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#rooster imagine
roosterforme · 9 hours
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Go Big or Go Home | Rooster x Reader
Summary: Once your husband gets going, it's hard to reel him in again. Now that you've told everyone that you're pregnant, you realize he's always going to go a little over the top for you and the baby. But you let him get away with it, because nothing feels quite as important as the love he has for you.
Warnings: Fluff, swearing, slight angst, pregnancy topics
Length: 2000 words
Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader
This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.
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You sat in a lounge chair on your back patio, sipping some Gatorade in your oversized sunglasses and watching your sweaty husband doing yard work. He started out an hour ago with a shirt on, but he discarded that in favor of showing off his glistening torso for your entertainment. At least that's what you told yourself. 
"Roo! Come take a break!"
Bradley turned and looked at you as he wiped his brow with his forearm. "Sweetheart. No breaks. I want to get as much done as I can around here now so you don't have to worry about it later."
You sighed. He was going to wear himself out with projects leading up to his deployment. You loved that he wanted to leave you without a dripping faucet in the kitchen and without weeds in the backyard, but sending him off away in a few days if he wasn't well rested was going to spell disaster.
"If I need something done while you're away, I'll call Jake or Cam."
Bradley scoffed but dropped the rake he was using and headed your way in his low slung jeans. "I can't let another man do my yard work. That absolutely goes against guy code." He started to lean down for a kiss, and he smelled so good, you moaned before he even touched you. "Hey now," he said with a smirk, pausing a few inches from your lips. "I have an idea."
"Tell me," you whined.
His smirk grew. "Something that might successfully lure me away from my projects?"
"Yes, we can fuck," you told him immediately, but instead of kissing your lips, he chuckled and dropped to his knees next to your lounger and ran his nose along your shirt. 
"Hold that thought, because we will be doing that later." He nudged the shirt fabric up until his lips met the bare skin of your belly, kissing his new favorite spot on your body. "Hey, little Nugget," he whispered, and your heart melted as you ran your fingers through his sweaty hair. "Think Mommy will go for our scheme?"
You laughed. "You're scheming with the baby? Already?"
"Oh yeah," he told you with a serious nod. "Here's what we're gonna do."
"This should be good," you muttered as he kissed you one more time before pulling your shirt back down.
"How about instead of chores, we spend the rest of the day shopping for baby stuff?"
You took a deep breath and let it out slowly. You were just barely into your second trimester, and it felt early to be buying too many things at this point, but the eager look on Bradley's face had you agreeing. "I'll let you pick out one thing."
His eyes lit up, and you should have known what was coming. "Let's make it five things."
"Bradley," you groaned, and he started kissing your lips in earnest until you giggled. "Fine! Three things! Final offer!"
"Sold."
-----------------------------
"I love this store," Bradley said as he held your hand and walked around the enormous baby depot.
"You've only been here one time!" you reminded him. "And we were shopping for a gift for someone else's baby."
He recalled that day perfectly. It was when you and he both admitted you wanted kids, and he hadn't stopped thinking about expanding his family with you since then. "I still love it," he said, pulling you toward the baby clothes. He desperately wanted to buy his child their first outfit, but he didn't know what would be suitable. Something told him he'd know what he wanted when he saw it.
The main issue he was having right now was your libido. He'd skipped a shower in favor of coming right here, and somehow you seemed even worse than usual. Even more wound up. "You smell so good," you whispered, pressing yourself against him as soon as he stopped to look around. Even as he throbbed for you, he told himself he needed to stay on task.
"Baby Girl, I will let you do anything you want to me," he swore, and your eyes glittered. "Later. After I pick out my three things for the Nugget."
"Well, hurry up," you whispered, running your fingers low on his abs while he looked at some onesies. "I'm horny."
He kissed the top of your head and guided you along. "I know you are. I won't leave you hanging." And he wouldn't. He'd be gone soon, sent away to some undisclosed location for some undisclosed amount of time where he'd have no access to you or the Nugget. He'd give you everything you wanted and needed right now, but this little shopping trip was something for him. He needed this. There was always the fear in the back of his mind that he might not return. 
"These are cute sunglasses," you mused, still running one hand along his body. "Little aviators."
Bradley felt like his insides were going to melt as you held up the tiniest pair of sunglasses he'd ever seen in his life. "Holy shit," he muttered when you handed them to him. "These are fucking adorable, Sweetheart. Good find. Our baby is going to look so damn cool."
"What did I tell you about swearing so much?" you said as you rubbed your face on his shirt. Bradley knew you were a ticking time bomb at the moment. He needed to make his selections and get you out before you started to whine for him.
"I'll fucking behave," he replied, making you laugh. And that was when he saw it. The perfect onesie. His child needed to have it. He made a beeline toward the shelf and snatched it up as you followed behind him.
"That's cute!" you said, running your fingers along the airplane and the clouds that spelled out Aim for the Sky. The clothing sizes went by months, which was very confusing to him. Surely the baby wouldn't be growing that fast? Needing new clothing every few weeks?
"Just to be sure," he muttered, grabbing the onesie in several sizes. "Okay, that's item number one of three."
"Technically that looks like four items to me, Bradley. Why are you getting so many onesies?"
"In case the Nugget grows at super speeds. I'm going to want to take a million photos of this outfit."
When he gave you his saddest eyes, you groaned and said, "Fine. Nugget's first outfit has been acquired. Pick two more items, and we can go home and get in bed."
With a grin, he started to lead you around the store. He wanted to get the baby a toy, but he wasn't sure which would be the best. Jake had been telling him about everything he wanted to buy for Jeremiah, and some of it sounded fun, but once again, he wanted the Nugget to have something unique. One of a kind. Only the best shit for his kid.
