Your bedroom is a little cold in the morning and you don't want to get out of bed buuuuuut Bradley insists...
Warnings: None! It's just pure fluff
@closetspngirl read it and go back to work lol
“It’s time to get out of bed, sweetheart,” Bradley kissed your shoulder. Stretching, your foot slipped from beneath the comforter, hitting the cool air of your bedroom. You gave a little shriek, pulling your foot back so fast the bed shook a little.
“Absolutely not,” You turned, wrapping your arms around Bradley’s waist, reveling in his warmth. Your boyfriend chuckled, kissing your temple.
“I think someone’s a little chilly,” Bradley teased, reaching around you to start pulling down the comforter.
“Watch it, Bradshaw, or I start wearing long sleeves and sleep pants to bed.” He paused. Ever since Bradley had started staying the night, you had found yourself wearing less and less clothing to bed thanks to his need to run his calloused hands over your bare skin whenever he could. Not that you were complaining about having a hot pilot want you naked constantly but still.
“No need for that,” Bradley chuckled nervously, kissing your temple again. “I’ll be good, I promise.” He curled around you, running his hands over your body, keeping you warm. Bradley kissed your neck, presenting a very convincing argument for not wearing more clothes to bed, even if it did leave you freezing in the morning. “We do have to get up though.”
“Nooooo,” You whined, pulling the comforter over your head.
“I’ve got you, sweetheart.” Bradley slipped out of bed, returning with clothes of his in each hand.
“What are you- Bradley!” You laughed as he dove under the comforter from the bottom of the bed, slipping a pair of sweats up your legs, planting a kiss on your stomach. He crawled up your body, kissing everywhere before his head popped out from the sheets. Your boyfriend looked so silly, grinning down at you, his hair messy.
“Arms up, sweetheart. It’s time for the shirt.” Once you were dressed, Bradley distracted you with a kiss, slowly pulling away the blankets without you noticing until he pulled away. “I love you and I would love nothing more than to spend all day in bed with you but we have to get up.”
“Fine,” You went to move but he held you in place, an expectant look on his face. “I love you too, baby.”
“That’s more like it.” Bradley gave you one more sweet kiss before getting out of bed, holding out his hand to pull you up as well.
One thing I absolutely love about Bradley and Smart Aleck is how whenever she rides his thigh, he bounces her a little, and that just makes her lose it 🫠
Like, I can see Smart Aleck sitting on his lap while in front of his friends, and him just randomly bouncing his lap and she has to take a moment before saying or doing anything. She would be a mess by the end of the night.
Also, in your Christmas party fic, Bradley mentioned using the Theragun as a vibrator. Imagine him bringing it out and just surprising Smart Aleck with it (I've never used a Theragun, I have only seen it online so I'm not sure if this is completely correct)
this took me a minute to reply to because i wanted to actually write something for you! i was actually in a meeting at work when i first saw the message preview on my lock screen and i stg i was blushinggg so hard 🤭 because my god what a delicious thought!
yes! he’d bounce her just a little, like just enough to get a reaction out of her and get a little whimper out of her. to your point i could picture them in the hard deck and it’s a big deal that she came out with them? more below!
but also the theragun would actually hurt which is something bradley would realize the second he turned his on to even the lowest setting haha. though i do think that he’d randomly be like ‘gun me’ and have her do his back/shoulders 🤭
—————-
“well, look who decided to grace us with her presence this fine evening.”
jake looked even more smarmy than usual as you and bradley approached the group of pilots and partners holding court at a corner table. at the comment, bradley’s hands tightened where they were on your shoulders. it was a bit of a crush in the bar tonight, but he had guided you over without issue.
you completely ignored jake’s comment and his follow up about slumming it that night and greeted everyone - bob, callie, and natasha, as well as sarah costigan, whom jake had presumably dragged along. sarah even tossed you a kind smile in return. granted, she was still annoying and slightly condescending, but she wasn’t that bad. at least she didn’t head off to the jukebox and queue up hall & oates’ rich girl like jake did.
you let bradley slide into the circular booth before you and then sat on the end. being mr protective, bradley normally wouldn’t like having you sit at the end of the booth, but he knew you liked the space and ease of a quick getaway with a lot of people.
and it wasn’t that you didn’t like going to the hard deck. you just didn’t like how crowded and loud it could get on fridays and saturdays, which was when bradley’s friends tended to go. normally, the group would get together at the beach or go for a hike or even to another bar or someone’s house to hang out - and you always tried to attend - but their old standby was the hard deck and those were the nights you typically skipped.
you had been there about an hour when everything took a different turn. everyone was chatting and the music wasn’t too loud yet, and you were in a good mood, which was probably helped by the fact that you were on your third cosmo and bradley his fourth beer.
but then mickey and his girlfriend, cielo, showed up, which meant there were even more people crammed into the already crowded circular booth. you got up to give both cielo and mickey a hug and then the two of them sat down on the other side of the booth. which in turn meant everyone scooted down further towards your side.
scratch that - your side was gone.
all that was left was a sliver of space for maybe one of your bare thighs to find itself plastered against the warm vinyl upholstery. bradley quickly noticed your distress and pulled you half onto his lap. he barely broke his stride, so focused was he on his conversation with bob and callie. or so you thought.
the way he had manhandled you onto his lap was done with little consideration to your pink dress - the same pink dress from your first date some eighteen months ago - and it bunched up between your ass and bradley’s jeans. you sucked in a breath.
oh.
you were still covered, still safe from any risk of indecent exposure, but oh it felt nice having your bare skin brush against bradley’s jeans. the jeans that were stretched across his big, strong, broad thighs. did he realize? did he know?
it was nice sitting on his lap; you were content, happy, warm. safe. it wasn’t something you’d ever done in front of other people before; normally, neither of you were this bold, but you weren’t yourself, it was too loud, too warm, too overwhelming in the hard deck. and bradley knew that. he knew you were fussy. he always knew when you needed to get out of your head.
a few minutes went by and you tuned into various conversations and groups, but you eventually focused back on your little group at the end of the booth with bradley, bob, and callie. they were talking about one of the college football games on earlier because bob was a big sec fan. at one point, the boys got so animated and bradley got so into gesturing with his hands that you slipped a little in his lap. and then -
and then bradley bounced you.
oh.
he bounced you on his thigh and tightened his arms around you to keep a better hold on you.
“sorry, kid,” he muttered in your ear and then went back to his conversation, completely unaware of the whimper you let out.
oh.
that felt nice. that felt good.
you loved when he bounced you on his thighs.
you loved when he let you ride his thighs.
see bradley liked when you’d have to work hard to get yourself off. sometimes, he made it a punishment. it was torture - he wouldn’t touch you and you’d have to work for your orgasm. you’d get so frustrated.
and once you’d finally reach your peak and your cum would streak across his thigh, he’d sink his fingers - his big, strong fingers - inside your cunt and you’d ride them for another round until you’d get rewarded with his cock.
this time the whimper you let out was a little louder, but still for bradley’s ears only.
“you okay, kid?” he bounced you again.
this time your legs spread a little wider under the table and you shifted in his lap. you were getting flustered, warm. surely the sweat was beading at the back of your neck, between your thighs -
“mmhmm, just slipped.” you took a huge sip of your cosmo, hoping to cool yourself down. god, this was so embarrassing. why were you getting like this? it was just a bounce. he hadn’t even meant to do it.
please don’t let him find out.
“yeah?” bradley bounced you again and your breath caught. “can’t have that - here.”
his thumbs dug into the tender flesh by your hips, anchoring you to him. you tried to shift, tried to squirm, but he wouldn’t budge.
