“How we doin’ in here?” Abbot asked softly, arms crossed over his chest, studying the monitors that chronicled the last 24 hours. You didn’t look at him. You knew if you did, the tears that had threatened you for the past 36 hours would finally spill. “Can I get you some tea? A sandwich?” He stepped closer, careful not to impose on you as he read your little guy’s notes.
Things had calmed down. The mild fever that had spiked days earlier now only simmered, causing the occasional groan of discomfort from your little guy. Yet, as Abbot listened to his heart on initial overview, he detected a murmur that surprised everyone.
You felt out of your body. Your clothes were two days old, your hair grimy with yesterday’s sweat. You hadn’t managed to stomach food, let alone water, and your tongue felt like leather, occasionally sticking to the roof of your mouth. “No, thanks,” you whispered, shifting your gaze from your son to Jack.
“Everything’s looking good,” he said quietly. “I think he can go home tomorrow. His fever’s broken, though he’s still a bit warm from the virus, and we’ll keep a close eye on him until you see the specialist for the echo, ECG, and bloodwork.”
“You probably think I’m stupid for panicking like this,” you admitted.
With a mild shake of his head, he replied, “Not at all. You did the right thing. That’s why we’re here.”
You exhaled slowly. “I’ll just be glad when we can go.”
“I understand.” He tapped on the screen, adding a few observations, and absently toyed with the stethoscope draped over the thick knots of muscle along his shoulders and traps. “We want to monitor his hydration and continue the meds through the evening,” he reminded gently. “Just to be safe.” He closed his eyes and pursed his lips as he unravelled the stethoscope and pressed it to your little guy’s chest. He listened quietly, counting the rhythm and looking for the faint murmurs that had drawn his attention earlier.
You liked Dr. Jack Abbot. He had a rugged resilience that spoke of years of experience, the kind that left quiet traces in the corners of his eyes. Earlier, you’d seen him tug at his dog tags as you wandered toward the bathroom. He didn’t wear mystery like armor; he offered clarity, steady and unpretentious. You had expected aggression and gruffness, but over the last few days, he had been so softly spoken at times that you even questioned your own hearing.
“Just to be safe,” you mumbled in agreement.
“You sure I can’t get you anything?” he asked, moving toward the door again. He was smooth on his feet, but maybe you were distracted enough that everything seemed to move in perfect rhythm, except for your little one’s heart at that moment. When you didn’t reply, he left the room and continued his rounds.
AN: I've not written in a while, but when you are inspired... thanks for reading. not sure if this will go anywhere, but it was nice to write for a little while x
Précis: Jake gets a lengthy deployment—will he make it home for the holiday?
Note: For @notroosterbradshaw’s #hello december playlist challenge. My song is One More Sleep by Leona Lewis—fic incorporates many of the song lyrics.
Warnings: Angst n' fluff
Word count: 1.7k
The last year had been hard.
While Jake was floating on a carrier in the icy waters somewhere between Greenland and Russia, you were in California starting your life as a married woman alone.
You remembered last year vividly—you and Jake had just gotten out all your holiday decorations. As you sifted through boxes and checked lights, you were doing your best to sell Jake on going to Minnesota for the holidays.
Born and bred in Texas, Jake never had the pleasure of a white winter. Snow was a foreign concept he never really encountered until he attended the U.S. Naval Academy in Maryland. Since college, Jake hadn’t been deployed many places where it was cold unless he was on an aircraft carrier, so the best he got was ice flows and permafrost.
Although you had been together for years, Jake had yet to make it to Minnesota during the winter. You wanted to fly into Duluth and then rent a car to drive to your parents’ place just outside of Two Harbors. After Christmas, you would continue up the Lake Superior coast to Grand Marias to your family’s lake house to ring in the New Year just the two of you.
Discussion of your pitch was cut short when Jake’s phone vibrated. He signaled it was a work call, so you continued assessing decor while he wandered into the kitchen to get away from the soft music you had playing.
“What’s wrong?” You stood as Jake returned to the room, looking disappointed. He wrapped his arms around your shoulders as you stepped into his embrace, encircling his waist with your arms. Your cheek laid against his hard chest, and his cheek rested on top of your head.
“I’ve been tapped for a special mission. However, the deployment is eight to 10 months, and I leave on January first.”
This what you signed up for—you knew deployments would happen at inconvenient times. But it did not make hearing that your summer wedding and starting your family would have to be put on hold any easier.
Instead of stringing lights, you and Jake spent the afternoon rearranging the next year of your life. Jake could tell you were deflated from the news, so he ordered takeout and popped open a bottle of wine.
“Let’s get married next week,” Jake said as he topped off your glass.
“Are…you serious?” You could not tell if he was messing with you as you settled into the couch.
Jake nodded. “Serious as a heart attack, honey.” He sat the bottle on the coffee table and joined you, laying an arm along the couch behind you. “Let’s go to Minnesota and get hitched. I want to come home to my wife in a year.” Your heart swelled three sizes at his statement. A smile pulled your lips as you leaned forward and pressed yours to his.
A week later, on Christmas Eve, you and Jake stood at the end of a dock jetting into Lake Superior at your family cabin. The sun was shining, making the snow glitter and the ice glisten. Your family holiday had been extended to include Jake’s family, so both your parents, all your sisters and their families—partners and children—were huddled at the top of the dock to witness your wedding.
With the help of your sisters, Jake had surprised you by purchasing your dream dress, which thankfully wasn’t traditional, so it was tailored and ready in a matter of days. Jake wore a dark heather charcoal suit—you loved that it made his eyes pop. Jake’s oldest sister owned a salon back in Austin, so she lent her skills to you and Jake for the big day.
Your lifelong best friend, who happened to be a photographer, was recruited by your sisters to document your nuptials. And your father, a retired district judge in Duluth, officiated your ceremony. Your mothers could not help themselves and teamed up to cook one of the best meals you’ve ever had—a combination of traditional southern and midwestern dishes that featured many of yours and Jake’s favorites.
The next morning, your families left you and Jake alone at the cabin. It was the closest thing to a honeymoon you were going to get, and you were thankful to have a couple days at the lake.
You were dreaming of the few days you woke up shrouded in the warmth from the fireplace and tangled with Jake between the sheets as the pair of you drove to the base. Jake kept his eyes on the road and his fingers laced with yours on the center console. Meanwhile, you could not take your eyes off him. “Why are you staring, weirdo?” he teased.
A smile crept across your face as you squeezed his hand and looked away for a minute. “Soaking you in—this is going to be the longest we’ve been apart.” It was his turn to steal a glance at you. He then raised your entwined fists and kissed them.
You were proud of yourself—you managed to keep it together until you climbed back into the vehicle. It took you 15 minutes to compose yourself and the tears to subside enough that you could drive home.
Nearly a year later, you weren’t sure Jake would be home for the holiday. Once his deployment hit eight months, it became nine, then 10. Ten turned into 11 and now he was in Month 12 headed into Month 13.
You didn’t even bother to get the holiday decorations out. Not wanting to chance spending the holiday alone, you packed your bags and caught a flight to Minnesota. Since he had finally admitted that he enjoyed your home state in the winter, you agreed he would come there if he were to make it home.