"Oh my god!" he exclaimed, thrusting the onesies and aviators into your hands and running to the end of the aisle. "That's it!" He was hitting the enormous box with his palm over and over again. "Look at this! It's perfect!"
"Roo, it's five hundred bucks, and the baby won't even be able to use it for a few years," you warned, but it was too late. He was already sliding the box from the shelf and carrying it to the front of the store. "Bradley!"
"It's one of my three items! Now help guide me. This thing is massive."
With great joy, he paid for the orange Bronco Power Wheels and carried the box out to his full sized blue Bronco and fit it in the back while you held the bag containing the onesies and sunglasses. "I am so afraid to ask what your third item is going to be," you said as he struggled to make the box fit. But he had an idea. He'd had an idea for ages. It was part of the reason he had been trying to clean up the backyard a little bit more and even out the soil next to the shed.
When he closed the tailgate, he kissed your forehead gently. "There's nothing to be afraid of," he said calmly as he buckled you in the passenger seat and leaned down to kiss your belly. "The Nugget and I know exactly what to get."
You rolled your eyes and then asked what he was scheming up now. You asked the entire way home what he was going to buy, and he was only able to finally distract you once he had his clothes off in the bedroom. "Don't worry about it, Baby Girl. Worry about the fact that you won't be able to walk straight in half an hour."
----------------------------
Bradley never told you what else he was going to buy, but later that night, you had the suspicion that it had already been purchased. You spent the evening with him out in the garage, sitting on his bench press and eating a bag of pretzels while he put the Power Wheels together on a tarp on the floor. 
"Can't leave the baby out," he muttered as he screwed the doors on. "Now we all have our own Bronco."
He looked adorable, his hair messy from how you'd had your fingers tangled in it, and the eager look on his face was something you'd desperately miss when he was gone. "The box says ages three to seven," you reminded him before you bit into a pretzel, but he just grunted in response. "And what if the Nugget doesn't like Broncos?" you asked just to tease him, earning a glare in response.
"The baby will have impeccable taste," he muttered, turning the page in the instruction booklet. "Broncos and hot sauce and airplanes."
You waited a few seconds until he looked very distracted, and then you softly asked, "What's the third thing you bought?"
He hummed as he located the set of screws he would need for the hood. "You'll see soon enough. It's being delivered tomorrow."
Tomorrow was Monday. He was leaving on Wednesday. "It's not something big that will need to be assembled like the Power Wheels, right?" He had the guiltiest expression on his face as he turned to look up at you. "Right?" you repeated. "Bradley!"
You got your answer the following morning when you were squeezing into your new uniform pants which were a size larger than your old ones. You were dreading the thought of having to start wearing a maternity uniform to work and went with new pants to buy yourself some time. You froze with your zipper halfway pulled up and called out to Bradley in the kitchen. "What's that sound?"
"Uh... it's the third thing for the Nugget being delivered," he replied, and you immediately headed for your front door and the repetitive beeping sound coming from outside. "Don't freak out," he said as he came up behind you as you wrenched the front door open. 
Bradley had already seemingly moved both Broncos to the street in anticipation of the forklift that was moving wooden pallets wrapped up in plastic onto the driveway. "Do I even want to know?" you whispered as the forklift backed up to scoop another pallet off of the truck that was parked in the middle of your street. 
He wrapped his arms around you from behind and let his hands rest on your bloated belly while he nuzzled your ear. "It's a thirty-seven piece jungle gym playset for the backyard."
"A thirty-seven piece...."
"The Nugget and I both really wanted it."
You pinched the bridge of your nose as your dog plopped down next to your feet, and the three of you watched the forklift make several more trips up the driveway. "Don't you dare try to buy anything else right now. Do you understand me?"
---------------------------
Nothing says 'Bradley's child' quite like baby's first Bronco. And he's so precious, he's already built the thing. He's been daydreaming about the playset for long enough that it was bound to happen, too. Let's send him on this deployment and get him back home to his wifey and his Nugget. Stay tuned for more! Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls
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bloatedandalone04 · 2 days
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Midnight Rain
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➪the one where bradley is the best boyfriend you could ever ask for, but even he can’t fully erase the bad memories of your last relationship.
Warnings: fluff, smut, angst, oral (f receiving), mentions/descriptions of bad past relationships, mentions of abuse, past abuse, toxic ex, trauma?, bad coping habits, arguments, crying, swearing
Word Count: 3.6k
Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡
Bradley Bradshaw is the love of your life. 
While you had no plans of ever leaving him, you still knew that no other love you could ever have will live up to him. 
He completely flipped your world upside down and opened your eyes to everything you thought you knew about love. Well, turns out you knew nothing about it before. 
He showed you with every sentence, with every word and action that he loved you and cared so deeply for you, neither of you knew what to do with it. 
It was almost overwhelming. 
Almost. 
It was nearing ten in the morning, and you probably would have slept for even longer if it weren’t for the way Bradley was softly pressing kisses to the skin of your bare shoulder. 
The quiet moan you let out had him grinning and pulling you against him so your back was pressed to his chest, and his arms enclosed around you as he murmured, “Happy birthday, baby,” deeply next to your ear. 
His morning voice had you moaning again as you kept your eyes closed and reached a hand behind you to grab hold of his hair. You blindly guide him into a kiss that had him releasing a content hum before pulling away. “It’s just another day,” you mumble before burying your face back in your pillow. “Sleep with me for a bit longer.”