“th-thanks.”
you took another sip of your cosmo. it was almost done, that had to be why you were reacting this way. three drinks normally made you tipsy, but not drunk, so it had to explain your flustered state and your heightened sense of arousal.
he knew. he had to know. he had to know how wet you were. how your pussy was clenching on nothing. how you wanted him to take you out of here and let you ride him in the car. maybe he’d finger you against the bronco like he did that night all those months ago?
bradley turned back to the group. “hey, why don’t you tell bob and callie about that project you’re kicking off at work?”
“oh. it’s not - it’s not really that exciting -”
“she’s lying,” bradley squeezed your hip, “come on, tell them about the project you’re presenting in london.”
callie gasped. “london? again? oh, i’m so jealous! how long are you going to be gone?”
“just a - a couple days. they’re scaling this project i did in the US for the EMEA market. just a - a presentation.”
somehow, when bob asked where you were staying and if you were doing anything fun while you were there, you managed to give a coherent answer. nearly coherent.
but then you turned the tables back on the two of them and asked if they were excited for their trip to see callie’s parents in bryn mawr. you didn’t know much about the area baring the fact that mary once went out there to interview for a teaching position, but that wouldn’t have mattered anyway since you could barely focus on the last minute details for callie’s sister’s wedding because of bradley’s stupid hands.
the first time he did it, you didn’t think much of it. okay so he took a sip of his beer and fiddled with the glass before he put his hand on your thigh. it was cold, no big deal.
but then he did it again when callie mentioned the gorgeous bridesmaids’ dresses. and again when bob praised callie’s speech draft. and again when they mentioned the welcome party on thursday was scheduled around the eagles’ game.
it was cold and you could feel your nipples hardening and your breath coming in faster and god - could everyone tell? did they notice? you didn’t want them to notice, you just wanted bradley to notice.
feeling bold, you tried to trap his cold hands between your thighs, but when bradley yanked his hand away, you almost lost your balance. and what else was he supposed to do but bounce you and get you settled back on his lap. he growled a warning in your ear.
oh god. you wanted it louder, you wanted it just for you. you weren’t wearing a bra, could anyone tell? you hoped bradley could tell.
you hoped bradley knew.
(you hoped daddy knew.)
the promise of what was to come was getting to be too much. you could have blamed it on the cosmos, the noise, the heat, the number of people, but it really was just one thing - bradley.
bob and callie were talking to natasha now, so it was just you and bradley at your end of the table.
“bubs?” you looked over your shoulder to meet bradley’s eyes and knew he was just as wrecked for you as you were him. “please?”
he cocked an eyebrow, looking entirely too smug. “aww sweetheart, why didn’t you just say you wanted to leave?” all the condescension did was make you want him more.
before you could respond, before you could try and say something clever, he cleared his throat and directed his next words to the entire table.
“‘think the kid and i are gonna head out.”
it only took a few moments to say your goodbyes - hugs from those who were easily able, waves to those who were not - and then you and bradley started meandering your way to the bar.
once again, after he paid your tab, bradley guided you out of the bar with his hands on your shoulders and a broad presence at your back. you whimpered at the thought of him inside you, your big, broad, beautiful boyfriend inside you, telling you that you were a good girl for him. such a good slut for him. for daddy.
it had been a couple months since you’d first said it - said daddy - but it still made your pussy clench and your heart beat wildly.
the moment you were out in the cool parking lot, you sighed back against his chest. the pulsating music that once felt too loud was now a calming presence as you got further away from the chaos.
“atta girl, you did such a good job with my teasing.” his arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you close so you could feel how much he wanted you. “you ready for your reward?”
“yes, daddy.”
———————
half an hour later, on their way way out, bob, callie, and natasha didn’t even notice that bradley’s car was still in the parking lot even after the two of you had supposedly left.
they also didn’t notice that the windows were fogged up. or that one of your sandals was on the ground by the driver’s seat door. 🤭
and the songbirds are singing like they know the score - part ii.
"It changed the way she thought about their relationship. It had always been her and him – Quincy and Bradley, Duckie and Rooster, his baby and her daddy." or Quincy Bradshaw picks the fight of all fights with her dad.
a/n: not gonna lie guys, i've majorly lost inspiration for writing but recently had an urge to write angst. hopefully this is sufficient enough.
The smell of black coffee could never be any less appealing when paired with the immediate second whiff of stagnant acidity from a metal popcorn tin full of vomit, and the harsh smell of outdoors.
Quincy Bradshaw wrinkles her nose and immediately rubs her eyes.
A rectangle of light cast from the kitchen windows paints opaque radiance onto the living room floor. The sound of the kitchen cabinet slamming shut pairs with the dull hum of the ancient coffee maker that had been around since before she had even been a thought.
Her eyes open only a quarter of the way – partly because her eyelashes are threaded together from slept in mascara, halfway because of the fact her contact lenses are living in the corners furthest away from her pupils, and entirely because of the fact she’ll puke again if the light hits her all at once.
The Leemore naval base sweatshirt she doesn’t remember putting on feels like a straitjacket, and the seams of the jeans she does remember putting on cut into her legs in strange places.
Her head doesn’t pound, but she doesn’t feel amazing either. The throbbing rocks back and forth and forward and backward. She subconsciously feels herself mimicking the motion of the dull ache in her temples.
Another slam of a cabinet closing startles her. Her eyes shoot open despite the natural effort her body has exerted to keep them closed. An immediate flux of nausea comes over her as her eyes open completely. She leans over to search for the metal popcorn bucket she knows is full of her vomit from last night.
A sputtering cough and a dry heave fill the space, and she’s throwing up what seems to be everything she had consumed in the last twenty-four hours to join what stomach contents already reside in the bucket.
Quincy’s diaphragm is out of sync with her lungs, and she would be in hysterics by now if this were normal. She hates throwing up. Loathes it. Would possibly rather die than ever throw up, but this isn’t normal, and she isn’t sick with the flu or food poisoning or some mysterious stomach virus.
This is her throwing up because she fucked up and got caught.
She takes a stuttering breath before gagging again. The glasses in the kitchen cupboard subtly shake as footsteps approach her. She hears a sigh of disappointment over the strangled sound of her puking.
Fuck my life. Fuck my life. Fuck my life. Fuck my life. Fuck my life. Fuck my life!
Another item on the list of things she would rather die than encounter happens to be the rage of her father. Nothing can compare to how horrible that feeling is.
She finally finishes, sitting up straight and wiping the acidity from her mouth onto the sleeve of the sweatshirt that’s swallowing her whole. Bradley stands before her. One of his hands holds a bottle of sugar-free Gatorade and a piece of toast wrapped in a paper towel. The other holds a chipped mug that has her Kindergarten handprint stamped upside down in green to make a plant on it. The whiff of black coffee almost makes her gag again. The vomit rises, but she swallows it down.
Once is enough this morning.
She stares down at the popcorn bucket and sees a color she can’t even describe. The contents of it make her anxious the longer she stares, but she would rather look at what she assumes to be the result of mixing copious amounts of alcohol (a Four Locko Sour, a mango Beatbox, a few shots of tequila, and whatever fuck ass shooters her friends pulled from their bras that were bought illegally from the gas station three blocks from her house, if she recalls correctly) than look her father in the eyes. Especially not when she knows that the party she had gone to was off limits, she doesn’t entirely recall how she had gotten home, and the fact that she had snuck out right under his nose on a school night.
Not to mention, this is the first time they’ve looked at each other since January after her principal called the house and revealed she had stopped going to school beyond second period after the start of October. But if you asked Quincy, the deterioration of their relationship began long before she started ditching school and roaming the city during the day.
It was subtle at first. Her dad not remembering their conversations when he used to hang onto every word she said with such permanence and accuracy, it was as if the thought came from his own mind. Sometimes he would work late and would miss her soccer games. Then he stopped asking her to tag along with him to surf early on the weekends. Then he just kind of... stopped talking to her altogether.
