Ohmygod i love the blurb you wrote for mafia bobby 😭 you did so well with it!
Still on anon for now, a bit shy about requesting on my main but -
Would you do a Jake x Kazansky reader where he's jealous/infuriated/*cough* horny *cough* because the reader (who's also an aviator) is always being praised by their superiors?
Enemies to friends with benefits to lovers?
If he's a teeny bit mean to the reader (calls her a nepotism baby or something) i would love that 🥺
Thank you so much, everything you've written so far is brilliant!
𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐘𝐨𝐮
𝐚 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐧 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞
𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
You can feel his eyes on you. Those bright green things that somehow feel like flames licking your skin. They're burning your cheek, the one you have turned towards him. If you didn't loathe him entirely, maybe you'd admit that his eyes were actually a shade of green you were fond of. If you liked him more, maybe you'd say that his eyes are the color of eucalyptus or clover. But since you don't like him, since he really doesn't like you, you privately imagine his eyes to be the same shade as pond scum.
Both of you tend to gravitate towards the front of the classroom, which means that when you're late--like you were today, only by a minute or two--you have to sit in the empty seat beside him. Which means that you had to move his feet from the chair where they were resting--the only seat left in the front row. You knew he certainly wasn't going to move them, especially when he smirked up at you and settled into his seat further.
So you swiftly gripped his ankles and let his feet drop unceremoniously to the concrete floor.
He started to make a sound of protest, started to laugh dryly and without humor, but you already settled into your seat and fixed him with a wonderful view of your middle finger as you "itched" your temple.
He's pissed now. You know that. Honestly, you knew he was going to be pissed before you even did it. But you did it, anyway.
You can't stand his entitlement, the way he takes up all the space around him like he owns it and smiles through it all. And you can't stand sitting anywhere except the front of the classroom--it's where you focus the best.
Maverick is droning through another training and you're being your usual studious self, taking notes with your fine-point pens and chewing on your bottom lip.
"Take a fucking picture already," you finally mutter to Jake, not peeling your eyes away from the screen Maverick stands before.
Jake snorts softly, scoffing at you.
"Don't flatter yourself," he spits back, finally turning away from you as he incessantly taps his pencil against the desk.
You try and ignore it--really, you do. But you're certain after a few minutes that he's doing it just to annoy you. That stupid repetitive clanking--tap, tap, tap, tap, tap--it's starting to drive you fucking crazy.
You're right--Jake is trying to annoy you. He doesn't like it when you sit next to him anymore than you like sitting next to him. And he didn't like that little stunt you pulled by scooping his feet out of the seat they were resting in. He won't admit it to himself or you, but he wouldn't have moved if you asked. Really, you moving his feet were the only way you would be able to sit in that chair.
But he's still pissed at you; he's always pissed at you.
You're a Kazansky, which means everyone treads lightly around you. And if Jake hates one thing--it's people who get a free ride. And you with your pretty fucking face and your sweet-smelling hair and your stupid fucking eyelashes and the ferocious way you bite your lip--you have it easy as far as he's concerned. He decided that the first time he ever met you at the Academy, as soon as you introduced yourself. Your call-sign is Wisteria, born from your unsuspecting appearance and lethal temper. But Jake doesn't like to call you that--he really doesn't like to call you anything.
Growling, you turn and stare at his pencil. He just smirks. It makes your face hot with annoyance.
"You're insufferable," you hiss at him quietly, taking a grab at his pencil.
He's faster than you, just by a fraction of a second. He moves to tapping his pencil incessantly on the other side of the desk where you can't reach him.
"You're fuckin' annoyin'," he bites back in a whispered tone. "You can sit anywhere and you choose here?"
You roll your eyes.
"Newsflash, you fucking dick--you don't own the front row," you mumble, blood rising to the tips of your ears.
"You know I always sit in the front row," he tries to reason, glaring at you, his mouth pulled into a grimace.
"So do I," you whisper back incredulously, finally peeling your eyes away from Maverick to return his wide-eyed look. "So just suck it up and shut the fuck up. Can you do that, Bagman? Pretty please?"
"Well, since you asked so nicely," he grins menacingly.
You groan softly, squeezing your eyes shut. He's going to be the death of you.
"If I ask you pretty please to fuck off, will you do that, too?"
Across the room, Rooster and Payback watch your exchange slyly. Rooster is shaking his head, smiling softly. Payback's lips are slightly parted and his eyebrows are raised.
"How long until they just fuck already?" Rooster whispers to Payback.
Payback shakes his head, shrugging.
"Could be hours. Could be days. Could be weeks. Who knows? God works in mysterious ways," Payback whispers back.
Rooster eyes you--your cheeks are flushed and your lip is nearly bloody from your incessant chewing. Jake is tapping his pencil again, smirking as he glances at you from the corner of his eye.
Oh yeah. You two are definitely burning for each other--Rooster can practically smell it from here.
"I give it two days," Rooster says to Payback.
Payback snorts softly, then sighs.
"I give it two hours," he mumbles back.
The two shake hands slyly under their shared desk.
"I don't know--why don't you try?" Hangman hisses at you.
You square your jaw, breathing through your nose. Lord, grant you some patience for this big hunk of blonde muscle beside you.
You softly smile at him, eyebrows blanched.
"Will you please fuck off?" You ask sweetly, even batting your eyelashes.
Hangman wants to say something. Really, he does. But Maverick is clearing his throat and looking at the two of you. So you slump into your seat, mumbling an apology as you flush. And Jake just nods at Maverick--except he stops tapping his pencil. But he knows that he's going to get you back.
And get you back he does. It's when you're both in the air, cutting through the cornflower sky, teamed up for a dogfight. You're a good pilot--maybe even one of the best. You're vigilant and calculated. You do everything by the books, which is why you've been asked to be Team Captain on more than one occasion.
Of course from Jake's perspective, it's only because of the legacy you hail from. In his opinion, you lack gumption and the kind of recklessness fighter pilots sometimes have to embody.
Needless to say--neither of you like flying with each other. So of course, Maverick pairs the two of you up.
Hangman can be calculated when he wants to be. And today, there's a special fire that's been lit under his ass--and you're the one that's been stoking it all day. So he plays by your rules, obeying you, even using your Lieutenant title--which he makes a point to never use.
But it's at that crucial moment, when you need him to cover you, when you need your wingman--that he dips. He hangs you out to dry, lets you get shot out. Hell, he practically lines up the shot for Maverick. The two of you were close to getting Maverick--so close that Jake could've gotten tone before Maverick even got close to you.
But then your tone is ringing out in your aircraft and you're dead. And Jake is grinning at you as soon as your jet touches down on the tarmac.
"What's got your panties in a twist?" He asks you, smirking as he wipes some beads of sweat from his forehead.
You're thoroughly pissed off. Like red in the cheeks, blood boiling, boulder-sitting-on-your-chest kind of pissed off. You're so pissed off that Bob is crossing the tarmac as soon as he sees that unhinged anger in your eyes, the one that usually prefaces some sort of discipline from the higher-ups.
"You son of a bitch!" You spit at Jake, pointing at him accusingly, throwing your helmet on the tarmac. "You gave Maverick the shot! Fuck, you basically lined it up for him!"
Jake is standing beneath the golden sun, his eyes narrowed as he squints at you under the bright sky. He likes seeing you like this--angry. Like, really, really angry.