Really, you hadn’t been sleeping for long. He had kept you up well into the early hours of the morning in the best way he knew how to. So you couldn’t be blamed for wanting to stay in bed with him, but in a different way this time. 
Bradley laughed quietly and pushed your hair away from your neck so he could lean in and kiss along your skin. “Not a chance,” he muttered. “Today's my favorite holiday.”
You scoff but are powerless to stop the smile from taking over your face. “My birthday is not a holiday,”
But he just shuts you up with another kiss to your lips. This one was deeper than the last, and when Bradley rolled you onto your back, you opened your legs and allowed him to settle his body in between them. “It's the most important day of the year,” he said against your mouth. “The love of my life was born on this day, twenty nine years ago.”
You cover your face with your hands and groan. “Don’t remind me how old I am,”
Now it was Bradley’s turn to scoff. “Are you forgetting that I’m four and a half years older than you?” He asked and took both your wrists in one hand, pinning them above your head on the pillow. “Now, will you let me go down on you before taking you out for breakfast?” 
You blush and nod almost instantly, any and all ounces of sleep disappearing from your body. “Is this my birthday present?” You ask, already breathless from the way he keeps your hands pinned as he kisses his way down your body. 
“No,” he answered as he used his free hand to pull back the sheets that were covering your naked body. “Tell me, baby, are you sore from last night?”
He was referring to the way he fucked you for hours last night as if he hadn’t seen you in months, when in reality he’s been home from deployment for over two weeks now. 
Still, Bradley wasn’t a slacker in bed. He wasn’t satisfied until you were, and if that meant railing you until two in the morning, then that’s fine by him. 
“Just a bit,” you reply and bite down on your lip when he hums and leans in to gently run his tongue down your folds. Your body jolts when he does it again, and the small smirk he wore had you whining. “Feels good.”
Bradley made a noise of approval and began to circle your clit with the tip of his tongue. You bend your knees so your feet are planted on the bed at either side of his shoulders, and you push up against his hand. 
He lets go of your wrists and almost immediately your hands find home in his hair. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he practically begged, not wanting to ever push you past your limits and provide you with discomfort rather than pleasure. 
“Okay,” you breathe, knowing he would stop if you didn’t give him a verbal response, and you would probably cry if he did. 
Bradley was amazing at eating you out, and he left you craving more and more each time. The first time he did it, back on the third date, you were left clinging onto his bedsheets and crying out so all his neighbors could hear. You were embarrassed about it a while after, but Bradley was all over you for the rest of the night, successfully pushing your worries and insecurities aside. 
In fact, the last time you felt super insecure about yourself was about two years ago, just before your second date with him. He’s made you feel like the most important person in his life ever since then, so you had no reason to feel like you weren’t good enough around him.
“Oh, God,” you moaned when he worked you open with his fingers until you were taking them to the knuckle. He wraps his arms around your thighs and pulls you closer to his face and pretty much buries himself in you. 
He enjoyed this as much as you do, and that much was obvious with every stroke of his tongue as he got you off with his mouth and fingers. 
You were a panting mess when he pulled away and kissed you deeply, and were lightheaded when he tugged you off his bed and towards the bathroom, where he had you stay still as he washed your body in the shower. 
You were still reeling from the morning’s events when Bradley guided you into the Hard Deck later. Your fingers were loosely laced with his as both your friends and his wished you a happy birthday. 
Phoenix was staring at your necklace that Bradley had given you just before you arrived, and she teased him for branding you as his own with the simple ‘B’ that was attached to the chain, but you both knew that she was probably your biggest supporter. 
Nat had actually been the one to give him enough confidence to ask you out, and that was something she proudly held over his head since it worked out extremely well for him. 
As the night went on, you got a bit bored of the music coming from the jukebox, and Bradley took it upon himself to unplug it and sit down at the piano. He pulled you onto his lap and reached around you to begin playing the chords of your favorite song that turned into the birthday song towards the end. 
You blushed and turned to bury your face against his neck as he kissed your forehead, not used to the attention being solely on you for so long. 
Before Bradley came into your life, you were in a pretty rough place. You had just gotten out of a bad relationship a few months prior to meeting him, and you thought you would’ve needed at least a few years to move on from what you endured from your ex, but you were proven wrong. 
Bradley tried his best to make you forget about your pathetic excuse of an ex boyfriend, who laid his hands on you more than once in the three years you were with him. 
You felt stupid for staying with a man who very clearly didn’t love you, but back then you felt like it was as good as it was gonna get. 
Oh, how wrong you were. Bradley was very good at proving just how wrong you are about a lot of things regarding your ex. 
“Happy birthday,” Bradley said for the fifth time since waking you up. His lips were peppering kisses all along your skin as he pressed his body close to yours against the railing outside the Hard Deck. 
“Thank you,” came your breathy reply as his lips trailed all over your neck. “This is probably the best birthday I’ve had in a while. Well, this one and my last two, all thanks to you. You make everything better.”
Bradley pulled away with a smile and caressed your jaw with his fingers. “You make everything better, too, baby. I can’t remember who I was without you,” he confessed and leaned down to kiss the side of your head. “A prick, probably.”
You shake your head and jump up, the way he effortlessly caught you making you feel a bit light headed. You were sure you would never get over how strong he is. “You weren’t a prick, Bradley,” you say and kiss all over his face. “I know you weren’t. You’re far too kind and sweet and caring to be a prick.”
He grinned up at you and secured his arms around your middle as you cling onto his shoulders. “I think you’re the sweet one,” he mumbled and began walking towards the parking lot. “Let me take you home?”