She doesn’t remember exactly when that pinprick of doubt kicked in. It lingered in the shadows, she assumes. It stained every moment she had when he wasn’t there. When he didn’t call or didn’t text or didn’t remember anything she had said. It changed the way she thought about their relationship. It had always been her and him – Quincy and Bradley, Duckie and Rooster, his baby and her daddy.
But now it seemed like it was just that.
Her. And then him.
Two separate people whose lives are parallel and never touch each other.
And then she thought maybe they were just one because she wasn’t her own person then. She was an extension of her dad; a person, but a person who didn’t have their own thoughts and feelings and just existed as a shadow.
It starts with a letdown and ends with abandonment. It sure does fucking feel like it when your parents announce they’re having another baby your Senior year of high school.
Then that doubt doesn’t seem so far-fetched anymore.
After the phone call to the house, there was a silence that ensued. There were no theatrics. No screaming match. No dramatic, “I fucking hate you!” screeched at the top of anyone’s lungs. There had just been a sigh of disappointment from her dad paired with his hand reaching across the kitchen table, palm up, gesturing for her keys to go in his hand. She doesn’t even think he said the words, “You’re grounded,” but he didn’t have to for her to get the message.
The same way he didn’t have to for her to know that he didn’t care anymore.
She can’t even remember why she’s afraid because even if the capability of her father’s rage has always frightened her, he doesn’t seem to give enough of a damn to summon it. Part of her knows that it probably won’t even happen at all, and a pang of hurt causes her heart to shrink in on itself.
I just want you to care. I want you to care. I want you to care.
“School. It’s a quarter till seven.”
She peers up at her father. His hand extends the bread and the beverage to her, but she doesn’t move. He stands in front of her, the same eyes and nose and mustache that he had always had. He looks like her dad, but he doesn’t seem like he’s her dad.
At least not anymore.
“You need to get going,” he says plainly. His gaze falls to his watch you and her had gotten him this past Father’s Day.
Quincy rolls her eyes. Her body buzzes with annoyance at the fact that she had done anything nice for him at all. He doesn’t give a fuck about her. Why should she give a damn about making sure he knows she cares? That he gets a gift for Father’s Day. That she says “I love you” before hanging up the phone. That she tells him about her friends at school or the yearbook, or even the fact that she had gotten into UC Berkeley and had already paid the seat deposit on her own.
Her dad didn’t care that she was her own person. Why should she care that he’s his own person, too?
Quincy’s anger starts to flourish in her chest, and she starts to shake. She tries to calm herself; her eyes catching on the spindles in the staircase he had just fixed this past weekend, even though they’d been loose since her ninth birthday.
Following the news that you were pregnant, you had gone on a two-month-long nesting cleaning spree, and to cope, her dad had started hyperfixating on every “handyman” project he could get his hands on. He had never given a fuck about the waterstain on the laundry room ceiling before, but now the task seems to plague his mind constantly. Her dad doesn’t know how to redo tile, but his Saturday afternoon trips to Lowe’s to look for grout say otherwise.
Both your brains are occupied with thoughts that aren’t her and she knows your hearts are growing in size to accommodate for someone she certainly isn’t. Now, as she’s being stoned with annoyance and disappointment from the “caring” adults in her life, the red-hot anger boils until it starts to burn.
Fuck them for being pissed at me. Fuck them for not understanding. Fuck them for not seeing me.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Fuck!
She can feel it in her chest before she can recognize that she’s even angry and is showing it. The curse word doesn’t even feel like a curse word anymore. Her brain can’t even make it sound like a real word, nonetheless.
Her lips chase after her frustration’s consonants and vowels; the anger so rambunctious she can’t hear herself think over it.
“Fuck off,” she manages to mutter, teeth clenched and cheeks pink with irritation.
Quincy’s eyes find her dad’s face. She can see the usual terracotta flush on his cheeks spread down his neck. His face contorts into an expression equal parts angry and awful. His eyebrows are furrowed. The lines in his forehead are pinched. His chest is heaving.
Bradley’s eyes practically saws her in half on the spot.
The little five-year-old inside of her, who would rather die than make her dad angry, screeches at her, tells her to say sorry and that she’s a bad person for behaving this way. She screams that Quincy is being unreasonable. Quincy screams back that he doesn’t care anyway.
Go be with your new kid. I don’t fucking matter anyway.
“Wh-what? What did you just say to me, young lady?” Bradley asks, half in shock and half enraged.
He’s positive he heard her correctly, but also not sure if he’s dreaming or not. Quincy has never openly rebelled like this, nor has she ever spoken to any adult in her life in that way. Not his girl. Not his sweet, precious, precocious baby girl.
She rolls her eyes and moves herself to sit upright. Bradley can see her attempt to conceal a gag at her sudden change of position, but he knows she’s too stubborn to let him see what effect it has on her. She’s like that and he’s like that too, he supposes.
“Fuck. Off.” Her voice drips with certainty and cruelty.
She surprises herself with how hateful it comes out. Bradley’s hands move from his hips to apply pressure on his temples.
“Are you being serious right now?” he snaps.
The sound of the groaning floorboard outside the door of the master bedroom announces itself, and both their heads snap up to glance at the staircase. They know you’re listening to their conversation.
How could you not be? Curse words and tension don’t exactly knock on your household’s door before 8 AM.
“Would I fucking repeat it if I wasn’t?” she snaps back. Her head tilts to the side and her eyebrows scrunch on her face in disgust.
Bradley feels the challenge she’s trying to present; equal parts pissed off at her from last night’s incident, pissed from her earlier comment, and looking to be pissed off at whatever else she’s gearing up to say.
“You’ve got,” he looks down at his watch before fixing his gaze on his teenage daughter, “Thirty seconds to lose your attitude and turn this shit around or I’m getting on your ass and you’ll wish you never grew the balls to go to that party.”
She rolls her eyes with such fervent dismissiveness before stomping her feet on the ground and grabbing the metal popcorn bucket on the floor. Her feet stomp away upstairs to her bedroom. She makes a point to brush past her dad with force and agility; making sure he knows her fury and hoping the pungent odor of her vomit finds its way to his nostrils.
Quincy stomps so loudly that the newly repaired spindles in the staircase vibrate with each step. Bradley stands in a state of dissociation before his brain catches up with the events unfolding in front of him. His conscience removes itself from his body as he embarks on what he feels will be the most catastrophic parenting moment he’ll ever have.
“Hey! We’re not done talking!” he yells. He spins on his heel, not daring to reach out and grab her before she can fully ascend up the stairs, but his voice is loud and alarming enough to make her stop and turn around to face him.
“I walked away, Dad. I don’t wanna talk.”
Bradley rolls his eyes, leaning his back on the wall near the bottom of the staircase. If you had asked him seventeen years ago on that fateful November night, he would have never considered being in this position. His new baby, nine pounds of sweetness and a head full of dark hair, would never ever make him feel this way – angry and frustrated beyond belief.
Now, seventeen years later on a random Friday morning in May, he feels like an idiot for thinking he could survive the years of teenage terror.
“That’s not an option. This isn’t a choice. We’re talking because you’re being disrespectful and this is my house,” he winces internally as he says it (partly because he sounds like his mom way back when, but mostly because he knows he sounds like Maverick), “And you don’t get to talk to me or treat anyone like that ever.”
She puts the bucket down on the stairs in front of her and crosses her arms to sit on her chest.
“Insane that you’re saying “this house” as if you give a fuck about anything I do ever,” Quincy snides, “You can’t only care about me whenever it makes you look bad.”
Something about that sends an arrow straight through Bradley’s heart. Instead of recognizing the ache, instead of realizing that it hurts for a reason, he does the opposite and pulls it right back out.
His rage knows no allies. The exception used to be his daughter, but now he’s not so sure.
“Yeah, you’re right, kid,” his hand comes up to wipe at his face before he completely comes unglued, “You’re right because how would it look if you got arrested at that party? If you drove home and got a DUI? If your little dumbass friends got you in that car and you ended up with a fucking stop sign through your neck and dead because you’re so desperate for friends?”
