you get closer to him.
"Why don't you lay on my lap?"
Any other time, he'd have some sort of retort. But he just complies in silence, reeling at the loss of contact when you situate yourself so your lap is open and free for his head to lay upon.
But just before he lays down, a fear grips every nerve in his body. He hasn't laid on anyone's lap in years--fuck, he can't even remember the last time he laid in anyone's lap. Surely it was his mother's all those years ago--before she got sick, before he grew up, maybe even before his dad died. He feels, suddenly, like he's giving into something he didn't even know was tugging him.
But then he sees your eyes gleaming in the dim light. And maybe it's because you have the most beautiful face he's ever seen and maybe it's because he's lonely and maybe it's because he really does likely and maybe it's because he's so dead-tired, but as soon as you nod towards your lap, he complies.
Really, it's the closest you two have been before. You've had your fair share of over-the-shoulder cuddles and some polite goodnight hugs and quick kisses. But this--his cheek pressed against your thighs with one of your hands tangled in his hair and the other laying peacefully in the middle of his back--it's the most intimate thing you've done.
"People could pay you to do this," he mumbles, slurring against the material of your yoga pants.
You have to bite a grin as you gaze down at his profile; his features have all gone slack and you know he's on borrowed time now, slipping easily and restfully into dreamland.
"First one's on the house," you mumble, delicately outlining the scar across his throat. His long eyelashes flutter against his smooth skin and his mustache twitches very lightly when his mouth parts. "You're a very beautiful man, Bradley."
Heat gathers in his cheeks. You've rendered him speechless again.
In response, he wraps his arm around your leg, the one he's laying on. The crook of his elbow rests flush against the backside of your knee and he draws a careful line down the line of your calf. And then, very gently and with quivering lips, he turns and presses a lingering kiss to the inside of your knee.
And that's when you know. Really, that's when you both know: you're it for each other. Everyone else can go home.
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here is my tag list!!
𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐦𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐛, 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧, 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐬! 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲, 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐨𝐛!
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lostinwildflowers · 1 year
Text
Iced Tea Kisses
Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader
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Summary: Rooster and you have known each other for a long time and he casually asks you on a date after being platonic friends for years. 
Word Count: 1.5K
Warnings: Fluff, very very very slight angst if you squint, just two goofballs in love
A/N: This is my first time writing for Rooster, so hopefully I did him good! I'd love to hear feedback because I've got a couple of other Rooster ideas in my drafts!!! Please enjoy!! -Birch<3
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It was an unusually calm night outside of the Hard Deck. Yes, it was the middle of summer and the sun was blistering hot, but with a decent amount of cloud cover and the ocean spray catching the wind, it was a peaceful day.
The regular crowd was gone for the weekend, the chance to go see their families giving them the opportunity to get out of dodge in the blink of an eye.
But you were a local, and you enjoyed spending time outside of the naval bar, reading down by the water as the sun set over it. You were friends with some of the naval aviators, specifically long-term best friends with none other than Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw.
After his father had passed away when he was young, Carole had him transfer schools, where Rooster met you and you became his best friend almost immediately.
Over the years, the two of you formed a very close and tight-knit friendship, as you were one of the only people Rooster had after his mom passed away. Thus, when everyone left town, the two of you stayed behind and hung out.
The sun had just started to set, and even with your shades fighting off the bright rays as you tried to read, you still had to squint at the pages to follow along with your book.
Next to you, Rooster was fiddling with the small cooler of drinks he'd managed to snag from Penny at the bar, reaching for iced tea to try to cool himself down.
Rooster, being himself, donned what most would call the ugliest shirt known to man, the bright reddish pink and yellow flowers splattered all over the green base of the Hawaiian shirt. The shirt was completely unbuttoned, exposing his abs and muscular pecs.
You did your best to focus on your book because while you weren't blind and you knew your best friend was hot, you'd seen him shirtless plenty of times over the years.
You could hear Rooster fumbling with the ice in the cooler, and blinking away from your book, you ask, "You need help over there?"
A small chuckle is your only response, and the sound of ice crashing before Rooster turns to you with a wide smile makes close your book and look at him.
"Iced tea?" he asks, offering the drink to you as his aviators slid down the bridge of his nose. You smile back at him and say, "Only if you didn't break my glass of lemonade for later."
Rooster's smile drops and he tugs the drink back toward his bare chest, the sides of his shirt gently flowing in the wind. "Ooo, might need to get a rain check then, you see, I had to put it out of its misery for trying to steal my iced tea."
A snort falls from your lips as you set your book down and face him, an eyebrow quirked at him as you quip, "You had to put it out of its misery? Did it try to attack you or something?"
Rooster shifts his weight forward, and looking over the brim of his glasses he whispers, "It did. You missed it, but it tried to cut off my right hand, so I did the only thing I could do."
At the same time, you both say, "Fight back." A moment of silence passes between the two of you before you both erupt in booming laughter, your hand coming up to swipe the iced tea from Rooster's hand.
But he's always one step ahead of you, and he lifts it above your head as he tuts, "Nu-uh, Y/n/n! This one's for me!" You struggle to your knees to try to grab at the cool drink, giggles still falling from your lips.
Rooster turns his body away from you, swapping the drink to his right hand as he chuckles, trying to keep you away from the last living drink from the cooler.
"Roooooooster," you call out in between giggles, your hands still trying to grasp at the drink. Your knee slides in the sand under you, and your right-hand flies out to catch yourself as you go down.
You end up catching yourself on Rooster's shoulder as your body weight pushes his back into the sand. The drink in his right-hand lowers as you fall into him, and his left wraps around you so you didn't whack your head on the cooler.
"That's my name," he mumbles cheekily up at you as try to catch your breath from all of your laughter. The drink was no longer a thought as you gazed deep into his hazel eyes, his shades having fallen into the sand a little ways away.
It's still around the two of you, minus the waves and the occasional call of a gull off in the distance. Rooster looks divine laying under you like this, his hair was longer than usual, the curls just barely beginning to be bleached by the sun.
His gaze was soft as he looked up at you, and before he could stop himself, he whispers, "Go out with me." His stomach drops as the words leave his mouth, and your reaction is similar.
You don't move from his lap as you stare down at him, your cheeks getting warm as you push your sunglasses from your nose up into your hair to keep it out of your face.
"No," you say, shaking your head. In reality, you wanted to lunge forward and shout yes, yes, yes! from the top of the world, but he was your best friend. There was no way you could do that to him, you couldn't ruin your friendship.
Rooster frowns and you think your world is about to implode for a second, but then a smirk returns to his lips as he says, "Why won't you go on a date with me, huh? Scared you'll like it or something?"
A huff falls from your lips, and your head falls to rest on Rooster's chest in practiced ease. You can feel Rooster's grip on you tighten, and when he squeezes your waist a few times, you pull back and look at him.
His gaze is serious, and you suddenly feel butterflies bloom in your stomach with the way he's looking at you. Rooster glances away, setting the iced tea down next to the cooler.
"Y/n, I want to take you out with me," he mumbles, his now free hand coming up to brush a piece of hair behind the end of your sunglasses. You shake your head once and say, "Roo, no, you don't. If we did this- if... if I say yes, we can't ever go back to the way we've been."
Rooster smiles lightly as he cups your cheek and replies, "But I don't want to be where we've been. I want a future, with you, and broken lemonade glasses. Days where I can come home and hug you, kiss you, make love to you." At the end of his sentence, he playfully wiggles his eyebrows, eliciting a soft giggle from the two of you.
He sighs as he tugs you closer and whispers, "I want you." You swallow thickly as you move your hands from his bare chest up to hold his face. His mustache tickles your hands as you run your thumb along his cheek, and you smile quietly for a moment before you nod.
"I want you too," you whisper, leaning into his touch, your nose barely brushing against his. You take a deep breath before cracking a wide smile and busting out, "As long as you promise to not break anymore of my lemonades!"
Rooster groans and leans back, falling flat against the sand. You giggle at his reaction but squeal when he pulls you to his chest. His hand releases your face, and with impeccable timing, he digs his fingers into your sides, tickling you mercilessly.
Cries and laughter fall from your lips as you wiggle helplessly in his arms, your limbs flailing in all directions. "Okay, okay, okay, I'm sorry!" you cry out as you catch one of his wrists.
You sigh as his attacks stop, giggles still escaping you as you reiterate, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I ruined your moment." Rooster smiles and leans back into you as he mutters, "Just as long as you'll promise me a thousand more."
You lean deep into him this time, your nose bumping against his as you whisper, "Always." At that, he makes the final push, and his lips land on yours in a soft but sweet kiss, the taste of iced tea on his tongue sending your mind into overdrive.
Ever so slightly you shift in his grasp, and before you know it, a cold liquid is running down the side of your legs. The both of you pull away from the kiss and roll away from the imposter, seeing the iced tea Rooster had set down just a few inches away, now laying on its side, the liquid poured out across the sand.
You turn back to Rooster and you mumble against his lips, "Now it's not only another lemonade you need to get me," and you fall back against his lips.
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mshistorylover · 10 months
Text
A Call Away
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Warnings: mention of knee injury, mentions of parental death, emergency rooms, insecurities
I wrote this as a bit of a pick me up since this was/is what is going on in my life recently. Minus having a Bradley in my life. Instead I had my brother take me and making light of the situation the best he could. As grateful as I am I’m sure he’d understand I would love to have had Bradley Bradshaw there instead. Lol
Part 2
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Your knee was throbbing the night before, but it didn’t seem too bad, so you decided to sleep on it. But if only you knew how wrong you had been. When you woke up to get ready for work, the second you put weight on it, the room began to spin. You felt like you were about to either pass out or be sick. You hobbled as quickly as you could toward the bathroom, ready to empty your stomach, but instead, a wave of dizziness hit, and you quickly laid yourself on the cold tile. There was no way you could work today. Thankfully you grabbed your phone before making your way to the bathroom. With what bit of consciousness you had, you scrolled through your contacts. Trying to think who could help. Your eyes landed on one contact, and you sent a quick text.
U work today?
You were almost certain he was working, but it was worth a shot.
No why? What’s up?
You sighed in relief but, at the same time, dreaded interrupting his day off.
I think I need to go to the ER my knee I almost passed out
Where are you? Pick up the phone.
Your phone rang, and you picked up with a whimper when your knee shifted and pain shot up your leg. Putting the phone on speaker, you tried to take a deep breath and hold back the panicked sobs.
“Where are you? What happened?” You could hear him already pulling on his boots and grabbing his keys.
“I had one of those rolling cracks last night, and I stepped on it during it. I slept on it, but this morning it was worse. I’m on the bathroom floor. I’m here alone. I didn’t know who else to call.” You cry as you hear the Bronco starting.
“I’m on my way. I am about thirty minutes away. Stay on the phone with me, okay?” He says as you whimper a pained okay. You look down and realize you aren’t dressed for the day, and against your better judgment, decide to have some shred of dignity and get ready so you don’t have to rely on him to help you dress.
Reaching for the old knee brace you had on the counter from the night before when you cleaned it off in case you would wear it today, you put it on. Pulling yourself up, you managed to brush your teeth, feeling a little less dizzy with no weight on the leg.
“Hey, be careful, please be careful.” You hear him say on the phone.
“I’m going to get changed. I think I can manage that.” You whimper as you swear you hear him hit the gas. You crawl to your room, thankful it’s so close, and find some shorts to pull on. You again are thankful you had been too busy and distracted to put away your clean laundry as you found a shirt and bra in the hamper next to the dresser. Crawling to your desk with a pair of socks, you pull up into the desk chair to put deodorant on. You are running low on energy as you once more crawl to your bed, pulling yourself up. You are out of breath and breaking out into a sweat at this point. You know he can hear your heavy breathing and whimpers.
“I’m almost there. Where are you now?” He asked as you took another deep breath.
“I am lying in my bed now. Ugh, I am so drained now.” You breathe out as you hear his keys jingling and his heavy boots as he comes down the stairs to your room. The sight of him at your door brings you to tears.
“Oh, honey.” He whispers as he comes to your side. Suddenly you realize your room is an absolute wreck. You had been too busy lately with work to clean it, and you’re suddenly very self-conscious about it, but he doesn’t seem to even notice as he gently squats to be closer to eye level.
“Sorry to ruin your day off.” You whisper as he immediately waves a hand, signaling he didn’t care.
“I’m glad you called me. Can you put any weight on it? Do I need to carry you up the stairs?” You hate being so helpless, and the stubbornness makes you want to say you got it, but you know that you don’t.
“I can’t put weight on it, or I get dizzy. It doesn’t feel like ACL this time, though.” You say as you slowly sit up. He nods and offers his arm for you to grab as he helps you stand. You know for a fact he could easily carry you, just like he knows your pride is keeping you from letting him.
Bradley is a patient man as he helps you very slowly make your way upstairs from your bedroom on the lower level of the house you live in. He makes sure to grab your bag and carry it up as you lean heavily on him. Whenever you try to apologize, he brushes it off with a stop. It’s not a problem.
He grabs the water bottle he knows you always have in the fridge for work and helps you to the Bronco. He even buckles you in, making you give him a look as he smiles at you.
“Hey, stop. I am happy to help. It’s okay to need help.” He says once more. The drive to the ER is nerve-racking; you haven’t been to the hospital since your Mom passed, and you honestly are terrified. As if sensing it, he gently reaches for your hand that is playing with the straps of your knee brace.
“I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere. I promise.” He says, lacing his fingers in yours and squeezing your hand comfortingly.
You start tearing up when you see the hospital missing your Mom more than ever. But he understands that feeling.
Sitting in the waiting room in a wheelchair, you are tired, sore, hungry, and bored. The anxiety is kicking in as you try to get comfortable as he sits quietly next to you, giving you comforting smiles. Pulling your phone out, you pull up a game of Battleship with a weak smile. He raises a brow with a low chuckle as he takes your phone from you.
“You know I have a bit of an advantage with this game, don’t you?” You can’t help but laugh for the first time that day as you watch him concentrate on where to put his fleet.
“As if!” You huff as he grins at you, handing you your phone back for your move. However, he was right as he soon beat you at the game with a knowing grin, making you roll your eyes, mumbling show off. When they call your name, he stands and gently wheels you to the back, where they check your vitals and get your brief medical history and an account of what happened.
“Are you, or do you think you might be pregnant?” The nurse asks as you snort.
“Sir, if I was, we’re all going to church.” You say, making the two men laugh.
Once more, the two of you are in the waiting room again, sitting in silence until you look up at him. He is quietly watching you. His fingers are brushing his mustache as he gives you a soft smile. He playfully sticks his tongue out, making you giggle as he smiles once more.
“How painful is it now?” He asks gently as you sigh heavily.
“Resting and not moving fairly low pain. If I move, it is almost a nine. It doesn’t feel like ACL. It’s more here.” You say, dragging a finger over the old incision scar from your ACL replacement surgery. He hums as he looks where you are pointing and stiffens when he hears you whimper as you shift and react to pain.
“Careful.” He whispers, leaning forward. You give a grateful smile.
A nurse calls your name again, and he stands ready to wheel you once more. The nurse leads you and two other people down a maze of hallways as you look around in boredom.
“Oh, so that is where the cafeteria and snacks are. And heads up, I’m buying you lunch as a thank you, and don’t try to argue that. And look, they have a gnome plushie. We could get it for Reuben!” You laugh, knowing the man loved gnomes. Bradley laughed, shaking his head.
“Let’s not encourage it. The man already has enough. No thanks to you and Nat.” He says, making you and the nurse leading you laugh.
She leads you two to a room with a bed and has you hop onto it. The mattress was surprisingly comfortable as you stretched out the best you could. Bradley grins as you hum in contentment, being able to sit comfortably on the bed. When instructed to take the brace off, you wince in pain, and he’s ready to jump up to help. The doctor looks at your knee, asking you a series of questions as you wince as she prods in certain spots and moves your leg.
“We’ll do an X-ray and see if anything is broken or dislocated. Sir, if you could step out of the room.” The woman says, addressing Bradley for the first time. He nods and gives you a comforting smile.
“I’ll just be right out here, okay?” He says, brushing a stray hair out of your eyes and tucking it behind your ear as you nod.
After the X-ray is taken, he sits back in the chair next to you.
“Thank you again for spending your day off here with me.” You whisper as he smiles.
“What did I tell you? I’m glad you called me. I will always be there for you. And if you need anything, don’t be afraid to call.” Bradley brushes his thumb over your knuckles comfortingly.
“Nothing is broken or dislocated, so that is good news. But we will refer you to an orthopedic specialist. And we will give you some crutches and an immobilizing brace. Have you used crutches before?” The doctor asks as you sigh.
“Sadly, I am familiar with crutches.” You say as the doctor nods.
A few hours later, you are home on the couch with Bradley sitting beside you. The two of you are eating the lunch you bought as a thank you. He notices the Nintendo switch on the mantle and grins.
“Think you might have better odds with a game of Mario Party than you did Battleship?” He laughs as you throw a French fry at him with a huff.
“Bring it on, Bradshaw!” You laugh as he hands you a controller.
Of all the people you could’ve called that morning, you are glad you called Bradley Bradshaw. And no matter how grateful you were, you weren’t going to let him win this round of Mario Party.
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pastelbunnelby · 11 months
Text
Right Now (Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw X Reader)
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[Plus-size!Reader Friendly][POC!Reader Friendly][Fem!Reader Friendly][GN!Reader Friendly]
Summary ~ Stuck back on the carrier while the rest of Dagger Squadron fights to complete their mission, Rooster is shot down leaving you to believe he is dead.
Disclaimer ~ I do not own Top Gun or any of its characters.
Word Count ~ 1.7k
Warnings ~ Angst, love confession, mentions of death, no use of Y/n, reader’s call sign is ‘Bambi’
Top Gun Maverick Masterlist
•I do NOT consent to have my work posted, translated or published to any third party site or app. If anyone sees my work anywhere but here, it has been reposted without my permission•
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“Dagger One is hit.” Rooster’s panicked voice came through your headset making your heart drop clear to the floor of your cockpit.
Eyes wide, you glanced over to the man in the cockpit of the plane next to you, shocked to see his eyes as wide as your own. Normally you would be shocked to see such concern on Hangman’s face about someone he had a general disdain for, but given your current state of panic, it was pushed to the back of your mind.
Chatter from the rest of Dagger Squadron filled your headset, each of the pilots being told to return to the carrier while Rooster fought to go back for Maverick. You and Hangman shared another cautious look as Rooster went silent, all attempts to get a word out of him to confirm he was returning to the carrier clearly fell on deaf ears.
He was going after Maverick.
Less than a minute later, you heard the words you dreaded since the moment you watched Dagger Squadron take off from the carrier.
“Dagger Two is hit.”
The only sound you could hear was the deafening static roar in your ears, the helmet on your head suddenly becoming suffocating causing you to pull it off and inhale a sharp breath. With your helmet in your lap, you looked down and stared at the decal of the cartoon deer—one Rooster had suggested after you reluctantly accepted your call sign from him in the naval academy. You could faintly hear air control through the radio, news that Rooster’s plane was no longer in the air making your eyes sting.
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Hangman waving a hand at you, his face plastered with both concern and sympathy when you finally looked over at him, “You alright Bambi?”
You looked away from him and said nothing, one of your hands coming up to wipe your eyes in an attempt to stop the tears that were now flowing uninhibited down your face.
It was no secret you had a crush on Rooster, in fact, it seemed like the only person who didn’t know was the man himself. Hangman always made a point to tease you about it. The fact that he was showing concern for you given what had just happened almost warmed your heart.
Almost.
As the rest of Dagger Squadron returned to the carrier, you stayed in the cockpit of your plane staring down at your helmet as tears poured down your face. Your best friend was dead and you had never told him how you felt out of fear of losing him.
Now you truly had lost him.
Jets landed and the remains of your team climbed out of their planes, each of them looking nearly as distraught as you felt. While they had completed their mission, one said to be impossible by many, none of them were celebrating.
When you finally climbed over the edge of the cockpit and down onto the ladder, you locked eyes with Phoenix who was already making her way through the crowd of people toward you, tears in her own eyes. With your helmet clutched in one hand and the edge of the ladder held tight in the other, you began walking toward the dark-haired woman.
Phoenix hugged you tight as you cried, Hangman giving your shoulder a tight squeeze as he walked past pulling his own helmet off.
“I never told him.” Your chest ached as you cried, Phoenix nodding slowly and running a hand over your back.
Your mind was reeling.
You always told yourself that you just needed to find the right time to tell Rooster how you felt, to tell him you had loved him for years, but you never did because you were too scared. Now you would never get the chance to tell him.
Several minutes passed, you didn't know how long, Pheonix held you the entire time and spoke softly to you about how things would be okay. The sound of heavy footsteps put an abrupt halt to Pheonix’s words, her hand slowing on your back as she shifted to watch Hangman sprint past the two of you.
“Hangman? What’s wrong?”
The pilot’s hurried words made your breath hitch in your throat.
“Maverick’s alive, he’s comin’ back in an old F-14!” Hangman turned around to face the two of you as he jogged backward, his helmet was quickly shoved onto his head as he climbed into the cockpit of his plane.