You practically moaned at his question and nod, kissing him multiple times before pulling away. “Please, take me home,” 
-
Tears burned your eyes as you used the key Bradley gave you to unlock his front door. 
You had the worst day possible at work, and it only got worse the more you thought about it. Everything that could’ve possibly gone wrong did, and you felt like you were on the verge of a full on breakdown. 
Swiping furiously at your eyes, you try to blink away the oncoming tears as you drop your key into your bag and set it down near the door. 
You just wanted Bradley. After a terrible fucking day, all you wanted was your sweet and far too caring for his own good boyfriend. 
And it seemed like you were getting him. “Baby?” He called out from the kitchen. “Is that you?”
You were a bit scared to try out your voice, since you spent the whole twenty minute drive here sobbing. “Yeah,” you weakly say back, cringing at your hoarse voice. 
A silence followed your response, and a few seconds go by before you hear Bradley’s footsteps near the doorway. “Baby?” He said again, and you squeeze your eyes shut as you keep your back turned to him. “What’s wrong?”
You bite down on your lip as you prepare yourself to allow your boyfriend to see you in this state. Turning to face him, you dig your nails into your palms and shrug, watching as his eyes widen and he tosses the dish towel he was using to dry his hands somewhere behind him. 
“Hey,” he rasped, taking one stride towards you and wrapping you up in his arms. “What’s wrong? What happened, baby?” 
“Bradley,” you cried as you pressed your face against his chest. “Today’s been terrible.” 
He cradled the back of your head with one hand while his other ran up and down your back. “Why?” He softly asked. “What happened?” 
Your body shook against his, unstoppable tears flowing down your scrunched up face. “Everything went wrong,” you sobbed, leaning into your boyfriend’s touch when he used his thumb to wipe away your tears. “Mandy forgot to get the presentation ready for today, and when it was time to go up and deliver it, I was the one who got blamed for it.”
Mandy was your slacking co-worker, and she’s made problems for you many times in the past. That was just one of the reasons Bradley strongly disliked her. 
That and the way she always flirts with him whenever he goes with you to your work parties, despite him arriving with you under his arm. 
“I had my things ready, I was prepared, and she completely threw me under the fucking bus,” you continued, finding a small bit of comfort in the way Bradley ran his hand up your back until it began massaging your shoulder. “I got screamed at in front of everybody, and she just laughed. She laughed, Bradley.”
He scoffed, “Yeah, well, I never liked her, so I’m not surprised,” he muttered. “And I’ve never liked your choice of work, you’re surrounded by fucking idiots there that take advantage of you.”
You stay quiet as you let him gently rock you back and forth, and already you are feeling better now that you are with him. 
“I’m sorry you had such a bad day, sweet girl,” he murmured, kissing the top of your head as your cries quieted down. “What can I do to make it better?”
You shake your head, placing your hands on his biceps and pressing yourself closer to him. “You’ve already done it, Bradley,” you whisper, closing your eyes as the weight of the day comes crashing down onto you. “Just being with you is enough.”
 Bradley kissed your head again and abandoned whatever task he was doing in the kitchen as he guided you towards his living room. “Let me take care of you,” he requested in a quiet voice, gesturing for you to sit down on the couch. “Do you want me to make you something?”
You shake your head and lay back on the pillows he had scattered on the couch, one of the few things he had around that made the house look lived in. “I just want you,” you pathetically answer, even though you knew he would never think you were that. “I want to lay with you.”
Bradley nodded and leaned down, caressing your jaw in both hands as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Okay,” he mumbled. “I gotta go turn the oven off, then I’ll come lay with you, okay? We can put a movie on or something.”
You nod in agreement, and he leaves the room, picking up the dish towel on the way back to the kitchen. He was back in under a minute, and then he was gently laying down on top of you, careful to not put too much of his body weight on you. 
Honestly, you wouldn’t care. You wanted him to crush you with his weight right now, you were so desperate to feel that he was with you at the moment. 
Bradley wraps his arms around you and presses his face against the side of your neck as he whispers, “I love you,” 
You bury your nose in his shirt, inhaling the intoxicating scent that only belonged to Bradley. “I love you, too,” you say back, leaning into the way he peppered kisses all along the skin of your neck. 
-
“I can’t believe you right now,” Bradley muttered as he threw his keys onto the table next to the front door. 
You stay silent as you hover near the still open door, your eyes guarded and your fingers picking at the skin around your nails. 
At your lack of response, Bradley turned to you with a huff, lifting his arms in a quick shrug. “Well? Are you going to say anything?”
You chew on your lip as you meet his eyes. “What do you want me to say?”
He lets out a humorless laugh as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “What do I want you to say? What do I want you to say,” he echoed, dropping his hand abruptly afterwards. “I want you to explain to me why I had to basically carry you out of that fucking restaurant because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut.”
Your smart remark dies on your tongue and you quickly look away as you feel the heat rush to your face. 
Bradley was beyond pissed at you right now, and you suppose he had the right to be, but you hated fighting with him. You always tried to avoid getting into arguments, because you were both stubborn and it didn’t make it easy to win said arguments, though you both tried to every time. 
“What? Got nothing to say now?” He mocked and shrugged off his jacket, leaving him in just a dark button up and his jeans. “You couldn’t stop talking when we were out, and now you can’t seem to give me a simple response.”
You huff and dig your nails deeper into your palms, and you watch as his eyes narrow at it. “I’m embarrassed, Bradley,” you mutter and he laughs.
“Yeah, well, that makes two of us,” he grunted and ran a hand through his hair, his gaze dropping back down to your hands as you pierce the top layer of your skin. “Okay, baby, stop that.”