“What happened to the girl I raised? Huh? To having some fucking common sense?” he sighs, finally coming down from his rage-induced rant, “You’re so fucking smart but so fucking stupid sometimes.”
Bradley knows he shouldn’t; he knows this will kill her alone, but the monster of fury in his chest forces it out of him before he can resume thinking. “I’m so damn embarrassed to be your dad right now that it makes me fucking sick, Quince.”
The veil of apathy falls, and she can feel the fire in her throat and the flames licking her tear ducts; tempting her with how amazing it would feel to cry. She’s feeling something that she’s never been made to feel before. She knows it’s not embarrassment, but rather something different.
It’s more humiliating. It’s more disheartening. It’s more saddening.
She’s feeling ashamed.
But she can’t show weakness now. Bradley can recognize the look of fury in her eyes and kicks himself for it. She is her father’s child and she not only inherited Bradley’s huffiness, but also his need to have the last word.
“Why does it fucking matter if you’re gonna go have a new kid anyway? You get to be a dad to someone who doesn’t make you fucking sick in a few weeks so don’t waste your precious time pretending like you care about me or that you give a damn about anything I say or do.”
“Quincy –” he tries to interrupt her, but she shakes her head and continues to rattle on anyway.
“I got into Berkeley, Dad. I got into fucking Berkeley and you didn’t even fucking care enough to hear about it.”
His jaw drops open in shock. He didn’t even know that she applied. The last he had heard about college decisions, she was headed up the road to UC San Diego in September. He’s not prepared to send her eight hours away at the end of the summer. He doesn’t even know how he could have missed something as amazing and exciting as her getting into the school of her dreams. His heart begins to splinter on the spot.
Quincy is hurting and he didn’t even open his eyes wide enough to notice.
“Babe –”
“No! No, you don’t get to try and get me to shut the fuck up,” she shrieks. She begins her descent down the stairs with her finger pointing into her father’s chest accusingly. “You don’t care about me, Dad. That’s what this new baby is, right? You’re trading me for something shiny and new and for something that fits whatever fucked up idea of a family you have in your head because yours got totally fucked by the “War on Terrorism” or some other military propagandist bullshit.”
He backs up from her knowing that she’s doing exactly what he does – poking the bear until it bites that person’s head off.
If she knew what was good for her (and she seems to not know that, as of late) she would back off. But Bradley knows that pride is her Achilles' Heel.
Fuck, it seems to be for every seventeen year old. He can’t wait for her to grow out of it.
“Go to your room. Now,” he says. Quincy screams and slaps the wall; truly unlocking a different kind of anger she had never reached before.
“No!” she bellows, “You’re being a coward. Tell me you don’t love me! Tell me that you should’ve given me up! Tell me you should’ve made my mom get an abortion!”
Bradley grabs her arms, holding her still in front of him. “That’s enough!”
She laughs cruelly in his face, wrangling her arms out of his hold and stomping up the stairs until she reaches the top. “That’s just your solution for everything, isn’t it? To ignore me? To make me go away when I say something you don’t like?”
Bradley rolls his eyes, trying not to entertain her goading because he knows nothing good can come from it.
“You just gonna ice me out like you did Papa Mav because – because I’m not letting you live out some fantasy you have about how your life should be?”
He walks away and paces around the living room. He can feel his heart thumping in his chest and his mouth itching to say the magic words he knows will shut her up. He hopes and prays that Quincy decides to give it a rest, but he knows that she won’t. He doesn’t know if he should call it father’s intuition or looking in a mirror.
“I hope you fuck up this baby as much as you’ve fucked me up so you’ll finally see that you’re the problem,” she says, half hoping for a response but half craving for more of a fight.
She hears her dad return to the bottom step of the stairs and prepares herself for the satisfactory feeling of knowing she won the verbal battle she just put up.
He looks up at her with a look that she has never seen before and the calmness in his demeanor shoots her down.
“I can’t believe I raised someone as fucked up as you,” he says, the casual cruelness slitting the throat of any ounce of hope she had left.
Bradley can’t bear to witness the pain she wears on her face and returns to the kitchen to grab himself a glass of water; begging and praying that the ice-cold gulps he takes will help him wake up from the nightmare he just experienced.
The slamming of her bedroom door vibrating the house and the pained sobs echoing trap him in the deepest circle of hell he can feasibly imagine.
Bradley thinks Hell might be more pleasant than this.
i'll look after you (bradley "rooster" bradshaw x reader)
word count: ~1.3k
synposis: "don't think, just do," was a challenging mentality to live by. but bradley quickly finds there is a balance to be had between thinking and doing.
warnings: allusions to anxiety, work abuse, overthinking
a/n: another hurt/comfort, who's surprised? this has been sitting in my drafts with an unfinished smut ending for a month but i’m electing to post without it as i’m not confident in my ~other~ writing abilities yet.. enjoy!
It was rare that the Navy ever let its aviators off early for the day; even more so for the elite members of Top Gun. Yet, with the clock barely stroking past a sunny four, Bradley was reclined on the sofa with a beer in hand. The house was spotless thanks to a shared cleaning spree the day prior. Nothing could have made for a more perfect turn of events.
But Bradley was pondering on the few texts he'd received that day. They were void of any of the color and character he was used to. None of the words exaggerated their spelling, and periods punctuated every short sentence. Everyone had once remarked him as a chronic overthinker both in the air and on the ground. It was easy to dismiss the gnawing he felt in his gut as the remnants of that mentality.
So, he cracked a Heineken and let himself indulge in uncommon solitude. The flat screen played his favorite drama to placate his mind. A subtle hunger led to perusing online menus for takeout ideas. Every little bit of stimulation was a welcome distraction from his pompous presumptions.
And then he heard it: the abrupt slam of a car door. Fumbling footsteps made their way to the front stoop followed by a clamoring of keys against the painted wood. Bradley grinned as he awaited the arrival, even through the slight tug of worry in his chest.
He watched as you stumbled inside without care. Shaking hands hung up tightly gripped keys and those same fumbling feet kicked off their shoes in frustration. Your shoulders rose and fell sharply with every short breath.
Was I overthinking?
Bradley had yet to see your face, had yet to meet those eyes always bright with excitement. Your face remained tucked toward the wall with each passing second. Swallowing his hesitation, Bradley spoke over the TV. "Baby?"
Your body reacted in shock, jolting up as your head whipped around.
I wasn't.
Hot tears were rolling down your cheeks. Said cheeks were splotchy, proof that these tears were far from the first you'd shed that day. The bright eyes he adored were puffy and red. Their brightness now was not out of joy but sorrowful watering.
Bradley's heart clenched tightly. "Oh, angel," he cooed, hurrying to displace his Heineken to a coaster and mute the TV. You had little time and no energy left to fight his comfort. As your boyfriend stood before you with open arms, you crashed into them.
He wasted no time in embracing you. Sobs broke past your wobbling lips and muffled against his shoulder. "I've got you, babe," Bradley soothed. "I've got you, it's okay. Just let it out."
All you had ever wanted was for someone to support you whenever life put you through the wringer. Bradley felt it a great privilege to be that support, knowing you'd do nothing short of the same for him. He almost cursed himself for letting his insecurities derail his intuition for you, but dismissed the old habit of self-deprecation. Nothing mattered more in this moment than helping you get back on your feet.
"I- I didn't know, you'd be ho-home," you blubbered. The comment irked something in him. How long had you been coming home in a similar state, putting yourself together just in time for him to get home? Were there more despondent texts or other warning signals he hadn't picked up on?
Each hypothesis built a greater desire to look after you, and to follow up on any twinge of doubt he felt. He needed not only to think but to take action on what he thought. "Shh, none of that, baby. None of that. You can always let go around me, okay? 'Can always tell me what's bugging you."