The last time you spoke, Jake chattered about how excited he was to celebrate your anniversary. He was hoping you two could sneak away to the cabin. You agreed but didn’t want to get your hopes up. Although the last time you spoke you knew it was five more nights until he was next to you, you kept telling yourself one more sleep until you saw him. Daily doses of disappointment seemed more manageable than a week’s worth of time.
Lost in your memories of you and Jake, holding a warm mug of coffee and irish cream, you were staring out the living room window into the darkness of night. Fluffy flakes fluttered through the crisp air and disappeared into the undisturbed gentle slopes of a fresh snow blanket. The decorative lights on the house cast a golden glow, making the snow sparkle.
Your mind spiraled further into your memory bank to your youth, recalling the sound of your boots stamping prints into the fresh accumulation and the sound of snow falling all around you. Being alone in the silence of snowfall was your childhood escape. “Ma, I’m going for a walk!” You abandoned your drink on the nearest surface, slipped on your boots, coat, hat and mittens before bounding out the door.
Your nose was already chilling, surely turning red, and your lungs burned from inhaling the icy air. Muscle memory had your legs carrying you to the trailhead that disappeared into the treeline on the backside of your childhood home. As your eyes adjusted to the darkness, a smile pulled your lips as you listened to the silence and the hard crunch beneath your feet. It was tough to say how much time passed while you stood on the trail, listening to the snow, letting the flakes hit your face, feeling your resolve harden.
In the distance, you heard crunching. Keeping your eyes closed, you listened as it neared. Years of listening to the snow, you knew those were human feet, and they were headed your way. Curious who would approach you, you kept your eyes closed and just listened. The crunching was within yards of you when it stopped.
“We’ve got a lot of catching up to do,” you heard from behind you. Your entire body tensed. Eyes cautiously opening, you turned to look over your shoulder. Jake was casually standing there, hands in his pockets, smiling at you.
Still in disbelief, you turned your entire body to face him. “Hey, stranger,” you greeted.
His smile grew three sizes bigger, his dimples really digging into his cheeks. “Has it been that long?” he teased as he stepped toward you.
Pursing your lips, you glanced at the ground and then at him. “Just 357 days.”
“But who’s counting?” He continued to walk closer. His hands were still in his pockets, while yours were balled in your mittens at your sides.
You shrugged as he closed the distance between you. “I had my doubts you’d get back home,” you added. Your eyes were locked on his, your head tilting back to keep eye contact as he stepped into your personal space. Your lip disappeared between your teeth as you watched him lean closer and closer—his eyes landing on your mouth.
Jake’s warm hand slipped out of his pocket and gently cradled your jaw, his index finger resting behind your ear and his thumb resting on your cheek. Your lips were almost touching. “I told you I’d be with you real soon, honey,” he said before pressing his lips to yours. His warmth melted the winter night chill. Jake pulled away and let his thumb graze your bottom lip while his hand remained on the side of your face.
“I’m still in shock that you’re really here,” you confessed. His signature smile reappeared—nearly as radiant as the snow. He pulled you as close as your thick down coats would allow and pressed a lingering kiss to your lips.
“I can think of a few ways to prove I’m really here.” He held you so your bodies were completely pressed to one another. “But first, let’s go celebrate the holiday with your folks.” He gave you one more kiss—this one hungrier than the last.
“You can prove yourself when we get to the cabin tomorrow night.” Lust was evident in your voice. You slipped your mitted hand around his and led the way back to the house.
"Now, I’ll admit—when I first thought of this, it felt like it could be a thing. Two amazing people, both painfully single, and I suggest she take our boy as her plus one. Harmless, right? Well, the very next day, I learned just how well their first ‘non-date’ had gone.
Bradley, of course, pulled out all the stops—schmoozed the guests and somehow made a fake relationship look unbelievably convincing. Annie, our matron of honour, even took a picture that night. And when the engagement announcement came, she shared that photo of them dancing. Honestly, you’d have to be blind not to see it—a chain of events had been set in motion that would change their lives forever."
Robert 'Bob' Floyd x wife!reader (no mention of Y/N)
Written for @notroosterbradshaw's #hellodecemberplaylistchallenge. The song I chose is How to Make Gravy by Paul Kelly. If you're Aussie, you know Gravy Day. It's not Christmas without this song, and your family (and friends) must be belting it out in whatever venue you hear it.
This is so very very very late, but life got very very busy in December. Nevertheless, its here. I don't know if I like it. I also don't know if there's the side effect of having been thinking about it endlessly since December 21.
Warnings: flufffffff. Mentions infertility, pregnancy and some mental health issues.
Bob wasn’t even sure Australians spoke English half the time. Sure, some of the words sounded familiar, but there was a rough twang to each syllable. Each word shortened and oh sounds added as often as possible. What was a servo? Or an arvo, for that matter? Occasionally they used words that rhymed with the actual word they intended; his Australian wife had once referred to something as ‘tin fruited’ and then giggled for ten solid minutes at his confusion. He still wasn’t quite sure how tin fruited was code for ‘broken’.
He stood in the kitchen, sleeves rolled to the elbows and hands plunged into the hot water, washing the last few Christmas dinner dishes. When she floated into view, wedding ring glinting on her finger and belly swollen beneath her velvet dress, his heart soared. There she was, his darling wife. Radiant and smiling as her mother and sister fussed after her. The absolute joy of her family here for their first Christmas with her in four years, writ large on her face.
"Can you believe it? Your last Christmas as just the two of you," his mother said, beginning to dry dishes and pile them on the bench.
"Everything okay? You look tense, Robert, dear," his mother, Lillian, whispered as she picked up a dishtowel.
Bob nudged his glasses further up his nose carefully with the back of his wrist, blushing slightly.
"Just thinking," he muttered, turning his attention back to the sink.
He dipped his hands back into the water, fishing for the cutlery he'd dumped in half an hour ago.
Bob didn't say anything. He'd hardly dared to let himself imagine life beyond the birth, terrified that he'd jinx it somehow. Each negative test, every tearful doctor's visit, every needle and anguished cry played across his mind in painful detail. It had taken so long, and now it felt so fragile. They'd waited in silent fear as each week passed until they'd reached the 'safe' time, but Bob still counted every day.
He dropped a handful of clean silverware into the dish rack, watching his father-in-law settle alongside her at the table. The pair of them bent over an instruction manual, presumably for the new Bluetooth speaker she'd gifted him.
"She's okay, Robert."
Lillian peered at him over the wire rim of her glasses, her blue eyes meeting his own. He gave a small smile.
The gentle quiet of the kitchen was suddenly broken by the loud twang of guitar chords and a loud cheer from the dining table. The bluetooth speaker roared into life, playing a song Bob didn't recognise. It was melancholy and gentle.
"Hello Dan, it's Joe here," his father-in-law's voice rolled around the room, singing along.
He offered his hand to his daughter, gently pulling her to her feet and slowly waltzing with her. Slow shuffles from side to side. She seemed to glow from the inside out.