You and Phoenix looked from his plane back at each other, the expression on both of your faces mirroring each other as you stepped back and began running for your plane where you could listen to the radio chatter.
Air control was going insane as they relayed messages about the plane making its way toward the carrier. Your heart once again dropped to your stomach as the plane was attacked by two enemy fighters.
Phoenix was standing on the ladder next to your plane leaning over the side to listen to the radio while Hangman was given the go-ahead to take off and provide Maverick with cover fire to get back to the carrier. There had been no word on whether or not Rooster was with Maverick, but you still found yourself becoming hopeful and you and Phoenix waited anxiously for word from Hangman who was now up in the air.
“Come on Roo, tell me you’re in that plane.” You muttered quietly as you stared ahead at the controls of your plane and listened to the radio.
The next several minutes seemed to stretch on for hours, being forced to wait for any word from the pilots. You found yourself clenching and unclenching your hands, the inside of your lips being pulled between your teeth as you waited in the tense silence.
“Eye’s on bogey, intercepting now.” Hangman’s voice came through the radio.
Pheonix’s eyes were on you as you leaned forward, Hangman’s next words making your shoulders sag with relief.
“Bogey down, eyes on Dagger One and Two.” You could almost feel the pilot’s smirk in his next words, “Hear that Bambi?”
Phoenix cheered, a chorus of whoops and yells coming from the rest of the people on the airstrip around you, “He’s alive Bambi!” She wrapped an arm around your shoulder and pulled you against her.
“He’s alive,” you breathed and dropped your head against Pheonix’s shoulder.
People flooded the flight deck as everyone on board awaited the return of the pilots, Hangman’s landing being the first and was quickly followed by the rough landing of Maverick and Rooster in the old plane. Both you and Phoenix quickly made your way through the crowd as the three men climbed out of the planes with relieved smiles on their faces.
Breaking away from Pheonix’s side, you pushed through the crowd and ran up to the side of the F-14 watching as Rooster hopped down from the wing and locked eyes with you. His hair was sticking up at all angles as he pulled his helmet off, his face falling when he saw your tear-stained face.
Your feet moved before you even realized you were running, and soon Rooster was running toward you and pulling you into his arms as he ducked his face into the crook of our neck.
“You scared the crap out of me Rooster.” You said through broken laughs, a few stray tears falling from your eyes again as you hooked your arms under his and clutched the back of his flight suit, “I thought you were dead.”
“‘M sorry.” Rooster squeezed you tight and rested his chin on the top of your head, “I went back for Mav, I couldn’t leave him out there alone.” His voice threatened to get lost among the cheering of the crowd around you.
Your shoulders shook as you inhaled a shaky breath, the action making Rooster pull back to look down at you, his dark eyes softening when he saw the fresh tears on your cheeks.
“Hey, hey.” He moved his hands up and cupped either side of your face, “Why’re you cryin’?” His eyes bounced around your face as he spoke, his thumbs wiping the tears away as they fell from your eyes.
Behind Rooster, you saw Pheonix watching next to Hangman, both of your fellow pilots sporting wide grins.
“I never told you. I thought you were dead and I never got a chance to tell you how I feel.” You pulled your eyes away from the onlooking pilots and looked back to Rooster.
Rooster’s eyes were on yours as his bows pressed together, the small crease forming between them that you always found yourself staring at, “What are you talking about?”
“I love you Rooster.”
“Really?” Rooster blinked, his smile quickly returning, “You do?”
Throwing caution to the win, you stood up on your tip toes and moved one of your hands to the back of Rooster’s head, pulling him down to meet your lips. It took Rooster all of two seconds to realize what was happening and kiss you back, his hand dropping to your waist and pulling you close as he leaned down and moved his lips against yours.
The cheers around you grew louder as the rest of Dagger Squadron began yelling and clapping, Pheonix yelling an exasperated “Finally!” As the two of you kissed, and someone—likely Hangman—loosed a loud wolf whistle.
With one hand on your waist and the other resting behind your shoulders, Rooster dipped you to the side slightly and pumped a fist in the air, Fanboy and Bob whooping loudly as he did so.
Both of you were smiling when you pulled away from each other, Rooster keeping his grip on you tight as he pulled you back up to stand, “Maybe I’ll put myself in more life-threatening positions if it means this is the response I’m gonna get from you.”
“Don’t you dare.” You smacked his shoulder.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Rooster grinned before leaning back in for another kiss.
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For you bestie <3 @lunallaa
271 notes · View notes
gennyanydots · 1 year
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But this is love I just can’t live without Masterlist
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Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x f!Kazansky!Reader
Biker!au
Summary: You swore you were never coming home again. Not after what happened. What he did to you when you were kids. But you know you’d regret missing your own mother’s funeral if you didn’t show up. You just hope he doesn’t come even though it’s almost guaranteed he will. Has to support his grieving president and all.
Connected to but not necessary to read:
Take me with you Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x f!reader
Top Gun MC members:
Iceman - President
Maverick - Vice President
Slider - Sergeant at Arms
Hollywood - Secretary
Wolfman - Treasurer
Original members - Merlin, Sundown, Chipper, Cougar, Hondo, Cyclone
Newer members - Rooster, Hangman, Bob, Coyote, Fanboy, Payback, Fritz, Yale, Harvard, Omaha
Chapter 1 “Oh how can it be” Baby Ice
Chapter 2 “Bit off more than you could chew” Bradley
Chapter 3 “Nowhere to go” Baby Ice
Chapter 4 “A man so filled with doubt” Bradley
Chapter 5 “Counting on beauty to kill off the beast” Baby Ice
Chapter 6 “A curse I can’t disown” Bradley
Chapter 7 “Howl at the moon” Baby Ice
Chapter 8 "The softer the skin" Bradley
Chapter 9 "The sharper the teeth" Baby Ice
Chapter 10 “It’s tearing me apart” Baby Ice
Chapter 11 "It's worse when I'm alone" Baby Ice
Chapter 12 "Despite the toll of the dead" Baby Ice
Chapter 13 " " Bradley
Title and chapter names from:
244 notes · View notes
suck4angststory · 2 years
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One Shot: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw X Wife!Reader. Moodboard
Where Is My Daddy?
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Warning: Allusion to sex, but no smut. Sad Bradley, fluff (my first time writing fluff story), a little bit angst. English is my second language. Feel free to give me a comment about my writing and grammars mistakes.
Author Note: this is my first time writing fluff in this blog, I hope you guys like it. If you want to be tagged just let me know in the comment. I can't reply to any of your comments because it's sideblog. But I really thankful for your comments and responds.
***
Summary: Bradley have to shave his moustache, this is how he's children reacted.
****
Bradley Bradshaw steps into his house with a grey mask covering half of his face. His aviator is on her eyes. He walked into his house without saying anything. Normally, he'll shout out called his wife or children to notify them he's home.
But he just walked in without saying something. He let out a sigh and walked toward the living room. He sit down on the couch and remove his aviator from his eyes, he placed it on the coffee table. He rest his head on the armchair and closed his eyes.
***
(Y/N) heard the front door open but no sound of someone called, she pause her task washing the fruits and washing her hand on the sink, she then turn off the faucet.
She walked toward the living room and furrowed her eyebrows seeing her husband sleeping on the couch with a mask on, his flight suit still on. She walked to him and sit down beside him. She placed her hand on his biceps.
"Honey." She called out gently and Bradley open his eyes. He turned his head to her.
"What's wrong? Why do you sleep with a mask on" She furrowed her eyebrows at him.
"Nothing baby, I just want to use a mask" his voice is muffled with the mask on and shrugs of his shoulder.
"Are you sick?" She touched his forehead with the back of her hand but his temperature is normal.
"I'm okay, I just want to put the mask on" Bradley lifts her (Y/N) hand from his forehead and kisses the back of her hand. But something feels different. Bradley hold her hand and rub it with his thumb
"Honey, can you open your mask?" (Y/N) ask him gently.
"Why?" Bradley's voice laced with scared.
"I just want to see your face" (Y/N) shrugs and smile at him.
"You can see my eyes, you said you like to stare at my eyes" Bradley's voice is disturbed now.
"I know, but I want to see your face" (Y/N) try to open the mask but Bradley pulls his body away from her. (Y/N) pouted at him and give him puppy dog eyes, his weakness. Bradley let out a defeated sigh and nodded.
"Okay" Bradley then lifts his hands to his ears and opens the strap mask that hooks in his ears. When his mask is off, (Y/N) covered her mouth with her hand and lets out a gasp. She looked at him with wide eyes.
"What the fuck happened Bradley!!" (Y/N) shout out to him when she saw his face. There, his moustache was cut out into a square, like a Charlie Chaplin style.
"It was Hangman's fault" Bradley exclaimed, he folded his arms in his chest.
"What're you two doing this time" (Y/N) asked him, she can't believe they actually shave Bradley's moustache. The Dagger team always told her that they want to see Bradley without stache. But she just thought, it was just a utterance, she didn't believe they actually do it.
"I didn't do anything. I just lost a game with him" He mumbled to her.
"What game?" (Y/N) stared at him with raised eyebrows. Bradley mumbled something that (Y/N) can't hear.
"What?" She asked him again to speak louder.
"UNO" Bradley declared to her.
(Y/N) let out a sigh and shook her head. "You know you can't play UNO without me, Honey.." She touches Bradley's face and turns his face to her.
"I know, I just want to prove to him that I'm better than him in anything" Bradley exclaimed throwing his hands on his thighs.
"Yeah, but not with UNO. I bet he has Phoenix as his backup" (Y/N) claimed.
"Yeah" Bradley mumbled under his breath. He renews how he lost the game this afternoon.
***
It was a free day for Dagger Team on Top Gun class. They actually have a class with Maverick today, but Maverick have to attend a meeting with Admirals so he ended the class early and dismissed them.
But the team have something in their mind. They decide to play a little game before going home.
They suggest every game that they have in mind like hand wrestle, but Phoenix suggested something different, UNO.
Phoenix said she 'accidentally' bring UNO in her pocket and she thought it'll gonna be fun to play it with the team.
The team merge four tables became one and sit down, circling the table. Hangman shuffle the card in his hands and told them the rules. "The last person that still has a card is considered a loser, and they have to do whatever the winner says, deal?"
"Deal," They said in unison. Rooster was so confident he's gonna win and have a smug smile on his face during the entire game.
The first people to finish their card is Phoenix and Bob. They make a handshake when they became the first ones to finish. Next is Coyote, despite he got two +4 from Bob he manages to finish after them.
Next is Payback after got reversed a fourth time by Rooster. And then Fanboy after he got the jackpot, four of his card is the same number. So he slams all of his cards on the table and does a little dance.
"In your face Bradshaw!" He yelled at Rooster after Rooster gave him +4 when he just got one card left.
Now it's just Rooster and Hangman, Rooster has two cards left and Hangman has three cards left. Rooster is so confident he's gonna win this game. He has one yellow +2 and the number five in yellow. He'll gonna place the +2 first and after Hangman got two cards from the stack, He'll gonna slam the remaining cards he has left in his face.
"You know, I want you to cut your hair in buzz after this" Rooster spoke confidently to Hangman. Hangman just gives him a smirk and a little laugh.
"In your dreams bird boy" Hangman taunted him. Rooster then placed his +2 on the table, Hangman then let out a laugh at him, a mocking laugh.
How shocked Rooster is after Hangman placed his remaining card that is contained with +4 . He placed one bye one in dramatical way. Hangman stand up and laughed mockingly at him.
"Fuck!!" Rooster shouts out in disbelief staring at Hangman's card.
"No!! You're cheating! How can you get three +4!" Rooster stand up and pointed at Hangman.
"I'm not cheating" Hangman offended at Rooster accused him. "You're the one that sucks at playing"
"Maybe you shouldn't try to play UNO without your wife around, Bradshaw" Phoenix give him a mocking smirk.
"Now, I want to shave your moustache" Hangman pointed out.
"What!? NO! I'm not gonna shave my moustache, It's a saint for me" Rooster covered his stache with his hand. Hangman let out a sigh of Rooster's wrong accusation.
"I. Want. To. Shave. Your. Moustache" Hangman emphasised to him.
"That's so much worse! As I said, it's a saint for me. You can't shave it. Besides you can't make the decision, there are still other people that finish before you" Rooster step back from his chair and walked backwards.
"They want me to decide what punishment you should get," Hangman told him, Rooster looked at them behind Hangman and they just smirked and nodded their head.
"Oh no no no. You guys collude to do this to me" He shakes his head in disbelief and pointed his fingers at them. Phoenix rolled her eyes, done with Rooster's accusations.
"Rooster, you make a deal. A soldier never breaks their deal" Phoenix remarked to him
"But not with this!" Rooster snaps at them. Hangman has enough, he rolled his eyes and told the boys to hold him. "Boys, hold him"
Rooster tries to run away but Coyote is in front of him. "NO! Coyote, backup!" He warned him.
Behind him, Payback tackles him to the ground "No No No. Let me go Payback. LET ME GO" Fanboy got hold of Rooster's left hand. Coyote spring in action and got to hold his right hand, Bob helped with holding his legs. They lift him and sit him down on the chair, still got hold of him. They laughed at Rooster.
Hangman then bends down to face Rooster, he gives him a triumphant smirk.
"FUCK YOU SERESIN!! I'M GONNA KILL YOU IN YOUR SLEEP" Rooster moved his head side to side when he saw Hangman bringing an electric shaving blade. Phoenix who just sit and watched the entire scene, decide to help and holds Rooster's head.
"PHOENIX, I HATE YOU TOO. YOU SUPPOSED TO HELP ME NOT HIM" Phoenix got this weird bond with Hangman after the uranium mission, it makes him happy at first because he knows Phoenix had a little crush on Hangman on their first day at Top Gun, but knowing he's an asshole, she buries her feelings and turns it into hating him.
But now, this weird bond cost him this. How he wishes Hangman is still an asshole right now. No, He is still an Asshole!!
Hangman placed a chair in front of him and sit down facing the back chair. He scooted his chair closer to Rooster.
"Relax Bradshaw, it's not gonna hurt" Hangman give him a sarcastic smile. He turn on the shaver and brought the shaver closed to his moustache.
"HELP ME! I'VE BEEN ABDUCTED. HELP ME!" Rooster shouts out and tries to release himself from their grip, but their grip is too strong.
"MAV! HELP ME!" He called out for Maverick but no one is in the hangar. All of the students have been dismissed because the meetings called out all of the Top Gun Instructors and staff.
Hangman tries to shave Rooster's stache but he always opens his mouth and makes him struggle to do his task.
Hangman let out an annoyed sigh.
"If you don't stop talking, I'll accidentally cut your lips," Hangman told him. Phoenix in action put her hand on Rooster's mouth to stop him from opening his mouth.
"FUCK YOU GUYS" his voice is muffled in Phoenix's hand. Hangman happily cut his stache.
****
"HAHAHA..." (Y/N) laughed double over at Bradley's story. She can imagine Bradley's face when being held.
"It's not funny" He whined. But (Y/N) just keep laughing at him. She placed her hand on her stomach because it hurt from laughing. She falls to her back and lands on the couch behind her, but half of her body doesn't touch the couch which makes her fall to the floor butt first. She let out a shrike.
"Aw shit" Bradley laughed at her falling. (Y/N) stand up and rub her sore butt.
"It's not funny" she pouted at him.
"Yes, it is funny," Bradley says between his laughter.
"I hate you" (Y/N) pouted and stomped her foot on Bradley's feet. The impact is not that hurt because Bradley using his combat boot. But it still stings. Bradley let out a hiss.
(Y/N) walked away from him.
"Wait! baby! I'm just kidding" Bradley called out but (Y/N) had already disappeared on the stairs. He stands up and tries to catch her.
"Baby, I'm sorry, I'm just joking. I know it is hurt" He called out from the stairs. Guess Bradley needs something to make it up.
***
After buying her a bouquet of her favourite flower, a box of chocolate, and one bag of her favourite foods. (Y/N) forgive Bradley.
After she got their ten months baby to sleep, they lay behind the duvet, naked, reminiscing after their lovemaking. (Y/N) lay her head on Bradley's chest and he rub his hand up and down in (Y/N) naked back.
(Y/N) shift her head to look at Bradley and Bradley looked at her, a goofy smile on her face. She then giggles quietly at him.
Bradley smile and leaned to kiss her and she kiss him back. She deepened the kiss and push her body forward with her elbow propped on Bradley's chest. (Y/N) move forward to straddle Bradley's waist.
They parted apart to catch their breath. They breathe heavily with their foreheads touching. (Y/N) lift her hand to touch Bradley's lips, she rubs his upper lips with her thumb.
"Wow, it feels different without the stache" (Y/N) muttered to him, she remove her thumb from his lips and peck his lips.
"How different?" Bradley asked.
"There's no tingling thing on my lips whenever I kiss you" She shrugs her shoulder.
"Tingling thing?" He lifts his eyebrows, intrigued.
"Yeah, It gets itchy when we kissed but I kinda like it. It adding some sensation" She said huskily and give him a seductive smirk.
Bradley decided to shave his stache, he said he can't live with that ridiculous style of the stache.
"Oh, so you have kink with my stache, Mrs Bradshaw?" Bradley snake his arms on her waist and turn her around so she was beneath him now. (Y/N) let out a squeak and give him a peck on his lips when she was under him.
"You know, I agreed to marry you because I'm in love with your stache," she said playfully. She traces her finger where his stache before.
"Oh, my stache huh?" He scoffed playfully. He planted his hands beside her head so his weight did not crush her.
"Yeah, whenever you between my legs, I just thinking about your stache, whenever you kiss my skin, I'm thinking about your stache," She said seductively at him and kiss him at every end of the sentence.
"I feel betrayed now. So you don't love me now because I don't have stache anymore?" He said dramatically, he make a pouty face.
"Of course not silly, I still love you, but I love Bradley 'Stache' Bradshaw more. So you better grow it fast, Mister" She bob his nose, Bradley grinned at her and leaned in to kiss her. When the kiss gets heated, the baby monitor on the table turns on, and a soft cry comes out from it. Bradley lift his face from (Y/N) and stared at the baby monitor.
"Oh shit, I think we awake the soldier" (Y/N) turn her head too and stared at the baby monitor.
"I can get him" Bradley turn to the side of the bed and begin to stand up, but (Y/N) placed her hand on Bradley's chest.
"No, you stay here, I can get him" (Y/N) stand up and find her robe at the end of the bed.
"But he'll sleep faster with me, so we can get our third round faster" Bradley suggested, he lift his upper body with his hand and saw (Y/N) tying her robe.
"So, I'm a bad mother because I can't get my son to sleep myself?" (Y/N) turned to face him and scoffed at him. Bradley looked at her with wide eyes, it was two in the morning and they had just made up in the fall accident, he doesn't want to sleep on the couch now.
"Th-that's not what I mean, baby, You know.." he stammer, but (Y/N) face changed and she let out snorts, she giggles at him.
"I'm just kidding, honey, he's probably hungry now because he sleeps from 7 PM. Unless you can produce milk now, I'll let you get him" She folded her arms and suggested to him. Bradley now moves into a sitting position on the bed.
"For that special duty, I hand it to you, Your Majesty," He bowed his head a bit, and stick his hand in please manners.
(Y/N) shake her head and giggles at her husband's silliness.
***
The sound of a bell ringing in her front door makes (Y/N) attention from the TV change. She stand up from the couch and walked towards the front door. When she opened it, her Mom and Five years old daughter with the pink dress and little pony backpack stood on her porch.
"Mommy.." her daughter throw herself on her waist and make her lean back slightly.
"Hey princess" (Y/N) caress her daughter's hair.
"Hey mom" her mom smiled and (Y/N) leaned to hug her but struggle with five years old still clinging to her waist. Her mom ended up moving forward to hug her. "Hey, sweetie,"
"Come in mom" (Y/N) then lift Elle to her hips and Elle circle her arms on (Y/N) neck. She then placed both her hands on Ella's butt to support her.
Elle, their oldest, spent three days with her parents. Her parents said, they miss her granddaughter and want to meet her. Despite, they just live 10 minutes away from her.
"Oh no sweetie I can't" Her mom waved her hand, rejecting.
"Why?" She furrowed her eyebrows at her.
"Your dad is in hospital, he broke his hips while playing scooter with Ella" Her mom shrugged nonchalantly.
"He playing what!?" (Y/N) shout out looking at her mom with wide eyes. "Is it bad?" She asked worried about her dad state.
"I don't know, when I left him to take Ella home, the nurse still examined him," Her mom shrugs her shoulder.
"Oh no," (Y/N) covered her mouth with one of her hands.
"No worries, I think it's not that bad, sweetie, it's your dad," her mom waves her hand telling her not to worry.
"Can you call me when his results come out?" (Y/N) grabbed her mom's hand, her face full of worries. "Of course sweetheart?" Her mom nodded at her, her mom places her hand on her biceps and squeeze it.
"Where's your husband, bye the way?" She looked over (Y/N) shoulder, trying to peer for Bradley. "Bradley still taking a shower upstairs"
Her mom then moves forward to hug her, she then kisses (Y/N) and Ella on the cheek. "Send my love to him. Bye sweetie, Bye Princess"
Ella and (Y/N) waved at her goodbye
"Bye Nana..." Ella said happily, they waited until her mom drive away from their house.