"Me?" He asks dumbly, pointing to himself.
You have half a mind to scratch those green eyes out of his pretty face. You stomp towards him, hastily wiping the sweat off your face with your sleeve.
"You!" You shout, puffing your chest out as you square up to him. "You fucking--you-you-!"
"C'mon," Jake taunts, smirking down at you as your furrow your brows deeply. "Spit it out, nepotism baby."
Just as you're about to wallop Jake in his pretty fucking face, just as you're literally about to sink your teeth into his jugular, Bob steps between the two of you.
"Wisty, he wants you to hit him," Bob reasons, his sweet eyes pouring into yours. Jesus, you look feral right now--your teeth are bared, your eyes are glassy, your cheeks are red, you're damp with perspiration. "Do you really wanna give Seresin what he wants?"
Jake isn't surprised that someone jumped in to save your precious reputation. Typical behavior. Everyone always rushing to your aid like the big fucking baby you are.
"Maybe she does," Jake tells Bob, clapping him on the shoulder. "C'mon. Give it to me, baby."
Bob has to put his hands on your shoulders and hold you to the tarmac. He's certain that if he let you go, you'd be impossible to get ahold of again. And Jake would have to run for the hills if he wanted to avoid any major surgeries in the facial region.
"You're a fucking asshole!" You accuse Jake, little bits of saliva flinging at the skin of his face.
Jake comes closer to you--like a toddler taunting an animal at the zoo through the glass--and puckers his lips, making a lewd kissing noise.
He just fucking blew you a kiss.
Bob fights the overwhelming urge to let you loose. Fucking dick.
Jake swiftly turns on his heel, grinning, finally feeling like he has the upper-hand. But he is stopped only a few paces later when Cyclone bellows his official title.
Cyclone, who listened to the comms for once during your training exercise and witnessed the entire tarmac ordeal, has a few words for Jake.
Jake's stomach sinks. Fuck.
And he knows without even turning around that you're grinning now. Of course someone comes in the save the day again. If not Bob or Phoenix or Bradley or Maverick, then fucking Cyclone.
"Karma," you mutter to Bob, sighing deeply.
Bob nods, pushing his glasses back up his nose. He takes a look at your slumped shoulders and your slacked features and decides that he's probably okay to let you go.
"You know he just wants to get under your skin," Bob tells you warily, bumping you with a friendly elbow. "He's threatened by you."
You nod, scoffing.
"Good. I'm better than him."
Bob laughs and it makes something in your chest melt. You suddenly don't feel so angry anymore. You even smile a little bit.
"That you are, Wisty. Now, go take a shower. You stink."
You're in the middle of a much needed shower when the locker-room door suddenly rips open. You're startled enough to jump as you lather your body, straining on your tip-toes to look over the curtain at who just barged into the room.
The rooms are uni-sex, much to your dismay, and you're almost certain that everyone's in the air right now or has already showered after training. You cycle through the squadron in your head, furrowing your brows as you let the hot water boil the anger off your skin.
"Rooster?" You try, your voice echoing out on the tiles in the showers.
There's heavy footsteps--ones that are moving quick. Lug-sole boots, for sure. And if it really were Rooster, you're certain he would've come in humming or whistling or singing some dumb 80s song. And he would've called back at once.
No, this is someone else. Someone who's rapidly approaching, someone who's pissed off. They're stomping in your direction.
"I'm grounded for two fuckin' weeks."
Jake's voice is just outside your shower cubicle. All that separates your naked body from him and his rage is a flimsy shower curtain, one that is very nearly translucent.
You swallow thickly, suddenly feeling very vulnerable. You're naked for crying out loud--and he's trying to do this now? Here?
"Can this wait?" You ask, almost sounding timid.
Jake scoffs.
"No."
You roll your eyes, tipping your head back so the hot water washes over your face and hair again.
"How's it my problem that you're grounded?" You ask, your voice echoing in the vast empty room.
Jake is certain that the shower curtain is about to be set ablaze by his heated gaze. He wants to rip that shower curtain open and shake you silly for getting him in trouble the way you did. He can't see much of you besides your vague silhouette behind the curtain--that and your feet on the tile. Your toes are painted the color of a blueberry--on any other girl, Jake would think it's cute. But it's you, so he thinks it's juvenile.
"Because you just had to make a scene in front of everyone, didn't you? I bet you fuckin' knew Cyclone was watching!"
You scoff so loud that it makes your throat hurt.
"Bullshit, Seresin! I'm not some fucking cartoon villain! You fucked me up there and you know it. You knew I'd be pissed when we landed. I didn't know Cyclone was there."
Jake rakes his hand through his sweaty locks and groans loudly, starting to pace the damp tile outside your cubicle. He knows how threatening his boots against the tile must sound, how stuck you must feel right now. And a tiny part of him takes a strange sort of joy in that--of his presence being so big and looming that it holds you still.
"Yeah, well I guess life just has a way of going your way, huh, Kazansky?"
Your blood is beginning to boil again. Just the way he says your name, with all that venom and malice, it makes your nails dig into your palms.
"What's that mean, Bagman?"
He scoffs now--it's loud enough for you to hear above the blood rushing past your ears.
"It means that you have it easy! You've always had it easy! Your dad is fucking Tom Kazansky! Your daddy was a fighter pilot so he let you be a fighter pilot, too."
You're almost vibrating with anger now, hastily washing the conditioner out of your hair so you can rip the shower curtain and deliver a swift smack to his cheek.
It's one thing for him to say something about you--but it's a whole other thing entirely to bring up your father. You love your father--he's always been your real-life superhero. To hear Jake just say his name like that, just to hear him spit out Tom Kazansky like it means nothing makes you want to make his pretty eyes black.
"Oh, fuck you, Jake! Rooster's dad went to Top Gun, too, but I don't see you bringing that up every chance you get!"
"Rooster's dad is fucking dead!" Jake calls back, sighing in exasperation. "Doubt he helped him climb any ladders from six-feet under!"
Stomach gurgling, chest flushed, heart racing, you act before you even think. You rip open the shower curtain, your ears ringing, and stare at Jake. You want to hit him; you want to hit him more than you've ever wanted to hit anyone in your life. But you know that's probably what he wants.
So you just stand there, your naked body glistening with suds and heaving with every breath you huff out.
Jake stops his pacing, mouth falling open as he stares at all the skin that is suddenly on display. You look fucking pissed--your eyes are rimmed with red, your fists are clenched, your skin is quivering, your mouth is a tight line. But fuck if you don't look sexy right now; your nipples are pert and pink, all the hills and valleys of your body are slick, and that blueberry color on your toes looks mildly endearing as you stomp closer to him.
"You think I've got it easy?"
Your voice is laced with absolute malice.
Jake is backing away from you, his lips parted, his eyes wide.
"Yeah, I do," he says, but he sounds less sure now.
You point up at him, narrowing your eyes.
"Yeah, because women notoriously have it easy in the military. Right, Jake? I've never had to work hard for anything because my dad is an Admiral, right? And all the other people in this program that had parents go through it aren't nepotism babies if their parents are dead, right?"
You're getting closer and closer to him with every word that spews out of your mouth, pressing your finger into his chest, glowering.
Before Jake can answer--which he's having a hard time doing since all the blood in his brain is suddenly draining down, down, down--you get on your tip-toes to get all the more closer to his face.