Bob watched as his wife swayed back and forth, before he realised she was singing too. Her soft voice joining in as she looked at her father, beaming.
Hope you're keepin' well
It's the 21st of December
And now they're ringing the last bells
If he had to guess, Bob would have said the song was quintessentially Australian somehow. His wife, having let go of her father, clutched dramatic dramatically at her chest as she belted out the next line.
If I get good behaviour
I'll be outta here by July
Won't kiss my kids on Christmas Day?
"Pleeeeeeeease don't let them cry for me," they chorused, before dissolving into giggles.
Somewhere deep within Bob, something shifted. A crack in the wall anxiety built and the stones shifted and clicked. The tiniest spark of sunlight crept in and Bob felt calm settle over his heart for the first time in a long time. His ribs expanded just that little bit more as he breathed, his smile grew just that little bit wider.
Bob dried his hands and peeled away from the kitchen bench. His hands rested gently on her waist, brushing across her belly as she turned easily. Her smile still made his breath hitch and he adored the way her eyes sparkled, even beneath the kitchen lights. He took her hand in his, resting the other on her lower back, restarting the slow, lazy waltz she'd been doing with her father. The song picked up.
"What is this song about?" Bob interrupted his wife's singing as they swayed.
I guess the brothers are driving down from Queensland
And Stella's flyin' in from the coast
Her lips curled upward in a smile but she didn't answer, instead continuing on with the next line. Bob hoped their baby would have her smile.
Bob listened as she and her family, also dancing scattered around the edges of the room, reeled off the next few lines in perfect cadence.
They say it's gonna be a hundred degrees, even more maybe
But that won't stop roast
"Was that a recipe for gravy? In a song?" Bob laughed.
And give my love to Angus, and to Frank and Dolly
They'd reached the peak now, voices ringing clear across the house, drenched in amusement as they laughed through the rest of the chorus. Heads tipped back, smiles broad across their faces as they shared in the song.
Bob had no idea who Angus, Frank or Dolly were, and highly suspected this was an Australian in-joke of some sort, but the look of pure happiness on his wife's face rendered all else irrelevant.
She leaned against him, arms looped around him best she could. The feeling of her belly bumping against him with each movement made him smile, wider than he had in a while.
"Oh, I'm really starting to get in the way now," she murmured.
Bob laughed, leaning over her to kiss her head.
Oh, praise the Baby Jesus, have a Merry Christmas.
Cass, I think my pinterest knew it was your turn because it cooked up a perfect moodboard for Bradley with a hint of my OC for him, Kennedy Quinn. I hope you like it ✨
send me a 🐮 and i will refresh my pinterest to give you a random moodboard
about: Bradley's home just before the turn of midnight. After 15+ Christmases together, it's just sometimes lovely to reminisce about life before the babies wake and the madness ensues.
word count: 6k
warnings: nsfw 18+, language, pure fluff, smut.
a/n: I haven't had a lot of time to put this together the way I would have liked, I will quietly edit after xmas to put some more time into this... hopefully. otherwise, please enjoy and have yourself a merry little something if you feel that way inclined x
masterlist.
It was so late.
Bradley was so late.
A late arrival to base, mandatory debrief, it was a shitshow of delay after delay from his three-month deployment but coming home to see the house dark, he knew you’d given up and headed to bed. “Fuck,” he muttered to himself, quietly dropping his duffel bag at the front door but ears pricked up to hear Christmas music – Eagles, Please Come Home for Christmas – and he could swear, you singing gently with Don Henley. The sweetest sound even if you were the first to admit your voice was reminiscent of nails on a blackboard.
Untrue. It was like pure honey from the hive and he couldn’t get enough.
Chewing his lip in anticipation as he quietly unlaced his boots, he wandered into the dim living room, only lit by the glow of the fading white lights on the tree and carefully curated tea lights flickering on the fireplace. But he couldn’t interrupt the revelry as you danced gently around the tree you were trimming, one hand adjusting a decoration, the glass piano that once belonged to his old man, and a balloon of Pinot Noir in the other. He watched as you took a delicate sip, the floor around the tree littered with beautifully wrapped gifts and the stockings full of candies and odds and ends.
It really was a picture. You curated magic.
If he knew you, and he knew you so well, the tree would have been up on Thanksgiving evening and perfected every night until now, Christmas Eve. So beautiful in what little you wore, one of his many threadbare old Navy tees and maybe some undies underneath for modesty, or maybe not, he hoped. The reflection of the lights danced against your bare skin on display that had him swallow rough, and like most instances in your presence, hard. So hard. Three months without your touch, taste and sweet voice hard.
“Hi,” Bradley said finally, as you jolted slightly and looked in his direction, a smile growing on your face as he made his way to you, steadfast as he wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his forehead against yours.
“Hi,” you said simply, even though you had a thousand things you wanted to tell him. “Merry Christmas, Bradley,” you said as he smiled softly at you, grasping your cheek in his calloused palm and searching your face intently – looking for anything that may have changed, confident in his recall he could never forget one feature on your divine face.
“Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”
“I didn’t think you’d make it,” you confided delicately. And honestly? Neither did he.
He looked at his watch. “With moments to spare,” he said, amber eyes dancing mischievously. “God, I missed you,” he breathed, your delicate perfume grounding him, ridding away his sea legs. “May I?” he nodded towards the wine in your hand, and you gratefully passed it to him. “Like this,” he told you. “Glass for me?”
You made a face. “Like, six hours ago… maybe?”
He grinned. “That good, huh?”
“I’m sorry, but you were so late.”
“So late,” he mocked, bobbing to put the glass on the coffee table.
“And yet you still haven’t kissed me,” you mumbled.
He huffed a gentle laugh and did exactly what was expected of him. Three months away from your soft lips, and sparkling eyes as he pulled you closer to him with a firm hand on your lower back. Three months of fantasising what this moment would feel like even though it had happened dozens of times before. How slick your tongue was against his and it reminded him of the soft-spoken, even shy freshman he met in college in his sophomore year. The first time your eyes met in the dorm hall as you dragged your suitcases behind you, looking for room numbers and coming up short. So small in the ocean of chaos.
Bradley had no reason to go over and ask if he could help you. Leave the conversation with friends about, he reckoned, the Phillies… Countless students were struggling with the same problems, but you? Magnetic. No one else mattered, it was like no one else in the universe existed. And still… now? Aside from your beautiful daughters, maybe no one else did either.
That’s how Bradley Bradshaw’s kiss made you feel after all these years. The man who could have any woman he wanted, and those who still felt entitled to try and sway his attention on the infrequent nights out you shared.
And just like the boy you fell in love with, his firm hands skimmed the fabric of the tee. You felt a warm palm against your hip and drift to your thigh and of course, his intended destination, against your bare ass – “Perfect,” he breathed against your lips.
You weren’t sure when he’d started dancing with you, his hips slowly guiding you to whatever song was in the background, now you weren’t so sure because all there was was him.
As he kissed and moved you, he whispered if his girls were asleep… that no one was about to wander in from their bedroom. And as much as he wanted to see his babies, his gorgeous girls, he needed their mother more and he would eagerly see them tomorrow morning.