You furrow your brows then realize he was talking about the way you were scratching up your palms, and you drop your hands with a loud sigh. “I can’t help it, Bradley,” you say, closing the door loudly behind you before turning back to him. “It’s how I cope with this kind of thing.”
Bradley’s eyes narrowed again and he placed his hands on his hips. “How you cope? No, that’s how you coped when you were with your piece of shit ex,” he nearly growled. “You cope with me by talking things through.”
“I’m embarrassed, Bradley, I don’t want to talk-”
“Well, tough!” He cut you off, making you shut up as he took a step towards you. “That’s what you and I do; we talk. I don’t yell at you or degrade you or get in your space and-”
He lifted his hand and you were powerless to stop the quiet cry that left your lips as you cowered away from him. Realistically, you knew he wasn’t going to hit you like your body reacted to, and when you looked over at him and saw the look of horror on his face, it just confirmed it.
Flashbacks to when your ex would hit you during heated arguments flicker through your head, and you feel your whole body tense up at the cruel reminder of who you had wasted too many years of your life with.
It was almost scary how quiet it had become. Your involuntary reaction had quite literally knocked the wind out of him and left him speechless for a few seconds before he regained his sense of voice. 
“Hit you,” he finished what he was going to say and you squeezed your eyes shut as you didn’t want to see the look of pure guilt he was giving you. “Baby, did you think…you thought…that I was-”
“No,” you instantly answer and shake your head. “I swear, I wasn’t thinking that. It’s just, I was…You were talking about it and I started thinking about it and I just…I had no control over that. I’m sorry. I know you would never.”
“I would never,” he echoed and you opened your eyes to see his pained expression. 
“I know,” you say quickly, walking over to him but keeping your hands to yourself. Bradley looked nervous and on edge and like he wanted to touch you but was holding off on doing so. You knew what kind of thoughts were probably running through his head, the comparisons and regret, and you wanted to put a stop to all of it. 
He was not your ex, and he was nowhere near being anything like him. You knew that, and he knew that, he just needed a reminder. 
“I know you would never hurt me,” you say and reach down to take his bigger hand in both of yours. You press his palm against your face and lean into his hesitant touch, looking up at him with a sad smile. “You’re not him, Bradley. You’re nothing like him. You’re everything, Bradley. I love you.”
“You’re everything,” he said back and your words must’ve been enough for him to feel like he could hold you right now as he took you into his arms and pressed you tight against his chest. “You’re everything to me, Y/n. I love you so much, baby. I promise, I’ll never hurt you, I’ll never do anything to make you feel like I ever could. I could never, sweet girl.”
You nod and wrap your arms around his middle. “I know,” you whisper and bury your face in his shirt while he pressed multiple kisses to the top of your head. “I’m sorry I reacted like that.”
“Don’t ever apologize to me,” he rasped, holding you tightly against him. “Not when it comes to something like this. I’m so sorry I brought back those memories. That’s the last thing I ever want to do, especially over something so fucking stupid like what happened at dinner. God, baby, I’m just so sorry. I love you.”
“I love you,” you say back and bunch up his shirt. “It’s okay, Bradley. We’re okay.”
“We’re more than okay, sweet girl,” he murmured, pulling away just to be able to kiss you properly. You kiss him back and melt into the way he held you as if you were the single most important thing in his life. “We’re everything, you’re everything. I’ll do better, okay? I promise.”
You wanted to assure him further and say that he already was doing everything right, but he was too far in his own head right now, you knew he just needed to be with you. And that was fine, because you needed to be with him just as much. 
So instead of going back to the conversation of dinner, you take his hand in yours and pull him towards his bedroom, where you kick off your heels and guide him into bed with you.
Then you held each other for hours, still dressed in your formal outfits and not caring a single bit about the wrinkles you knew would form on your clothes.
198 notes · View notes
simpforrooster · 4 months
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actually, it’s captain.
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Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x f!reader
summary: request for @kpopgirlbtssvt. rooster’s girl is hit on by Top Gun students.
t/w: touch her, you d i e trope. cursing. mentions of alcohol.
Rooster leans against the bar, laughing at something Penny tells him. His jeans hang low on his hips, and he’s wearing the Hawaiian shirt you bought him for his birthday.
Rooster’s hand slaps the bar as he continues to howl. Penny and Mav exchange a look. Maverick murmurs something to Penny. Your guess would be “it wasn’t that funny.”
You throw back the rest of your drink. As your glass returns to the table, a group of men circle you, all clad in khaki. Must be new Top Gun recruits.
“What’s a pretty little gal like you sittin’ here alone for?” one of them asks you, his accent very similar to Hangman’s.
“Mind if we join ya?” the second asks. Before you can reply, two of the slide in across from you, while the one who spoke first sits next to you. His burly arm comes up around your shoulder. You stiffen under him, feeling small.
And not in the way you feel with Rooster. He makes you feel small, protected, but also empowered. This guy has a hold on you like he’s claiming you. Telling every other guy in the bar he plans on taking you home.
“This here’s Crane and Sorry,” he points to the two in front of you. “And you can call me Pleasure. As in, it’s a pleasure to meet you. As in, the way all ladies feel after a night with me.” He winks. He actually winks.
Your brain is so shocked, you can’t form words. You should take this guy’s arm and bend it behind your back, the way your dad taught you. You should give him on of your grade-a verbal lashings.
But you don’t. The sheer audacity of this man has you frozen.
You try to make eye contact with Rooster, but Pleasure’s frame blocks your view.