(Y/N) bring Ella inside of the house, she closed the door behind her with her leg.
"Did you have fun with Nana and Pappy?" She asked Ella while walking toward the living room. Ella nodded happily.
"Yeah, they brought me a lot of things. Pappy teach me how to ride a scooter. I can ride my Scooter, but Pappy fell off from it" Ella fidgeting with (Y/N) hair in her hand. Ella continues her story, (Y/N) just listening to her story until it is finished. "And and we go to the hospital because Nana said, Pappy broke his hips again"
"What you mean again?" (Y/N) furrowed her eyebrows at Ella's story about her father breaking his hips again.
"Yesterday we climbed a tree and Pappy fell off from it." Ella shrugs her shoulder. (Y/N) then sit her on the couch and take off her shoes and backpack. "Where's my Daddy, Mommy?" Ella asked, swinging her tiny legs on the couch.
"He's upstairs princess, taking a shower" (Y/N) sits beside her and kisses her forehead.
"I want my daddy Mommy" she stared at her with puppy dog eyes.
"Why don't you surprise him upstairs?" (Y/N) suggested, Ella then happily jump from the couch and run to the stairs.
"Don't run on the stairs princess" she called out to her. She heard Ella opening Her and Bradley's bedroom door.
When (Y/N) continues watching TV, she heard Ella shrinking upstairs.
"MOMMY"
(Y/N) run upstairs and open her bedroom door harshly, there, Bradley kneels in front of Ella, his hair still wet from the shower. And Ella just stood there and looked at Bradley terrified.
"What's wrong princess?" (Y/N) kneeled beside her and embraced her.
"Who is that?" Ella hide her face on her (Y/N) neck, she peeks a look at Bradley and pointed her finger at him, she looked terrified.
"It's me, princess it's Daddy" Bradley moves forward to them but Ella hides her face further to (Y/N) neck and (Y/N) rubs her back. "You're not my daddy," Ella sniffles on (Y/N) neck.
"Princess, it's me, it's daddy" Bradley try to touch her but Ella shrieks at him. "No!! I don't want you, I want my daddy. Mommy, I want daddy"
Bradley face is full of shock and sadness, his daughter don't recognise him, she despise him.
"That is Daddy princess," (Y/N) reassurance her, Ella lift her head to look at (Y/N), her tears spill down on her cheek and she pouted "No, my daddy has hair on his lips, he doesn't have any hair, Mommy" her finger pointed to Bradley behind her.
"But princess, it is daddy, look," Bradley lifts his shirt and repeals a faded fish drawing in his stomach "I still have fish you drew on me last week" Ella looked at the drawing for a second and drew her face back to (Y/N). "Mommy I want daddy" she begins crying now, her tears streaming down her face, and she buries her face in (Y/N). "Shush princess, Mommy's here" (Y/N) rub her back trying to calm her down.
Bradley looked hurt, he gave (Y/N) a sorrowful look and slumped his shoulder. He stared at crying Ella, (Y/N) looked at him feeling guilty and sympathy.
A baby monitor on the bedside table suddenly turns on, and a sound of the baby babbling and mumbling 'dada' come out through the monitor.
"Honey, can you go see Andy?" (Y/N) give him an apologetic look, she feels bad for Bradley.
"Yeah.." Bradley nodded and stand up. He walked to (Y/N) and bend down to kiss her hair. Ella cries tenser when Bradley wants to kiss her. Bradley let out a sigh, he looked at Ella crying in (Y/N) before he closed the door.
***
When Bradley step inside his baby room, Andy is standing in his crib. Andy babbled the word Dada in his crib and giggled happily.
"Hey, Buddy.." When Bradley walked closer to him. He stopped babbling. He stared at Bradley, curious and trying to figure out who he was.
"Dada.." he called out.
"Yes, it is Dada Buddy" Bradley smiled brightly at him, when he stepped closer to try to pull him out from his Crib, Andy started crying.
"Dada......." His cheeks were red and tears streaming down freely on his cheeks. He mumbled Dada in his cry.
"What? It's me, Buddy, It's Dada" Bradley's voice is now full of panic, he tries to touch him but Andy pulls himself down from his crib and crawls to the side. "Dada..." His cry was louder now.
(Y/N) came rushing with sobbing Ella in her arms. "What happened?" She asked Bradley, panic about what has gotten to their son that made him cry out loud.
"I think they hate me" Bradley mumbled, his eyes watered, his face full of sorrow and dejected. He turns and walked out of the room.
(Y/N) try to call him but Bradley ignores her, "Honey.." she call again but he walked out of the room and closed the door behind him.
***
After making Ella sleeps and feeding Andy until he sleeps, (Y/N) walked inside their shared bedroom, she saw Bradley laying on his stomach and his face buried in the pillow beneath him. She gets to her side of the bed and sits down crossed legs beside him, she places her hand on his back.
She heard him sniff a few times, he must be crying, she thought.
"I hate Hangman. I hate him" his voice muffled in the pillow. "My kids hate me now, my princess hates me, my buddy hates me"
"Oh honey, they don't hate you, they just don't recognise you without the stache" (Y/N) caressing his hair. Bradley then turn his head to faces her. His face is red, his eyes are glistening and bloodshot, and his cheeks stained with tears. (Y/N) heart broke seeing Bradley like this.
"Oh Bradley, come here" (Y/N) patted her lap and Bradley turn his body and lay his head on (Y/N) lap, he buried his face on (Y/N) stomach and hug her waist.
(Y/N) massage Bradley's head and brush his hair with her hand.
"My princess hates me, baby, she hates me, she's crying when she saw me. She adores me before, whenever she wakes up I'm the first person she asked for, I'm her daddy, my princess (Y/N), she hates me now, she despises me" His voice muffled in her stomach and he begin crying again.
"She doesn't hate you, honey, she just doesn't recognise you without the stache. You know she always saw you with the stache, and now seeing you clean-shaven it's new to her. Give her time, she'll come to you soon, you know you're her hero." (Y/N) reassurance him.
"What about my buddy, my son (Y/N)? He was crying when he saw me, my buddy, my son, my baby, he saw me like I'm some monster. His first word is dada, he just knows dada as his word, and now whenever he saw me, he's crying. He hates me (Y/N)" Bradley's crying is louder now and he shouts out (Y/N) names. (Y/N) turn Bradley's face to look at her.
"Hey hey hey, no one hates you, not even Andy, he doesn't hate you, He. Just. Doesn't. Recognise. You." (Y/N) emphasised her last sentence to make her statement clear. "He's ten months Bradley, and he always saw you before with a stache and now you shave it, of course, he doesn't recognise you," she said firmly. He sniffed a few times, (Y/N) and then wiped his tears with her thumb.
"But I want to play with them, I want to play with my Princess and Buddy. I want to take her on a date like we always do, I miss them, especially my princess, I've never saw her for three days." He pouted at her.
When Ella is at her grandparent's house, Bradley always facetime her, three times a day.
"Soon when your stache grows back" She wipe the new tears that escaped his eyes.
"That's too long" he whined.
"Then We can buy a fake stache in the store" (Y/N) suggested.
"No, Hangman side that thing is itchy" He pouted.
"So, you have to wait until your stache grows back" (Y/N) said to him firmly.
"But I want to play-"His voice cut out by the bedroom door being open. (Y/N) and Bradley whips their head to the noise.
"Mommy.." Ella with her Beauty and The Beast pyjamas and little pony doll in her arms step inside the bedroom. Her lips jutted out and tears streaming down her face. Bradley lifts his head from (Y/N) lap. she then stands up and walked to Ella.
"Oh, what's wrong princess.." she coos. She lifts her and places Ella on her hips. Ella buried her face in (Y/N) neck.
"I have a nightmare, Mommy" she sobs and (Y/N) rubs her back to calm her down. "What nightmare, princess..?"
"Daddy leaves us.." She sniffed
"Daddy doesn't leave us, princess, Daddy's here" (Y/N) reassured her and walked her towards the bed. Bradley sits cross leg on the bed and wipes his cheeks with his shirt.
(Y/N) place Ella standing on the bed. Ella lift her head to look at (Y/N). "Where's Daddy..",
"That's daddy Princess." (Y/N) pointed to Bradley behind her and Ella turned her head to look at him.
"Hey, Princess.." Bradley waved at her and give her a smile.
Ella walked towards him. "Are you really Daddy?"
"Of course, You remember you drew this flower on my arm before you go to Nana and Pappy's house? You said it was for me so I'll always remember you when you're away from me" Bradley lifts his sleeve and show a daisy flower drawing with a permanent marker on his bicep. Ella touch the drawing and giggle, she then threw herself on Bradley's neck.
"Daddy.." she squeals happily and smiles on Bradley's face is back. "Hey, my princess.." Bradley hugs her and smoothed her hair. (Y/N) smile at them and shook her head. She sit down on the bed and watched carefully their interaction.
Ella lifts her head and sits on Bradley's lap. She touches his upper lips. "But where your hair Daddy?"
"Daddy has to shave it because it's itchy, Princess" Bradley brought Ella's hand to his lips and kiss it.
"Is it really itchy?" She asked, wondering.
"Yeah, it's Itchy sometimes" He scrunched his nose to her.
"Oh," Ella said, disappointed, she pouted her lips and looked down. Bradley lift her face with his finger,
"What happened, princess?" He asked softly. he then brushes her hair that got into her face.
"I just like you with hair on your lips, you're more handsome with the hair" Ella shrugs her shoulder. "Is it?" He asked, inquisitively.
"Yeah" Ella nodded and giggle when Bradley playfully poke her stomach. He then brought Ella to lay down with him on the bed. Ella squealed and giggle happily.
"You and your Mommy are the same, Princess" Bradley looked at (Y/N) whose laying on her side and watching them with one hand propped on her head. "It's a prove she's my daughter, Bradshaw" (Y/N) gives him a small smile.
"Can I sleep with you, Daddy?" Ella asked him, her head resting on his shoulder, she trace the outline of Jet's figure on his shirt.
"Certainly, My princess, here, get comfy" Bradley adjusts Ella in his arms to make her comfy to sleep in his arms.
"Is your hair gonna grown again, Daddy?" Ella lifts her head to look at him. "Of course Princess, but it'll gonna take sometimes"
" That's Good" Ella nodded and back to trace the outline on Bradley's shirt.
"Why's good?" Bradley lifts his eyebrows to her, curious. "Because I like to play with it, and Andy loves it too, it makes him laugh when you kiss him"
Ella like to play with Bradley's stache, she said it was soft like her barbie hair. Sometimes, whenever Ella sleeps with him, she'll have her hand on his stache, when Bradley tries to lift her hand, she'll place her hand back on his stache again.
"Okay Princess, "Bradley kissed Ella's cheek. Ella giggles at him.
Ella then move forward to him and whispered to his ear "Good night Daddy, I love you" She then kissed his cheek.
"I love you too Princess" Bradley kisses her forehead.
Ella turns to (Y/N) and kisses her cheek. "Good night Mommy, I love you"
"Love you too Princess" (Y/N) kisses her cheek and forehead. Ella back to Bradley's arms and let out a yawn. Bradley rubs her back until she falls asleep. (Y/N) stared at them and brush the hair that got on Ella cheek.
"What about Andy?" Bradley whispered to her. After silence for a minutes.
"Guess, we should buy that fake stache, Bradshaw" (Y/N) told him playfully.
"Oh no..." He whined.
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bradshawsweetheart · 1 year
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I’ve been inspired for my first fic to ease back into writing!
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roosterforme · 5 months
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Wrong Number | Rooster x Reader
Summary: Bradley was planning on a quiet night at home with a beer and a basketball game on TV. When he receives a text from a wrong number, he's left looking at a beautiful photo of you. Now he just needs to persuade you to ditch the guy you meant to text and focus on him instead.
Warnings: Fluff, swearing, slight dirty talk, Bradley touching himself
Length: 4700 words
Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader
This was written for Rocktober. Check out my masterlist for more. Banner made by @thedroneranger
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Bradley had endured such a long week at work, all he wanted to do was change out of his uniform, grab a beer from his fridge and lounge around on the couch in his underwear without a responsibility in sight. Nobody should have to work until ten on a Friday night, but it had taken him that long to sort through the massive stack of paperwork from Admiral Simpson. At least now he had nothing planned for the rest of his evening.
His apartment was too hot, and the cold bottle of beer pressed to his bare thigh as he reached for the TV remote left some droplets of condensation. It felt good. He took another sip as his phone vibrated next to him. With a soft grunt, he abandoned the remote in favor of the phone and unlocked it with his pass code.
There was a new text from an unknown number. And there was a photo attached. He grimaced, afraid of what he was going to find if he tapped on it. He read the phone number twice, but it didn't sound familiar beyond the San Diego area code. He let his head tip back as he recalled the time he pissed Nat off and she gave his phone number to a random sailor in retaliation. Bradley really hoped he wasn't going to have to kindly ask someone to stop sending him dick pics like last time. 
Before he lost the nerve, he tapped on the message, and his screen was suddenly filled with a photo of a woman who looked just a few years younger than him. And she was hot. He paused with his beer bottle halfway to his lips before letting it settle back down to his thigh. 
Hey, Alan. It's me. So now you have my phone number, too.
Bradley didn't know who the hell Alan was, but he wasn't mad about the mix-up. This photo was something else. It almost looked like it was taken in the bathroom at the Hard Deck. The lighting was bad, and there was a paper towel dispenser in the background, but whoever you were.... damn, you were stunning. All pretty features and smiling like you had a secret. 
It took him a moment to stop staring at the photo and return to the previous screen and your message. He was going to have to tell you that he wasn't Alan and that you had the wrong number, but he just sat there and tapped his phone case instead. He didn't even like the name Alan, but damn if he didn't want to be Alan right now. That lucky bastard had you interested in him. 
Bradley was wondering how the mix-up happened in the first place as he drafted up a text to you. Only some sort of fucking idiot wouldn't check and double check that he gave you the right number. "Amateurs," he mumbled as he typed with a little smirk on his face.
Hey, sorry to inform you, but this actually isn't Alan. However, I wouldn't mind one bit if you kept sending me the photos that are meant for him.
He hit send and tossed his phone aside, assuming you'd just block him and move on with your night. He brought his beer bottle back to his lips and enjoyed the way the drink helped cool him down while he contemplated taking a shower, but when he reached for the remote again, his phone vibrated. 
There was another message from the same number. Intrigued, Bradley unlocked his phone again, and he was pleased to see another text and another photo.
Hi, Not-Alan. Sorry about that! I hope you have a great night.
This photo was similar to the first one, except that you were flipping him the peace sign and winking which made Bradley laugh. You seemed fun, even through this limited interaction. And he was sure that was the ladies' bathroom at the Hard Deck, which pissed him off, because he got out of work so late he didn't feel like going out tonight. Maybe if he had been there, you wouldn't have been talking to Alan in the first place.
"Damn it." He was intrigued. He wanted to know more about this.
My night is substantially better now that I have two photos of you. So where did Alan get off to anyway? And why is he trying to steal my phone number?
This time Bradley was dying for another response. But it didn't come. He stared at his phone for a solid minute before returning to his beer and downing the rest of the bottle. Still nothing. He stood and made his way into the kitchen, tossing his empty into the recycling bin before getting another one from the fridge and eyeing up the food situation. He should probably eat something, but he swore he heard his phone vibrating. When he looked over to the couch, the screen was lit up. 
He slammed the fridge door and opened the new bottle before heading back to his phone. There was no photo this time, but there was a new message.
I actually lost Alan in the crowd, so really, the man could be just about anywhere. And I don't think he was trying to steal your number at all, Not-Alan. He wrote it on my palm, and it smeared before I could add it to my phone.
"Okay," Bradley said out loud. "Now we're getting somewhere." He sat down on the couch with his beer on the coffee table and started a new message. 
Alan should learn how to write neater in the future, because he's missing out here. You have to double check that someone who looks like you got the number right. Everyone knows that.
Bradley decided that he was going to have no shame for the night. Not as long as you kept writing back to him. He was contemplating how to save your number in his phone when another selfie with a message came through. You were out by the bar at the Hard Deck with a smile on your face, and you were holding up your palm complete with Bradley's smeared phone number.
Does this number look familiar, Not-Alan? Still no actual Alan in sight, by the way. 
Bradley supposed that the 7 could have been mistaken for a 1. Or maybe Alan's phone number had a 5 that got smeared into a 6. It didn't really matter. Bradley was going to shoot his shot and hope Alan didn't resurface. 
Good, Alan can just stay lost. What's your name, pretty girl?
Then he saved your number as Pretty Girl, and this time he did manage to turn the TV on while he waited with his phone in his hand. He muted the Clippers game and picked up his beer before promptly setting it back down again.
Pretty Girl: Not so fast, Not-Alan. You tell me your name first. And how old you are. And your blood type and the last four of your social security number. 
Bradley laughed and started typing. He realized he hadn't stopped smiling for the last twenty minutes as he hit send.
I'm Bradley. I'm 34. O positive. 2305.
On a regular night, the basketball game would have held his attention, but tonight he couldn't stop looking at his phone. "Come on, Pretty Girl," he muttered, running his beer bottle along his thigh before taking a sip. 
Pretty Girl: Okay, Bradley. You have my attention. Send me a selfie exactly where you are, and I'll think about telling you my name. No changing into something nicer. No fixing your hair. Just a selfie. Right now.
Bradley looked down at himself in just his black boxer briefs and mumbled, "If you say so." When he set his phone camera to selfie mode, he looked at the screen and realized his hair still looked pretty decent from work. So he went ahead and took a picture where he was wearing a bit of a skeptical smirk, and he sent it before he could think twice. 
And now his heart was beating a little faster. This was probably where you'd stop responding. Oh hell, at least he went for it, but a few minutes later, you still hadn't sent anything back to him. Maybe he could have tried to hide the scars on his neck and cheek, but what was the point? Clearly you were sending him actual selfies you'd taken tonight, and he did exactly what you'd told him to. Then his phone vibrated.
Pretty Girl: Do you really expect me to believe that you're not just googling "hot shirtless guy with a mustache", downloading a photo, and trying to pass it off as yourself?
He tipped his head back and laughed. There was just something about you. He didn't even know your name or what your voice sounded like, but he could already tell he was going to like both of those things. If you ever told him or let him hear you.
That's really me. Promise. Will you tell me your name now? Or do I have to keep calling you Pretty Girl?
He was wondering if you were still at the bar, surrounded by guys like Alan who would love to take you home while you were chatting with him. And he hoped the next text would contain your name. But you just ignored him when you wrote back a few minutes later. 
Pretty Girl: Prove you're not just sending some photos of a random hot dude. Go stand by your open refrigerator and take a selfie. Then take another one with your toothbrush. 
"She's a handful," Bradley murmured as he stood with a smile. He carried his beer into the kitchen, opened his refrigerator and snapped a selfie where the fridge light somehow accentuated his features nicely. Then he left his beer on the counter while he went into his bathroom. He was actively trying not to smile for this one where he had his red toothbrush hanging out of the side of his mouth, but he was on the verge of laughing at how ridiculous his night turned out to be. 
He typed up a message and attached both photos and then sent them off while he finished his beer at the kitchen counter, Clippers game forgotten. 
What is this, Pretty Girl? A hostage negotiation? I already told you, that's really me.
It didn't take too long for you to respond this time, and Bradley wasn't even letting his screen dim long enough to need to unlock it now.
Pretty Girl: Are you naked in these photos?
"Jesus," he muttered. Of course he wasn't. Did you want him to be? Shit, he needed to stop thinking about that.
No! I'm wearing underwear. You told me not to get changed or anything.
He felt flushed and too warm as he set his phone down on the counter and went to open some windows. Then he walked a few laps around his apartment in an effort to chill the fuck out. He wasn't even with you, and you were under his skin. 
When he returned to his phone, there was a selfie and a message waiting for him. In the photo, you were sipping a drink, and the way the straw pressed to your perfect lips had him practically moaning. 
Pretty Girl: My friend thinks there's something wrong with me. I'm at a Navy bar in San Diego at the moment. There are hot guys galore, and yet I'm glued to my phone. 
"Shit, shit, shit." Bradley thought about getting dressed and heading out to the bar himself. Then maybe he could hear you tell him your name in person right before he pulled the straw away from your mouth and kissed you.
How much longer are you going to be at the Hard Deck, Pretty Girl?
Bradley started heading for his bedroom closet when his phone vibrated in his hand.
Pretty Girl: How do you know I'm at the Hard Deck? Do I need to smash my phone to bits and go into hiding?
"Fuck," he grunted, typing so quickly he had to go back and fix several spelling errors before he could send it. The last thing he wanted to do was make you uncomfortable, so he paused before getting any clothing out of his closet.
Because I'm in the Navy, and I live in San Diego. And I recognized the inside of the bathroom from the first photo you sent me. I swear I'm not creepy. You can ask Penny, the bartender and owner of that fine establishment. I spend enough time there. Show her my photo.
Bradley collapsed onto his bed with his forearm over his eyes and his phone clutched to his chest. He didn't have to check the time to know it had been a while since he texted you. He also didn't have to look at his phone to know it was after midnight now and that you and he had been chatting for almost two hours. Bradley jolted when the phone vibrated against his chest.