Something is bubbling up in you, something that's been coming on for months. You're good at hiding your emotions, especially around your family, especially around your dad. You know how upset he gets when you're upset--even as a little girl, you did your best to conceal any sort of crying or whining around him--so you bottle all those tears and that rage and that grief inside your chest cavity. And now that you're naked and pissed and so close to Jake, it's all coming out in hot breaths.
"So, in a few months, when my dad is dead--you're gonna stop calling me a nepotism baby? Is that how this works? Or am I grandfathered in?"
There it is--sitting out in all the steamy air between the two of you. Your dad is dying. You know it, you've known it for a while now, and you're trying to come to terms with it. You haven't been able to tell anyone on base, therapy is too expensive, and you can't cry in front of your dad. So Jake gets to hear it all right now as you stand before him, soaking wet, trembling with rage.
And Jake suddenly feels like a fucking asshole. He hates to feel guilty--which is why he usually actively tries to steel himself against people's reactions to what he says--but he can feel the rusty anchor of it dragging across his chest heavily. He knows that his eyes have softened, that his shoulders are drooping. He knows it because you suddenly soften too.
"Wisteria," he says quietly, trying hard to keep looking at your face and not your breasts or your belly or your legs or your legs. "I'm so..."
And you feel like you're going to cry now--which is great. That's just fucking great. That's all you need right now is to cry in front of Jake fucking Seresin, who will probably internalize all of it to tease you about it for the next ten years.
With a sudden wave of goosebumps, you realize it. You're butt naked right now in front of Jake. Like, properly naked. And you're soaking wet. So, while you still have the slightest bit of dignity intact, you spin on your heel and start to hurry back to your cubicle. A deep blush is covering your chest and throat, climbing up onto your cheeks.
"Hey," Jake says, his voice softer than before. He reaches out before he even realizes what he's doing, wrapping his hand around your bicep.
You whip around quicker than he's expecting, your wet hair smacking his sweaty cheeks. His eyes are wide when you press your nose against his. And even though he knows you're angry at him, angry at the situation and at him and at the world, he knows that you're sad, too. You're sad in a way he doesn't quite understand but that he wants to help--really, he just wants this guilt sitting on his chest to fade.
"Fuck you," you hiss, jabbing his chest. Your voice breaks and he squeezes your arm tighter.
Jake is staring at you. His eyes are wide and his pupils are blown. His mouth is twisted and his cheeks are red and his hair is messy. He's something between pissed and elated, but you don't know what.
"Fuck you," he whispers back, except his voice holds no malice at all. It's soft, soft as the little breaths of his that are fanning over your face.
And he moves closer to you, just barely, just enough so that you can feel his hard cock against your naked hip.
Oh--you recognize that look now. It's lust. He wants you. He wants to fuck you.
Your heart is racing and when his hand moves to tenderly move wet hair off your shoulder, you shudder. Heat is beginning to pool between your legs now, the same heat that is making your lips swell with want.
You're still upset, your emotions are running high. But maybe this would make you feel better--actually, you know it would make you feel better. Between your busy schedule and all the family you're constantly entertaining, you don't have much of a dating life.
"That what you want?" You whisper finally, not moving away from him.
He nods once, swallowing hard.
Fuck.
"That gonna make you shut the fuck up?" You whisper to him, lips just barely grazing his.
And fuck if just the feeling of his lips on yours isn't already making a coil tighten in your belly.
He moans softly, pressing into you just a bit harder. You're steady on your feet, swallowing his sound with a hunger that you've never had for anyone else before.
You're slightly shocked that he's letting you take the lead, letting you talk to him that way. You're also shocked that you're about to kiss Jake Seresin in the locker room at your place of employment. But here you are, your tongue licking a hot stripe across his bottom lip until he opens his mouth for you.
But, like he knew exactly what you were thinking, he wraps your hair tightly around his hand and tugs harshly until your lips disconnect. There is a string of spit connecting the two of you, which makes something very warm grow in your belly.
"You're a bitch," he tells you, panting.
You nod blindly, desperate to press your mouth against his again.
"You're a dick," you tell him.
He moans again--a glutton for punishment. It makes you wet just thinking about all the mean things you can spew at him, all the frustration he would happily let you take out on him and his abs.
You're fumbling with his uniform and he's feverishly pressing kisses to your wet shoulders and neck, both of you moving quickly so you don't change your mind or get some sense knocked into you.
"Princess," he mumbles against your skin, sucking harshly over your collarbone.
"Entitled prick," you moan back, pushing his shirt on the floor and eagerly working on his belt buckle.
Jake can't believe this is happening. He never thought he wanted to fuck you--honestly, the thought had never crossed his mind. But now that you're here in front of him, naked and wet and ready for him, he can't believe he hasn't indulged in this fantasy before. You're so fucking hot that he's already straining against his service khakis, his mind spinning, his chest heaving. He's only ever strictly--and honestly, begrudgingly--noticed your beauty. It's hard for him to not notice beautiful people so it's usually your face that he lands on.
"C'mon," he hisses at you, dragging his calloused hands down to your breasts. "Faster."
He pinches hard enough to make you cry out, enough to make your toes curl. White-hot pleasure is raining over you, licking your heels, scorching you.
"Fuck you," you moans again, finally undoing his belt and getting rid of his pants and underwear in one swift movement.
"Plannin' on it," he whispers to you, delivering a few more sharp pinches to your nipples as he kneads the soft tissue of your breast in his rough hands.
His cock is freely pressing into your skin now, hard and hot and leaking pearlescent beads of pre-cum. He's big--he's really fucking big. You can feel all the veins around his cock pulsing, can feel how badly he wants you. If you weren't as wet as you are right now, you'd make fun of him.
"Shower," he commands, already pressing you against the wall of your cubicle.
The water is still running, clouding the room with steam, and after only a few moments both of you are sopping wet again. He's kissing you like he's trying to devour you, relentless in his harsh movements on your chest. The pleasure is almost paralyzing you, almost rendering you motionless.
But after only a few moments of his harsh movements, you finally move down and wrap your fingers around his cock. You give a few tugs, slipping your thumb over the his slit.
Jake Seresin, Jake fucking Seresin, moans into your mouth. It's a deep and throaty thing, something that shoots you straight in the core. And then he presses himself against you, holding you up with one of his arms as his other one slips between you. In one swift movement, his fingers are spreading you open and circling your clit furiously. There's no easing into it, not with him. It's hot and desperate and needy.
You're moaning, too, throwing your head back against the slick tiles, squeezing your eyes shut. And Jake is kissing feverishly across your neck, nibbling your collarbones, trying not to outwardly moan at how silky and good you feel on his fingers.
That coil is tightening in your belly, pushing you closer and closer to an edge you weren't even near when you started to shower a short while ago. But his fingers are so rough, so calloused, and they feel so fucking good against this delicate part of you.
"Make me cum," you desperately whisper, the water pouring down over the two of you deliciously.
He's still moaning at your swift movements over his cock, at the way you are giving special attention to the head of his cock the exact way he likes.
"You're such a fuckin' princess," he whispers into your mouth, biting down hard on your lower lip as you mewl desperately. "Always gotta be taken care of, huh?"