“Upstairs,” you told him, and he knew that meant homecoming was less raucous than it was when you were both a little young and dumber. No fucking on the couch or your back pressed up against the wall, your thigh in his calloused palm and his slacks dropped to his ankles the second he walked in. Those days were gone, greeting each other so much softer.
You weren’t entirely surprised when his hand smoothed from your side and drifted between your thighs to your delicate core. He tenderly pressed his soft lips into your pulse as his long, slender index finger tenderly skimmed the smooth skin of your pussy. “You feel good,” he breathed gently, so conscious of his voice raising and bringing the kids’ attention downstairs. “I want you. I’ve missed you, sweetheart,” he moved to your lips again and he kissed you the way he did when you first started seeing each other. The way his tongue flicked against your lip, tracing with an edge of demand as you gave in, willingly falling under his spell and kissing him back with the same ferocity.
His strong thigh pressed against your core, and you gasped against his lips, the rough material of his uniform making you heady as he tilted you that little further to almost ride him.
“Not here,” you told him, guiding his pout to your mouth and leading him by the hand to your bedroom, the master bed, your sanctuary and sometimes the loneliest room in the world when Bradley was away.
Bradley wasn’t surprised to see a few candles lit in the bedroom either. As you got older, your need for romance seemed to have crept through with the solitude that came along with a husband who served and two little girls who ran you off your feet every day. Bradley, a romantic at heart, unleashed some of the sweetest things that had ever happened to you. He was always big on flowers, and planning sweet dates but physical touch was his love language.
He was a hand holder, he liked that you were the right height he could rest his lips against your temple and kiss you when close, skilled hands and massage. But it all meant so little in comparison to him holding you tightly in his arms. Something over the years you missed dearly when he was absent, you never felt safer than feeling his warm palm pressed into your lower back, the way his brawny arm would curl around your waist and tuck you into his side.
You were the other’s missing piece and so lucky to have met each other so early in life.
“Too young to fall in love, too young to get married,” Bradley reiterated all the things you heard all those years ago. “Too young to start a family.”
“They may have been right about the last part.” At 23 and in over your head with a newborn and a husband dedicating his career to defending the country was one thing, it was one of the hardest things you’d ever thrown yourself into, leaving family to move where Bradley’s job required. The other military wives took you under their wing, (s)mothering where they could. And you were so proud of all of Bradley’s achievements, but it didn’t cure the sad nights of solitude once the kids went to bed, and you had time to think about how hard it all is to do alone.
Bradley huffed a laugh into your ear. “Maybe. But I wouldn’t change anything now.”
“They never thought we’d last,” you rolled your eyes like you did every time you two embarked on this quiet joke that was now at everyone else who didn’t believe expense.
“Like I told you. From the moment I met you, it was forever,” he pulled you towards the bed, lightly tossing you towards the pillows with little effort on his behalf, you gave him a look as you adjusted against the soft pillows. “Was I wrong?”
“You’ve been very convincing,” you teased as he playfully rolled his eyes.
“In what way?” he played along.
“Well, you’re a wonderful father.”
He hummed, as he began on the buttons of his shirt. How were you supposed to continue when he was playing a strategic game of rendering his wife speechless? After 15 or so years, his body was more impressive now than the day you met him. It was almost criminal.
When you met him, a gangly 21-year-old boy who was endeavouring to improve himself, prepare himself for the rigours of being a pilot for the navy. Gym, protein shakes, gym, school. It had been quite a development, watching Bradley grow into the man he is today.
…and you got to reap every single benefit.
“Just a good dad? Shit…”
“An amazing father and from what I can gather, a pretty fantastic leader.”
“Captain, Mrs Bradshaw,” he corrected. “But I’ll overlook it this time.”
You rolled your eyes again, watching his nimble fingers get to the last button and push back the material to – disappointing. An undershirt. He tossed his shirt at you gently, his cologne wafting over your senses. “How many layers you got there, Captain Bradshaw?”
Eyebrow raised; he kept your gaze as he stripped the second layer that kept you from his golden skin. “Better?”
You didn’t hide your shallow breath. Because yes, your man was only getting finer as he got older. The precision of his well-defined muscles glowing by candlelight, the smattering of freckles across his shoulders and broad chest, abs, abdominals, abs – they seemed to go on and your favourite, his Adonis belt. May as well have been named the Bradley Belt for all you cared, because his was spectacular. You reached the familiar logo of his boxer briefs and slender hips. The snail trail that led to the jackpot. “Better,” you confirmed as he moved to his belt, slacks and zip. “More,” you replied. “I’m practically naked here.”
Bradley’s lip quirked. “I think that tee you’re wearing is at least 10 years old.”
“Sue me, it smells like you when you’re away,” you sniped as he winked cheekily and stepped out of his dropped pants, approaching the bed.
“I hope you’ve washed it after three months.”
Three months. But yes, you’d begrudgingly washed it. But it was still nice to be wrapped up in something that belonged to him when it wasn’t his arms to keep you safe. “Would have been better if you were here…”
“I know, sweetheart,” he sighed, making his way to the bed and crawling over to you, resting his cheek on your breast, tightening a grasp around your waist. “God, I missed you.”
Smoothing his curls, you tenderly kissed his temple. “No way as much as I did, Bradley.”
“Were the girls good?”
“They had their moments, but they’re nearly teenagers…”
“I can’t believe I’m gonna have to start fending dudes off at the door,” Bradley pinched the bridge of his nose, not wanting to believe his baby girls were growing so quickly. Violet was in Grade 7 and Olivia Grade 5. It was hard to miss so much of their lives and sometimes felt like lifetimes between his time at home. But he’d reconciled he would do more time on dry land this year, taking up a training facilitator role on base for new Top Gun recruits. You’d spoken about it for so long and now it looked like he was getting his opportunity to make Friday night basketball games, and swimming on Saturday mornings and whatever else was expected of him.
“Not long now,” you had to agree but as much as you wanted to tell him everything he’d missed that couldn’t be fit into the couple of minutes you managed to get him every once in a while, you were so desperate for your husband, you didn’t want to play the polite game. “Bradley?”
He hummed again.
“I want you.”
Looking up at you, he ran his slick tongue over his top lip. “Well, ma’am, I guess I’d better get to work, huh?” his grin was wet, and he reached to kiss you, so tender and sweet but you knew it was laced with so much more as he rolled you beneath him, propping himself on an elbow and using his free palm to raise your thigh over his hip. His kisses were so good, and you knew you were a keening mess for him… when weren’t you?
Gasping into his mouth as he lightly walked his fingers to your core, he was bold and spread your lips, taking your arousal, sticky and warm, he pressed your clit and started to rub, just so to relax you. You melted beneath him. After all these years, he knew exactly how to make you a bag of bones. He didn’t need to ask as he pressed his long index finger in, never once breaking the kiss, just increasing the intensity.