Pretty Girl: Okay. Alright. Penny is a sweetheart, and your story checks out. Also, she told me your call sign and then told me to have you verify what it is for my own peace of mind. So what is it, Bradley? And how do you know what the ladies' restroom here looks like?
Oh, he was going to owe Penny big time. He typed away as he lay sprawled out on his bed.
My call sign is Rooster. And as for your bathroom question.... are you really going to make me answer that?
Bradley closed his eyes and thought about the girl who had taken him into the bathroom with her last year. He was pretty sure she had brown hair, but other than that, he couldn't really recall. But he did remember looking at that paper towel holder on the wall and the framed photo of an F/A-14 that was hanging over it while he was in there with her. 
He wouldn't mind taking a trip there with you, that was for sure. Or maybe you and he could skip the scandalous bar hookup and just go right to dinner or a movie. For some reason, he thought he might actually prefer that.
Pretty Girl: Be back soon. I'm getting a ride home.
Bradley mused out loud, "It better not be from Alan." Shit, he could have offered to go pick you up and make sure you got home safely. He'd only had those two beers all night, and now he was picturing some faceless guy named Alan driving you home and pawing at you.
He texted you back.
Let me know when you get home, okay? And you can always just call me.
With a sigh, he got out of bed and plugged his phone in, not sure what to expect at this point. He went back into the bathroom and used his red toothbrush. And then he went back to the living room and closed all the windows. When he was in his room again, he had no new notifications as he climbed in bed. He was about to text you again and check in when his phone rang.
CALL FROM Pretty Girl
Bradley was smiling as he answered. "Hey, Pretty Girl."
A soft laugh preceded your voice, and he had to bite the inside of his cheek as you said, "Hi, Bradley with the O positive blood. Are you trying to tell me that you were in that bar bathroom with a girl?"
He found himself laughing. "Can I plead the fifth?"
When you moaned softly, he dropped his phone onto the pillow and had to scramble to get it. "Oh, my god. Even your voice is sexy."
Okay. He should not be on the verge of touching himself after you spoke three whole sentences to him. "You make it home safely?" he asked, trying to play it cool as he thought about those photos you sent him. 
"Mmhmm. A very nice man named Alan drove me home. He's right here next to me as I get changed for bed."
Bradley thought for a beat that he had met his match in you. "You better be lying. You know what, put Alan on the phone."
Your laughter filled him up as you said, "He's not really here. I had to ditch him, because he doesn't even have a mustache. Apparently that's a deal breaker for me now?"
Holy shit. Bradley was in trouble. He was getting turned on, and you weren't even really saying anything dirty. "You're killing me. You gonna tell me your name, Pretty Girl?"
"No. I think I'm going to hold onto it a little longer."
"Fine. But please explain to me how I've never seen you at the Hard Deck before. I'm certain I would remember your face."
Your voice sounded a little softer now as you said, "I just moved to Coronado. It was my first time at the bar."
If he hadn't worked so late today, Bradley would have probably been there tonight as well. "You had fun? You think you'll go back again?"
"Probably," you replied casually. "When do you think you'll be there?"
Bradley was so warm he was starting to sweat. "Pretty Girl, you just say the word, and I'll clear my whole damn calendar."
Your little sighs and soft giggles were going to be the death of him. "You know, I still have Alan's, or rather your phone number on my hand."
He imagined himself kissing your palm and rewriting his phone number. "Should be in my handwriting. I'll make sure I always bring a pen with me to the bar."
You cleared your throat softly, and Bradley imagined you climbing into bed. "Penny told me to watch out for some of the other guys. But she said you're okay."
"Just okay?"
"Actually, she called you a big, brown eyed puppy dog."
Bradley laughed. "I've been called worse."
"I'm sure you have," you replied quickly. "You deserve some sort of punishment for daring to look good with a mustache."
"It's a blessing and a curse. Now, are you going to send me another photo? Or are you going to just agree to meet me tomorrow night?"
He heard a rustling noise and then you softly said, "Alan is not going to like this one bit." And then another photo arrived, and this one had Bradley's mouth hanging open. 
"Now it's my turn to ask if you're naked in this picture." He was taking in every inch of your exposed skin and your bedding tucked up to your collar bones. You took your makeup off for bed, and you looked cozy and intimate. And you were talking to him. You were letting him see this. Bradley had to actively think about not touching himself. 
"Totally naked."
"Fuck."
"Send me another one?"
"Yeah," he grunted, swallowing hard as he tried to pose for another selfie just how he was, sprawled out on his pillow with his left arm bent and tucked back behind his head. But his cheeks looked flushed, and his eyes looked darker than usual. He was turned on. 
Fuck it. He snapped the photo and sent it. And about ten seconds later, he was greeted with the strangled sound you made.
"It should be illegal for someone with that mustache to look so good. It's rude, honestly. Bradley, you're kind of rude, because now I want to know...."
He was hanging on your every word. "Know what, Pretty Girl?"
The call went completely silent before you said softly and sweetly, "What your mustache feels like...everywhere."
A soft, startled laugh escaped his lips. You were on the verge of some dirty talk now, he could just tell. And his cock was hard as he replied with, "I'd love to let you find out. But before you respond, I need to know how much you've had to drink tonight. I don't want to take advantage of anything here."
You whimpered on the other end of the call. "A mustache, brown eyes, and a gentleman? All Alan did for me was buy me those two Long Island iced teas."
Bradley grunted and said, "That's enough about Alan. Why don't you go ahead and tell me where you'd like to feel my mustache first, Pretty Girl."
You squeaked and said, "I want to feel it rough along my skin right below my ear while you whisper to me. Oh my god, I can't believe I said that out loud. I should just go to bed."
"Don't hang up," Bradley said, panting with need now. "Tell me more."
"Okay," you sighed with another little squeak. "I want to feel it on my lips. While I'm sitting in your lap, licking the taste of that beer you drank from your mouth."
"Holy shit," he groaned, palming himself through his boxer briefs.
"I know," you whined with need. "And I want to feel it on the back of my neck while you do filthy things to me. And I don't even know you!"
"You will," he guaranteed. "Please, tell me what time I can meet you tomorrow."
Bradley listened to the rustle of your sheets as he waited. Then you finally said, "Seven o'clock? At the Hard Deck?"
"I'll be there, Pretty Girl. I can't wait to see you."
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It was barely even 6:30, but you were already at the bar all made up and wearing a cute dress. Penny recognized you right away, which was kind of nice and kind of embarrassing. When she asked if you wanted another Long Island, you waved her off and said, "Nothing yet. I'm meeting someone."
Her eyes lit up as she asked, "Is it Rooster?"
You'd barely slept all night, preferring to look at the four selfies he'd sent you after you ended the call around two. There was a little more dirty talk, sure, but you and he also learned a bit more about each other. And now you were going to meet this naval aviator who was originally from Virginia but loved the Los Angeles Clippers face to face. 
"Yeah. It's Rooster."
Penny looked truly delighted. "You have nothing to worry about. He's very sweet."
"Tell that to the butterflies," you muttered as you placed one hand on your stomach for a beat, willing the nerves to dissipate as you walked away. You'd told Bradley you wanted his mustache on your body. In several places. And then he told you he thought you were so pretty and fun that he wanted to kiss you everywhere. And right now you were just mystified as to how this could have possibly happened only a week after you moved to this neighborhood. And you still didn't know what happened to Alan after you went to the ladies' bathroom and saved the wrong number in your phone.
You laughed when you thought about it, and then you ran your hands along the fabric of your dress. You were so antsy, your palms were sweaty. You looked down at yourself and just got more nervous. Bradley hadn't seen much of your body in the photos you'd sent to him. You'd seen plenty of his though, and he looked tall and muscular even next to his damn refrigerator. And his face was gorgeous, right down to that sinful looking mustache. 
And you were just... you. Alan was really more your speed with his nerdy glasses and messy hairstyle and his lack of ability to even grow any sort of facial hair at all. You just hoped that Bradley wouldn't take one look at you in person and walk right back out of the bar. 
You were about to tell Penny that you thought you needed a drink after all when the door caught your eye, and Bradley strolled into the bar like he owned the place. "Oh...fuck," you whispered, gaping at him as he ran his fingers through his hair. The photos hadn't even done him justice. He had to be over six feet tall, and he was so broad and muscular, he looked like he could pick you up and toss you around a little bit. "Shit." He was wearing some snug fitting jeans and a tropical print shirt like he just knew he could pull off the most ridiculous look. "Damn." He was glancing around, trying to find you while you started scouring the room unsuccessfully for another exit. 
You were trapped in here, and he was walking further into the bar now. And you didn't think you could hide halfway behind this couple who was making out for very much longer.  
As Bradley's eyes scanned the crowd again, he looked a little apprehensive. His brow was scrunched, and he checked the time on his watch. You knew it was almost seven. So you took a deep breath and let it out slowly, and then you scooted one step to your left. When his gaze came your way again, his eyes landed on you. And then his face softened. The apprehension melted away, and he smiled a cute and somehow sexy little grin that made you whimper.
Now he was heading your way, his gait sure and steady. And then he was just a few feet away and you could see the scars on his face that you'd studied all night in the photos. And you could see the flecks of gold in his eyes that somehow the selfies didn't capture. And then he was talking, and his voice was even better in person.
"Pretty Girl."
Okay, so he'd seen you up close, and he wasn't running away. That had to be a good sign, right? You managed to say just one slightly breathless word. "Hi." And then his smile grew, and he was closing the space between your body and his. He was reaching for your face and running one rough thumb along your cheek. And then he kissed you.
And the soft scrape of his mustache was even better than all of the ways you'd spent your night imagining it might feel. You couldn't help but return his kiss, and somehow your hands ended up pressed to the front of him, sliding up to his chest. 
When he broke the kiss, he stayed close, his lips not far from your face. He covered your hands with his, keeping them on his body. And then he leaned close to your ear, his mustache scraping along your soft skin there as he whispered, "Tell me your name, Pretty Girl. I'm dying here."
Soft laughter bubbled out of you as he pulled away from you a bit, and those butterflies were going wild. His eyes were fixed on your face, begging for an answer this time as he stroked your hands with his thumbs. And then you told him, and he tried your name out on his tongue a few times with that grin that you liked so much. He kept saying it softly until you kissed him this time, and then he guided your arms around his neck. 
"Listen," he said in that raspy voice that you'd love to focus on all night. "I have no problem staying here for a while if you want to. I bet you could even persuade me to join you in the ladies' room."
"Sounds tempting," you told him with a smirk.
"It really does. But we could also just ditch the bar and grab dinner instead? Maybe watch the Clippers game and have a drink at my place? I'm a little worried Alan might show up here and try to lure you away, if I'm being honest."
You practically snorted with laughter. "I can't even really remember what Alan looks like. He was totally gone from my mind after the first selfie you sent me. Let's get out of here."
He took you by the hand. "Anything you want, Pretty Girl."
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I love dreamy loverboy Bradley, and I love Pretty Girl too. Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls
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3K notes · View notes
sometimesanalice · 6 months
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Bedside Manner
Summary: You were expecting the perfect summer afternoon with the Daggers, but when a game of dogfight football takes a turn for the worse, you’re left with a bleeding head and an aching heart. And it’s up to Bradley to show you his bedside manner.
Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader
Length: 8K
Warnings: A little angst, a little pining, and two idiots in love.
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It’s a perfect summer afternoon. Well, almost.
The sun is high in the sky and the steady salt kissed ocean breeze keeps it from being too uncomfortably hot. The coolers are filled with beers and sodas and a few pink cans of rosé that Coyote had brought. And the beach blankets were littered with open half-eaten family sized bags of chips and cubes of bright pink watermelon and containers of various dips and ziplocs with sun warmed and mostly melted chocolate chip cookies.
“You guys, really, I’m fine,” you state as adamantly as you can given the circumstances.
Sure, you have Jake’s t-shirt pressed against your throbbing, bleeding head. Sure, you are a little afraid to put your full weight on your left ankle and already dreading the long walk back to your car.
But it’s fine, you’re fine. Everything is…peachy. Or it will be as soon as they all stop looking at you like you’re about to crumple to the ground like some 1920’s silent film starlet from on the silver screen.
Nat has that deep pinch between her sharp brown eyes. Jake’s lips are pressed together in a firm white line. The rest of the team stands hovering around you in a misshapen semicircle, all sandy and sweaty, and wearing the concern painted across their faces.
All except for Rooster, who can’t seem to look at you at all.
“Clearly, you’re not,” Phoenix says flatly, clearly unamused by your attempts to minimize the situation. And you wish that just this once she could have let this go and follow your lead. But then she wouldn’t be Natasha Trace.
Your best friend since middle school had always been the most capable and sharpest person in the room and you loved that about her.
Normally.
But not so much when her keen assessment of you keeps you from being able to slink away quietly without fuss. 
“No, seriously. It’s just a little scratch. It’s not a big deal.” It sounds feeble even to your own ears. Trying to hold back a wince when the way you shake your head makes starbursts bloom behind your eyes.
You could have dealt with the pounding in your head if it weren’t for the relentless burning of your ankle that was only making things worse. One or the other would have been easier to manage, but both vying for your attention as the pain pulses with every heartbeat was miserable.
The sun was too hot, the kids frolicking the ocean were too loud, the sunscreen on your skin felt too greasy. All you wanted was a shower and your bed and to forget this whole day even happened.
You look around the group trying to gauge how successful your efforts are, but it’s clear that no one seems to be buying your brand of poorly performed bullshit. You wanted to crawl into yourself like a hermit crab, protected by your own shell, as six pairs of eyes all looked on at you sympathetically, while the pretty brown ones you wanted to see the most were hidden behind a pair of sunglasses and trained down at the ground.
It was supposed to be a fun day.
You’d woken up that morning absolutely giddy about trading spreadsheets for sand and sunburns and sea salt tangled hair. Your cheery, new swimsuit already laid out and waiting for you from the night before.
There was something thrilling about hooky on a Friday with all of your favorite people that made you feel all kinds of young and free. Well, hooky for you. They’d been given the day off after a month of intensive training and testing of some new defensive software. They all deserved the break and you were more than happy to tag along.
You were always the good kid in school, never skipping, never missing a class. You’d felt like a rebellious teen as you crafted your ‘out of office’ email, a smug grin on your face like you were getting away with something. Even though you’d earned the right to use that PTO whichever way you wanted.
The anticipation of a snow day from your childhood school days had nothing on the intoxicating promise of a beach day on a golden summer Friday.
The team must have felt the same way too because the group chat the night before had been chaotically amusing. The excitement was palpable enough that you’d almost think you all lived in some landlocked state rather than San Diego, where it felt like all roads led to the beach whether you wanted them to or not.
Somewhere between the string of all capitalized sentences and exclamation points with a few well-chosen emojis scattered throughout, Natasha had managed to wrangle everyone in enough into sorting out who was responsible for bringing what. There wouldn’t be another veggie platter incident, not on her watch.
You’d felt bright and effervescent as you’d pulled into the parking lot, your eyes reflexively seeking out a blue Bronco that hadn’t arrived yet. With a beach chair over one shoulder and a beach bag over the other and a packed cooler bag in your hand, you’d made towards the multicolored sprawl of blankets and the striped peaks of the umbrellas, where you were met with the smiling faces of shiny happy people.
Some of the boys had rushed over to help you carry your things and added your offerings to the communal pile of snacks and sunscreen and bottles of water. It had been easy to fall into conversation with everyone as you set up your own little patch of paradise and shimmied out of your frayed cut-offs. Natasha had given you a wolf whistle and you’d laughed as you give her the finger.
And hour and a half later with an easy grin on his face, carrying a case of beer and two big Ziploc bags stuffed with what you learned later were homemade cookies balanced on top, was Rooster.
You’ve had plenty of beach days with them but every time you saw him in those damn denim shorts he always seemed determined to wear, regardless of how impractical they were, your mind still went a little fizzy as you took in just how well they clung to his thighs.
He’d taken the ribbing from his squad in stride as he unboxed the beers and added them to the collection already chilling in Bob’s bright yellow cooler. You were trying- and failing- to read your worn paperback book when he’d surprised you by plopping his things next to yours on your oversized towel and stole a chunk of juicy watermelon off of the plate balanced on your lap.
“Hey, book worm,” he grinned as he popped it into his mouth, “How’s my favorite girl doing?” That smile of his getting bigger when you rolled your eyes at him.
“Hi, Rooster,” you’d said looking at him from over the top of your sunglasses with an amused smirk.
And if your cheeks felt warm, it was from the sun and not the teasing tone of his raspy voice.
When he’d shrugged off his shirt to apply the sunscreen you’d brought with him in mind, the wink he’d shot you went straight to your head like champagne. The sun highlighting his impressive abs and sculpted shoulders didn’t help either as he took great efforts to cover his chest and stomach with the lotion. He had to be doing it on purpose, because he’d kept rubbing it in well past when the white hue faded. But who were you to complain? Melanoma was no joke.
“You wanna help me out?” he’d asked turning his back to you, looking over his shoulder. You’re pretty sure that he’d been flexing because he’d looked impossibly broad, every defined muscle standing out for eyes to map out and explore.
You’d been at war with yourself, because while your eager hands were desperate to touch him, you also knew that once you ran your hands along his solid frame that you’d never want to stop. That you wouldn’t be content until your fingertips had traced every inch of him.
You had been blessedly and devastatingly spared the choice.
“I got you, Rooster. My hands are already all sunscreen-y,” chimed in Bob, who had just finished rubbing his own freshly applied layer. “Wouldn’t want it to get on her book.”
You were only half relieved to be off the hook, while Bradley on the other hand was still looking at you expectantly, almost hopefully, still with the white and yellow bottle of sunscreen partly extended towards you.
“That’s so sweet of you, Bob-” you’d started.
“Yeah, so sweet-” Bradley grumbled under his breath.
“I appreciate you sparing my pages the sunscreen grease,” you’d said shooting Bob a smile, choosing to ignore Bradley’s comment completely. “Plus, your hands are bigger than mine. You’ll have him covered in no time.”  
Bradley looked between you and Bob before he passed the bottle to the other man, shaking his head a little in defeat. You’d giggled to yourself as you wiggled your book at an openly brooding Bradley, and then leaned back on your elbows to observe the way the attentive WSO made sure to carefully and thoroughly cover Bradley’s entire back.
Respectfully, of course.
Behind your sunglasses you’d admired all of Bradley’s bulk compared to Bob’s lithe grace. But in your defense, they were standing right in front of you and you’d already reread your book at least five times in the past, so it wasn’t nearly as interesting as the scene in front of you had been.
“You look awfully comfortable over there,” Rooster called out with a raised eyebrow.
“Just taking in the view,” you’d teased back.
“Yeah, I bet you are,” he huffed as Bob finished up, giving him a thanks, man before tossing you back the bottle of sunscreen. He’d nudged his sunglasses down his nose and pinned you with his gaze, “Let me know if you want me to get your back. My hands are just as capable as his.” Even in the high heat of summer, the way he’d looked at you sent chills running along your arms.
You felt the way his keen eyes traveled from your face, down the deep-v of your swimsuit and along the swells of your breasts, and down your legs to your freshly painted toes. His mouth had ticked up in the corner then left you reeling and your heart pounding away in your chest as he’d strut off to go join Fanboy and Coyote by the mountain of snacks.
And that was the thing about Bradley Bradshaw. You never knew if he was just flirt-y or flirt-ing.
You hadn’t had a crush in ages, but when Nat had introduced you to her team five months ago, the man with the sunkissed curls and surprisingly attractive mustache had immediately caught your eye.
And as you’d gotten to know him, it had only gotten worse.
Not only was he very nice to look at and could make you laugh until your sides ached, but he also he had depth about him in a way that most men your age didn’t. You liked talking to him and listening to his stories. You liked learning his perspective on things. You liked being around him.
He made you feel interesting and special and funny and seen. You’ve never felt as comfortable in your own skin as you did when you were around him.
Rooster would send you flirty winks, give you less than subtle once overs, and could flash you such devastating slow grins that they’d have you trying to catch the butterflies they released in your stomach for hours after you went home.
But he’s never made a move.
If only he wouldn’t play hide and seek with his true intentions.
You felt like you were still waiting on some small clue whether he was serious or not. You didn’t know if he was just having fun with you or if he was into you and it was more than just friendly banter. It would be so much easier if he’d straight up tell you one way or another.
Needless to say, you’d let Nat be the one to help you with your sunscreen a little bit later. The idea of Bradley’s big hands on you, gliding along your sun-warmed skin and under the crisscross straps of your swimsuit, was too much for your hummingbird heart.
The sun climbed higher into the sky as the butter yellow midmorning transformed into a Midas-touched golden afternoon.
The squad had been able to reserve a fire pit and the plan had been to stay until the sunset. An endless summer day stretching out before them like a cat. They had nothing but time.
Clusters of people came together and split apart like a kaleidoscope as some went to take a dip in the ocean or raid the cooler and snack spread or go for a walk along the shore. Changing and shifting with the direction of the wind, going where the mood took them.