Nonetheless, he's picking up his pace, rubbing your clit in hard and fast circles. He can tell your close by the crinkle between your brows, by the way you're bucking into his hand, by those desperate little breaths that are puffing into his face. You're soaking wet, too, which makes him so hard that he thinks he might combust.
"Oh, Jake," you moan, trying to match his pace with your hips.
He keens at the sound of his name falling off your lips. And when you tangle your fingers in his hair and tug, it only encourages him to move faster.
If you weren't so close to cumming, if he his cock wasn't dripping in your hands, then you would laugh at him. Jake Seresin has a degradation and a praise kink. Typical.
"Beg for it," he mutters to you, swallowing hard.
You don't even think twice.
"Please," you whisper pathetically, mouth parted in utter ecstasy. "Please, please, please, Jake. God, give it to me, Jake. Please let me cum."
Jake's sounds are sacrilegious. He's pressing his lips agains yours harshly, his tongue folding across yours, pressing down just right until he's thrown you off the edge of a cliff and directly into the vortex of an orgasm. You convulse in his arms, shaking and nearly crying, and he swallows every single sound your pretty mouth makes.
"That's it," he coaxes, uncharacteristically soft as he works you through it. "Good girl."
Your fingernails embed themselves in the skin of his scalp.
And if he wasn't planning on fucking you just as soon as you can stand on your own two feet again, he'd endlessly tease you about the way you like to be teased. Typical.
And just as soon as you've come down, just as soon as your vision isn't whited out, you're turning yourself so your chest is against the shower wall. Jake almost moans just from the sight of your supple ass raising just slightly in the air--a signal that you're ready for him.
But he takes not a moment of hesitation. He smooths his hand down your spine, holding the meat of your cheeks in his hands, silently thanking God for his bad attitude earlier.
And you're panting, still recovering, so turned on still that you can't even speak. You know that if you did speak, you would sound downright dumb. You'll be damned before you let Jake Seresin know that his fingers alone have made you totally stupid.
"Ready for me?"
You just nod, stifling an eye roll.
He braces himself against you, a firm hold on your hips. And you brace yourself against the wall, pressing your hot cheek against the cool tile.
And just as he lines the head of his weeping cock up to your sopping entrance, just as he's about to practically rip you in two, he leans forward. You want to whine, really you do, but then he's very tenderly moving all the wet hair out of your face so he can see your pink cheek and your swollen lips and half-lidded eyes.
"You want this?" He asks, voice steady but desperate.
You glance back at him, brows furrowed slightly. He's being totally earnest right now--you can tell from the flat line of his lips and the way his eyebrows are just barely knit.
"Yes," you whisper after a moment, nodding.
He smiles, nodding.
"Good," he whispers, pressing himself into you all at once, rendering you speechless and breathless. "Cause I fuckin' want it, too."
𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐓𝐰𝐨: 𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐌𝐞
horny!mean!Hangman rise
this has been extended to a series!! you can find all the parts on my masterlist!!
if you liked this, consider checking out my Jake x You story!
A training accident, the doctor had told him. A nasty one that led him here, laying in a hospital bed with a splitting headache and an inability to remember the woman sitting beside him. What he did know, though, was that you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and you felt important to him. That, as it turns out, would become an understatement.
Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw/Reader (no use of y/n, so can be read as unnamed oc)
The Forgotten Moments: A One Shot Collection: Before he had to remember you, Bradley got to experience the whirlwind that was meeting and falling in love with you (the first time).
Main Masterlist
Banner by the one and only @mak-32 🧡
*I do not give permission to copy/steal, translate, or publish elsewhere*
i was supposed to sweat you out (rooster x f!reader)
pairing: bradley rooster bradshaw x fem!reader (no y/n)
synopsis: reader is totally not jealous that her FWB is being hit on at the hard deck.
word count: 3.8k
warnings: 18+ explicit content, minors DNI: spitting, unprotected sex, non negotiated breeding kink—friendly reminder this is a work of FICTION oh my god use protection and communicate explicitly with your partner beforehand please please please-- explicit PiV sex, a bit of dumbification, m!receiving oral sex
A/N: help i blacked out and wrote almost 4k of rooster smut who even am i listen, i also know it's not original, but i wanted to write frantic territorial sex and this is where it got us. also...don't think too hard about the parallels between this and can't unfeel that okay i'm too repressed to process tysm also yes title is from glitch by TAS
You weren’t jealous.
Jealous was for people with feelings, and if you had feelings about fucking your team lead, then you were stupid, in addition to giving Uncle Sam everything he needed to court martial you.
So, no, you weren’t jealous.
But the tightness in your stomach as a girl sat next to Rooster on the piano was awfully uncomfortable.
She wasn’t even out of line, that was the worst part. She looked nice, she looked like a decent human, and she was pretty, if you were into the girl next door kinda look.
Which Rooster historically was.
She was sitting at a perfectly respectful distance, her sundress was a perfectly respectful length, her face was open and curious and pure and it made you want to stomp over to the piano in the middle of the Hard Deck, and rub yourself all over Bradley’s hawaiian shirt until he remembered that as pretty as she was, he liked himself around you better.
You made yourself look away, tipping your wrist so the soda water and ice remaining in your glass rattled around.
He wasn’t yours.
You knew he wasn’t, just like you knew jealousy was irrational, but it was hard because sometimes…sometimes he acted like it though.
Like when you nearly passed out from cramps and he’d brought over a spare set of sheets while he washed yours, and then wedged himself around you in your tiny bed, so you could know you weren’t alone in the pain. Or when he left a lemon lavender cupcake in your locker, even though no one was supposed to know it was your birthday, because you hated the way people made a big fuss out of nothing. Or the way he looked up at you, awestruck and beautiful, every time you came on his fingers, sobbing his name.
You set your glass down on the bar, louder than you intended, but suddenly everything seemed loud. You didn’t have to stay here, in fact, you needed to get out. Out of the Hard Deck, away from the bright lights and happy people being happy, and no one moping over their fuckbuddies who definitely didn’t have feelings for them–
When the back door opened, you breathed in deep, cool air rushing off the sea and over you and bringing a momentary reprieve. The door swung shut behind, and as it closed, the din of the bar muted, and you let that breath out slowly, wrapping your arms around yourself. You just needed a minute, a moment to calm the hell down, and forget about the distracting man at the piano whom you had no business being distracted by.
You heard the door creak open behind you and you tipped your head back to glare at the universe at large, because without turning around, you knew exactly who had come outside after you.
“Hey,” Bradley’s voice was just gentle enough to make your heart clench, because it wasn’t his fault that he was so impossibly kind, it had you falling in love with him, “you okay? You ran out of there pretty quick.”
“I’m fine,” you said, sounding just as prickly as you felt, pushing down any sense of flattery that he’d been aware of your presence, and your leaving.
“You sound fine,” Bradley said cheerily, coming to stand beside you. You wanted to laugh with him because you both knew you were being dramatic, but you also wanted to shove him like you were 5 on a playground, too full of big feelings to know how to handle them.
“I said I’m fine, Bradley,” you bit out. “Go back inside, okay, I’m fine.”
He was quiet for a moment, and when you looked over at him, you knew it was a mistake. He was watching you carefully, his brown eyes focused and concerned, a divet in the middle of his forehead where his brows were squished together, making him simultaneously the cutest and hottest, and also the most annoying, for being so handsome while he was clearly worried.