“Get your hands off my girlfriend, asshole.” Rooster’s voice makes a relieved breath come from your mouth. His tone of voice would make anyone run for the hills, but it leaves you full of wanting.
Pleasure chuckles, meeting Rooster’s gaze. “Actually, it’s Lieutenant.”
Crane and Sorry exchange an amused look. Rooster’s face is set in a hard line. He reaches for Pleasure’s bicep, ripping him from the booth.
“I said to get your hands off my girlfriend, asshole.” Rooster is a whole head taller than the aviator that just had himself draped on you.
“Shouldn’t leave your girl all alone, dick.” Pleasure tells him, bowing up. Rooster’s mouth pulls up on the left, giving him one of his infamous cocky smirks. Second only to Hangman’s.
“Actually, it’s Captain. And I hope to God you’re in one of my classes. Lieutenant.”
At this, you see Pleasure audibly gulp, knowing he’s fucked up. Rooster still has a death grip on his arm.
“Come on, man. Make my day,” the words come out laced with venom.
Before things can get out of hand, you hop out of the booth and high tail it to Penny. Quickly giving her a synopsis, she rings the bell, signaling these guys need to be thrown out. Hangman, Omaha, and Coyote each grab one of the guys and drag them to the exit.
Rooster joins you at the bar, taking your face in his hands. Those brown eyes roam over you, searching.
Your hands come up to cradle his face, “Roos, I’m fine.”
“When I saw him draped over you, I saw red. Nobody touches my girl.” He leans down to place a kiss against your temple. Rooster’s words have your toes curling in your shoes. You’ve never seen this side of him.
You lower your hands to his shoulders, threading one of them in his curly hair that’s definitely longer than Military regulation.
“You’re the only one I want touching me,” you murmur in his ear, your face flushing.
“Yeah?” he murmurs back.
Not trusting your voice to not come out completely needy, you nod.
“Come on, guys. Quit being disgusting,” Maverick says to the two of you, feigning gagging.
Penny pops his hand over the bar, eliciting a laugh from him.
Rooster ignores him, placing a deep kiss onto your mouth.
“Take me home, baby,” you say, taking in those brown eyes.
“I don’t know, pretty girl, I don’t think I can get further than the Bronco,” he winks.
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tip-top-cloud-surfer · 8 months
Text
Bumping Beach Bikini - Rooster
Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw / Wife!Reader
Word Count: 0.8k
This work, all my works, and my entire blog are 18+ Only
Warnings: Pregnancy; References to Sex/Suggestive Jokes; Flirting; Use of Second Person POV “You,” No Physical Description of Reader (Minus Pregnancy), No Y/N
Summary: Rooster admires the view of his pregnant wife on the beach.
Master List
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Bradley had a mental list of the best outfits that he had ever seen you in. There wasn’t a set ranking, just general levels of appreciation.
There was a step above your normal beauty and allure, which mostly included random casual outfits that for whatever reason just got him going. Like the yellow sundress that you wore when it was exceptionally hot out that was super easy to slide his hands under. Or those jean shorts that he loved to slip his hand into the back pocket and give your ass an appreciative squeeze. Or anything of his that you chose to wear.
And the step above those were your slightly dressier outfits that got him even more excited. The backless black dress that you wore out in Vegas when the two of you went out with the Dagger Squad. Or the blue floor length dress that you wore to Maverick and Penny’s wedding that looked like it was literally sculpted for you and your figure. Though he did rip the zipper on that one.
Then there were the more special outfits. Your wedding dress mostly, since he literally burst out into tears the second that he saw you step out in it. The photo of you that he kept in his cockpit was from your wedding day with your veil spread out around you, giving you a completely angelic appearance. And, well, Rooster was also very fond of the matching white lingerie set that you wore underneath it that night too. He did rip that one too though.
And at the very top of the pyramid of his favorite outfits was, of course, your birthday suit. Nothing would ever top that one.
But seeing you in a maternity bikini with one of his Hawaiian shirts wrapped around your shoulders and your baby bump sticking out from between the folds of his shirt—now that was a sight that he ingrained into his mind for the rest of his life. That one really challenged your birthday suit in his mind.
“What?” you laughed, shooting your husband a look as you applied more sunscreen. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“You’re glowing,” Bradley praised, still taking in your beauty.
“With sweat,” you giggled, rubbing in another layer of sunscreen. “It’s only spring and I swear I’m melting already.” You set down the tube of sunscreen and shot your husband a playful look. “You just had to make sure that I was heavily pregnant during the hottest months of the year in Southern California, didn’t you, Bradshaw?”
“Maybe you should have done the math before you begged me to get you pregnant,” Bradley replied, a bit smugly.
“I don’t beg,” you scoffed, shooting him a look. “And besides you offered about fifty times before I let you. If anyone was begging, it was you, Bradley.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Rooster mused, smiling over at you.
There was one rule to surviving with a heavily pregnant wife—it was to let you win. On just about everything. Anything health or safety wise, he would argue back, but Rooster took a rain check on all of the little things. And frankly he got more satisfaction out of seeing you happy than being right.
“Do you have enough water?” Rooster asked, sitting up some more.
You reached over and lifted your giant water bottle into the air. Taking a long sip from it just to prove your point to your husband, you set your water bottle back down on the sand.
“I’m fine. Just need some time to relax,” you replied, leaning back in your seat. “Before it all really sets in.”
Reaching down to pick up your ankle, Rooster started to massage your foot, earning a sigh of relief from your lips. Practically melting into your chair, you turned to your husband with a small, thankful smile as you curled your toes a bit.