And for a peaceful moment, it had been you with your book and a napping Bradley sprawled out next to you on your towel with his arm flung over his eyes. Close enough that you could feel his warmth, almost but not quite touching. The sound of his soft breaths and the waves their own kind of lullaby as you contentedly read your book, turning your pages quietly to not disturb the man next to you, as the droplets of the Pacific dried on your skin.  
You still don’t know how you got roped into playing a round of dogfight football with the Navy’s best and brightest. You were more of a corn hole or ladder toss kind of girl, but Coyote had all but thrown you over his shoulder and dragged you out before you’d agreed to participate, conceding your defeat.
You were on a team with Hangman, Coyote, Fanboy against Nat, Rooster, Payback, and Bob. A few plays in and you had been getting the hang of it. They’d all been making sure to take care to go easy on you even in the chaos of two teams playing offensively and defensively at the same time. You were more than a little out of breath, but you were having fun.
Before the next snap, Mickey gave the most impassioned pep talk you’d ever heard, “Fuck luck, we don’t need luck. We gotta fucking win.” You had been about to laugh, but then you’d seen the looks on Jake and Javy’s faces and decided against it. Curious about the other team, you’d glanced over only to see Rooster looking back at you.
The calls had been made, the blur of plays in motion as people whirled and dodged and sprinted.
You’d just lobbed the ball to Javy before darting around Nat when a big, solid body collided with you. Hard. You’d felt the twinge of your ankle twisting in the sand right before the force sent you flying in the opposite direction you’d been headed.
The impact had been jarring. The air knocked from your lungs.
Where you should have been met with a mouthful of gritty sand, instead your head had connected with the rough surface of a partially buried rock. The low, thick thud reverberating throughout your whole body.
You’d been so stunned that you didn’t even register you were even on the ground until you heard the chorus of oh fucks and holy shits and goddamns and jesus christs over the ringing in your ears.
The game coming to an immediate and conclusive end.
For how many empty bottles and cans were sitting collected in a trash bag off to the side of your beach set up, they had been surprisingly quick to act as you blinked blankly, trying to clear the spots from your vision.
It was a silent ballet of efficiency as they instinctively fell into their roles, much like you imagined they did the sky. Everyone stepping up and then stepping back as they did their part, like the ebb and flow of waves.
Nat had carefully poured some fresh water from a bottle on your face to remove the sand that clung to the sweat and sunscreen on your skin. Then Jake had wordlessly passed her his clean spare shirt he’d jogged of to get to help stop the bleeding after Javy checked on your pupils to make sure they were the same size. While Bob stood off to the side holding your warped sunglasses in his hands, as if he was hopeful they could still be salvaged. Mickey and Reuben had been waiting in the wings giving you space, ready to help if they were needed, but not wanting to not crowd in.
And from the corner of your eye, you’d caught Rooster standing a couple feet away with his hands in his hair looking absolutely wrecked.
“Bradley?” you’d tried, even though his name stuck to your teeth. But he’d just shook his head at you before turning away slightly, like he couldn’t look at you, which made your heart sting as well.
They only allowed you to move to sit up after they were content with the answer to their questions- What day is it? Friday. Where are you? San Diego. What else hurts? My ankle and my pride.
It wasn’t until someone hauled you up from underneath your armpits that the throbbing and stinging and aching settled over you. The pain seeping and spreading through muscle and bone like an inky oil spill.
It’s still an almost perfect summer afternoon except for the fact you hate everything about this.
You hate the way they’re gathered around you with too many pairs of assessing eyes pinned on you. You hate that you’re the reason the game of dogfight football came to a definitive and abrupt end. You hate that you’re the reason their carefree and fun afternoon off has turned into this.
There’s a pressure building behind your eyes, the hot tears of hurt and frustration and embarrassment are clamoring to be released. You have to bite your lower lip to keep it from trembling.
And it doesn’t help that you’re the type who’d rather lick your wounds in peace.
You just need to get back to your car and you can figure things out on your own from there. You just need a moment to yourself.
As you open your mouth to argue your case again, Jake puts his hand up and stops you before you’ve even had a chance to start, “I hate to break it to you, sugar, but you’re not fooling any of us.” He says it gently, but gives you a pointed look at the way you’re leaning heavily on your right leg to keep the pressure off of your left ankle.
“That head wound is not a little scratch. Just like your ankle isn’t just a little puffy, when it’s twice the size it should be. You need to go to the Emergency Room,” Nat says, final and resolute. A lifetime of friendship has taught you not to argue when she has that look in her eyes, the one that says try me, I dare you.
They all talk over you as they figure out who is the most sober of the group after your suggestion to call yourself an Uber is immediately shot down. Drinks are being counted on fingers, and memories are searched to make sure every sip and bottle and can is accounted for.
Your eyes drift over to the man who is still actively avoiding looking at you, even as he talks to everyone else on the team. You aren’t paying too close attention to what he is saying, but you can hear the short, clipped staccato of his words.
Bradley’s shoulders are tinged a little pink even though you know for a fact that you had purposely passed him the 65 SPF. His eyes are hidden behind his dark green tinted sunglasses, but you don’t need to see them when you can read his body language better than any book.
His arms are crossed firmly over his chest, the tendons in his forearms flexing and shifting, like he is squeezing and releasing his fists from where they’re tucked under his biceps. Everything in his body looks coiled tight and strained, so at odds with the easy going and loose-limbed man you know him to be.
You don’t realize just how much you’ve zoned out until Natasha has to say your name a couple time before you pull your gaze away from Bradley and back to her.
“Ok, it’s settled,” Nat informs you, “Rooster’s going to take you.” You barely nod your head in acknowledgement when she tells you, because it feels like you’ve been punched in the stomach now too.
“It’s the least he can do,” Jake drawls.
“That’s not fair-” you start, defensively.
“Fuck off, Bagman-” Rooster snaps.
The rage in his voice shocks you, you’ve never heard that much heat from him before. There’s none of the teasing tone that usually underscores their banter. Jake puts both of his hands up placatingly like my bad, folks and Javy just shakes his head and sighs.
And this time when you look at Bradley, he is finally looking back at you with a deep furrow in his brow. His jaw is clenched tight, that muscle ticking and jumping, as he takes in the way you have Jake’s t-shirt pressed against your forehead.
Not exactly the way you’d hoped he’d be looking at you when you put on your new blue and white striped swimsuit this morning.
The one you’d bought because you wanted to make him look.
Just not like this.
With everything sorted the rest of the team trickles away a smattering of take cares and get better soons and let us know if you need anythings. But not before Mickey hands Rooster his stuff and passes Nat your bag and sandals. He gives you the gentlest of squeezes on your shoulder before he leaves to join everyone else back on little part of the beach you all had claimed before things went to shit.
Your group of eight now downsized to a trio.
Bradley is quick to roughly pull on his tank and shirt, and Nat fishes out your car keys from your bag as she waits for him to slip his shoes on. When he’s ready she passes it to him and he silently slides it over his arm.
Nat bends down to help gingerly glide your feet into your sandals, “I’ll grab the rest your things and drop them off at your place and then one of the boys will drop off your car later. We’ve got it all covered, ok?”
“Thanks, Nat,” you say quietly, trying to hold back a wince as she slips the left one on, your ankle pulsing in tempo with your heartbeat.
“Best friends don’t say thank you, they just do,” she says matter-of-factly as she stands. It’s the same thing you’d told her after you’d dumped a carton of strawberry milk on Carly Radke for outing Natasha your freshman year in high school. It was only time you’d ever gotten detention, but it had been worth it.
“They just do,” you repeat with a small smile.
You’re so grateful that your friendship with her is one that has spanned years. That you’ve been able seen one another grow and change and come into their own, but that you haven’t outgrown each other. She’s the person you want by your side and having your back. There is no one quite like Natasha Trace.
She turns to Bradley and you watch him stand a little taller under her sharp eyes, your straw tote still dangling from his forearm.
“You good?” Nat asks him with a look in her eye that you can’t place. And you’re reminded that even though she’s your best friend, that he has also earned a spot as one of her closest friends. Their relationship built over years and experiences that you could never fully understand. Different, but just as deep.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got her. I’ll take care of her,” Rooster promises with a stiff nod, as he gives her his word. It might have made your heart beat a little faster if you didn’t feel like such a burden. That it’s simply a twist of fate and three less drinks than everyone else for the reason that he’s the one to look after you. That he’s the one stuck with you.
“I know you will,” she says softer now, patting his shoulder, “Keep me posted.” Nat presses a kiss to your cheek and gives you an encouraging smile then heads off to go rejoin everyone else.
You watch her go with longing. The cheerful beach set up with its colorful blankets and umbrellas looks more like a desert mirage now. The sweet coconut scented potential of what the day could have been now forever out of reach.
And then it’s just you and Bradley and the sound of the waves and cries of seagulls.
The two of you silent and motionless.
You feel one wrong move and the fragile attempt of the stiff upper lip you’ve cocooned yourself in will crack open and all the soft parts of you will seep out into the sand beneath your feet.
His expression is shuttered closed as he bends a bit like he is going to pick you up.
“Woah, buddy, what are you doing?” You’re squinting into the sun as you look at him. You’d step into his shadow to block it, since you’re now in need of a new pair of sunglasses, but that would mean moving to the left which isn’t an option with your ankle.
“Buddy,” he grunts under his breath, slipping off his sunglasses and carefully putting them on your face, being mindful of stinging scrapes and wad of soft cotton you’re holding to your head. “They’re definitely going to have to run concussion protocol on you,” he mutters more to himself than to you, “I’m taking you to the Bronco and then we’re going the ER, remember?”
“Yeah, I know, Rooster,” you grit out, even rolling your eyes hurts, “But I don’t need you to carry me.”
Everything about this was excruciating and embarrassing enough without him being the Clark Gable to your Vivian Leigh. Maybe you could lean on him and hop over to his car? Like a six-foot-one pair of crutches with good hair.
“Take a step without wincing and I’ll think about it,” he says firmly, pointedly calling your bluff. There’s an expectant look of go on then, whenever you’re ready on his face. Because he knows he’s right, and you do too.
You don’t even bother to make a move, but the way your lower lips wobbles speaks volumes.
“That’s what I thought,” he says quietly, almost like pains him to be right.
He bends a little to hook his arms around your knees and back to lift you up, and this time you let him. Your free arm automatically wrapping around the back of his neck. And he starts off towards the winking windshields of the parking lot.
You’ve thought about what it would be like to be wrapped up in Bradley’s arms, how good it would feel to be pressed closed against him. And now you are and it’s nothing like you’ve imagined, because there isn’t anything sweet or swoon-worthy about how you ended up in them. You’re his duty, you’re not his desire.
All your sandcastle hopes have been washed away by the tide.
You’re so frustrated. You’re frustrated by the day, by yourself, by him.
This time you can’t blink back the tears that well up in your eyes. They flood through your tear ducts carving hot trails down your sun-tinged cheeks.
You want the Bradley from earlier. 
The one who stole your watermelon with warmth in his eyes.
The one who dozed next to you in the sun like a cat, his features soft free of the tension he now holds in his shoulders.
You want your Bradley.
The one who’d whispered cheeky comments in your ear whenever the team got into lighthearted tequila fueled arguments about things like whether a hot dog was a sandwich.
The one who’d always go up to the bar with you on busy nights at the Hard Deck and make sure you didn’t get bumped into on the way back to your friends with your freshly refilled drinks.
You’re aching, aching. Everywhere.
For a brief moment, as you swipe at your tears, you’re happy for the throbbing in your head and ankle, so that way you don’t have to think about the stinging in your heart.
“I know, I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I know you’re hurting,” Rooster says gentle and low as you sniffle, but you can hear the thickness of the words in his throat. The term of endearment is the sweetest of nothings, making your tears come faster. Where it should ease the heartache, all it does is make you angry at yourself for giving your emotions away. “We’re almost to the Bronco. It’s ok, we’re gonna get you taken care of, I promise.”
We.
You wanted that with him.
You want to press both of your hands to his cheeks to make him look you in the eyes to ask him is it going to be you and me together?  You’ve been a fool for love before, but you didn’t know if could take another hit-and-run with your heart.
The salt of your tears makes your cheeks feel tight and itchy as the summer breeze dries them on your skin.
Bradley carries you like you weigh nothing, but cradles you like you’re the most precious things he’s ever held. He’s mindful of any dips in the sand and gives wide berth around the college kids playing volleyball close to the entry back to the parking lot.
When he reaches the Bronco, he sets you down gently, making sure both of your feet are planted on the asphalt before letting go of you to unlock his car. He tells you to wait a moment when you move to open the passenger side door.
“I never know when I might get called up for an emergency deployment, so I like to have some extra clothes just in case,” he explains as he digs around in the backseat, pulling out a pair of gray athletic shorts.
“Oh.” And you realize you’re still just clad in your striped swimsuit. “Thank you for sparing me from the hospital germs,” you say lightly, an attempt at a joke to break the ice. One that doesn’t land, since instead of cracking a grin he just presses his lips together in a firm line and nods.
Bradley crouches low in front of you and you put a hand on his shoulder for balance as you lean against the Bronco, still trying to keep as much pressure off your left ankle as possible as you step into them. He’s looking up at you and even through his sunglasses perched on your nose, you swear his brown eyes get a shade darker as he eases the shorts up your legs. You’re touched by the effort as he ties the strings in a lopsided bow, even if things are feeling tense between the two of you.
“Think this’ll be easier,” he mumbles shrugging off his light blue button up. You’ve always liked this one, with its soft pastel pink and minty green watercolor prints of net fishermen and hula girls and palm trees.
He holds it open for you, helping you thread your arm through it, and then takes over holding Jake’s now ruined shirt to your head so that you can get your other arm past the sleeve. It smells like him, citrus and amber. Your fingers brush against each other when you reclaim the makeshift bandage, and he adjusts his shirt so that it hangs over your shoulders just right.
It’s an awkward kind silent as Rooster helps lift you into the Bronco with his strong hands around your hips. He is all smooth efficiency as he buckles you in with a click. You pass him back his sunglasses the same moment he hands you your tote bag, and it almost feels like a hostage exchange.
He says nothing as he hauls himself into the driver’s side. The car rumbles to life when he turns the key in the ignition and a cheery song from the 80’s station on the radio comes on. Bradley quick to turn the volume down low. His thumb brushing your shoulder as he sets his hand on the back of your seat to look behind him as he carefully backs out of the spot.
It’s never felt this strained with him before.
It’s so painfully obvious that the two of you are walking on eggshells around each other. You can almost feel the wall that’s gone up around him. The white noise of the radio drowned out by the hum of the road as he drives in near silence.
Your day has been most effectively ruined by a chunk of sedimentary rock, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t still recoup what’s left of it.
He could still have the perfect summer afternoon.
He could still go back to your friends and their perfect beach set up and laugh with them as Coyote keeps accidentally setting marshmallows on fire. He could still catch the bold oranges and soft pinks of the sunset with all the satisfied contentment he deserved to experience.
“You can leave me and go back, you know. I’ll be ok if you just want drop me off and then head back to the beach,” you say looking down at your fingers as you trace the stitching of his leather seats.
When he doesn’t answer right away, you glance over at him. The vein in his neck is standing out boldly against the column of his throat.
“Do I seem like the kind of guy who would leave someone at the ER alone?” he asks, his voice rougher than sandpaper.
“No. No, of course not,” you say emphatically, “That’s why I’m giving you permission.”
“Permission?” he scoffs with a shake of his head.
“Yes, permission,” you say, clipped.
You’re giving him an out, why doesn’t he get that?
He heaves a big sigh and grunts. “Is it… Would you rather have Bob- with his big hands- here instead?” Bradley asks, frustration leaking out around the edges of his words.
“Bob with his big hands?” you repeat baffled, “What does Bob have to do with anything about this?”
“That’s what you said earlier, sweetheart. I’m just citing the source. Or I can call Phoenix? Or…” he pauses glancing at the t-shirt pressed to your head, “Or even Seresin. Once we get you checked in I can call any of them an Uber or something, and they can be there with you, if you don’t want me.”
“No, Rooster, I don’t want anyone else.” You wince at the implication and hope it doesn’t read into it further than the current situation to two of you are wading through like quick sand.
“Ok, good,” he grumbles.
“Great,” you lob back.
His hand tightens on the steering wheel, the knuckles turning white, “Then where is this even coming from?” The action makes his thick forearm flex in this most delicious of ways that you’d appreciate more if you didn’t feel the anger simmering low in your stomach.
“It’s pretty damn clear that you’d rather be back there, Rooster. Or literally anywhere else right now.” You flip down the sun visor with more force than it deserves, regretting that you gave him his sunglasses back when the bright California sun in your eyes turns your headache into a full-blown migraine.
“Of course, I’d rather be anywhere else!” he says hotly, tossing his sunglasses back in your lap, “Do you think I like that you’re hurt and that we’re on our way to the hospital?” You shove them on your face with an angry huff.
A car speeds by blaring their horn as they pass by.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Fuck off,” he grunts but speed of the Bronco doesn’t change, “Asshole.”
Bradley’s driving five miles under the posted limit, and you know for a fact he religiously drives at least ten miles over. And his turns have been smoother than butter, as if he is trying not to jostle you anymore than you’d already been today.
You are so tired of this hot and cold thing that he’s doing. His words and his deeds weren’t going hand in hand. He keeps giving you the cold shoulder, but is also so in tune with your every movement and need.
Gingerly, you angle yourself in your seat to look at him better, resting your tired left arm on the back of your seat and taking in his strong profile.
“Why are you being like this?” you demand, waving your free hand in a vaguely in his general direction.
“Like what? I’m not being like anything,” he retorts, making the same vague hand gesture as you did a moment earlier.
And oh, if that doesn’t fill your chest with hot indignation. That low simmering anger has turned into a full roiling boil as you shift in your seat trying to get your ankle in a position where it doesn’t hurt.
“Seriously, Rooster? I can feel tension rolling off of you in waves. You’ve been like this since everything turned to complete shit on the beach. I didn’t mean to ruin your day, I’m just trying to figure out how to make things better,” you bite out unable to keep things bottled up anymore.
He sucks in a sharp breath, “Are you kidding me right now? You think you ruined my day?” He glances from the road to you and back again, his brown eyes wide and searching.
“Yes?” Or so you’d thought until you’d seen the shock written all over his face, but now you weren’t so sure. It’s like you’ve dumped ice water on him instead of simply calling him out. “I feel like you’re taking it out on me and I don’t know why.”
“Jesus Christ,” Rooster swears under his breath, shaking his head. “I’m so damn sorry, sweetheart. I’m mad at myself, because I ruined your day.  I should have been more careful, I should have been looking out for you. It’s not like you’re hard to miss in that swimsuit.” Your cheeks heat up at the comment, but you choose to ignore it.
Misery drips from his words like spilled ink off a page. You knew he was upset, but you didn’t realize he was upset about that. That he’s shouldering this fluke of fate as if it is his burden to bear. Some of the anger you’ve been feeling leaves your body like the tide washing out back out to sea. You’re still upset at him for how he has been acting up until this point, but you’re not mad at him about that.
“Bradley, no. It was an accident.”
“Yeah, an accident I’m responsible for,” he says hoarsely, rubbing roughly at his forehead. “God, I can still hear the sound it made when you hit that rock and it makes me feel sick. I would give anything to undo that moment. I need you to know that.”
He is being so hard on himself and your heart squeezes, this time in sympathy rather than hurt. He didn’t place that rock in the sand, the both of you were victims of circumstance.
“It could have happened to anyone. It could have been anyone,” you press delicately, trying to get him to hear you, shifting in your seat again still uncomfortable.
The sunshine bounces off of his slumped shoulders as he sighs raggedly.
“But it happened to you and it’s my fault. You’re bleeding, you’re in pain, and you’ve been crying. And it’s because of me.” He reaches down with his right hand and lifts up your leg so that you can rest it on his thigh, some of the ache alleviating immediately. He asks quietly, “That better?”
“Yes, thank you,” you murmur. He looks so upset, and all you want to do is curl into his lap. You want to hold him and you want to be held by him. “You know I don’t blame you, right?”
You expect him to move his hand back to the steering wheel, but he keeps it on your leg. His thumb stroking your still slightly sandy shin. Your cheery toenail polish at odds with the color blooming around your ankle.
Bradley’s throat bobs as he swallows hard, “Yeah, I do. I know that. But I still blame myself.”
The Bronco rolls to a soft stop at the light. There’s enough traffic that you know you’ll be here for a bit, and so does he since he turns in his seat to look fully at you. You take his sunglasses off, tucking them into the pocket of his shirt that rests above your heart, so nothing stands between his brown eyes and yours.
“So, you’re going to keep beating yourself up over it and icing me out? Making me feel worse? For what, Bradley? Because you’re a glutton for punishment? That’s not fair to me or to you.”
“Shit,” he mutters, his left hand running through his curls. “You’re right and I’m so sorry. I’ve been in my head feeling so damn guilty that I’ve been such an asshole. Can you forgive me?”
You’re about to answer him that when a horn startles you, making you jump in the leather seat. You see the light is green, the car that had been in front of you is gliding through the intersection passing under a blue sign pointing the way to the hospital.
“Bradley, the light.”
The car behind the two of you honks their horn again.