“Honey, we gotta talk about it–” he started, but the endearment broke something inside of you, the way he said it like he meant it, like this was real.
“I’m not your honey, Bradley,” you snapped, turning to face him fully. “We’re friends, right, that was the whole deal, so let’s not pretend like–”
Something flashed in Bradley’s eyes and a moment later his large hands cupped your face as he crashed into you, kissing your gasped breath out of you.
It wasn’t your fault your knees nearly buckled.
It wasn’t your fault that the hands you meant to push him away with instead curled into the material of that stupid technicolor shirt, pulling him closer to you.
It wasn’t your fault that he tasted like heaven, like rum and coke and intoxicating, and months of habit had you chasing his taste with your tongue.
You didn’t realize you were walking backwards until your back hit the outside wall of the Hard Deck, and still Bradley covered you. His neck was bent at a horrible angle to meet your lips, but he didn’t seem to mind, melding his body into yours, pressing into you with a familiar urgency.
His tongue traced over your lips and you opened for him, a whimper escaping you when Bradley hummed with appreciation. His hands slipped from your face to behind your head, his knuckles protecting your head from the scrape of the brick wall, and he rocked into you before pulling back.
You felt his breath against your lips and you opened your eyes slowly, needing a moment before you could focus on him.
Christ, he was just so pretty.
Hair unruly from your fingers, cheeks flushed from kissing you, chest rising unsteadily and his tongue darting out to wet his lips, like a tease.
“Now,” he said, his voice gruffer than it’d been a minute ago, “are you done riding my dick for something I don’t even know I did wrong?”
It was an expression.
You knew that, of course it was an expression, but Bradley was pressing you into a wall with his demigod body, and he’d said it in that voice, the one you knew how it felt against your skin, so all you could manage was, “Can I?”
For a moment, Bradley looked confused, bless him.
Then he huffed out a disbelieving breath, like you were too good to be true, lifting a hand from behind your head to rake it through his hair, before looking back at you.
“You mean that, don’t you?” he asked, his voice somehow even lower. “Out here in the open, you’d let me fuck you?”
You shivered at his words, nodding stupidly, and were rewarded by another kiss. This one was just as unexpected as the first, but Bradley’s lips gentle against yours as he coaxed an answering softness out of you.
It was too sweet.
Too tempting, too delicious, to let yourself have tenderness that you knew wasn’t real, and you needed to get a hold of yourself, fast.
Bradley was still being so damn gentle, so it was easy to push his hands away from you, sink to your knees on the sand-covered asphalt outside of the bar. Bradley fell forward, catching himself on the arm braced on the wall, his forehead resting in the crook of his elbow.
“Honey, you don’t have to–” he started, but his hips bucked forward when your fingers started undoing his belt.
“I want to,” you told him, meaning it too much to care how breathless your voice sounded.
Your hand slipped into his pants, palming his length over his briefs and you both groaned softly. He wasn’t fully hard, not yet, but that was better anyways, let you work him up. He was warm, heavy even at half mast, and it took everything in you not to purr when you pulled him out. You looked up at him, tilting your head.
“Help me out?” you asked coyly, sticking your tongue out, and Bradley’s hips jutted forward again when he realized what you were asking.
“You’re something else,” he murmured, his voice a heady mix of arousal and wonder. The hand that wasn’t keeping him from hitting the wall traced down your cheek, ending at your jaw and tipping your chin up.
You were already salivating and when Bradley spit, you moaned, your thighs clenched together as you drooled your combined saliva onto his cock. Bradley grunted, then whispered something to himself as you smoothed your hand over him, the glide made easier by your spit. Already, you could feel him stiffening, and you readjusted to take him in your mouth.
It was never a gentle fit.
Bradley was the kind of thick that he always stretched out your jaw, but, God, did you relish it. As your lips wrapped around the head of his dick, Bradley moaned, the most beautiful sound. You loved how vocal he was, loved how he sounded, how he felt. You tightened your lips, tongue swirling over the tip of him, teasing until you tasted a hint of salt in your mouth, and then it was your turn to moan.
You tipped your head back, encouraging him to slide him deeper into your mouth, your fist twisting around the portion of his cock that didn’t fit in your mouth.
“Shit, honey, that mouth…” Bradley gritted, his voice muffled in his arm. The hand that had tipped up your chin went around to your cheek, and his hips shifted again when he could feel you hollowing your cheeks out.
The motion pushed him deeper towards your throat and you gagged, but kept him in your mouth, soothed by the shaky cadence of Bradley’s breath over you.
“So damn good for me, aren’t you, honey?” he breathed. “So warm and tight; feels so good…”
Your thighs clenched again, and you felt yourself growing wet as his praise washed over you. You held your breath, determined to take more of him, and Bradley grunted as you pulled on his cock with your hand, feeding him into your mouth.
“Need more, honey?” he asked, somehow still cocky, though you could hear the tremor of desire in his voice. “God, you love being stretched on my dick, don’t you?”
You moaned instead of nodding, wishing it wasn’t true but also wishing he’d push deeper. Your hands flexed on his thighs, still covered in his jeans, but so thick and warm, even through the denim. Fuck, the size of him was overwhelming–his heavy cock in your mouth, those muscled thighs under your fingers…you held your breath and you let go of the base of him.
Bradley let out a choked gasp as you took him deeper, your nose brushing his pubic hair as he slid down your throat. You were gonna lose your voice and be so damn sore, but it was worth it for the groan that ripped out of Bradley.
“Fuck fuck fuck–” he gritted, all cockiness gone as he let go of your cheek, bracing himself against the wall. You knew it was taking everything to not rut into you, and you half appreciated it because you weren’t sure you could take it, but you almost wanted him without restraint, just using you, lost in you.
You hummed around him, and Bradley made a sound you’d never heard before, like a whine and gasp, and then he was pushing himself off the wall, pulling out of you, and wrapping his hands under your arms, pulling you to your feet.
“Fuck, honey, you wreck me,” he rasped, kissing you almost angrily. You whimpered as you opened for him, and you felt his tongue sweeping through you, searching for his taste in your mouth.
You felt so empty, too much air and too little of his cock, and you reached for him between you. You felt him jolt when your hand closed around him, stroking over him, and then Bradley was reaching between both of you, shoving his hand into your underwear.
“How wet am I going to find you, honey? Bet you’re just drenched aren’t you, just that hungry for my cock–fuck.”
Bradley broke off when his fingers swept into your panties, and you gasped at the glorious contact.
His fingers were so good, thick and long and calloused just right, and he was absolutely correct: you were all but dripping for him. Bradley pulled his fingers through your folds, pulling your arousal up to your clit and petting gentle circles around it. Your head fell back against the wall at his ministrations, perfect to the point of painful, almost forgetting you held his cock in your hand.
You tightened your grip around him, and Bradley grunted before he matched your pace with his fingers. You felt your knees shaking, and Bradley wound another hand around your ass, before lifting to brace you against the wall. With your feet off the ground, your balance was entirely dependent upon him, and it brought new pressure to the pattern his fingers were tracing over you.
His touch was maddening.
Light and knowing, direct and perfect, enough to drive you wild with pleasure but not to get you there, and he knew it.
“Bradley,” you whispered against his mouth, begged, and the bastard chuckled, but he pulled his hand out of your panties, just long enough to push them to the side, before pulling his lips away from you.