The words lifted heaviness off of you little by little. You cried more at the safety you felt in his words. Bradley guided you, leaden-legged, to the couch. He sat first before gently tugging you atop his lap.
Warm palms rubbed against your cheeks to dry them. Warmer brown eyes sunk into yours, unconditional love seeping through every glint of gold. "Do you wanna talk about it now, or later?" Though not wanting to let your feelings fester, Bradley didn't desire to press you for answers.
He watched as you took in a steady breath and nodded slowly. "Work's just.. just been really frustrating." You sniffled before continuing with anecdotes of being overworked and underappreciated.
Bradley continued to rub softly at your skin as you spoke. His lips pressed assuring kisses to your temples at times you got too worked up to continue. He gave every ounce of care and attention he could to your stories as you vented them out.
You slumped forward in his hold as you finished with a heaving sigh. Another soft kiss was pressed to the crown of your head. "Thank you for telling me, baby." His hands took up rubbing up and down your arms to help ease any remaining tension.
Bradley wasn't sure what he could say or do to make any of this better for you, to help resolve your problems in one fell swoop so that you never had to feel this way again. At the same time, he wasn't sure that a fix-it attitude was what you wanted or needed.
Don't think, just do.
"I want you to know that you're amazing. You work your ass off in everything you do without any promise of reward, and that's really admirable." You lifted your head slightly to see him, to see the sincerity dripping from his praises. "But you deserve recognition for it. It's not fair that you're continually overlooked for fuckheads who don't do a fraction of the shit you do. And it's not fair that you're made to feel so much less than you're worth. I'd kick all their asses if I could." His empty threat broke a small giggle from your lips as grateful tears replaced those of frustration.
Bradley returned your smile with one of his own before resuming a serious tone. "You don't ever have to put on a show for me, okay? I want you to know you're safe to come to me with anything, even the littlest complaints that you write off as whining. Do you ever think I'm whining about Jake getting on my nerves? Or Maverick getting too tough with me in the air?"
"Sometimes."
"Okay, that wasn't the best example." You laughed again, louder this time, and Bradley felt his chest swell with pride. He leaned forward to catch your lips against his, softly, allowing you to take the reins. The kiss stayed soft and sweet as you melted against him. Soft breaths filled the space between you as you parted, resting foreheads against one another. "I'll always look after you, angel. Don't forget that." You nodded in agreement before kissing him once more.
WARNINGS: Enemies to Lovers, Angst, Cursing, and… Fluff?
Summary: Rooster’s realization leads to several attempts at conversation, all shut down by you due to your still existing frustration with him. However, with a little help and nudge from Phoenix, he finally has a chance to break through to you, and just in time -- your new wingmen assignments are out.
A/N: And we’re back with part 3! Also, if you noticed, I added a part 5 because I def miscalculated how much I wanted to write, so... extra part! Yayayay! I hope you all enjoy and thank you for all of the love and support this series is getting. <3
Word Count: 4.4K
If ever you felt like a turtle, it was right now. You sat as still as a statue, your posture perfect and your gaze unwavering. Phoenix tried to start up a simple conversation a couple times, but you respectively curtailed it each and every time. You didn’t want to chat and accidentally spill that you were sobbing over Rooster and he walked in on your tear-stained face. Thankfully, it was a delightful day – there was a warm breeze that danced across your skin and the sun wasn’t too overbearing. You didn’t even have a headache from a regulation bun this morning, since your supervisor said you had enough time to tie it back in the locker rooms. You opted for a somewhat bouncy ponytail, but gelled back any flyaways.
“Morning Phoenix,” you didn’t dare budge as you heard Rooster’s voice from behind you. You register that he settles into his seat and is leaning over the table, close to where you and Natasha are sitting. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Phoenix flick him a kind of “are you crazy?” looking expression.
“Uh, morning Rooster.” She says warily.
“Nice day today, huh?” He says, making you almost roll your eyes into the back of your skull. Whatever, you think, Mav’s supposed to be here any minute.
“Guess so,” Phoenix responds, her eyes on you for the whole time.
“Whaddya think Swan? Nice day?” You didn’t expect it to, but it hit you like a ton of bricks when Bradley omitted the last part of your Call Sign. Nevertheless, you keep your eyes trained on the lectern in the front of the hanger and pretend like you didn’t hear him. “I think she’s ignoring me,” he stage whispers to the pilot sitting next to you, amusement in his voice.
“Yeah, I think she is. I also think you’re giving us all whiplash from the sudden mood change.” Natasha says, turning around and giving Rooster a displeased look. He obviously ignores that comment as you hear him shift his body so he’s facing towards you.
“Pretty day, huh Swan?” You give him nothing. Thankfully, you’re saved by Maverick entering the hangar and beaming at the group.
“Alright aviators, today's lesson; NOE flying. For this mission, you are going to be flying low to the ground and close to cliffs. I am going to be assessing your comfortability with these two notions.” You nod and move your gaze towards Fanboy, the man already giving you a thumbs up. You grin and face back towards the front as Maverick dismisses everyone to get suited up.
“You look like the cat that ate the canary.” Phoenix snorts. “What do you have up your sleeve?” You tighten your ponytail.
“Nothing too special,” you fib, standing up and waving goodbye, matching your stride now with Fanboy’s.
“If what I heard is true,” Fanboy murmurs into your ear, “this is one of your specialties?” You snicker and jostle his shoulder.
“Like a second skin.” You gleam. The two of you keep walking as Rooster and Phoenix follow, unbeknownst to you.
Phoenix elbows Rooster as the two are walking down.
“The hell was that?” She hisses, garnering a shocked, yet guilty, expression from the man.
“What do you mean?” Natasha rolls her eyes and stops her tracks, effectively stopping him as well.
“I mean you, trying your hand at being all buddy-buddy with Swan again. You know, if you’re attempting to be the biggest ass in the universe, congrats, you're succeeding.”
“No that’s not,” Rooster sighs and leans his head back, “I’m just trying to talk to her. Normally. No ulterior motive.” Phoenix sighs and shakes her head.
“I believe that as far as I can throw it. We both know that’s not what you’re doing.” Rooster looks around to make sure no one is nearby before he speaks again.
“She was crying. Yesterday, in the comms room.” He whispers, making Natasha’s eyes go wide. “Because of the stunt I pulled with Maverick.” Phoenix just scoffs at his words.
“Y’know, Bradshaw, she’s cried over a lot of things you’ve done.” Rooster shakes his head and throws her a dejected look.
“I messed up.”
“Royally.” Natasha confirms.
“I’m trying… I’m trying to build that bridge back between us.”
“A little late for that, huh Rooster?” Bradley sighs again and leans up against the hall.
“Yeah, I know, it’s just… I hadn’t seen her since I blew up at her. And then I see her at the bar, and the briefing room, and then in that comms room. I don’t know how I could’ve ever said the things I did.”
“Blinded by rage is the answer there, Rooster.” Phoenix takes another look at him before she relents her big sister act. “Look, I can see that you still love her–”
“I don’t–” He interjects
“You do. And you made a huge, gigantic, colossal–”
“Okay, I get it–”
“Mistake that you’re going to have to work on in order to make things right again.” As much as her words were making him feel worse, Rooster reluctantly nodded.
“Yeah.” He says.
“And because I just cannot deal with this for even a month, I’ll do my best to try and talk to her about you,” His expression brightens a bit before immediately dimming again when she finishes her sentence, “on one condition. You never, ever, break her heart. Not again.”
The first week of training went, more or less, swimmingly. NOE flying made you look positively spectacular in the eyes of your supervisors, and Maverick, and you were feeling on top of the world… except for the nagging presence that was Rooster. Throughout the week, there would always be moments where he’d try to talk to you. He threw around endearing comments, random observations about the day, and in every instance, he’d look at you with that stupid, charming expression on his face. It got to the point where you had to duck and hide to try and evade him, one such occasion resulted in you pulling Phoenix along with you.