Making out with Bradley while he fingered you. He was going old school. Those days before you slept with him, you’d be tangled together on your shitty single bed, grinding against the other. The first time he dared touch you, how he asked so sweetly if he could try and make you cum, to finger you. When you gave him a shaky yes in reply and opened your legs to him as he slid his long fingers under the waist of your tights, his soft eyes reassuring the panic that washed over you, kissing you tenderly and promising against your lips that he’d stop if you wanted him too. You told him you wanted to because he was Bradley and you’d never met anyone like him, you’d never felt the things he was making you feel. Maybe you had something to prove – to him, to you? You weren’t sure but as Bradley’s big hands slowly tugged your tights down your legs, carelessly discarding them and seeing those pretty pink undies soaked through with your excitement, he breathed, scared he’d cum before he’d touched you. He dared to sweep your undies to the side, your pretty pussy bare and glistening for him.
He did that, he made you that wet, he thought proudly. He was so excited and popped the button on his jeans, needing to relieve some friction and moved to coax you under his arm, his nose nuzzling against yours.
“Tell me if you’re uncomfortable or if I need to stop,” he breathed, his gentle rasp calming you as you softly gripped his wrist.
This wasn’t the first time you’d done this, but with Bradley, it was like you’d never been touched before. He ignited sparks in you that you’d never felt before, no one else’s fingers did this… not even your own.
“You’re beautiful,” he told you as you pulled a pillow over your eyes, so shy, so bashful. He tossed away the pillow and kissed you, his hand tracing down the side of your body and index finger gathering your excitement to coat your labia and clit. He started slow and asked if you touched yourself or if you had toys. And yes, you had a vibrator that gave you a pretty good impression of what you liked but this was already wildly exceeding anything the vibe brought to the table. “Do you like this?” he was so considerate and when you hitched a breath and told him ‘faster’, the keenness to learn you clouded over and his façade darkened, turned on by you telling him what you liked and he slid another finger into you, trying not to blow his load as you started to cry out, his thumb passing on your thrumming clit and shamed, you held back how much you really wanted to come alive for him.
You knew you couldn’t bite back your moans of pleasure, and as he laughed into your skin, he reached and lifted your sweater and bra, dragging his mouth down to your pretty tits, lapping and licking and sucking as you started the shudder below him. You clawed at his wrist that was buried within you and grinding against you as he toyed with your tits more, kneading and sucking harder. He was gonna blow his load before you even touched him.
“Oh, Bradley,” your voice was so sweet as you fucked into his hand, quivering and sensitive and wet and desperate as you came. Everything all at once.
“You’re so sexy,” he crooned with his deep rasp. “I’ve never seen someone cum like this…” He kissed you deeply as you felt the last bursts of electricity flow through your body before flopping into the mattress and urgently pushing his fingers away, too sensitive. He smiled against your lips and told you it was okay, he loved seeing you lose control.
After you’d cum, and you nervously asked him if you could give him a hand job to return the favour or whatever, he knew he was in love. Young and dumb and no one could tell him differently. How he got to his back and watched as you drag his jeans off and pull down his boxers, his cock so hard, weeping precum. “Tell me if I hurt you,” you mumbled, the most nervous you’d been. “Or if you don’t like it.”
“You could never hurt me,” he hissed as you used both soft hands to wrap around his length. “That is so fuckin’ good, baby,” he managed, head sinking back into your fluffy pillows, imagining if he was to die tomorrow, he’d die happy. And as he wrapped his hand around yours, showing you the tempo he preferred, he almost came as your wet mouth wrapped around the head of his cock without warning. “Oh, shit,” he hissed unprepared, trying not to fuck your face, his hips wild. He had never been so turned on.
He’d dated and slept with a few girls, and had a few blowjobs but nothing, nothing felt like this, and he buried his big hands into your hair, massaging and encouraging you as best he could. He screeched a warning he was coming and to take your mouth away if you didn’t want to taste him. When you didn’t relinquish your sweet mouth on him, he came hard in the back of your throat and you swallowed the salty flavour of him down, he pulled you to him and kissed you deeply, telling you he thought he was in love and, silently, he hoped you were too.
“That was the best head I ever had,” he peered up. “And you’ve never given a blow job before?” he was suspicious. You shook your head bashfully, but also excited he was so happy with your attempt, and you vowed you’d only get better if it brought out this reaction in him. “Feel free any time you wanna practice,” he almost laughed, falling back against the headrest of the bed.
A few hours later, as Bradley pounded into you, you’d be lying if you didn’t feel nostalgic, recalling the first time you had sex with him. It never felt like plain old missionary with him, he tucked you in close and you’d wrap your calves around his hamstrings, keeping him close as he whispered filth in your ear.
You knew you’d bled, and you were begging not noticeably. You didn’t want that embarrassment, even if the towel caught it. Overall, it wasn’t a painful experience, Bradley had done everything to relax you, the slick of the lube reducing any real friction and he’d gone down on you before he’d even taken off his jeans. “You have the prettiest pussy, baby,” he told you as you shuddered beneath him and he continued fucking you with his fingers until you pushed his face away, so sensitive. “Okay, okay,” he cooed to you, trailing wet kisses up your naked body, exposed wholly to him.
It had been a very fun few weeks, lots of kissing, touching, and making the other cum and sneaky sleepovers but when you told him you were ready to have sex – with him – your first – Bradley couldn’t believe his luck. He couldn’t believe you would be interested in him, you were so sweet, and kind, and pretty. So sexy and he hoped, all for him. He hadn’t met anyone who he felt so connected to. He worried he was trying too hard to force something that wasn’t there, but as he slowly pushed into you, gloved cock long and girthy, stretching you and you sighed into his ear to tell him how good it felt and that you thought you were falling in love with him, everything stopped.
His hips, lips and heart froze as he must have misheard words he was desperate to return but far too timid to do so.
“Remember the days we’d be in bed all day and just fuck and laugh. Order takeout and fuck again?” Bradley said between the rolls of his hips. “I wanna be able to do that again,” he groaned in your ear as you fuckingthrobbed around him, so close as you clenched. “I’m gonna take you away in the New Year. You, me, the Maldives. Private villa and all that good lovin’ we deserve.”
“You’re gonna make me cum,” you giggled against him, excited for him and the prospect that you would spend some uninterrupted time together and you rose to meet his thrusts, spurring him on with your enthusiasm. He felt so good: strong, rough and as the head of his cock hit your G-spot, a step closer to orgasm – heaven, he wasn’t sure. He knew your body like it was his, and he brought his fingers between your bodies, brushing against your pained clit as your back arched and his tongue swirled around your nipple. He sucked on the delicate skin, as you began to quake and grunted low, your warm, slick pussy. “Yes, Bradley,” you encouraged.
“Your pretty cunt was made for me,” he murmured in your ear and that was it, you felt the quakes start in your toes, the muscles in your tummy start to coil and your pussy started to throb around his cock, your entire body on fire with desire for your sexy husband. “Yes, baby,” Bradley kissed you deeply, trying to concentrate on his thrusts but it was impossible as he made you feel so goddamn good. He raised your thigh to get that little rougher and you moaned, the gush fell between you both and he grunted, not giving you a moment of respite, chasing his orgasm. You fell back, completely spent as he laughed darkly, his cock rocking into you again, wrapping his palm around your waist and pulling you back to him. “So close, don’t give up on me now, sweetheart. You’re so fuckin’ wet.”