“Shit, honey, I don’t have a–”
“In me, Rooster,” you snapped, surprised and yet absolutely not surprised by the fact that your eyes felt full. You were desperate for him, it was embarrassing, but you needed him so damn bad, for reasons you didn’t dare say, and if he waited for something else, you didn’t think you could bear it. “Please, fucking please, I need you–”
“Shh honey, you’re okay,” Bradley soothed, one of his hands brushing your hair away from your face, a gentle thumb wiping at your eyes. His gentleness made you more desperate, your hips canting towards him. “Are you sure?”
“So sure, please,” you whimpered, your face feeling hot, your thighs shaking. God you were coming undone, like you were just a giant nerve ending that was just need, desperate, hunger, desire.
“Course, honey,” Bradley soothed, his lips brushing against your cheeks, kissing your tears away, his tongue caressing your skin. “I’ve got you, baby, you’re okay.”
You didn’t think you were, but then his thick cock was at your entrance and you could’ve sobbed in relief. He was hot, you could feel him leaking and you needed him to be so deep inside you. You tried to work your hips down on him, but Bradley’s grip on you was stern, and you couldn’t coax him any faster.
As it was, it still felt like too much.
The stretch of him, the closeness, the way he knew just how to soothe you and fuck you and none of it was real and even when he slowly worked you down onto his cock, you were still shaking.
“Please, please,” you whined, trying to move, and crying out in frustration when Bradley didn’t succumb. “Shit, Bradley, please, fuck me like you mean it.”
He growled, fucking growled, the sexiest sound out of a litany of choices, and Bradley’s hips jerked back before he drove into you. Your head hit the brick wall, he was so perfect and he hit you just right, so good, and almost perfect enough to drown out the thoughts in your head.
“Like I mean it, huh,” Bradley grunted, pulling out, the drag feeling like suction with how wet you were, how tightly you were clenching around him. “Like I mean it when I say you’re killing me, is that what you mean? Like I’m going insane every second this pretty pussy isn’t tight around me, like I can’t think straight if I don’t have the taste of you on my tongue, or know the taste of me isn’t on yours?”
He punctuated each question with a thrust, fucking the answers out of your head, and all you could think was yes and more and please.
“Oh you like that, don’t you, baby?” Bradley said, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as he lifted you higher up the wall. Your back scraped against the bricks but you didn’t care, you couldn’t focus on anything other than the perfect drag of his cock inside you, so close to you. “I think you like that, I think you like knowing how much you own me, how in my head you are, how even when it’s me filling you. You’re fucking everywhere, all around me, all the time.”
His thrusts pushed you higher, bits of sand and brick grating at your skin and it grounded you, centered you so you didn’t come undone at the words coming out of him.
You were still thinking too much.
He was so deep, so good, but you still…you reached for him blindly, one of your hands finding one of his, bringing it to your throat.
“Fuck, honey,” Bradley groaned, his fingers tightening slightly and you traced your hand down the back of his hands, moaning when you felt the veins on the back of his hand. He didn’t squeeze tight, just enough to remind you he was there, and that he could, and just the thought had a coil tightening in your core, tingles spreading through your toes and fingers.
“Bradley,” you whimpered, tears squeezing out of your eyes. “Baby, that feels so good, feels like yours, please–”
Bradley moaned into your skin, his lips latching onto your pulse point and sucking, and you keened, your back arching off the wall. The stretch of his cock was pulling your panties across your clit, and the driving press of him inside of you was so good, you could barely hear what he was whispering.
“Is that what you want, honey?” he whispered into your skin. “Want to be mine? That’s what it feels like, honey, it feels like my pussy is so wet for me, dripping for this cock. It feels like my clit is so swollen, so desperate for attention; it feels like my girl’s gonna come on my hard fucking cock…”
Yes, yes that was what you wanted.
You were already his, he didn’t know it, but hearing him say it had your mind going hazy, and your thighs trembling.
“That’s fucking right, baby,” Bradley groaned, “I can feel you clenching down on me, can feel my pussy getting even tighter for me. This doesn’t feel like friends, baby, it feels like my girl’s about to come on my cock.
You were lost, swimming in a sea of heat and sensation and Bradley’s words and you were pretty sure you were wailing, praying no one in the Hard Deck could hear you, but even if they could, you weren’t stopping. His cock was so deep in you, hitting you just right, and you knew what you needed to cum.
“In me, Bradley,” you managed, your voice a weak whine. “Need to feel you come, please, fill me up with it.”
“Oh, fuck, honey,” Bradley choked, his hand tightening on your throat and his hips working faster. His pace was bruising, overwhelming, perfect and hard and you felt everything in you winding tighter.
“Of course you want my cum, fucking of course, if it’s my pussy, then that’s where it belongs isn’t it? That’s how you should be, stuffed so fucking full of me, dripping out of you, marked like mine, fucking mine–”
He was groaning, gasping, his hips speeding up and driving into you, and all you could do was take it, like it was what you were made for. You were boneless, euphoric, and when you felt Bradley’s hips stutter and his head drop to between your breasts, your orgasm broke over you. Bradley sagged into you, hips working weakly as he thrust his cum into you, and you felt it everywhere, marking you, like he said. You couldn’t breathe without him, only knew you were still vertical because he was holding you, and you felt so warm, so held, so full.
His.
You didn’t realize your eyes had closed until you were aware of Bradley asking you to open them. Your feet were on the ground, even though your legs were like a newborn deer, and your back was braced against the wall. Bradley was bent in front of you, brushing away your tears with the back of his hand.
“Talk to me, honey,” he said softly, and you heard his voice like an echo, “need to know you’re okay.”
You nodded slowly, which mustn’t have been convincing, because Bradley was still fussing over you, like he hadn’t fucked you halfway into a new religion.
You knew when he saw your back because of the sound of dismay that burst out of him, and then he was pulling off that damn Hawaiin shirt, brushing gravel off your back while your head hung low between your shoulders, still trying to remember how to breathe.
Satisfied that he’d at least brushed the grit out of your skin, Bradley draped his shirt over your shoulders, protecting them, before guiding you to lean back. He licked his lips as his gaze tracked over your face, and you watched him convince himself to say something.
“Did you mean it?” he asked quietly, but this time you heard him more clearly. “Would…would you want that? To be mine?”
It was your turn to stare.
How could he doubt it? How was there any question? Not only after what you’d just begged him for, but before then, always, he had to know how good he was, and how all anyone wanted was to be in the light of his sunshine.
“Obviously,” you said, your voice coming out as an alarming croak. “But we can’t, we–”
Bradley hugged you.
It wasn’t what you expected.
After everything you’d just done, instigated by stop-talking kisses, there was something astonishingly intimate about Bradley wrapping you in his arms, enfolding you in his embrace, and you felt him relax when your arms hesitatingly wrapped around him too. He was warm, smelled like fresh sweat and you buried your face in the soft cotton of his undershirt. He held you tightly, and you thought he might’ve pressed a kiss to the top of your head, but then his hand was smoothing over your back, gentle, comforting.
“We’ll figure it out,” he said, softly. “Together, okay?”
You nodded, knowing he could feel it, and he held you impossibly closer. It didn’t solve it. There were still fraternization rules, still some kind of unofficial vetting process you knew Mav and Ice would put you through, not to mention Penny…but as Bradley held you, you let it be enough.