“I could get used to this.”
“I’m sure you could,” Rooster chuckled, rubbing the back of your calf.
“There’s only one thing that would make this better.”
“What?”
“Take your shirt off.”
“Mrs. Bradshaw,” Rooster jokingly admonished, causing you to smile wider. “Be careful suggesting that. I knocked up the last woman who asked me to take my shirt off in that tone.”
“I’ll take the risk,” you replied with a smile, rubbing your bump slowly.
“So long as you understand the risk,” Rooster returned with a wink.
“Jesus Christ, the rest of us are trying to eat here,” Phoenix cut in, sounding annoyed.
You and Rooster turned to the other Daggers, Maverick, and Penny, who was hiding an amused smile behind her hand. Maverick turned to Penny with a similar expression, shaking his head. But most of the other Daggers, those who were single anyways, shot both you and Rooster somewhat disgusted looks.
“Sorry,” you called sheepishly, waving to them.
“I’m not,” Rooster replied, reaching up to take his shirt off.
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topguncortez · 2 months
Note
"honey, I'm home" SCREAMS Bradley Rooster Bradshaw
Bradley Bradshaw can not enter a room without letting everyone know he’s there. it’s probably something he inherited from his father, but he is one person who knows how to make an entrance.
The first time he had ever called out that ridiculous yet iconic line, was right after you moved in together. It had caught you off guard, making you round the corner with a questionable look on your face making sure you did in fact here him yell:
“honey, i’m home!” Bradley said again as you stood in the doorway.
“i see that,” You said, shaking your head at him, “And what is this announcement for?”
“Well,” He set down his duffle bag, “I thought I should tell you I was home,” He walked over to you and pulled you into his arms, making you squeal, “So you didn’t think i was an intruder. We’ve only been living together…” Bradley checks his watch, “43 hours and 25 minutes.”
You smile at the mustached man in front of you, “Well thank you for announcing your presence and scaring any potential burglars away.”
“All a part of the ‘living with Bradley Bradshaw’ package you purchased.”
“Yeah?” You bit your lip, your eyes raking over the bit of chest hair that was poking out of the top of his black t-shirt, “What else is included in the package?”
“This,” Bradley quickly hoisted you over his shoulder and carried you upstairs to your new shared bedroom.
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leascorner · 2 months
Text
b.b. | Emergency contact
Summary: “I changed my emergency contact, just so you know.”
Pairing:  Bradley Bradshaw x f!reader
Warnings: Angst, mention of multiple accidents, mention of break-up, probably inexact medical and american army facts, deaths, grief, mention of trauma/PTSD, mention of food
Word Count: 4.7k
Author note: y/n = your name; y/s/n = your sister's name. Enjoy!
Masterlist
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Maverick saw her first.
Hair all over her face. Cloudy eyes. Blank cheeks. Y/N looked even worse than what he had thought and considering the situation, that was perhaps to be expected. He could only imagine the call she had gotten when maybe she was on her way home after work. The kind of call that just say, “your loved one is at the hospital”. They could be dead already. They could be alive for now, but dead before she’d make it there…
Maverick did not know her personally. He knew, however, who she was and who she had been to Bradley. He had heard what had happened at that time; even if his godson had not gone into much details - he wasn’t exactly one to confide about his love life. Being aware of her story, he felt like this moment would be exactly like any of his own PTSD - reliving your worst nightmare. He had known from the moment the nurse had told him he was not family - Y/N was - that whenever she would show up, he needed to be there for her.
Getting up from the seat in which he had been waiting for some times now, he called out her name. Her eyes scanned the whole room before landing on him. She had never seen him other than in Bradley’s old photobooks, but she recognized him immediately. Though Maverick was now a couple of years older, he looked as in the pictures. It relieved her to see him there; it was partly because he did not look like someone who was going to have to bury his godson any time soon. Of course, it also startled her. The last time she had talked to Bradley, many (many) years ago, his resentment against Maverick was consuming him. She guessed they had finally worked things out.
“We were testing new materials,” Maverick explained as he sat her up in the seat next to his. Though her cheeks were slowly regaining colour, she was still trembling like the leaves of a tree caught in the wind. Perhaps it was being in this ER room again, in the exact same hospital, after all this time. Perhaps it was also the adrenaline wearing off. “Bradley’s jet had an issue and he had to extract. He landed quite roughly though. His left leg is pretty messed up.”
Y/N stayed silent, staring at him, and Maverick let her be. Of course, she had imagined him to be dead. Though she had just heard the contrary, her brain took a couple of seconds to work everything out. “So, he will be alright?”
He nodded slowly and Y/N let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. She was selfishly relieved. She wouldn’t have to decide on the last clothes he would wear. She wouldn’t have to be handed his flag and colors. She wouldn’t have to watch his coffin buried six feet deep. She wouldn’t have to read over and over that stupid phrase written in the marble of this grave. She wouldn’t have to get through this again.
She had done that too much for her own lifetime already.
“Doctor, this is Miss Y/L/N”.
Maverick’s hand on her shoulder made Y/N surface out of her thoughts. She was quick to hop onto her feet and greet the surgeon that had just joined them with a nod. She braced herself for whatever news he had to give - couldn’t be that bad, Bradley was alive after all - and when it didn’t come, she presumed from his look that he was silently waiting for Maverick to go. She understood now that she was the only one listed as his emergency contact.
“He can stay, he is family.”
The surgeon nodded and started to explain in a more complex manner what Maverick had already told her before. Bradley would be immobilised for a couple of weeks, waiting for the bruise in his knee to resolve before he could undergo surgery. After that he would still need to have Physical Therapy before being cleared.