“Too sensitive,” you whined to him. “Cum, Bradley,” you begged.
It was low and powerful, the feral groan that met your demands. His hips sped up, desperate for release. He couldn’t hold back anymore and as your nails pierced the tanned skin on his back, he came with a low groan and fucked more unruly thrusts into you before collapsing above you, kissing you wildly. He gasped, completely spent, still in you without intent to move. “Gonna need to burn the bed,” he uttered to you as you barely managed a reply. It was fucking like that you missed so desperately when he was away.
“That was incredible,” you said, kissing some sweat on his brow away. “I love you.”
He chuckled into your skin, pressing kisses into your pulse. “I love you, baby,” he was a dream, this man. “Good job, team,” he raised his palm for a limp high-five, both spent.
“Roll the dice,” you reiterate to Bradley. “If we get pregnant, great. If we don’t…”
“It’s you and me and we are great with that,” Bradley answered with the faintest glint of hope in his shining honey eyes. Was this happening? Was Bradley about to get the family he’d been missing for so long?!
But in the back of the afterglow of lovemaking as husband and wife, you’d told him you’d go off birth control after your honeymoon if he wanted to try for a baby so soon. You didn’t want it to be immediate, you wanted to enjoy being married and the fun that came with it. And Bradley wholeheartedly agreed.
Bradley was so determined to rise through the ranks, that you didn’t want to detract him any more than you might have but you were young and in love and when you found out you were pregnant with your first baby, a girl to be named Violet. The thing was, you were only hoping to be a newlywed once - marriage wasn't as big a thing for you as it was for Bradley so the drama of it all (even as intimate as it was for you was a one-time deal). And even babies. But even he admitted he wouldn't have the first idea of how to do it since his dad wasn't around when he was growing up and Maverick wasn't exactly a glowing example of fatherhood.
He was a smitten young man. A beautiful wife, and a gorgeous little girl waiting at home for him while he served his country and continued slowly but surely through the ranks, getting a reputation as Rooster, slow into the fight.
Or Rooster, and the size of his cock, you’d joked quietly one evening. The way he seemed so scandalised and as the devil crept into his gold eyes, the grin behind his growing moustache was seen to be believed. Not many people knew that about the version of it, you shared, and when you’d learned he’d been adorned with it, whoever gave him the callsign would rue the day of the double entendre. One of life’s funny coincidences and Bradley wouldn’t wipe the devious smile off his face when you’d christened him with it.
When Violet was three, you found out Olivia was going to come into the world punching. Now both tweens and the baby-making days were well behind you both, you felt like you were starting to live your lives again, not bogged down with school runs, weeknight ballet, gymnastics, basketball, softball, soccer and whatever else they were desperate to try. Both athletic like their father, you felt like a taxi when Bradley was away, running the girls from one thing to the next, the sweet solace sometimes found when both girls were away from home at sleepovers and the like.
They were the nights you couldn’t wait to introduce to Bradley. A date night, Jesus, wine on the couch uninterrupted for a drop-off or pick up to what was for dinner or “Mama, I have an assignment due tomorrow and I haven’t started.”
Recalling when your period was late after about two cycles after going off birth control, you kind of hoped it was the drama of irregular periods and what it brought. It was why you went on the pill in the first place in your teens.
But there was something different while you channel surfed and Bradley cooked in the kitchen. A strange cramping in your tummy. Not unbearable, but noticeable as you sat up, a little perplexed. It was too early for a period and you weren’t ovulating. Popping up, you joined Bradley in the kitchen, wrapping your arms around his hips to kiss between his shoulder blades. He smiled, turning back for a quick peck before you quietly excused yourself to do a pregnancy test. And you weren’t entirely surprised when it revealed you were 1-2 weeks pregnant. And you weren’t entirely surprised when you showed him the positive pregnancy test after dinner that still certainly said PREGNANT in fat, bold letters.
“It tells you how many weeks?” Bradley was astonished.
“Clever, huh?” you said quietly. Bradley watched you, he looked at the test, begging it wasn’t about to flash NOT PREGNANT and he’d read incorrectly – but he gazed back at you. Unreadable at best, erring on the side of too quiet. Reserved, he had trouble reading you sometimes, and this was one he'd need you to talk through. He needed to know exactly what was going on through your head.
“You good?” he asked softly, grasping the test in his strong palm. It was so small, but it held his world in his grip. He put the test down to caress your jaw, forcing your gaze to him. “Baby…” his fingers light as they had sunk into the hair at the nape of your neck. “Sweetheart,” he called to you.
“I think I am. It’s just… quick," you surrender, falling into his sound touch. And he was due to leave within weeks. You were 23, you had only just found the job of your dreams -
“It is quick,” Bradley agreed, kissing your hair. “Is it too quick?”
“Maybe…” you admitted as he pressed a kiss into your temple and wrapped his strong arms around you. He felt so warm and so protective as he held you without question, you really couldn’t imagine life without him right there. What if something happened on tour, what if -
“If it’s too soon, that’s okay," he said softly.
You looked up at him, trying to placate your growing fear. What if he never came home? “I just thought we’d have more time maybe.”
He bit back his smile and sighed. “Sweetheart, is this what you want? If you're not ready - if you have changed your mind - ”
“I’m not sure.”
He nodded. “That’s okay.”
Well, it wasn’t – it was a choice you’d actively made together. To make love, to make a baby. The liberty of changing your mind seemed so incredibly unfair to you and Bradley after you were both so sure this was what you wanted. “I think I just need some time,” you admitted, cutting him off. “Just to get used to it all happening.”
Bradley softened. He in no way felt like it was his place to speak. He could not hold you and whisper that whatever you decided was okay, and he would support you with anything you decided.
“What if this is our only chance?” You asked quietly. “What if - ” You shut your mouth and the guilt of the situation started to overwhelm you, Bradley chose to remain mute. “Would you hate me?”
“No. Oh sweetheart,” he kissed your hair. “But I would never live with myself if I forced you to do something you weren’t ready for. Come,” he took your hands and led you to the bedroom. He helped you take off your clothes and change into your oversized nightie, his large palm lingering gently over your abdomen for just a second longer than he should have… his baby in your soft belly.
He pulled back the duvet and patted your pillow. You snuck under the cold sheets and he climbed in after you, the scorching skin of his chest against your back. His fingertips traced your hip, slowly drawing his name on your skin. "If you don't want to do this, it's okay. But it's still something you'll need to consider..."
"I want this," you were able to say, but it was easier with him not boring his eyes into yours. He kissed your shoulder and nuzzled the nape of your neck. “I think…”
"I love you," he said so softly you almost didn't hear him. “I won't let you do this alone. Whatever you decide, I’m right there with you.”
But with a belly of arms and legs and your sheepish husband standing before you a few months later, you screeched, "You're getting deployed?" you looked at Bradley, eyes wild, six months of baby belly all that separated you. His head fell back.
"I know."