“Swan, why don’t you just try and hear what he has to say?” You fix your friend with a stern glance.
“That’s a funny joke you’re telling me.”
“C’mon, Y/N, I’m serious. You were so open to trying to reconnect until–”
“Until he embarrassed me in front of the entirety of the crowd at The Hard Deck? Can you really say I’m wrong for what I’m doing?” You say. Natasha shakes her head.
“No, you’re not wrong. But you might regret what you’re doing in the long run.” You raise an eyebrow, resulting in a sigh from your friend. “Look, I’m just saying that Rooster is finally, finally trying to make an effort.”
“Phoenix,”
“You both have too much love for each other to just throw this whole thing out of your life completely. I know you still care for him Y/N, it’s so obvious that you do.” You shake your bit and shudder a sigh.
“He was so awful, though.”
“And nothing will change that. But people grow and own up to their mistakes. You might want to hear him out and then make your decision.” You chewed the bottom of your lip and looked to the side. It was part of a pilot’s nature to be confident and, just slightly, a bit egotistical.
“I hate it when I’m not right.” You murmur, earning a laugh from Phoenix.
“Good thing I’m a great friend and won’t hold it against you. Now c’mon, we’re going to be late for the assignments this morning.”
It turns out you were not late at all, settling down in your seats and chatting easily as the rest of your group filed in. Again, today your hair was in that same bouncy ponytail, making Phoenix snort.
“Is that thing regulation?” She asks.
“Course not - just a relief on my scalp.” And, as if on cue, Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw walks in and takes his chair behind you.
“Morning, Swan.” Bradley chirps, making you freeze up. Phoenix gives you a look, encouraging you to humor him. But you just can’t right now, not so soon after you agreed. “Swan Song,” he says, then whistles to try and get your attention. “Y/N/N!” he finally says, tugging on your ponytail. You whip around to reveal your now fuming expression, anger blazing in your eyes.
“What?!” You yell, causing Rooster’s lips to morph into a cautious smile.
“There we are.” He says.
“Did you seriously just tug my ponytail?” You all but growl, making Bradley lean back into his chair a bit more.
“You wouldn’t respond.” Rooster says as if it’s just common sense.
“So your solution was to act like a fucking child?”
“Aviators, attention please!” Maverick’s voice reverberates throughout the hangar, drawing notice from every pilot in the room. Your instructor’s eyes flick from Rooster to you and smirks a bit, before addressing the group as a whole. “Today we are going to be flying a replica of the turn route. That means you are going to experience as close to the real deal as we’re going to get. This practice will be timed and there will be a minimum speed that you have to achieve. You are going to be assigned a wingman, whom you shall fly with for the rest of this week.” Maverick starts listing out assignments, quickly getting to the bottom of his list. “Hangman, your wingman will be Phoenix, WSO: Bob.” You could almost feel the annoyance radiating off of your friend. “Finally, Rooster – your wingman will be Swan Song, WSO: Fanboy.” If you were more pissed off than you already were, and you hadn’t agreed to let Rooster have a chance at reconciliation, you might’ve ventured to ask for a change of partners. But Phoenix was giving you that big sister glare, and you buckled down. You swiveled in your chair to find Rooster looking at you, fire behind his eyes.
“If you’re going to be my wingman, we’re going to be the best. Got it?” You state. Rooster’s eyes narrow but a smirk sprouts on his lips.
“Birds of a feather.” He responds. And before you can think, the words just flow freely.
“Always.”
You’re walking on the tarmac towards your fighter jet when you register someone behind you, running to catch up. You turn, even though it’s a little harder with your flightsuit and pack on, to reveal Rooster.
“I just want to say, before we go up, I’m sorry.” His comment catches you off guard as you physically falter a bit.
“What?”
“I’m sorry for, well, everything really. I shouldn’t have been that close behind your jet, I shouldn’t have blamed you for what happened, and I most definitely should not have treated you the way I did.” You pause, not really knowing what to say. You wanted to not care, to say “oh yeah? Well fuck you anyways,” but that little pitter-patter in the center of your heart wouldn’t let you. And, as it usually always does, your feelings conquer the thoughts in your head. Closing your eyes and taking a deep breath, your eyelids flutter open as you regard Bradley in a newer light.
“Blank slate?” This time, it’s Rooster who hesitates a bit. He wanted things back. He didn’t want to have to start all over, to exile all of those previous happy times. But he knew this would probably be the only condition in which the both of you wouldn’t be yelling at each other, throwing hateful words around.
“Blank slate.” He confirms. Bradley extends his hand towards you. “Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw. Pleasure to be your wingman.” Your mouth wobbles until it eventually breaks, cracking a small smile.
“Y/N ‘Swan Song’ L/N. Let’s show ‘em what we got.” The two of you peel away from each other after that, making your respective ways towards your own jets. You used the step ladder provided to climb into the cockpit, immediately brushing your hand over the yoke and gripping it. It was a simple practice that you’ve done every time you get into a fighter jet, resetting yourself and getting into the correct mindset. You were going back up into the air with Rooster, flying behind him as his wingman. He was no longer mad at you. You were working on no longer being frustrated with him. You glance towards the top of the glass, squinting as the great ball of fire in the sky beams through. It’s another sunny day in Miramar and it’s time to fly.
You settle into the air easily, doing a couple flips before you and Bradley are in the correct positions.
“This is Rooster, ready to proceed.” You hear his voice touch your ears through the comms.
“This is Swan Song, ready to proceed.” You state.
“This is Fanboy, ready to proceed.” As all three voices are heard, Maverick’s voice cuts in.
“Alright aviators – timer starts now.”
The course was like something out of a horror movie. The turns were almost death defying, requiring the most precise movements from you and Rooster. While both of you were doing fine with them, there was one thing that was tanking your chances of reaching the target within the mission’s parameters – time.
“Rooster, we are fifteen seconds behind.” You gently inform, trying to keep your voice measured. Radio silence is what greets you, only making you shake your head. “Fanboy?”
“Same status,” your WSO says. Your eyes are on the tail of Rooster’s jet. Very little is stopping you from trying to spur Rooster on, urging him to go faster, but you manage to swallow those words.
“Copy. Let’s just get used to the turns then, Rooster?”
“Same page, Swan Song.” Your wingman confirms your statement and the two of you continue on.
The rest of the week is similar to this. Up in the air, mastering the turns, but failing considerably with the time trials. What was not failing, though, was the reconstruction of yours and Rooster’s relationship. Each morning when he greets you, you wear a small smile and say hello back. Little by little, you feel those fuzzy kinds of feelings when he walks into the hangar. It’s still annoying when Phoenix points out that your expression is happy or that you’re not restless in your seat anymore, but it reminds you of what you should still be – apprehensive.
It wasn’t really a surprise to you, how easily you’re slipping back to being his friend. This was Bradley you were talking about, probably the most charming and wonderful person you had previously known. He could have you laughing within a minute of just being around him, buttering you up and making you want to grab hold of his face with both of your hands, smacking the biggest kiss to his mustached lips– wait a minute.
You’re in the middle of changing into casual wear for a night off at The Hard Deck, but your arms are frozen in the air as you're slipping on a loose-fitting crewneck. If someone were to walk into your room and spot you in the state you’re in, they would maybe think you were possessed or something. But you were in the middle of a strange discovery.
“I want to kiss him?” you murmur to yourself, your head barely peeking through the top opening of your sweatshirt. Slowly, you poke your head through the hole and weave your arms into the sleeves at a snail's pace. You turned, eyeing yourself in the big mirror. The shocked look on your face was something to be seen – like you were too scared to move or do anything because this eureka moment was a little too much to handle. But you start thinking more, and thinking leads to prior thought, and prior thought is derived from sweet, sweet memories.