“They can wait. This is important, you are important. Do you forgive me?” There’s an underscore of need that punctuates his question.
“Yes, of course,” you say easily and sincerely. There’s so much remorse in his eyes, you would have forgiven him with that look alone.
“Thank you,” he breathes out in relief. And then he smiles at you for the first time since the beach and that ache in your heart is completely soothed, bandaged by that soft way he is looking at you.
Atlas no longer, he can simply be Bradley.
He takes his foot off the brake and by some miracle he’s able to make it through the light before it turns red again. You can see the tall structure of the parking lot near the hospital poking out above the line of the treetops.
The destination is closer than ever, but there are still things on your mind.
“And you aren’t an asshole, Bradley. But your bedside manner could definitely use some work,” you tease with a smile of your own.
“Baby, I’ve been trying to show you my bedside manner, but you keep holding me at arm’s length,” he groans dramatically.
The idea of experiencing Bradley Bradshaw’s bedside manner makes you feel all kinds of weak in the knees, even as you’re seated in his Bronco with your leg propped up in his lap, his big hand skating up and down along your shin comfortingly.
“How can you even say that with a straight face? You’ve never made a move!” you exclaim incredulously, “I was even the one to ask for your phone number, if you remember.”
“What the hell are you talking about? I hit on you all the time,” he argues with your favorite brand of Bradshaw banter, “I’ve been waiting for you to give me the green light, sweetheart.”
“I thought you were supposed to be pretty and smart,” you smirk.
He barks a laugh and the last tendrils of all the tension and all the pressure that had been swirling around you like a marine layer evaporates.
“You saying I’ve had the green light this whole time?” He looks over at you with a boyish smile, you like the way you feel when he looks at you like this.
“What I’m saying, Bradley, is if you’d have actually asked me out I would have said yes.” You press your toes into the muscle of his thick thigh and immediately regret it, wincing as pain ripples around your ankle.
He makes a sympathetic sound deep in his chest, “Sounds like I’ve been an idiot.”
“A very pretty one,” you allow, leaning your aching head back against the back seat.
“At least there’s that,” he concedes good-naturedly as he pulls into the parking lot, turning on his blinker for a spot opening up near the entrance to the Emergency Room by some twist of fate, one that’s in your favor this time.
Bradley pulls into the empty spot and kills the engine turning to you. He gently eases your foot back down onto the sandy floormat of the Bronco and leans into unbuckle your seatbelt.
He’s so close now looking up at you from under his eyelashes, and your breath catches in your throat. He moves closer, you can see the bits of hazel that surround his pupils. Your eyes flutter close and you tilt your head up, lips parting at the anticipation of his kiss.
There’s no holding back the noise of dissatisfaction you make when his lips press a tender kiss to your cheek. You lean into him wanting to feel, wanting him to give you more. His warm breath coasts over your skin as he chuckles. You can feel the way his lips are pulled up into a smile.
“I’m a gentleman, sweetheart,” he says as he pulls away, his eyes lingering on your lips. “My mom raised me not to go for the kiss on the first date. Or ones with head wounds and potential concussions.”
“Some first date,” you lament jokingly, looking in at the fluorescent lights awaiting you inside the hospital. You’d rather skip over this part entirely, but you’re ready to be done with holding Jake’s shirt to your head. “Nothing like insurance cards and scrubs to really set the mood.”
“Mmm. How about this, after we’re done here, I’ll take you through whatever drive-thru you want-”
“In-N-Out,” you cut in without a second thought. The novelty of it still hasn’t worn off on you, even if the fries are terrible.
“Ok,” he grins, “I’ll take you through in In-N-Out and get you your number two combo with mustard and grilled onions with a vanilla shake.” He pauses waiting for your nod of approval, looking more than pleased with himself when you acknowledge he got your order right.
“I like the sound of this so far,” you hum.
“Well that’s good. Since it’ll be our first date, I want to set that bar high,” he says giving you a wink. And there are those butterflies again, this time you don’t try to catch them with a net. They’re free to flutter around as they wish.
“If you really want to impress me, you’ll also take me through the McDonald’s drive-thru for their fries,” you muse.
“Done.”
“I was kidding,” you laugh, shaking your head at him disbelievingly and thoroughly charmed.
“Well, I wasn’t. So after we get you fed, give or take some fries, I will bring you home. I’ll get you whatever you need, I want to make sure you’re comfortable. Think you might be on crutches for a bit, sweetheart,” he says softly, playing with the ends of your hair. “And then in the morning, if you’re up for it, I’ll take you out for breakfast. Or bring you breakfast. Whatever you want. We can call that date number two.”
“And then you’ll kiss me?”
“And then I’ll kiss you,” he promises, offering you a crooked pinky finger. You beam and you wrap your own around his.
He slips out of the driver’s seat leaving you to contemplate the terms of his offer as he rounds the front of the Bronco. The nurses are going to get an eyeful of him in only those snug jean shorts and thin white tank. You make a mental note to avoid looking at him if they have to connect you to a heart rate monitor, he doesn’t need to know the effect he has on you. Not yet anyways.
“I have counteroffer,” you announce turning your body towards him as he opens your door for you.
“Let’s hear it, baby,” he says with a grin that almost makes you forget how bad your head and ankle hurt, “Shoot.”
“We still go to In-N-Out, but then in the morning you make me breakfast in bed with some of those famous Bradshaw pancakes I’ve heard about,” you say, as he steps in between your legs, “Seems like a good way to work on that bedside manner of yours.”
“I think you’re going to like my bedside manner, sweetheart,” he murmurs, stroking his thumb over your cheek.
You tilt your head at him, taking in the sunkissed strands in his hair and the affection in his eyes, “I guess we’ll have to find out.”
“Guess we will,” he rasps.
Rooster drops another sweet kiss to your cheek, whispering for you to stay put, and then he struts off towards the automatic doors of the Emergency Room. Leaving you alone with the butterflies in your stomach and the hope in your heart.
You dig your phone out of your straw tote and check the time, doing the math in your head.
There are a few messages from Nat and other people on the team already checking in, but you know you’ll have time to reply to them later as you wait with Bradley sitting by your side.
You look up and see he’s got a wheelchair now and is making his way back to you, wearing a soft smile on his face just for you.
Only seventeen more hours until you get to kiss Bradley Bradshaw and you can’t wait.
You’ve got that forever feeling about him.
Oh, oh, oh.
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Thank you for reading! Rock on. Oh that joke was schist, I'll see myself out.
This was written as part of @roosterforme's Rocktober Playlist! You can check out all the other great submissions here!
The song that inspired this story was Paula Abdul's "Straight Up"
Taglist:
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notroosterbradshaw · 2 years
Text
The Boyfriend Experience - Part 1 / 2
5.6k words of Rooster being your super pretend boyfriend! A few swears, but it’s the Navy, goddammit! The fluffiness should make up for it. 
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"I don't see why you just don't take Rooster," Natasha muttered, nodding in his direction next to Payback at the bar, both animated, arms describing manoeuvres like excited little boys. "You guys are friends, he likes food, he obviously likes beer. Probably likes 'em if they're free too," she shrugged as if it was the simplest thing going around.
"Why would Rooster be remotely bothered to be my plus one to a wedding where he doesn't know anyone?"
"You'd be there, you said your sister and her husband are going too. There are three people he knows," she said simply. "He's single and an easy lay. Could be the perfect twofer for you."
"Natasha," you chastised her. "I don't want to sleep with Rooster."
"You've got two eyes," she hinted. "Everyone wants to sleep with Rooster."
"Then you sleep with him," you winked.
"Don't let Hangman hear your jokes," she snickered. "I cannot imagine the carry-on if he does," she looked over your shoulder to him at the darts. Bullseye, each and every time.
"Okay, okay. But look, I've known Rooster since I was a toddler, trust me. Not everyone wants to sleep with Rooster."
"If he knew you were the exception, he'd probably want to remedy that," she smiled as you rolled your eyes, sipping your drink.
"This wedding has just rolled around too quickly. I thought I'd find a way to get a date by now."
"Why did you accept a plus one then?"
"I think I answered a little too flippantly when asked if I needed one..." you admitted with a shrug. "Christa asked in one of those obnoxious, curious teasing voices, 'Are you going to bring a plus one?'"
"I hate those bitches."
"Yeah," you dipped your finger into the froth of your drink and put it to your mouth thoughtfully. "I'm tragic," you announced with a flourish.
"You're not tragic," Natasha said. "We just need to get you back in the game."
"Ew."
"Rooster is still an option."
"Why, in God's name, are you pushing Rooster?" you had to ask.
"He's a nice guy, you could do worse."
Looking across the bar, you asked, "Mickey still dating that girl?"
"Mickey, really?" she asked surprised.
"His smile is perfect. I mean, perfect."
"His dad is a dentist," she told you knowingly.
"There you go," you cracked a smile. "Option?"
"Nope, he is still dating her."
"Shit."
"Look, I'll go ask Rooster. Worst he can say is no..." before you could hiss at her to quit it, she was ducking and weaving through bodies towards him. You watched from your vantage point at the pool table and sighed dismally.  
"Exactly. He can say no," you muttered to yourself, your gaze glued to your drink. Looking up and watching this car crash unfold would be brutal. You could not remember a time you'd ever been more embarrassed.
Natasha squeezed in between her friends as she began to state your case. You peeked a look at Rooster, his eyebrow piqued in interest as he tried to follow her explanation. Eventually, his gaze peered over at you, biting back a very humoured grin. Giving her his attention back, he pulled his beer bottle to his lips and nodded with a nonchalant shrug. Okay, that wasn't a terrible result but also you had no idea what she threw on the table and you were almost scared of the stipulations Rooster may've agreed to.
Payback looked up at you and gave you a 'wtf' face. "What's he got that I don't?" he called across the bar as Natasha pushed him back on his barstool.
"This wasn't my idea," you defended yourself. "Natasha Trace a lunatic."
"Certified crazy," Rooster raised his beer to you.
"That's Lt. Certified Crazy, thank you," she said. "And I got you a date. Get off my ass!"
"I'm sorry, Rooster," you said apologetically as he motioned you over with a wave of his bottle. He certainly didn't appear too perturbed. Grabbing your purse and glass, you made your way to him.
"Me too," Payback mumbled. "We'd be so hot."
"Maybe next time?" you said apologetically.
"I bet you say that to all the boys," he said, faux sadness on his handsome features as he brightened and toasted you. No hard feelings, thank goodness.
"She actually doesn't," Natasha spoke up. "That's why she is in this mess. You literally don't say yes to any dudes."
"You can trash me after I leave," you reminded her thoughtfully, finishing your drink. Dammit.
"I got it," Rooster turned back to Penny, raised your glass to her with a quiet 'please?' and got off his stool, gently holding your side and guiding you onto it. She nodded back to him, while the bar was fairly quiet tonight, she was still serving others. "How did you get yourself in this pickle anyway?" Rooster had to ask. "This is the kind of thing that only happens in rom-coms," he still seemed to be getting off as "fake boyfriend" in your waking nightmare as a bridesmaid for an old high school friend. You honestly hadn't expected to be asked, you'd all gone your separate ways since then, but apparently, your friend had thought the friendship was still strong enough to count you as one of her eight bridesmaids. You weren't sure you had eight girlfriends to even consider something so ludicrous.
"Oh, it's way more embarrassing than it sounds," you admitted.
"I've heard this part already," Natasha announced. "Payback, feel like getting duped twice tonight?" she asked, heading over to the pool table. He shrugged and followed her willingly.
"Look, this is a lot. You don't have to do this if you don't want to," you told Rooster. "Regardless of what Natasha may've threatened you with."
"She didn't have to threaten me," he said and eased his lean frame back against the bar. "It's cool. I'm in town. I don't have to wear my dress whites though, do I?" he asked, a little begrudgingly.
"Oh, God no!" you exclaimed. "It's formal."
"I have a suit," he reassured you, his lips quirking. "Been a while since I wore it though. I was probably in high school," he reckoned, considering it.
"You were a little smaller then," you gently reminded him.
He nodded and hummed. "Thank you for noticing," he joked as you rolled your eyes, laughing, and he adjusted the collar of his silky Hawaiian shirt, ego placated for a moment. His shirts were so him, but gee, they were hideous. You always knew when the girls were talking about him because there would always be a hint in the description of his outfit. It happened a lot. The local girls loved Rooster, and from his reputation, he loved them just as much.
But in the end, he was just a nice guy, a really lovely guy. Friendly, funny when you least expected it, reserved and loyal to a fault but you'd known him so long to consider him anything else. A few years older, when you were kids, you were lumped together with the other juniors. He lost his dad so young (he'd admitted once or twice he didn't have many memories of him anymore) and his mother moved them away, closer to her family for the support of losing Goose and to help to raise Bradley away from the influence of the Navy. He came back to the Island when he was about 18 after his mother had passed. Base was home, but he'd flit in and out of Grandpa's house occasionally. Viper always had a soft spot for Bradley, and always kept a protective eye on him, especially after his fallout with Maverick.
Rooster, while his career progression was slow compared to those his age, was always earmarked to be one of the best.
His rapid progression through the ranks wasn't a huge surprise to anyone. He wanted to make anyone who stood in his way regret their actions, especially Mav, and show them that he was ready, willing and able to be the 1%. But the resentment for how his career was delayed when Mav pulled his papers to the Naval Academy, and remember a night with Rooster in tears as your grandpa tried to appease him and his rage for Mav's actions, had stayed.
"I hope you don't need a new suit," you told him dismally. "I don't want you having to spend anything - "
"Fake girlfriend," he cut you off, teasingly. "If I need a new suit, which I likely will, it's okay," he reassured you. "And it's probably about time, can't rely on the Navy to dress me for the rest of my life," he passed you the drink Penny had made you. "What's that?"
"Sloe Gin Fizz."
"Oh, you're one of those fancy girls," he nodded with a squint. "My imaginary bank account is gonna take a hit, isn't it?" You smiled as he smiled too, finally cracking and relaxing. "You're nervous," he noted.
"What gave it away?" you offered him a sip and he happily tried it. Licking the sweetness off his moustache, he gave you a 50/50 response.
"Don't be nervous. We've known each other far too long to be nervous around each other."
"It's not that, I just kind of wish I didn't accept a plus one and then wouldn't have had to go the stupid lengths to cover my ass."
"Let's just treat it as a bit of fun," Rooster suggested. "If it blows, we come back here and get drunk with people we like."
"Thanks, Roost."
He raised his glass to you. "You're welcome. So... am I allowed to get any phone numbers?"
Caught off guard, the plan was starting to unravel quickly as you noticed Rooster catch the eye of a pretty blonde near the jukebox. "Umm, yeah. Of course!"
He laughed and shook his head. "I'm kidding. I'll be the perfect fake date. No one's gonna know."
Those words would come to haunt you.
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At Wedding Central the next weekend, you absent-mindedly played with your phone while chaos ensued around you. You had nothing to be concerned over, your hair and make-up were done, your dress was steamed, and you wouldn't change until everyone else was ready. Rooster had texted a moment ago and you were considering how to respond. ‘I'll see you at the reception - it's still cool I can miss the wedding, right? I won't be later than 7pm. I have to get to the gym, my body is crippled after training today.’
Your heart sank, you'd been fielding questions about him all day, you depended on him to be there tonight. 'Of course'. You texted back diplomatically. You were being ditched for lactic acid build-up, but knew it could be worse if he didn't try and work it off before have arrived... if he arrived at all.
Bradley 🐓: Just give me time to workout real quick, shower and change. I did all the other beautifying yesterday. I'll knock your friend's socks off, I promise. Maybe even yours.
You: It's all good, Rooster. I'll see you when I see you.
Bradley 🐓: I can try and escape earlier?
You: Don't be silly. It's all a bit mad here, hair, make-up, not enough champagne 🥂
Bradley 🐓: Try and have fun! Talk me up, play the game. I'll see you tonight.
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"Are you sure he's still coming?" one of the bridesmaids asked as you had just been seated at the reception table. You traced the nameplate reading 'Bradley' and kind of wanted the earth to swallow you whole. It was a little after seven and entrees were starting to be served. It was a fair question, Rooster didn't owe you anything and he could ditch you at any time.
"Excuse me, gentleman, I caught the eye of a really cute bridesmaid before - " you heard a familiar rasp say behind you and you stiffened. He'd finally made it. Turning to that voice you'd know anywhere, you gave him a gentle smile. "Think I've found her," he added, patting the chest of some random dude and striding towards you, walking like he was on a runway. He looked incredible, so different from his usual jeans and shirt, so different from any flight suit. He moved towards you in a dark blue crushed velvet suit jacket, a darker shade of slim leg slacks, a black bow tie and dress shoes. His hair was slicked back, neater than usual, maybe even shorter. "Well, you look beautiful," he smiled fondly and leaned down to kiss you lightly on the corner of your mouth, surprising you. He murmured against your ear and only quiet enough for you to hear, "I know that was a lot, I'm sorry if I took it too far. I'm late, but I'm here now," he paused. "I'm not gonna let you down, okay?"
He gently cupped your chin, his thumb grazing your cheek. That kiss, you were finding it hard to shake off... "You look like a Disney prince," you said before you realised it was supposed to be a thought. His eyes shone with humour as he took his seat beside you, resting an arm on the back of your chair.
He creased into an easy laugh. "Not the look I was going for, not with this god awful mug, but I'll happily take it. Do I have to catch up, have you had a few drinks?" he teased.
"A champagne before the ceremony. Just foot in mouth right now," you touched the material on his lapel and smiled. Soft, so unlike Rooster. If he was anyone else's date tonight, you'd hardly have recognised him. "You look very handsome, Rooster."
"Thank you," he shrugged, a little anxious himself. "Your dress is no way as miserable as you described," his eyes pleasantly drifted over you, he wasn't trying to make you nervous or under his gaze, but to him, you looked spectacular. "You look amazing. Bet you've been fending off dudes all day."
You scoffed, shaking your head as he chuckled quietly. Hearing your name and being dragged out of your little bubble, you looked up as one of the other bridesmaids, single she'd repeatedly broadcasted, nodded towards Rooster. "Are you going to introduce us?"
Rooster introduced himself to some of the other bridesmaids and their partners, his knuckles grazing your back as he made small talk for a while, winning them all over instantly... just like you knew he would.
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"It's nice out here," Rooster said a while later. You had just finished dinner and were wandering outside for some fresh air, enjoying the warm breeze under the stars at a small cocktail table among other couples. Little fairy lights dotted the area and tea lights adorned the table and bar. "You relaxing a little now?" He asked as a waiter stopped past with champagne. He nabbed two. He handed you one and gave you a gentle cheer. "You're doing great. You look really beautiful," he admitted again. It wasn't a secret you'd always been a little easy on the eyes. Rooster was always a little perplexed you'd never found the right person and settle down. He knew you'd had boyfriends on and off but Natasha had made a passing comment about you being a bit of a commitmentphobic, and he'd be lying to think it hadn't stuck with him.
You smiled. "You mean in this dress that me and seven of my closest friends in high school who I haven't spoken to since we went to college are all wearing in varying styles?"
"Well, you're wearing it well," he corrected himself, a small smile gracing his lips.
"Are you doing okay?"
"I'm okay," he said. "Look, I'm sorry about the kiss before. I thought it would be fun to grandstand and get everyone off your back for a while. Probably should have been a bit more considerate, not cool on my behalf."
"It worked," you laughed, sipping your champagne. "It's fine, really."
"Fine?" he replied, a little surprised. "Shit, that's disappointing."
Panicking, you added, "No, really. It was great. I bet you're a great kisser, Rooster."
He smiled and again, you knew he was goading you. "For the record, I've had no complaints," he raised his pointed finger. "That I'm aware of."
You gave him a wide grin. "I'm sure you haven't. You're absolutely loving this, aren't you?"
He laughed boldly now, easing back in his chair. "Well, yeah. But I'm on your side, I promise. Gotta make it believable. I think we're doing okay to now?"
"I think so. Think Michelle is into you?"
"Who's Michelle?" he squinted, trying to recollect.
"The brunette who was salivating over you as soon as you came to the table."
He laughed, smoothing his moustache. "Oh yeah, she's definitely keen. Up for a rumble for my honour?"
"Honour?" you repeated. "I think we all know those days are behind you."
"Ouch," he smiled, touching your knee. "We've discussed this, I'm here for you and only you. Michelle isn't my type anyway."
"What's wrong with her?" you challenged.
"Well, I'm here with you and she's making no secret that she's into me. What kind of girl does that?"
"One that probably doesn't see me as a threat," you figured with a shrug. He sighed, pursing his lips together.
"You're full of it, you're the hottest girl in there, whether you see it or not. And besides, I only have eyes for you, kid," he sat forward and took your hand, squeezing it tenderly. "You and me, okay?"
"Okay," you told him, his pep talk giving you some warmth.
Sipping his champagne, he asked, "Wanna know something?"
"What's that?"
"I am not a champagne guy," he made a face, putting the glass on the table, away from him as you giggled quietly. "Do you mind if I go and get a whiskey?"