"You know?" you mimicked sarcastically, spoiled for months of your husband home with flight and combat training simulations and he finds himself deployed as you enter your final trimester. "Bradley, you'll be away for the birth of your daughter."
"I know..." he said a little meeker. He was sick about this conversation. Sick.
"Did you not put in the leave paperwork?"
"Of course I did,” he did, he did. Didn’t he? Shit, he doubted himself for one second but in this instance knew beggars couldn’t be choosers and he had his leave approved, but he also had his orders and he was so close really getting into it.
His career was on such a sheer trajectory, his head was swimming with its force.
“Is anyone going with you?”
"Payback, Phoenix," he confirmed softly.
“Will you be home for Christmas?”
He nodded. “Yes,” he stepped towards you, his large palms sinking into the round belly under his grasp, tickling the stretching skin. You sighed and collapsed into his hold.
“I’m just scared. The birth is one thing… but I can’t raise our baby on my own,” you said, the fear in your voice evident.
“And I’d never let you,” he whispered into your hair.
"If you see one ounce of action, I swear, don't dare come home."
He nodded. Dear God, he knew.
“Come on, Mama, give it to me,” Bradley urged as he held your ribs, thumbs toying with your nipples, that delicate roll of your hips grinding down on him as the sun started to rise. Neither of you slept even though you were both exhausted, you wanted to ground yourselves together before the madness of the day commenced. Between lovemaking, different positions and so much mess, you just chatted quietly, catching the other up on what they missed, knowing full well you would be next to useless for the lunch Penny was putting on with Mav (you were flying out in a few days to spend New Year with your parents). “Look at you, as sexy as the day I met you,” he continued, chewing his lower lip – he was close but we wouldn’t cum until you did. “Pretty little thing.”
Bradley had leaned into the whole encouragement during sex – and you will credit him for bringing out a wilder side you never knew you had in you – his voice still made your stomach flip flop and how off, give him everything he deserved in your shared pleasure and more.
“Mama, is Daddy home?” you heard a screech from upstairs. Olivia. Daddy’s girl. “His bag is at the door!” A prompise Bradley had always made his girls was he would wake them even if it was the dead of night to reassure them he was home.
Last night… he did not.
Bradley’s eyes flicked open as you paused above him, knowing your girls were unlikely to burst in but also… Dad was home and maybe, just maybe they were likely to run in excitedly. He rolled you off him quickly and you landed with such a lack of grace that he snorted and he tossed his tee at you, hitting you square in the face. He scoffed another chuckle as he reached for his discarded boxer briefs and stood to height, still hard but if you knew him, visualising the worst of the worst to settle. “I’m home. I’ll be right out, just need to hit the bathroom, girls,” he carefully called back, starting for the door and snuck a look back at you. “You got five minutes; I know I can’t hold those two wildcats back from a tree with presents under it.”
You nodded with a grin as you pulled the shirt over your head and moved towards the en suite but not before changing direction and stopping him before he went to see his girls and pulling an old Lakers singlet over his – god, so many golden muscles. “Merry Christmas, Bradley,” you tenderly traced an ab or eight and he smiled, bending to kiss you. “Last night was so good. Been a while since we had a night like that.”
He chuckled lightly against your lips. Pride evident, he shrugged. “I miss the days we’d fuck for hours,” he sighed, low. “We’re going away, just you and me. Okay?”
“I can’t wait, handsome,” you told him as he kissed you again -
“Dad?” Violet now.
“At ease, Captain,” you told him as he playfully did as instructed, kissed your forehead softly and let the reign of terror commence, greeting his darling girls after months apart with excited hugs, kisses and giggles.
“I missed my girls,” you heard Bradley rumble. And it was always the same, the way he’d swallow back the emotion of seeing how much he’d missed. “You two have to stop growing, okay?”
“Or you could stop traveling,” Olivia said, often quite vocal about how often her dad was away.
Hearing your name as you straightened in front of the mirror a few minutes later, brushing your mussed hair and impatient with the slight burn Bradley’s moustache caused on your upper lip (pussy and thighs but that was a tale for another day), you wrapped yourself in your light gown. You breathed and headed to the living room to start your Christmas morning, your girls perched in front of the tree, the lights still fading in and out after a night left on, and your husband safe and sound on the couch. He winked, the happiest man on the planet with his three girls, everything exactly where it belonged.
dying to know how reader reacted to finding out she was pregnant in the boyfriend experience uni 😫 likeeee ik she wasn’t ready for kids in uncle brooster but bradley was so were there mixed feelings abt it? especially since there was no telling when he’d be deployed again
Hi nonny, I don’t know where you are in the cosmos. But this is for you x
A/N I forgot I had this. I don't have the time this close to Xmas/at all to proof/improve so for those of you still in the TGM, I hope you enjoy and merry merry, happy happy xx
“Roll the dice,” you reiterate to Bradley. “If we get pregnant, great. If we don’t…”
“It’s you and me and we are great with that,” Bradley answered, the faintest glint of hope in his shining honey eyes.
You knew he was on Team Baby. He wasn't pressing it; he couldn’t. That wasn’t fair to you… to him or anyone else. You’d said your piece well before you got engaged, and well before today.
The day you married him.
But in the back of the afterglow of lovemaking as husband and wife, you’d told him you’d go off birth control after your honeymoon if he still wanted to try for a baby. You didn’t want it to be immediate, you wanted to enjoy being married and the fun that came with it. And Bradley agreed. You didn’t want to be thinking about periods and not drinking and having the time of your lives. Bradley was busier with work now than ever before, and with the work extensions complete, new staffing, and more small business to take care of, even though you were together every night? You were still doing your own things, barely getting into bed at the same time.
Thing was, you were only hoping to be a newlywed once - marriage wasn't as big a thing for you as it was for Bradley. And even babies. You loved your niece and nephew and Uncle Brooster was fantastic with them - it always left a pang in your heart that he would be such a good father. But even he admitted he wouldn't have the first idea of how to do it since his dad wasn't around when he was growing up and Maverick wasn't exactly an example of patriarchal learning.
You didn’t want to add the stress of calculating ovulation even if an app would do it for you, the disappointment of periods coming… you just wanted to have fun fucking, and pleasing each other as you moved into the next phase of your lives. The stress Annie went through and the lengths she was going to with IVF therapies - overwhelming hormones, nausea, mood swings, sore boobs, abdominal discomfort. God, when you had a difficult period, you could assume similarly but as Annie went through her treatments, at a fairly young age, it was eye-opening at best.
You remembered one sentence so vividly that it scared you to your bones, “When your biological clock starts… it’s all that your brain hears. You can’t undo it and it messes with your head.”
See? Terrifying. Fair for all involved.
But when your period was late after about two periods since going off birth control, you kind of hoped it was the drama of irregular periods and what it brought. It was why you went on the pill in the first place in your teens.