You were laid out on the couch in the backroom of the Hard Deck bar, laughing out loud as you flipped to a random page in a photo album. It was one that Penny had stashed away, the cover dusty and in dire need of a cleaning, but so irresistibly vintage. There was nothing placed in the front photo holder, making it a total mystery as to what could possibly be inside. You almost threw it back into the closet in which it was first discovered, but oh, were you so glad you didn’t.
Across from you, almost swallowed by the crease of a loveseat, Bradley’s eyes were shining at you.
“What’s got you down with a case of the giggles?”
“Oh, Brad, eugh. You sound like my dad.” Bradley makes a disgusted face at your comment.
“Permission to strike that from the record, your honor?” He says, making you laugh.
“So stricken. Anyways, get over here, you have to see this.” With an exaggerated “ugh”, the man gets up and collapses next to you, his arm resting on the top of the couch just above your shoulders. As soon as his eyes find the picture you’re pointing at, he’s laughing just like you were. It was an image of the two of you, ages seven and eight at the naval gala where you first met. You were in a sailor blue dress that had a sweet little white ribbon wrapped around the middle with navy blue anchors. Your mom had done your hair in such a way that there was a big white bow in the middle of it. Next to you was Bradley, wearing a pair of beige chinos and white buttoned down shirt with a baby blue bowtie. You remember your mom and his mom, Carole, pushing the two of you next to each other to snap a quick picture – in fact, you could see them in the background.
“Oh my god,” Bradley says, a sweet softness in his voice. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen this picture before.” You coo at the image, using two of your fingers to figuratively squish baby Bradley’s cheeks.
“Look at you, so stinkin’ cute.” You gush, letting your head fall on his shoulder. “Why do you look so nervous though?” You ask, focusing on his expression from twenty years ago.
“Can you blame me? My mom just shoved me next to a girl who was my age.” You laughed again, him joining in as well. “Plus I thought you were pretty cute. The bow really tied it all together,” he says, touching the spot on the photo protector where the big white bow on your head stuck out. You grinned and slapped his hand.
“Yeah, well, I thought you were cute too.” Bradley just nudged your shoulder and you reciprocated his action. You moved to turn the page but the rest of the images were of planes and motorcycles, clear skies and views from an aircraft carrier. You frown in confusion, going back to the beginning, but it’s just more of the same. “What the hell?” You murmur, “why is there a random picture of us when we were kids in the middle of all of this?” Bradley shrugged and leaned back into the couch.
“Well, both of our dads were pilots – ones that Penny knew. So, I guess it’s conceivable that it’s hers and she just happened to have stuck that picture in here by accident.” He reasons, getting a tilt of your head as a response.
“Yeah maybe,” you say, turning to the last page. In the corner on the back cover, you see initials written in smudged graphite reading; P.M.M. P.M.M.? you think Penny’s last name has never started with an M, whether it was her maiden name or her ex husband’s. However, you don’t linger on that for too long and instead just put the album on the table in front of you.
“Do you remember hiding underneath the tablecloths?” Bradley asks you, drowsiness creeping into his voice. You snort and sigh.
“Course I do. It was my idea.” You quip, earning a chuckle. Bradley shifts so that his head is resting on the arm of the couch and pulls your arm so that you're lying against him.
“Best idea ever. We got to sneak the desserts before any of those suckers had a chance.” You shake your head happily.
“Sounds like you’re digging at naval officers, better not let Penny hear.” His hand goes to rest on your head, patting it kind of like a dog.
“Those strawberry tarts from twenty years ago are worth it.” Suddenly, a knock at the door brings you out of memories and to the present.
“Bradshaw, I need you out here! You promised to help load packages into the bar and you’re slacking off, hanging out with L/N!” Bradley’s eyes shoot open at Penny’s voice.
“Ooo, someone’s in trouble,” you say like you’re a middle schooler as someone gets called to the principal's office. He playfully shoves you off of him, resulting in a yelp from you as you fell off.
“Yeah, yeah. See you in a minute.” He says reluctantly. You watch him leave the backroom before you let your body fall back onto the couch.
“Y/N, you too! Get your butt out here and lend a hand!” You groan but smile. Standing up quickly, and accidentally bumping into the coffee table in the process, you make your way out of the door. You let the door close behind you, shutting behind the album, that picture of the two of you, and the one that slid out – another picture of Bradley, at a toddler’s age this time, sitting atop a piano with a man playing it and another standing up and singing with him.
“Swan, you in there?!” A shout and a series of knocks yanks you out of your mind and sends you shrieking. Immediately, the door is swung open and there’s Bradley, wearing a tight white t-shirt and a perfectly fitting pair of Levi’s. “What is it, what’s wrong?” You narrow your eyes and, you don’t actually realize it, stomp your foot.
“You, giving me a heart attack!” You scream, taking deep breaths to steady your heart rate. Bradley’s worried expression melts instantly to an amused one. He laughs.
“Didn’t know you’re still so jumpy.” He quips, earning a warning glare from you.
“Yeah well, some things like that don’t change.” You shake your head, freeing yourself of the rush of adrenaline. “So, what are you doing here?” You ask, taking your hair out of the back of your shirt and letting it fall on your shoulders. Bradley’s watching your movements before blinking a few times.
“Oh, uh, picking you up to go to the bar. The rest of the group left early, so…” he trails off. You nod, a neutral expression on your face, and slide your phone into the back pocket of your jeans.
“Gotcha. Well, I’m ready, so we can go.” Bradley nods at your words before looking around a bit. He hums a bit, looking at the bare walls. “What is it?”
“Nothing, it’s just…” he murmurs, returning his gaze to you. “There’s no decorations. You always used to put decorations in your dorm.” You folded your arms and cleared your throat.
“Some things like that do change.” You told him, watching the conflict of emotions cross his features. “So, you betting on Phoenix or Hangman for pool champion tonight?”
“Oh, come on. Phoenix,” he snorts. You nod and crack a small grin.
“Then we better get there to see it.”
The drive there was lovely, his bronco handling the beach roads without a hitch. The night at the bar was fun as well, cheering on Phoenix and even challenging Rooster in a round of darts – one which he won and one which you one after asking for a rematch. You don’t know if it’s the atmosphere or the beachy evening, but you felt that barrier budging and budging, and finally… breaking. As Rooster held his hand up for a high five after you won, it was just second nature. You met his hand and then held it. He was stunned for a second, but you cut off everything as you dragged him outside onto the beach.
You had ditched your shoes, so the sand felt grainy and cold beneath your feet. Despite it being summer in California, the nights brought along with it a special kind of chill. Your hand was still clasped around Bradley’s as you turned around to look at him. The moonlight was reflected in his chestnut eyes and his mouth was parted, like there were so many words he wanted to say but couldn’t. Instead, you moved first. You tugged his hand towards yourself and let go, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your head into his shoulder. It was an immediate response from him, his arms winding themselves around your waist as he leaned his head into your hair, smelling your shampoo.
“I missed you,” you say, voice thick with tears. You feel him nod against you and a quick sniffle of his nose.
“I missed you.” He murmured, his breath finding the shell of your ear. “I’m so sorry.” You openly cry into his shoulder.
“Bradley?”
“Y/N?”
“I’m so happy to see you again.” He chuckled a bit, heart filled thick with emotion
“Not as happy as I am to see you again.” You sniffled and pulled away from him, eyes tearstained but a wide smile on your face.
“Rooster?”
“Swan?”
“We’re going to get on this mission, the both of us. And I’m going to be the best damn wingman you’ve ever had.” You declare. He nods and sighs, turning to face towards the waves, one of his arms still slung around your waist. The salty ocean air works its way through your hair and his, ruffling the both of you a bit.