"You're mad, this is tears from the gods," you told him as he cupped your cheek affectionately and wandered over to the bar. He stood tall against the other guys he was near, and that suit? Gee, it was well worth whatever he spent on it. He looked so sophisticated. Not to get you wrong, you always thought he was the coolest guy going around but he simply didn't give a shit about what he wore, if his Hawaiian shirts were any indication. He didn't care what anyone thought about it. He knew his career was cut-throat and the more you thought about it, you had to realise that Rooster was simply a survivalist. He'd gone through some real pain in his life. He had said that he didn't remember a lot of his dad before he died, but Carole raised her boy well.
"Good Lord, he scrubs up pretty good, huh? Shame he's not wearing his whites," your sister said, waddling over to the table you were standing at, helping herself to the free stool you helped her get on. "But I guess he'd show up the bride."
"He didn't want to wear them. I'm just glad I'm not completely desperate and dateless tonight. He could have worn a potato sack for all I care," you admitted, your gaze still on him as he made small talk with the bartender.
"He'd probably still look really good in a potato sack," she teased, adjusting her posture, her expanding belly not enjoying the far-too-expensive pregnancy dress she'd been forced to buy, coming up to the end of her second pregnancy. "But really, nothing is rumbling? No carnal need to just rip his clothes off and see what happens? Sometimes, cute friends can turn into cute lovers."
"Worry about your current situation," you pointed at her belly.
"Eyes work perfectly fine though. Rooster has grown up very, very well."
"Gee, your hormones are doing a number on you," you told her, biting back a grin. "You're married and pregnant," you reminded her, a little concerned for her husband.
"You'll remember this night one day and be like, 'gee, my older, wiser sister was right, I did want to climb him like a tree'."
"Climb who like a tree?" Rooster asked her, joining you both again, his hand skimming your lower back, leaving its place on your lower back where it had rested comfortably most of the evening. "I'm keen to know myself."
You laughed quietly, your sister a little lost for words at her poor timing. "Yeah, who again?"
Swallowing, she announced, "Look, I'm just going to put it out there. You're both single, you're both cute. This shouldn't be a fake date. This could really be a nice first date."
"I am so sorry, Rooster. She hit her head a lot as a child. And I know this... because I was the one who was pushing her," you told him, absolutely mortified but they both laughed. She finally walked away, satisfied with the chaos she had constructed.
"I mean, Annie's not wrong. We are cute," he figured. "I'm single - I'm sure I could do a lot worse than to date someone I enjoy as much as you."
Groaning, you hated the open mocking. It was all such a joke how pathetic you were.
"I'm just kidding," he whispered. "I know she's just trying to rile you up, don't worry about her. We're here and having a great time, let's just leave it at that. No need for any extra pressure," he raised his glass of whiskey to you. "Just take the night as it comes. And if anyone asks how I am in the sack, I expect you give them an 11/10, okay?"
You raised your glass and told him to fuck himself.
"Fair," he admitted. "Just relax. We're doing great if I say so myself. Stay close; I got you."
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If there was one thing you were grateful for that evening, it was the happy couple who had decided on a sweetheart table that sat them together and the bridal party sat with their partners or friends, whomever it seemed to be. You were able to stay close to Rooster for most of the night, especially during the formalities.
"And for the first dance," the MC announced after the speeches and cutting of the cake, "We'd like to introduce our newly betrothed to the dancefloor."
"Come on, come dance with me," your groomsman said, not looking at Rooster as he offered you his hand. You kind of had no choice, the first dance was for the couple and the wedding party usually joined them toward the end, it would be embarrassing for all if you ducked out. You gave Rooster a small 'sorry' which he didn't show the least amount of displeasure to.
"Hold on," he took your other hand and carefully kissed your knuckles. You gave him a small smile, hoping he didn't notice the heat that was blistering through your skin. Gee, Rooster was good. Tonight would surely get everyone off your back, even if for a little while. "Take care of her, buddy," Rooster play-threatened with a wink as the guy gave a 'yeah, whatever' in response. Roster's eyes squared up on the back of the guy as he led you to the dancefloor. Would fucking hate to lay you out, he thought, watching as you were guided into your partner's arms. Sitting forward, Rooster sucked his teeth. He didn't think he liked that guy all that much.
But credit where credit was due, your partner was a good dancer. Respectful as you swayed together to Megan Trainer's ‘Like I'm Gonna Lose You’.
After waiting what he assumed was a reasonable amount of time, Rooster stood to his full height, buttoning his suit jacket and moving with purpose to the dancefloor. He could sense you weren't uncomfortable in the arms of the groomsman you paired with, but he noted other couples were splitting for others and he took his chance. Sweeping in, he stood a considerate distance away. "May I cut in?" he asked as your partner stopped and looked up at him - now, it wasn't to say Rooster was intimidating, but he was certainly asserting himself. "I'd like to have this dance with my girl," he said, the questions over.
"Oh, uhh, sure," your groomsman said, a little perplexed, gently dropping your hand and Rooster stepped in with a smile, silently asking for your hand in his. He brought it to his heart and you'd bet you could feel it pounding under the deep blue crushed velvet of his jacket. He put his other hand on your hip, his thumb finding the right place against the cut out of the dress that he was able to feel your skin as he pulled you flush against him. His body was hard and strong, just as you expected. You smiled up at him as his thumb grazed your skin, telling you he knew, and he was there.
Resting his chin against your hair, he carefully swayed you to the quiet beat of the rhythm. There wasn't much left of the song but he didn't miss a single note as the melody changed and some dance tune commenced.
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"Whatcha doing?" your sister's husband asked, as she took a few photos of yourself and Rooster dancing to the wedding song on her phone.
"On their first wedding anniversary, I'm going to present this photo to them and say I was right. And I will be gleeful," she said in false maniacy.
"They look like an actual couple," he admitted. "He's good for her. He could protect her, love her."
"They'd be good for each other. Rooster needs someone he can be himself with. No bravado, no pretences, someone to make a life, maybe a family, with. And she won't take any of his shit."
"Definitely not," he laughed, as the song ended and they watch you and Rooster look at each other with gentle smiles. "Fake dating, my left nut."
Your sister nodded. "Didn't think it could possibly work out this well, but they're just perfect for each other."
"Which one do you think will ruin it though?"
A name long-cursed in your family rolled off your sister's tongue, "The Navy."
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"Lt. Bradley Bradshaw, ma'am," he introduced himself, offering his hand to the newly wedded couple later that evening. "Congratulations."
"Oh, you're in the Arm - "
"I'm a Naval Aviator," he corrected her with a smile, but he didn't want to correct her on military ranks tonight.
"Bradley, this is Sarah, who I went to high school with, and her new husband, David," you introduced them.
"I'm so sorry I couldn't make it to the wedding earlier today," he tugged you close to him again, his fingers drawing undescribable shapes on your bare shoulder and you placed your hand on his tummy. He looked down at you with an easy smile. It was the first time you had reciprocated any affection and he'd certainly noticed. "But what a wonderful reception. Everyone seems to be having a great time."
"Oh, thank you," she said. "We're so happy you could come. We are looking forward to seeing more of you, Bradley."
"Me, too," he said, softly.
"So you fly today?" David asked Rooster excitedly.
"Yeah, man," he nodded. "Most days," he replied.
"How many G's you pull?"
Looking up at Rooster, you saw the quirk of his lip. You had watched this once or twice before and it was always kind of hilarious. Dear Rooster had a fanboy... the guys who were kind of obsessed with local pilots and would chat their ears off, desperate to hear all about the firepower mainly to the detriment of the cornered pilot. "Today?" he sipped his whiskey, coolly.
"Sure..." you kind of drowned the rest out, your fingers absently slipping under his jacket and tracing the curves and ridges of his hard-earned, extremely well-worked abdominals underneath. Rooster made a pained face, trying to wriggle away, his hand catching yours and laying it flat against him.
"Hey, sweet girl?" Rooster finally got your attention, eyes dancing with mirth and a small smile on his face. Your friends watched the scene with keen interest, they wanted to see you interact.
"Hmm?" you looked up as he bent down to whisper how ticklish he was. "Oh," you said, bashfully taking your hand away as he clutched it again, keeping it there. Your hand was pressed into his rock-hard stomach and did your tummy... flippity-fucking-flop?
"It's okay," he slid his fingers between yours, interlocking them tight against him. "Your friends just asked how long we've been dating. I said we've known each other for a long time. My old man was in the Navy. You probably know her grandfather was an admiral, so we kind of had always known each other," Rooster said, squeezing your hand. "Always had a little crush on the Admiral's granddaughter. Everyone did! I'm just the lucky one who she gave the time of day."
You shrugged, your cheeks burning, the well-versed plan you'd texted back and forth about the last week coming well into fruition, it was exactly the situation you'd both been waiting for. "Everyone always joked how cute a couple we could be. We just never saw each other like that."
Rooster looked deeply into your eyes. "Clearly we were both crazy. So, we got super drunk, and I kissed her. Luckily," he raised a hand as your friends laughed, utterly charmed by him. "Luckily for me, she didn't slap me. She actually kissed me back. Would have broken my heart if she rejected me," he was so fucking smooth, you chewed back the laughter that threatened to spill from your lips as the bride just stared at Rooster with heart eyes, another unassuming fan of Rooster Bradshaw. "I'm wild about you," he whispered, nuzzling into your neck and you gently cupped his strong jaw, thumb padding against the wiry skin of a scar. While you'd always noticed them, you'd never felt them under your touch. For a moment, you might have believed it as he kissed your jaw, modest but not uncalled for in the moment.
"You two look so happy," your friends told you sincerely.
"We're so glad to have met you, Lieutenant," David said. "Thank you for coming, thank you for bringing him!" he said to you.
No one ever addressed Rooster like that outside of official duties and he almost wanted to grant at ease. But he'd by lying that he didn't feel a bit like a movie star when he replied, "Please," he held out his palm. "Call me Rooster."
"Awesome, Rooster," the couple chatted to Rooster a while longer before Sarah sidled up to you with that glare of someone ready to start digging for dirt. You gave a weak smile, maybe, kind of relaxing in Rooster's arms. You let go of his hands and gently wrapped your arms around his waist and he adjusted his posture to cater to you.
"He's super hot," she said as you looked up at him, the arm that wasn't dipping into the cut on the back of your dress flailing wildly as he graphically discussed a dogfight at training with some 'Texan dick' (of course he's talking about Hangman). So animated and vivid, he never really spoke about his job to you and frankly, you didn't want to ask. But you were just entranced watching him speak so passionately. "So, tell me," she whispered, ushering you closer. "The sex?"
Poor Rooster was too distracted to hear, but his moment was coming. "An eleven," you replied, you massaged his sides still well-hidden under the jacket, and if Rooster wasn't paying attention before... he surely was now. "Twelve on really good nights."
His smile almost ripped his face in half.
"Oh, my God!" Sarah exclaimed. "I can only imagine. His body is crazy like he just pressed weights before he got here."
And it dawned on you - yes, he needed to rip lactic acid after being in a jet all day, cool. But had he worked out to ensure his jacket strained over his biceps? That his straight leg slacks were tight over his thighs? Also, yes. You couldn't help it and snuggled into his chest as he paused to look down at you with a gentle smile and wrapped his other arm around you, his thumb caressing the tendrils at the base of your neck.
It was very believable on all fronts.
"Rooster is very giving," was all you said, pretending to zip your lips, he pressed you just a little closer.
"I'm so damn happy for you. Make sure you keep an eye out when I throw the bouquet, I'll be aiming for you!"
"Please don't," you said before Rooster nudged you to be polite. Nothing had got past him. "There are so many other eligible people here, so desperate to catch it!" you corrected yourself as he nodded, encouraging and congratulating your tact.
"It's early days, I don't think we're ready to get married yet," he teased. "But I'd marry her tomorrow if she wanted me to."
"That is just the sweetest thing," she said. "Ugh, you guys are definitely next!"
So sweet, such bullshit, you looked up at him as he pouted back down, his facade cracking under the pressure of wanting to laugh so fucking hard. It was like selling candy to a baby.
The Boyfriend Experience 2 / 2
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masterlist.
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witchwyfe · 1 year
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finally being able to cuddle in bed after spending an entire summer avoiding physical contact when going to sleep because it was too hot and rooster if you don't mind lola!
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Bradley (rooster) Bradshaw x female reader
finally being able to cuddle in bed after spending an entire summer avoiding physical contact when going to sleep because it was too hot.
thanks for requesting bestie!
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When you come out of the bathroom, your boyfriend is already in your bed, wrapped up in the thick duvet, with a giddy smile on his face.
“What are you smiling about?” You wonder, turning off the overhead lights and climbing in next to him.
“It’s cold.” 
“Yeah and?”
“I’ve been waiting for it to get cold.” He murmurs as you nuzzle underneath the covers. “C’mere.”
“Why have you been waiting for it to get cold?” You wonder as you roll into his arms, immediately getting pulled against his chest. 
“Because you wouldn’t let me cuddle with you when it was hot.” He says matter-of-factly. You light up at his confession, a few giggles slipping through your lips. If Bradley had his way, he would’ve been stuck to you like glue every night, all summer. But his fondness for sleeping with the windows open—and air conditioning off—and the heat his body radiates, makes it way too hot to cuddle at night.
“Because you’re like a furnace baby, it was too hot.”
“Never bothered me.” He pouts. 
You giggle again, reaching up to trace his jaw with your fingers. “I’m so sorry you were deprived all summer, how did you survive it?” You coo, sarcastically.
“It was hard.” He revels in your attention, leaning his face into your touch.
He wraps his arms completely around you before pulling you to rest on top of his chest. His lips press against the top of your head a few times before he lets out a satisfied sigh.
“See? Nice and warm.”
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© witchwyfe 2022. absolutely no reposting, translating, or modifying, even with credit.
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roosterbruiser · 3 months
Text
VOULEZ-VOUS FINALE
Spans from December, 1978--December, 1992
Los Angeles, CA
She opens a bank account. Her bruise plays a big role in this chapter. 
Another house party with just the gang. Cherry and Hangman are pretty much high the whole time. Everyone does a little bit of coke besides Rooster. She reads everyone’s palms.
Jake plays the tape of him and Cherry for everyone and Rooster gets pissy about it. And he tries to say it’s because he never watches his own stuff so he doesn’t understand why Jake does. And Cherry has to be like…relax, man. I fuck everyone. 
Rooster sulks outside, smoking a cigar. And Cherry finally goes outside and sits on his lap and asks him what’s going on. He’s too afraid to admit that he’s in love with her. So he just says that he likes the way things have been and he doesn’t want things to change. She assures him they won’t. 
And like she can sense that he needs it, she fucks him that night. Stays with him. Except there’s a moment where he tries to slow her down, holding her hips, helping her rock. And she lets him for a second--it feels good. It feels really, really good. But then she’s awash with something that feels too big and she takes over again and goes fast.
Rooster tells her that he sleeps very deeply when she sleeps with him. It feels like he’s saying that he loves her. 
Los Angeles, CA May 29th, 1979
Jake’s guilty but unwilling to talk about things. They haven’t told anybody about what happened. They have a little get-together and watch some of the films Cherry has made and Rooster privately broods. She babies him--sits on his lap while he smokes a cigar. And then they have sex that night. It’s the first time they actually make love. 
How come she can be sweet with Jake and not make it sexual but she can’t do that with Rooster?
Her and Rooster are like achingly close to being a couple. She’s spending all her time with him, they seem to have found some sort of domestic bliss together. She’s getting more money and he helps her open a bank account. 
He is close to telling her that he loves her. But something that keeps happening is everytime they have an intimate moment together, she tries to get sexual with him. And he doesn’t know how to tell her now so he does it. 
It comes to a head when Hangman is over one night. Her and Rooster go to bed and he is just holding her, kissing her, about to say he loves her. And she tries to initiate sex. And he lets it get to her sitting naked on top of him before he stops her. They have a small warble because she feels rejected and he doesn’t know how to explain to her that she doesn’t always have to fuck him. 
So she gets out of bed and fucks Hangman. Then she sleeps in her own room. 
Los Angeles, CA June 9th, 1979
Things are a bit stilted between her and Rooster now. She’s back on her bullshit with Jake, doing coke all the time and partying. It’s like what happened to her meant nothing. It didn’t touch her deeply enough for anything to change, especially since her and Rooster are in such a weird spot right now. And Rooter is too worried about something happening to Cherry, so he’s been accompanying them. 
Cherry is feeling things for Rooster and it scares her. She is starting to get special treatment from people because they’ve seen her films. A few people ask for autographs.
Somewhere in here, Phoenix paints a portrait of Cherry.
One night at the disco, a woman approaches Rooster and she’s kind of all over him. But he’s just watching Cherry. And when Cherry comes back to the table, he says he’s ready to go and she says she wants to keep partying. The woman wants to fuck Rooster--Cherry can tell. She sees Rooster pushing her off and tells Rooster that he should just take her home.
They get into a spat about it and he ends up leaving with the woman and fucking her at home. But he can’t finish. He doesn’t know why. He lets her stay the night, but he doesn’t sleep in the bed. Really, he doesn’t sleep at all. He just paces. 
Los Angeles, CA June 23rd, 1979
Cherry films a scene with Bob--nurse and patient. Then after, her and Bob go to the pier and she takes a walk with him. They get to know each other a little bit and he tells her what he knows about Rooster and Jake. They get to know each other. They both grew up on farms so they talk about it. They don’t fuck again. They have a friendship that translates off-screen and on. People like watching them fuck. But they never do it outside. 
When she goes home, Rooster is making dinner. Things have been a bit odd between them. But she’s just overwhelmed. So she goes into the kitchen and just holds him from behind. And he melts in her touch. But then she starts kissing his neck and grabbing his cock and he just gives in because he knows that’s the only way he’s gonna feel her love. They fuck that night, but he tenderly kisses what remains of her bruise. She never takes the necklace off. 
Cape Cod, MA July 1st-3rd, 1979
Phoenix has a vacation home on Cape Cod, so they all go to the house. It’s huge and beautiful and they’re all happy together. Cherry rooms with Rooster and it really excited him. 
They kind of act like a couple for a little while there. She’s taking bumps with Jake but everyone’s taking bumps. 
They have a few good days of just shopping and sun tanning and swimming and fucking. Maybe they play spin the bottle or seven minutes in heaven. Cherry ends up fucking everyone in the group during seven minutes in heaven. 
When her and Jake are swimming together one night, she notices a scar on the back of his leg that she’s never seen before. He says it’s a piece of Gentry’s skull--embedded there forever because it was too deep. They couldn’t get it out. 
For once, at the end of the night, Cherry is too tired to have sex. She asks Rooster if it’s okay if they just sleep. He says of course it is. He’s thrilled. He feels like this means something big. 
Cape Cod, MA July 4th, 1979
They drink all day. Cherry takes a few bumps with Jake. They go out boating. It’s a good time. Everyone is beautiful, everything is beautiful. 
They stay out on the water and watch the fireworks. She sits on Rooster’s lap all night. 
When they get home, everyone is tired. They all go to bed. Her and Rooster go to bed too and they make love. Like they actually make love for the first time--she lets him. And it’s so intense and she doesn’t know what to do and she’s scared. 
And he is so happy after. She can see that it pleased him so endlessly. And that terrifies her. 
He tells her that he loves her. She pretends like she’s asleep. He falls for it. 
Los Angeles, CA July 13th, 1979 
Films a swingers scene with Rooster, Phoenix, and Hangman. She’s starting to get recognized on the street now wherever she goes. People from out of town are the only ones brave enough to ask for a picture together and she never says no.
Rooster is waiting for the perfect moment to tell her that he is in love with her. He wants to get it right. He wants to leave the business and take her with him. He has enough money for the both of them to live off of handsomely forever. 
So then the four of them hang out at Phoenix’s place. Rooster sees the portrait of Cherry that she painted and says he wants to buy it. It’s the first piece of art he’s ever bought from Phoenix. 
Jake tries to outbid Rooster. They have a weirdly tense squabble over it before Cherry intervenes and outbids both of them. She buys the portrait herself. 
Later on, when her and Rooster go home, he turns on a record and asks her to dance with him. She’s confused because he never wants to dance. But then it’s a slow record and they slow dance and it feels good. She is in love with him maybe. But she’s having so much fun just fucking around, just being by herself, just doing whatever. 
And then he says he wants to tell her something. And she asks him to make her cum first. He does--twice. And then he tells her that he’s in love with her. She is terrified but she knows that she loves him too. She feels powerless against it. So she says she loves him too. 
Los Angeles, CA July 17th, 1979
Her and Rooster decide that they’re going to try monogamy. She’s scared, but she loves him. What else is there to do? The deal is that they only fuck other people for work. That’s it. Nothing outside of that. 
They announce it to their friends while they’re all on the beach together. Everyone is happy for them. Honestly, it’s a good day. Jake isn’t an asshole--he doesn’t think it’s gonna last, but he doesn’t say that. He’s still touchy with her, which is okay for now. 
That night, she takes a bath with Rooster. They tell each other about their childhoods. 
Los Angeles, CA August 11th, 1979
She films a cuckold scene with Rooster and Bob. 
Fucking other men on set isn’t helping. She wants to keep fucking other people. But she loves Rooster--she’s devoted to him. And it isn’t that he isn’t fulfilling her, it’s just that she’s a genuine nymphomaniac. 