But there was something different as you channel surfed and Bradley cooked in the (motherfucking, finally renovated) kitchen. A strange cramping in your tummy. Not unbearable, but noticeable as you pressed against the pulsating pressure and made a face. Sighing, you unfolded yourself from the couch and moved to your handsome husband. You tenderly kissed between his shoulder blades and he gave an over the top shudder, as you giggled into his skin. He put his utensil down and turned to you, holding your chin in his calloused bug hand and giving you a quick peck before you quietly excused yourself, but not yet willing to admit to him it was to do a pregnancy test. And you weren’t entirely surprised when it revealed you were 1-2 weeks pregnant. And you weren’t entirely surprised when you showed him the positive pregnancy test after dinner that still certainly said PREGNANT in fat, bold letters.
“It tells you how many weeks?” Bradley was astonished, his eyes glued to the digital reading before him.
“Clever, huh?” you said quietly. Bradley’s honey eyes flicked to regard you. Unreadable at best, erring on the side of too quiet. Reserved, but not disappointed, he had trouble reading you sometimes, and this was one he'd need you to talk through. He needed to know exactly what was going on through your head.
“You good?” he asked softly, grasping the test in his strong palm. It was so small but it held his world in his grip. He put the test down to caress your jaw, forcing your gaze to him. “Love…” his fingers light as they sunk into the hair at the nape of your neck. “My sweet girl,” he called to you.
“I think I am. It’s just… quick," you surrender, falling into his sound touch.
“It is quick,” Bradley agreed, kissing your hair. “Is it too quick?”
“Maybe…” you admitted as he pressed a kiss into your temple and wrapped his strong arms around you. He felt too warm and he protected you without question, you really couldn’t imagine life without him right there.
“If it’s too soon, that’s okay," he said softly.
“I saw how hard it was for Annie and just expected we’d be on our own a bit longer. Genetics and shit."
He bit back his smile and your inadvertent joke, or necessary sarcasm. Bradley hummed. “I think your genetics are pretty fine, if you ask me.”
Eyes rolling in corny, you muttered his name as a warning that jokes were unnecessary at this time.
“Okay, okay,” he answered, palms up, teasing off. He knew you were withholding and he knew he was holding everything back in his body not to go over the top with the excitement bubbling in his entire being. “Love, is this what you want? If you're not ready - if you have changed your mind - ”
I just need some time,” you admitted, cutting him off. “Just to get used to…” your voice trailed.
Bradley nodded. He in no way felt like it was his place to speak and as the facial one between the pair of you? Well. So he just continued to hold you and whisper that whatever you decided was okay, and he would support you with anything you decided, a lot or not he wasn’t sure. He thought you were on the same page. He thought you both wanted this -
Like you, his insides were much and could feel himself lightheaded. He grounded himself and carefully reminded himself this wasn’t about him for now. It was getting your beautifully convoluted brain and heart to the same place his was:
Ready.
“What if this is our only chance?” You asked quietly. “What if - “ you shut your mouth and the guilt of situation started to overwhelm you. Bradley only hummed, still choosing to remain mute. “Would you hate me?”
He remained reflective a moment, choosing his words carefully his best option.
“No, love. But I would never live with myself if I forced you to do something you weren’t ready for. Come,” he took your hands and led you to the bedroom. He helped you take off your clothes, his large palm resting gently over your abdomen for just a second longer than he should have and it didn’t go unnoticed by you.
His baby in your protective, strong body.
He pulled back the duvet and patted your pillow as you snuck under the cold sheets, thinking maybe you could sleep a year. He climbed in after you, the warm skin of his chest against your back under the slowly spinning ceiling fan. His fingertips traced your hip, slowly drawing his name on your skin. "If you don't want to do this, it's okay.”
There was your voice of reason.
“But it's still something you'll need to consider pretty quick..."
Always offering you both sides.
It was silent a while and while Bradley’s excitement was guarded carefully, even he knew this conversation was not the light and excited one he thought you’d share instead.
"I want this," you were able to say, but it was easier with him not boring his eyes into yours. He kissed your shoulder and nuzzled the nape of your neck.
"I love you," he said so softly you almost didn't hear him. "I won't let you do this alone."
The fateful night you told your family and the Dagger Squad was when it really started to feel real. Your pregnancy to that point has been pretty good. You only turned green as food cooked around you so it was easy to excuse yourself and the extreme exhaustion that overwhelmed you the first trimester slinked away entering the second. You weren’t horribly unwell but things were definitely changing within you.
Boobs sore and off limits to Bradley even though he’d playfully volunteered his palms but your personal support system. It went about as well as expected.
“Just ginger ale tonight?” Bob smiled a while later. You’d been chatting quietly together while Bradley’s squad played pool and generally one-upped each other around you.
“What do you mean?” God, you hated lying to such a delight as Bob. He was so sweet, and although Bradley had alluded to his well-guarded playboy-like ways, he was always darling to you.
“I have four sisters,” he sipped his water. “She pretended she was drinking bourbon and ginger ale to throw everyone off the scent she was…” he chuckled quietly and you’d be damned if you’d figured him out. “It’s okay,” he said quickly. “I understand if you’re just not drinking tonight.”
And while your family was aware of your news, Bradley had sworn not to tell his friends just yet. You weren’t ready to be looked in on 24/7 by overzealous Navy pilots.
“Nearly four months,” you said quietly.
“Phoenix guessed a little less,” he winked. “I won’t tell, but I’m very happy for you both. This baby will be so loved. Or smothered,” he shrugged playfully. “One of the two.”
“Bob?”
“Yes, ma’am?” He responded as you rolled your eyes playfully.
“This is how you do it, isn’t it?”
“Do what?” He played dumb.
“Find women. Because you watch and listen.” And suddenly it all made such sense as he blushed, toying with his glass.
“I can’t reveal all my trade secrets, but showing a little interest helps,” he admitted.
“I wanna know all your tricks. You’re absolutely fascinating to me.”
And for the first time, you heard Bob Floyd cackle as he nodded. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but that’s never gonna happen.”
"You're getting deployed?" you look at Bradley, eyes wild, six months of baby belly between you. His head fell back.
"I know."
"You know?" you screeched, spoiled for months of your husband home and he finds himself deployed as you enter your final trimester. "Bradley, you'll be away for the birth of your daughter."
"I know..." he said a little meeker. He was sick about this conversation. Sick.
"Did you not put in the leave paperwork?"
"Of course I did. Baby, this classification is my first real role as team leader. As command.”
"Who's going with you?"
"Payback, Fanboy," he confirmed softly.
“Will you be home for Christmas?”
He nodded. “Yes,” he stepped towards you, his large palms sinking into the round belly under his grasp, tickling the stretching skin. You sighed and collapsed into his hold. “Even if I have to jump overboard and swim back myself, I will be here for Christmas. I’m sorry, love. I’m so sorry.”
“I’m just scared. The birth is one thing… but I can’t raise a baby in my own,” you said, the fear in your evident.
“And I’d never let you,” he whispered into your hair.
"If you see one ounce of action, I swear to you, don't dare come home."
He nodded. Dear God, he knew. The most danger Bradley Bradshaw had ever been in was at this moment. And as his baby girl kicked him from her little cocoon in retaliation for making her Mama wild, he knew that nothing g else mattered anymore and that someway, somehow he was going to find a way to be home for his girls.