The two of you remained that way for almost the rest of the night before eventually having to ride back to base, both of you parting ways and returning to your own dorms. Tomorrow was another big day of working on turns and time, but for right now? Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw let a dizzy smile fill his features and let his legs carry him to bed. He slept through the night for the first time in a while and woke up with that stupid grin still on his face, checking the time to see how long he has to wait to see you again. Y/N “Swan Song” L/N. His best friend. The love of his life.
Marking | Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x reader | wc: 374
No use of y/n | 18+ Minors DNI
Warnings! Hickeys, biting, kinda dirty talk? no actual smut, it's short, lmk if I missed anything
Ao3
Kinktober 2024 Masterlist
Bradley had been unbelievably clingy since getting back from deployment. Every second he wasn’t at work, he was attached to your hip. Not that you were complaining. It was Saturday and you were both off work, lazing in bed. You were propped against the pillows, strolling through social media, while Bradley laid with his head on your chests, humming softly.
“Can I give you a hickey?” Bradley mumbled, nuzzling his face into your breasts, muffling his voice. “Maybe two?”
“Feeling a little possessive?” You teased, tossing your phone to the other side of the bed. Bradley nodded, “Okay, baby, mark me up.” Bradley perked up, lifting his head for the first time in over an hour. You leaned down, lips meeting in a gentle kiss that put a smile on your face.
“Sit on my lap, honey, and take your top off.” Bradley rolled off of you and onto his side of the bed, you didn’t have the heart to point out that he was now sitting on your phone. You straddled his lap, pulling off the shirt of his you had worn to bed. One of Bradley’s hands rested on your back, bracing you, and the other cupped the back of your neck.
Bradley’s eyes were filled with desire, taking in every inch of your exposed skin. You had to bite your lip to keep from squirming on his lap and escalating things before he even got started.
“You’re going to look so pretty all bruised up for me,” Bradley kissed your collar bone, “Everyone’s going to be able to look at you and know you’re mine.” He moved up to your neck, “Tell me you’re mine, honey.”
“All yours,” Your voice was ridiculously breathy, even to your ears but you didn’t have it in you to be embarrassed. “Are you going to…?” Bradley chuckled, pulling away from where he was marking the front of your throat.
“You want me to?”
“Pretty please, Lee?” Bradley kissed his way to your shoulder before gently biting down, “Fuck, baby.” You had discovered an affinity for his love bites after Bradley had gotten a little too carried away going down on you, leaving bite marks and hickeys all over your thighs.
Quickie | Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x reader | wc: 721
No use of y/n | 18+ Minors DNI
Warnings! teasing, orgasm denial, unprotected p in v (use protection), semi-public I guess?, lmk if I missed anything
Ao3
Kinktober 2024 Masterlist
Bradley had been eyeing you all night. You were wearing a new dress and besides a few chaste kisses, you had stayed away from him. Letting Natasha monopolize your attention. You knew what you were doing of course, laughing as Natasha spun you around to the song on the jukebox.
“Look at him, he looks like he’s about to break a tooth he’s clenching his jaw so hard,” Phoenix snorted out a laugh. She spun you around so you could see the man in question. He wasn’t paying attention to the bar flies or the pool game in front of him. No, his eyes were on you. They were hungry and dark, his gaze burning your skin.
“I’m in so much trouble when we get home,” You giggled, excited for your punishment. What would it be? A spanking? Overstimulation? Edging? “I’m gonna go to the bathroom, grab another round for us?”
“You got it.” You headed for the bathroom, feeling Bradley’s eyes on you. What you didn’t realize was that he was right behind you until he had you lifted on top of the bathroom counter, the door locked behind you.
“Such a fucking tease,” He kissed you hard, hands pushing your dress up around your hips. “You wet for me, baby?”
“Always,” You moaned, fisting his hair as he kissed down your neck.
“What were you thinking, huh?” He nipped at your pulse and you moaned as he pushed your panties aside, sliding a finger into your wet heat. “Wearing that dress, acting like you ain’t got a boyfriend.”
“Lee!” You cried out when he suddenly added a second finger, roughly spreading you open for him.
“Who does this pussy belong to?”
“You,” You moaned, not even trying to tease him. Bradley unbuckled his jeans, pushing them around his knees. You were so needy for him, already worked up from the idea of teasing him all night.
“That’s right, this pussy is mine.” He thrust into you without warning, smothering your moans with a kiss. It had been worth spending the night away from him just to get him worked up like this. Honestly, you thought he’d have enough self control to wait until you were back home or at least in the car but you should have known better.
Bradley Bradshaw was a man of action.
Bradley set a punishing pace and it was clear, much to your disappointment, that your punishment had already begun. He was chasing his pleasure, not yours, his fingers gripping your hips so tight you knew they’d bruise.
“All fucking mine, don’t you forget that.” Bradley growled into your ear, “Do you know how hard it was to watch every guy in this bar stare at you while you danced with Phoenix?”
“Lee, please,” You begged. Unable to take your hands off the counter to help push yourself over the edge without falling back into the mirror.
“No,” Bradley bit your shoulder, marking his territory where every guy in the bar would be able to see it. “I’m going to fill my pussy up, fuck,” His hips jerked erratically, nearing his climax. “And you’re going to go back out there with my gum dripping down your thighs.”
“Fuck,” Your hips bucked, trying and failing to find delicious friction to push yourself over the edge with him. “Please, Lee, I’m sorry. I won’t leave your side, just let me cum.”
Bradley wasn’t listening to you, biting and sucking hickeys into your neck until he spilled inside of you with a grunt.
“I love you,” Bradley panted, kissing you softly. “So much, baby.” You loved him, you really did, but you were too frustrated and horny to return the sentiment.
“Not your biggest fan right now,” You wiped away the tears in your eyes. Bradley sighed, helping you off the counter and fixing your dress.
“I love you,” He tried again, nudging your nose with his, eyes soft. “So fucking much.” You groaned, wrapping your arms around him, relaxing into his broad chest.
“I love you too but what happened to the golden rule?” You referred to the rule where he’d always make you cum before he did. Bradley chuckled, kissing your temple.
“I’ll make it up to you later, I promise. Now come on, I want everyone to see those pretty marks on your neck.”
Aftercare | Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x reader | wc: 308
No use of y/n | 18+ Minors DNI
Warnings! No actual smut
Ao3
Kinktober 2024 Masterlist
Bradley gently cleaned you up with a warm washcloth, kissing the inside of your thighs.
“Sleep pants, underwear, or boxers?” He asked, moving to the dresser. You rolled to your side, bringing a sheet over your body.
“Boxers, please, and a sweatshirt.” Your boyfriend dutifully grabbed what you asked and came back to your side of the bed. You raised your arms, letting him pull the oversized sweatshirt over your head and next came the boxers. Bradley liked dressing you after sex, he said it helped him feel more connected with you when you were finished and you were happy to comply.
“Come on, honey, I’ll make you a snack and we can watch some Scooby Doo.” Bradley lifted you out of bed, carrying you like a princess to the living room where he tucked you into the couch, making sure you were snug in the blankets.
“Hey,” You caught his hand, “I love you.” Bradley’s whole face softened, he was incredibly handsome, tanned skin, sunkissed hair, a mustache that tickled you when you kissed, but moments like this was when you thought he was most attractive. He just looked so relaxed, a small smile on his lips, and nothing but love for you in his eyes.
“I love you too, honey,” Bradley leaned down, giving you a sweet kiss. “Any snack requests?” You told him what you wanted and he kissed your forehead, scurrying off to the kitchen to grab snacks for the both of you. You queued up the classic Scooby Doo series.
Bradley spent the rest of the night cuddled around you, lazily kissing your neck and shoulder, his hands resting on your stomach beneath your sweatshirt. It wasn’t like this every time you had sex, sometimes the two of you didn’t have enough time, but this was your favorite way to end a night.