And maybe it was enough, because, as your body hummed with the reminder of it, you were his.
//
tagging: @callsign-fangirl @bradshawsbitch @mxgyver @withahappyrefrain @teacupsandtopgun @lewmagoo @nancyxsorbet @sebsxphia @laracrofted @roleycoleyreccenter @sushiwriterhere @roosterforme @daggerspare-standingby @callsignvalley @wildbornsiren @hangmanshoney idk most people follow me for hangman and coyote so hope i did okay by roo
Summary: It’s Fleet Week and Rooster would rather be anywhere else than on the flight deck of the USS Portland. That is, until a pretty thing in a sundress catches his eye and then suddenly his day is looking up.
Pairing: Bradley”Rooster” Bradshaw x Female Reader
Length: 5.8K
Warnings: Flirty Banter, Smut (with a hint of rank kink), and Bradley Bradshaw in Summer Whites
Note: When @roosterforme asks you to write her a Fleet Week fic, you write the Fleet Week fic! Here you go, Em! Just for you! 💛
Normally, Rooster loved Fleet Week.
He loved the lively atmosphere and the parades. He loved the free drinks that were handed to him as soon as he entered a bar. And he especially loved all the attention he got from women when he wore his Summer Whites.
He usually came back to the ship looking less than pristine with lipstick on the collar of his uniform and hidden on other places on his body.
The USS Portland was teaming with excited families and camera-happy civilians taking in the sights from deck of the transport ship as they settled in for the five-hour journey to the San Diego. It was a Fleet Week tradition to welcome people aboard for an immersive experience, picking them up from a port further up North and then cruising along the coast before making their final docking for the week.
There were grills set up on the deck and the smell of flame kissed hamburgers and hotdogs mixed with the sea salt air. The sun was shining and the mood was light.
But this year, Rooster simply could not be bothered to give a fuck.
Summary: After months of dancing around your feelings, you're about to leave San Diego and Bradley behind. But on your last night in California, you realize you're not the only one with your heart on the line.
Warnings: Angst, smut and swearing
Length: 2500 words
Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader
Check out my masterlist for more!
"You're so lucky, Chaser. Naval Air Station in Key West? Damn, that sounds even better than San Diego."
It took you a beat to realize that Phoenix was talking to you, and you had to force your gaze away from the man sitting at the bar to focus on her and Hangman. "Oh. Yeah. It's fine," you told her, barely able to return her smile as she handed you a shot.
But It wasn't fine. You didn't want to move to Key West. You didn't want to leave San Diego. Or him. But you had been here for nearly two years, and you'd never gone for it. You'd never made a move.
And neither had he.
"Not a chance," Hangman drawled. "One hurricane and you'll be California dreamin'."
You rolled your eyes at him. "Give me a little credit. I can probably stomach two hurricanes." You tapped your shot glass to his and downed your drink.
"You need a chaser, Chaser?" Rooster said from behind you.
The involuntary little shiver that you felt at the sound of his raspy voice made you realize that leaving for Florida in the morning was probably exactly what you needed.
When you glanced at him over your shoulder, his brown eyes looked intense. Focused. "No, Rooster. I'm a big girl. Do you need one?"
His lips quirked into a soft smile. "Do I need a Chaser? Maybe."
His warmth at your back did nothing to coax the chill out of your body. You and he had been doing this for months, inching closer to each other, but instead of so much as a kiss, he always inevitably pulled back. Shut it down before it started. You'd see him with a fling. Or suddenly he'd have a new girlfriend. He'd leave you alone in your feelings every single time.
"Do you want me to get you a Coke from Penny? Maybe a Sprite?" you asked him sweetly. But instead of laughing it off or pulling away, you felt his hand on your lower back.
He dipped his head a little closer to yours, voice pitched for your ears only. "That's not the kind of Chaser I want tonight."
Your lips parted slowly, drawing his eyes down to your mouth as you turned to face him. His hand stayed on your back, pulling you gently against him. Right in front of the others.
"What are you doing, Rooster?"
"Fuck," he whispered, swallowing hard. "I don't know." He looked like he was on the verge of panicking, so you tried to pull yourself out of his grasp. "No, stay here. Just...I..."
But you shook your head and tried your best to want to move away from him. "You can't do this tonight," you told him, your voice small and vulnerable. Your personality was neither of those things, and he knew that as well as you did.
"I should have done it different with you," he said with a self-deprecating little laugh that had you all mixed up inside.
"Bradley, why now? You're like a year too late to be doing this." Your heart swelled with hope at the same time tears started to prick your eyes. "It's not fair."
"You're not gone yet." And then you pulled yourself away from him, glaring over your shoulder as you walked past Phoenix and Hangman and toward the bar. But Bradley caught up to you right away. "I shouldn't have said that," he rasped, reaching for you again. "I'm sorry."
You pushed him away and stood up to your full height. "Fuck you, Rooster. I'm not fucking disposable."
"I know!" he said, getting in your face. "That's why I never told you how I feel."
A scathing retort was ready and waiting on your lips, but then his lips found their way there instead. His kiss was soft and tentative as you pushed him away with your palm on his chest, but almost instantly you gave in. Your fingers scrunched up the fabric of his tropical print shirt as you pulled him closer.
When you could feel the rough denim of his jeans against your bare thighs, he released your lips, leaving you dizzy. Bradley gently took your chin between his thumb and index finger until you snapped out of your daze. And then he said, "I'd tell you how I feel, but I don't want to make this harder."
You nodded gently, and his thumb skimmed along your skin until it was pressed to your bottom lip. And you heard Bradley whimper as you kissed the tip of his thumb. "Oh, god," you gasped.
And then his lips were back on yours, unrelenting as he used his long fingers to tip your face up to his. You dropped your empty shot glass onto the bartop and dug your fingers into his wavy hair. He eased his other hand down along your body as you pressed yourself against him. You felt his fingers graze your leg just below your shorts before his hand settled back up at your waist.
You wanted his hands everywhere. Was he even single? Did you even care?
When you pulled his bottom lip between yours, you could feel that he was getting hard, and you whined his name against his mouth.
"Bradley," you moaned. "Aren't you still dating that girl?"
"No," he grunted. "And even if I was, I'd call her right now and end it if that's what it took."
"You would?" you asked, tipping your head to the side as his lips found your neck. "For one night?"
"Yes," he promised, running his nose along your earlobe and making you shiver. "It's my fault. I should have told you that you meant something. But I've never been with someone I really care about before."
He was breathing heavier now, and you were in the middle of the Hard Deck with your fingers at the back of his neck and your leg wrapped around his thigh. He cared about you. You had one night left.
"Meet me in the bathroom," you whispered, and then he was easing himself away from you with a sad look on his face.
"I'm not meeting you in the bathroom, Chaser. That's not what this is."
"Yeah..." you told him. "You're right. Take me home with you."
His eyes went a little wide. "Yeah? You sure? Because this is about to mean something to me."
You paused for a moment to consider his words. You might never see him again. But after all this time wanting, you knew you needed to let yourself have just this one opportunity with him. You'd regret leaving the bar by yourself too much. "It already means something to me. Take me home with you."
Bradley tossed some cash on the bar and laced his fingers with yours. "Let's go," he whispered, kissing your forehead. And once you were outside in the cool air under the flickering streetlight, he pulled you close again. "God, baby, I'm so fucking stupid," he whispered, kissing you a little harder.