Cute moments with her and Rooster--maybe them swimming. Maybe them shopping. You know. Cute stuff. You can do it!
Monterey, CA August 17th-August 20th, 1979
Rooster takes Cherry on a road trip. They go up the coast and stay in a little cottage on the water. It’s nice. It’s just them. He loves that it feels so domestic. She just loves him. She’s insatiable, though. She always wants it--she always wants to be fucked. 
Cherry wants to be with him but she’s afraid it won’t be enough. She’s trying so hard for it to be enough. For him. For Rooster. He tells her about his mom getting sick. 
Los Angeles, CA September 1979
Films a domination scene with Rooster.
Cherry and Rooster are in love. But she wants to be fucked all the time. 
There’s a scene where she tries to initiate sex and he doesn’t want to have sex. So she’s just frustrated. She has to touch herself and it just isn’t the same. 
She grabs a drink with Jake and they end up going back to his house. They do too much coke and end up sleeping together. They both feel terrible about it. 
She tells Rooster as soon as she gets home. And he forgives her and Jake immediately--I mean, it’s like handing a lighter to a pyromaniac. He gets it. He says that she can sleep with whoever she wants, as long as she comes home and is in bed with him every night. 
Los Angeles, CA October, 1979 
Films a Western thing with the full cast. 
She fucks someone else one night and then comes home. Her and Rooster eat dinner. They got to bed. He initiates sex and in the heat of the moment, while he’s being rough with her, he tells her that he’s fucking someone else’s cum into her. He calls her a whore. 
They stop. They’re both upset. They agree that it isn’t working. He asks her, as a last ditch effort, to quit porn and just be with him. She says no. They hold each other. In the morning, they agree to only fuck on set. 
Los Angeles, CA November, 1979
Summer camp with the full cast. When her and Rooster fuck, it’s very much them longing for each other. It’s heartbreaking, really. They kiss a lot. He still makes her cum. She misses him so much. Just a long hug after the shoot. 
She starts getting super into doing coke with Jake again. They’re hanging out all the time together. She’s still living with Rooster. But they’re achingly just friends--which is very hard for them. 
She’s kind of in a tailspin. She fucks everyone. She misses Rooster. 
Los Angeles, CA Late November, 1979
Her and Jake are hanging out, doing coke one night. They are talking and they start arguing. He says she doesn’t know the difference between sex and love. And they’re both high and they really get into it but then all of the sudden, he starts seizing. 
She rides with him in the ambulance. The paramedics recognize her and one of them asks for her autograph. Rooster meets her at the hospital. He and Cherry comfort each other. She’s very distraught. Jake is okay--they get to go in and see him after a few hours. They stay in the hospital with him for a while. 
When Rooster goes home to get him and Cherry some clothes, Jake tells her that he has something that he only wants to tell Cherry and she can’t tell anyone. She agrees. It’s very soft. She’s stroking his hair, they’re both crying. He said he met God and he licked his wounds. It was Gentry.
Los Angeles, CA December, 1979 
Cherry is still reeling from seeing Jake overdose. She asks Dennis if she can push the shoot back. He says no. Rooster and him get into it. 
Cherry shows up on set and Rooster and Dennis are arguing. Rooster tells Cherry that this is his last scene--ever. He’s leaving the business after this. This means several things: Cherry knows everyone will start to leave after him, they won’t fuck anymore, and she will miss him severely. 
It’s a make-me-a-star scene. Very sad.
Dennis insults Rooster and Cherry decks Dennis in the face. She busts his lip open good and wide.
Los Angeles, CA Late December, 1979
It’s just her and Rooster over Christmas. It’s her first one away from her folks. She signs another contract with Goldman Homevideos. Dennis forgives her--so he can keep making money from her.
The prologue ties in here. It is Dennis. He drugged her. 
She goes into Rooster’s room. He throws Dennis out. He cleans her up. It’s all very tender. She says she wishes that she could be what he wants her to be. He says that isn’t the issue here--the issue is that she can’t give herself to him fully. They hold each other. She still has the gold chain. She says that she thinks they’re soulmates. He says he’s always known it.
Los Angeles, CA November, 1980
It’s Cherry’s 23rd birthday. She celebrates with the whole crew. It’s a good party. 
Afterwards, Rooster gives her another gift. It’s when they’re alone together. He gives her two thick, fat gold rings. One has a C engraved on it and the other has an A engraved on it. He says that the next time Dennis acts up, she can scar him up real good. So that everyone knows he fucked with Cherry Arsan. 
Rooster finished Emmanuelle. He reads some out loud to her as they nurse their final cocktails of the night. They just go to sleep there on the couch together. They don’t have sex. 
Cape Cod, MA July, 1981 
They’re all at Phoenix’s house for the 4th again. Rooster, Payback, and Phoenix aren’t in the industry anymore. That leaves Cherry, Hangman, Coyote, and Fanboy. 
They swim and eat and all just love each other. It’s a good time. Cherry and Hangman aren’t officially a couple, but they may as well be. Cherry lives with him now and they’re fuck buddies, even though they fuck other people. 
But monogamy isn’t a thing. So she sleeps in Rooster’s bed because she misses him. And he misses her, too. They end up having sex and afterwards, Rooster is upset. He wants her. So he tells her that they can’t have sex again. It makes him miserable. 
Los Angeles, CA April, 1982
Phoenix is getting married. Everyone attends the wedding. They dance--except Rooster, who just watches. But when a slow song comes on, her and Rooster dance together. They dance to the song Something On Your Mind by Karen Dalton. 
He asks her if she ever wants to get married. They talk about it. She doesn’t know what she wants. She says that if she ever does get married, she hopes it’s him. But she doesn’t feel ready. He says he’ll wait for her. 
Only Hangman and Cherry are in the industry still.  
Los Angeles, CA December, 1983
It’s Christmas. It’s just Rooster and Cherry. 
Hangman is starting to spend Christmas with Gentry’s family. 
They’ve been doing this for a few years now. They reminisce all the years they’ve known each other and the way things have changed. She gets him very expensive cigars and a new gold chain since she still wears his. It’s very nice. He gets her a pair of shoes--nice, leather Mary Janes. And a pair of bell-bottoms. 
They don’t have sex, but she sleeps in his bed. He says it’s the only time he sleeps through the night. She kisses his forehead. 
Los Angeles, CA
June, 1984
It’s Rooster’s birthday now. They all celebrate with a big party at Rooster’s house. It takes place after, as she’s helping clean the place. Hangman quit the business. Cherry is getting her own place. 
On the off-hand, Cherry asks Rooster to grab her purse. He sees that there’s a gun in it. She says the world isn’t what it used to be. He begs her to leave and just be with him. Just love him. Isn’t he enough? It’s sad. 
This is when she also breaks the news to Rooster. Her and Hangman, during a coked up excursion in Las Vegas, got married. And when they came down, they decided they were gonna give things a go. Maybe not entirely monogamous, but devoted to each other. Rooster asks her if she regrets it. She says she doesn’t know yet, but she likes how warm he is in bed. Rooster is heartbroken, but also wise. He knows what they have isn’t going to last. They love each other the way an addict loves their next fix. There’s no longevity. What he and her have? That’s forever. He knows. He knows it. 
Los Angeles, CA October, 1985
Cherry is on the cover of Playboy in September. Her mother sends her a letter. She lets Rooster read it. It’s very, very sad. She’s upset about it. 
Rooster asks if she wants to go dancing to cheer her up. Bell Bottoms closed. So they just go for a swim. He skinny dips, just to cheer her up. She does, too. They almost have sex. Almost. But they stop in time. 
Her and Jake aren’t doing very well in their marriage. Their relationship is tumultuous and immature. They fight over everything…their next fix, their marriage, their cars, their jobs. They’ve lost their friendship.  
Los Angeles, CA January 1987
Cherry’s parents both die in a car accident. She finds out that they were in an immense amount of debt when they died, but they never asked her for help. She thinks that is sad and funny. Cherry would’ve given them money if she knew, but she didn’t. Her, Hangman, and Rooster go home to help with the house. She sees old people she’s fucked. Everyone ogles at her because they recognize her. The women give her hateful looks.
Her brother is terrible to her. Her parents left her nothing in their will--just what was in her childhood bedroom. She sees it--the way she left it when she was 21. Nothing is touched. They basically just boarded it up. 
It’s melancholy. 
Her, Rooster, and Hangman all squeeze into her childhood bed and sleep there together. It’s the worst sleep of her life. Between her husband and her soulmate. 
Los Angeles, CA February 1988
Rooster introduces Cherry to his fiance. Her name is Samantha. She’s an accountant. Samantha is older. Like maybe close to forty. She’s beautiful. They all have dinner together. Samantha very obviously doesn’t like Cherry, but she’s very cordial towards her. Cherry is becoming very insecure as she ages. She liked being the pretty young thing on the scene, liked that everyone was always calling her a baby. But she’s not so super young anymore. 
Jake, Cherry, and Bradley all go to dinner together to meet Samantha. Samantha and Bradley haven’t been together for very long. Cherry just got back from Italy and she’s talking a lot about herself. But she’s also coming to terms with the fact that she has an expiration date and it’s approaching. She’s struggling. Maybe she even talks about getting plastic surgery (which Samantha is super against). 
She kind of fishes for compliments, very vain, always checking her makeup. Samantha is a very forward-thinking woman who can hold her own. But she has very rigid standards of what she considers feminist and what she doesn’t. 
Samantha doesn’t like Cherry. Cherry is kind of being a bit off-putting and being touchy with Rooster and Jake. 
They get into a discussion about porn.
Samantha says Rooster regrets doing porn. And Cherry is asking him but he’s on the spot. He talks about how it was predatory and how Dennis used them, but her whole perspective is like sure, maybe it was predatory, but look at the fucking house we’re sitting in. Look at the fucking gold chain you’re wearing. Look at the fucking steak we’re eating right now, with the perfect marble. And Jake and Rooster say that Cherry got the worst of it and she’s like yeah, I did. But what do I have to complain about when I’m sitting here in a Chanel dress, wearing a string of saltwater pearls? 
So then Samantha brings up how when her and Rooster have kids, and if they have sons, they don’t want them to watch porn. Porn has such a negative effect on youth and it makes men violent. Cherry takes that as a personal offense. She says she doesn’t make men violent by having violent sex on camera--she has to have violent sex on camera because that’s what men want. 
Her and Hangman hang around after dinner, when Samantha goes home. Her and Rooster don’t live together yet. They all talk about the years that have passed and how times have changed.
They talk about children. What they all want in life. And Cherry and Hangman tell Rooster that they’re getting a divorce--a very amicable one. As soon as they decided to divorce, they became friends again. They tell Rooster, while laughing, about the last fight that they had. Cherry called Jake a cokehead loser who couldn’t get over his dead gay boyfriend. Jake called Cherry an orphaned sell-out with too-big tits. Rooster doesn’t think any of this is funny. 
Los Angeles, CA November-December, 1988
Cherry has an ectopic pregnancy. She has one egg drop and it ends up detaching in the wrong spot. She was a whole conversation with Rooster about it. Rooster comes to her in the hospital and won’t leave until she finishes eating. She’s very obviously struggling, even if she’s trying to still be fun and flirty and sexy. He asks whose it was. She says maybe Jake’s, but it’s anyone’s guess. 
He leaves but waits outside the door. He hears Cherry sobbing. When he walks back in, she’s curled into herself and facing away from him. He just crawls into bed behind her and holds her tight. 
The next month, Rooster invites Cherry over for dinner. Samantha is there. Samantha and Rooster are looking into fertility treatment because they want to start a family. And Cherry tries to talk to Samantha about it, but Samantha implies that her issues are different from Cherry’s and that she’s always known she was gonna have a hard time conceiving. 
So first of all, Cherry asks Rooster if he wants kids. And he says that maybe he does. And she says you’ve never told me that. And Samantha is like why would he? And Cherry says that they were together. And Samantha has hit the ceiling at this point. So she’s like yeah, he told me about it. You couldn’t stop fucking other men. 
Rooster stands up for Cherry. And Cherry and Rooster have an argument. Cherry is trying to be everybody’s baby and Rooster is upset by all this. She’s smoking a cigarette in his house and he tells her to take it outside. And she’s surprised bc he always bends the rules for her. And she won’t let Samantha take that. 
But then he says that they’re engaged. She isn’t the woman in his life. 
She leaves before she starts crying. 
Los Angeles, CA July 1989
It’s the night before the wedding. Cherry quit the industry a few months ago. Everyone’s at the hotel. It’s late. She’s sitting at the hotel bar by herself, nursing a glass of wine. Rooster ends up coming down. They talk all night. It’s a lot of reflection--all her time in the industry, what she learned about love and sex. What she learned about men and herself. And he just loves her so much. 
Cherry does not intend to ruin the wedding. She just tells Rooster that she wishes their timing had been better. She wishes she had been ready. She wishes she was his age. He tells her it’s too late for that now. That he is a good man with good intentions and there is a woman upstairs who he said he would marry. Cherry, very sadly and sweetly, says she knows he is a man of his word. She tells him that he is going to make a perfect husband and a perfect father. She squeezes his hand. 
She goes upstairs to her hotel room and feels immense grief, but relief as well. The back and forth is finally ending. There is no more will-they-won’t-they with them. He’s moving on. She is heartbroken, but genuinely very happy for him. 
There’s a knock on the door. It’s Rooster and he’s holding his suitcase. He tells her that she’s always had horrible timing. She says she’s been late to everything in her life. He leaves with Cherry.
Sonoma, CA December 1992
Cherry is 35 and Rooster is 45. They own a vineyard in Sonoma. They’re preparing things for Christmas with everyone. They make love before the fireplace. They’re lovingly getting their home ready for all their friends. They’ve got a couple dogs and some horses. Life is good--sweet. 
A few of them have kids, most everyone is married. Cherry and Rooster got married a few months after the wedding was called off. They’re happy. They’re really, really happy. They look through photo albums while they’re getting things out. All the photos Rooster took of her over the years--some of them are devastatingly sexy. But others are sexy in a quieter way--like a picture he took without her knowing, one where she’s sitting at the end of her bed and rolling lace stockings up her legs. Another where she’s sucking her finger in the reflection of the mirror to get the lipstick off her teeth. And some of the pictures aren’t sexy at all--they’re just beautiful. Cherry on their honeymoon in Maine, bundled up in a sweater with a scarf in her hair waving in the wind. Cherry behind the wheel of Rooster’s cherry-red car, grinning sweetly with her big sunglasses on. Cherry first-thing in the morning, hair messy and toothbrush hanging out of her mouth. It’s the way he’s always seen her, which is not the way most men of the world see her: as a person. As herself. As something to be loved and not just fucked.
Fin.                           
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lostinwildflowers · 1 year
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Piano... Woman?
Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader
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Summary: Rooster can't help but fall in love with a woman who plays piano better than he can.
Word Count: 1.4K
Warnings: Fluff!!!
A/N: After much love on the first Rooster fic, I have continued!! This is a constant thought in my head when I think of Rooster, so please enjoy some rot with me :3 Also was in the mood for some Billy Joel, OOPS! -Birch<3
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It was silent, for a moment. The bar which was usually rowdy and reckless was still. A lone woman sat at the piano, fingers dancing gently and gracefully across the keys, every person in the bar speechless at the sight before them.
You weren't Rooster, yet here you were, sitting at the piano.
The black and white keys were smooth and weighted to the touch, the old upright piano a piece of history in the naval bar. You lightly smiled down at the keys as you felt the weight of every set of eyes on the room looming over you, doing your best to focus on the feeling on the wooden bench underneath you.
Your eyes flicker shut as the piano solo to Piano Man comes alive under your fingers, the infamous tune floating delicately across the room of the bar.
While you didn't have the harmonica, your right hand did its best to play the part, practically dancing across the upper octaves of the old keyboard. After a while, your voice rings out softly, the lyrics of Billy Joel captivating every person in the bar.
A moment later, the front door to the bar opens, and while everyone's attention remains on you, the stranger who walked into your show unannounced finds himself in awe. There you are, sitting in his spot at the piano.
And he can't help but find it attractive as hell. He's annoyed, first and foremost, that's his spot, that's what he does at the bar. But you look so good, sitting there in his place.
Rooster can't help but squirm where he's standing, his eyes flicking around the bar to catch the awe-struck faces of everyone watching you. A flash of red-hot anger courses through him for a second, waves of jealousy pouring off of him at your ability to capture the crowd.
He shakes his head side to side once, then twice, to try to clear the thoughts of jealousy out of his mind. Instead, he takes to walking up to the side of the piano, a wave of butterflies washing over him as his hazel gaze locks onto your own (colored) one.
For a moment, he can't breathe as your eyes pin him in place, the sound of your voice and the roar of the piano the only thing keeping him standing. Your voice is rich, full of color tones that put Billy Joel to shame.
He stands next to the piano for a moment as you continue to sing, your eyes flashing from the keys back to his own with a smirk tugging on the corner of your mouth. Then he takes a step, and leans against the wooden frame, his eyes watching your every move.
Rooster could feel the atmosphere of the bar thicken as everyone watched him look at you, sitting in his spot. The air was full of tension, but no one dared to make a move.
"And he's talkin' with Davy, who's still in the navy, and probably will be for life," you belt out as the bar erupts with laughter, the naval aviators and crew storming to the bar, ordering more beers as you continue to sing and play, but Rooster doesn't move.
As a matter of fact, he can't take his eyes off of you, his nerves were so on fire and his mind completely rattled at the sight of you. He can't help but feel turned on as you take the impressive piano solo in stride, hitting every note and beat as well as the legend himself.
The rest of the song seems to go by too quick, for when you strike the last chord, Rooster suddenly is hit with nerves as you grin up at him.
"Gonna put some bread in my jar?" you quip, fiddling with the keys before your hands spring off of them, landing gently in your lap. Rooster's jaw clenches as he watches you for a moment, a devious sparkle in your eye.
"Well I don't see a bread jar sitting on my piano," he replies, his voice slightly strained as he glances over the top of the keyboard before returning to you. You scoff playfully under your breath, your eyes rolling in disbelief.
You stand up from the piano bench and ask, "Your piano? I don't see your name on it." At your full height, you're still shorter than Rooster, but you're relying on the confidence in your stance to stand up to the 6-foot-1 man.
It's quiet for another moment as Rooster calculates his response, and he smirks. His eyes meet yours and he says, "My name might not be on her, but I'm the only one who ever uses her."
You chuckle at that, the bar's noise returning to its usual rumble as you smile at the tall man. Rooster returns your grin, the tension in the room slowly dissolving away.
You offer him your hand and giggle, "Y/n L/n at your service, sorry I stole your girl from you." Rooster chuckles as he takes your hand in his own, bringing it up to place a small kiss on the backside of it.
A wave of butterflies rolls through your belly as his mustached upper lip brushes gently across the skin of your hand, and you feel warm as he slowly releases you from his grip.
"Nah, she probably enjoyed the change of pace," he replies, "But, you know, I don't appreciate you stealing my crowd like that, Y/n."
Your eyebrow raises as you move to lean against the side of the piano, and your gaze follows Rooster's hand, which slides up the frame of the instrument before he lands on the bench, his fingers on the keys where yours had been just moments ago.
"You never told me your name," you say blankly, blinking at him gently as he started to get comfortable. He cracks a wide grin as he mumbles, "Oh sweetheart, you're gonna learn it before long."
"Hey!" you hear from across the bar, "Rooster's at the piano now, c'mon!" Your head snapped to the voice, your eyes landing on a bunch of tan uniforms heading in your direction.
You look back at the mustached man and ask, "Rooster? Did your dad hate you or something?" He just throws back a loud laugh and half yells, "No, but he sure did love this!"
At the end of his words, he begins playing and singing Great Balls of Fire, and you're amazed at how he managed to draw the entire bar around the piano where he was sitting.
Everyone is singing and dancing around you, yet you remained calm and patient as you watched him play. You had to give him some credit, the man had the voice of an angel and the piano skills of a wizard.
As he began to solo, Rooster locks eyes with you, and you can't help but feel warm as his hazel gaze bore into you. You squirm just a little, your eyes flashing away from him to watch everyone else having fun.
Rooster laughs as he catches sight of the pink tinging your cheeks and the bashful smile on your face, continuing to play and sing until the song came to a close.
He's grinning up at you when he hits the last chord, and you throw your hands up in defeat with a smile, "Pretty impressive, Rooster." He simply shakes his head and shoots back, "Call me Bradley. And I've gotta say, you had the harder song to play."
You give him smile and a nod, "Alright, Bradley. If you wanted, we could continue this debate over a beer?" You half asked it, but Rooster's grin widens even more as he stands up from the piano, the crowd slinking away as someone plugs the jukebox back in.
"Only if you'll let me put bread in your imaginary jar," he flirts, and he swears he's fallen in love when you start giggling at him.
"You can buy the jar too," you giggle as you begin to back toward the bar, "You also probably need to tune that old thing up!"
That was it. Rooster was sure that by the end of the night, your phone number was going to be in his phone, and in a week's time, you'd be going on a date with him.
"Anything so that I can hear you sing again," he says suavely, following after you. You turn your back on him and call over your shoulder, "Better get to buying me that beer!", where "Yes ma'am!" is your response.
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