"Mmm," you moaned, sliding your arms around his neck and tasting the whiskey he had been sipping on. Your tongue teased his as he eased his hands up your shirt and spread his fingers along your back.
The two of you slowly made your way across the parking lot, stumbling and laughing softly, unwilling to let go of each other. "Can you forgive me?" he asked once he had you pushed up against his Bronco.
"Yeah," you told him, feeling tears in your eyes. He kissed your cheeks and your nose. "I can forgive you."
With one more soft kiss, he opened the door and helped you climb in. You scrambled across the seat and unlocked his door for him. And then he was inside with you, and you were kissing him as he started the engine. You weren't rushing this, and neither was he. He backed out of the parking spot and then took your hand in his as the radio filled the space with a song that was familiar to you.
Neither of you said anything as you played with his fingers and pressed kisses to his palm. He didn't live too far from the Hard Deck; you'd been to his house many times before with the others. But when he hurried around the Bronco once he was parked in the driveway, you let him pull you down into his arms. He carried you inside the front door while you kissed the scars on his cheek and dug your fingers back into his gorgeous hair.
As he carried you to his bedroom, you couldn't stop yourself. It was just the softest whisper, but you knew he heard you. "I'm going to miss you."
"Me too, baby," he promised, setting you on his bed, never letting you go. You managed to kick your shoes off with his big body on top of yours. And then those kisses. He had been holding back before, you were sure of that now. "You feel so good," he whispered, running his fingers along your cheek and around the back of your neck.
You chased his lips as you unbuttoned his shirt, needing to feel his skin all over your body. When he removed your top, you arched your back to help him, and then his lips were on your chest. He tossed your bra aside as well, tasting you everywhere. The feel of his lips and mustache on your breasts had your fingers stalling on his buttons, so you just tugged it over his head instead. Then he yanked off his undershirt, and you pulled him down to you.
"You're so warm," you told him, melting into his touch as his lips found yours again. As your hands glided up his arms to his shoulders, you rubbed yourself up along his hard length. All the friction of denim on denim had your head tipping back.
"Are you really going to let me love you like this, Chaser? I've been thinking about it for so long." He unzipped your shorts slowly, the sound of it making you wild for him.
"Yes," you groaned, squeezing your eyes shut and memorizing the feel of his hands on your waist and then hips as he pulled your shorts and underwear off. When you reached for the front of his jeans, he was already between your thighs, kissing his way down from your belly button to your pussy.
"Oh, Rooster," you gasped, propping yourself up on your elbows, but he was already there. Lips on your clit and tongue everywhere. "Oh."
"You're making me crazy," he promised, looking up at you. You let him lick and tease you until you were both panting with need. The gentle roll of your hips and the rub of his facial hair were enough to get you softly clenching.
"Bradley," you gasped at that first squeeze.
"Okay," he agreed, finally stripping off his jeans while you ran your fingers through his hair again. "Do I need a condom?"
"No." You pulled him on top of you as he pushed himself inside, and you moved along with his languid movements. He tipped your chin up, kissing your lips and swiping his tongue against yours. You body cradled him just right, and he was hitting every sweet spot inside as he rubbed along your clit. You held on as long as you could, looking up at his perfect face, but it felt like he knew exactly what to do.
"Oh," you whined, face scrunched in pleasure as he sucked in a breath and worked himself a little faster. Your fingers were tight in his hair as you shook. You pulsed around him. "So good."
And then you were cumming hard, right leg wrapped tight around his hip as you jerked up against his body.
"Look at you," he groaned, watching you come undone beneath him. "Fucking perfection."
And then he fucked you so good as you whined for him, filling you over and over again before he spilled himself inside you. You kissed him as he whispered your name, getting softer like a prayer against your skin. And then you let that bittersweet feeling hit you square in the chest.
You tried to hide your little sobs by turning away from him, but he knew. Bradley buried his face in the crook of your neck and kissed you there while your fingers drifted through his hair and down to his neck. You could feel the tears now as he said, "You're not disposable. You're special. I should have got over my fears so I could be with you." He kissed the tears away from your cheeks. "Please, please tell me you don't regret this."
"No," you told him, pulling his head down to your shoulder. "I don't regret it. I'm never going to regret it."
You were both quiet for a few minutes. He was still buried deep inside you, and you held your tears back as much as you could. "I've never done that with someone like you before," he whispered. "I've been too afraid to get close to someone and then leave them alone. I know I could lose myself in you, but you'd regret it if I didn't come back home from a deployment. Anyone would."
"Bradley-"
But he cut you off with his lips on yours, and then he said, "Will you stay with me? For the night? Longer?"
You nodded and sniffed. "I'll stay with you."
Your body fit perfectly with his, and he held you all night. When his hand came up to cup your cheek, he kissed your forehead. Every little movement of his body against yours had you scrambling to memorize the feel of him. And the way he smelled. And the way his sheets felt against your legs. Occasionally he would whisper your name, and you would kiss him before you both pretended you were going to sleep. And then he'd whisper for you again.
As the first early sunlight crept into his bedroom, Bradley pulled you closer to him as you shook your head. The urge to leave him before your tears fell kicked in, and you climbed out of his bed and started to gather your clothes and pull them on.
"Chaser," he whispered miserably. But you could barely look at him. "Will you call me or text me? Something?"
You wanted to. You really wanted to. "Bradley." Your voice was hoarse, and you knew you needed to leave, but when he reached for you, it was hopeless. You were in his arms one last time.
"Will you?" he asked, and you kissed him softly, savoring the feeling of your fingers threaded through his hair.
You met his eyes through your tears. "Maybe I'll see you again."
"Baby," he gasped as you pulled away from him.
And as he leaned back against his pillow with his palms pressed to his eyes, you whispered, "Goodbye, Rooster." And you ran from his room before you could turn back.
----------------------------
An angsty goodbye to what could have been. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls.
Welcome to my masterlist! I’ve got a little bit of everything TG:M around here from short one-shots to long series. I mainly write for Rooster, but the other Daggers have found their way here as well. Take a look around below the cut!
Summary: After being deployed for three months, all he wanted was to have a fun night out with his friends and let loose. That is until he sees the woman who broke up with him, who he still isn’t over. At his bar. With another man. And then he is in the mood to make some bad decisions.
Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Female Reader
Warnings: mutual pining, a little angst, smuttt. Minors DNI
Length: 6.3K
After being deployed for three months, Bradley had been looking forward to getting off that carrier and having a night out with his friends. Having a couple more beers than he should, kicking Hangman’s ass at pool, maybe flirting one of the many tag chasers that frequented the Hard Deck.
He wants to let loose a bit. Just for a while.
The team is scattered around the bar. Some are hovering around the pool table, a few others hogging the dart board. He’s seated at one of the stools around the pool table, half listening to Fanboy recount some of his amusing antics during basic flight training in between lining up his shots, when he feels Phoenix nudge his arm to get his attention.
“Oh shit, is that…” she starts and trails off.
He turns around in his seat expecting to find some friend from a former squadron or someone they went to TOPGUN with, and instead he sees you.
The woman that he has spent the last three months trying to get over.
And you’re here in front of him looking entirely too comfortable with another man.
janainaart
baratheonpilled
ellievsbear
2087
pixelskylines
vaporwave
stormborns
areudirty