“How long until- how long ‘till he can go back to flying?” Y/N asked, nervously.
“A few months, six at most.” At her side, it was Maverick’s time to let out a shaky breath. He already knew it was going to be difficult to keep Bradley off the tarmac for this long. “He is awake now, if you want to visit.”
After they thanked him, Y/N heard Maverick turning to her - only a few seconds away to say what she assumed to be a “you go first” - and she stayed frozen on her spot, not able to make a move as she finally understood she could be seeing Bradley again – it had never crossed her mind before. There was no way she was facing a very much alive Bradley today. Not today, nor any time soon.
“You go, I’ll handle the paperwork.”
Maverick knew better than to say a thing; he only nodded, thanking her quietly. He knew she would most likely be gone when he would be back. He didn’t blame her though.
This was just a tragic story.
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Bradley saw her first.
He had been at the beach near Penny’s bar probably a thousand times since he last spoke to her, all these years ago. Yet, never had he seen her there.
Watching her, sat on an enormous beach towel, watching Henry - or at least he guessed it was Henry - playing in the sand a few feet away, he could only feel guilty for what he had put her through a month ago. The call from the military hospital, the minimal information given, the drive alone, fear clenching her stomach, the parking lot where she could’ve vomited her gut out, the hospital smell. It must have been like reliving her worst nightmare. Except this time there was no tragic ending...
He had changed his emergency contact as soon as the painkiller had permitted him to think straight. To be honest, after all those years, he had forgotten she was even mentioned in his file. They had never been married and therefore had never been officially together for the Navy. He really thought no one was his emergency contact; it only felt natural having no family of his own. No parent. No wife. No kid. Now, he only had his godfather - they had reconnected a couple of years ago.
He was only relieved this had happened when Maverick was here, that someone was able to be by her side and that this time, she didn’t have to live it all alone.
Though he wanted to, Bradley did not go and apologize. He imposed so much on her already. Breaking her heart. Letting her go. Probably scaring the hell out of her. No, he definitely had done enough already.
He was mentally wishing her all the best from afar, ready to turn back to the bar, when the little boy at her side made his heart stopped. One of his tiny fingers was pointing in his direction and it took only what seemed to be a second for Y/N to turn around as well, her eyes landing on him. Against all odds, she waved shyly in his direction, which made Henry - who he had only met when he was still a couple of days old - waved at him as well.
Awkwardly, Bradley waved back and decided that at this point, he couldn’t just turn around and leave. The walk to their spot was pure torture with his messed-up knee for which he had yet to undergo surgery.
“You are the guy in the wedding picture in the hallway,” Henry said once Bradley was to their level. Bradley frowned, not sure what to answer to this. Of course, he understood he was talking about Y/S/N’s wedding, though he didn’t quite understand how this little guy would have recognized him in the hundred guests that must appear on the pictures.
“There is a picture in the hallway,” Y/N simply answered, before explaining to Henry that the polite way to greet someone was to say hello first.
Bradley only nodded, preferring to stay silent as he wasn’t really sure what to say now that he was there.
“How is your knee?”
“Well, could be better, I guess?” Bradley shrugged and Y/N nodded, a serious expression on her face. He hadn’t been in the best of mood due to his injury, and he realized too late this tone wasn’t the friendliest. To make sure she didn’t take it personally, he was quick to continue: “I wanted to say-”
“It’s okay,” She cut him off; she couldn’t be sure what he was thinking, yet she wanted to spare them both the struggle of his thanks. She hadn’t done him a favour running to his side at the first call. In fact, she hadn’t really thought anything, coming running blindly to the hospital as the nurse on the phone told her he had an accident. Maybe it was selfish of her, maybe this time she had thought she could save someone she knew.
“No, I don’t think it really is…” He sighed. “I changed my emergency contact, just so you know.”
“Thanks.”
Some more silence.
Bradley’s hands had become even sweatier, and it wasn’t due to the weather of the first days of spring. This whole situation was literally making him so uncomfortable. It was like walking on eggshell; he didn’t want to break her even more.
“I very am sorry.”
Bradley wasn’t sure what he was really sorry for. This wasn’t just for the scare, last month. It was also for breaking her heart, leaving her the second he had his dream job - like they couldn’t have made it work, not being around when Y/S/N and her husband died in that horrible car crash, him only sending flowers for the funerals, him not calling to make sure Y/N was surviving - how could he have, when he was the one leaving her to live his dream life and she was now the legal guardian of her six-months-old nephew at thirty something.
Y/N only stared at him, trying to see through him like she used to. He was sincere - she knew that much.
“I know.”
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It had been a little more than three months when Bradley saw her again.
He had just completed yet another session of physical therapy; though it had been ten weeks since he had surgery and he didn’t need crutches to walk any longer, he still had not recovered the totally of his knee motion. Maverick was driving him twice a week to the military hospital to have PT; with his messed up left knee, Bradley couldn’t drive his manual Bronco.
While he was patiently waiting for the secretary to hung up the phone to get his next appointment scheduled, his eyes landed on a familiar face in the ER waiting room. She was here yet again, eyes puffy and red, breathe short and hair all over the place.
“Y/N?”
Hearing her name, she jumped from her seat, all senses on alert. Her eyes scanned the room urgently before stopping on Bradley. Understanding it was him calling her name, the tears she was holding back started flowing on her cheeks again. His heart started to pound furiously in his chest as the only thought that passed his mind was that something terrible had happened. Again.
“Hey, hey,” he said once he had walked - not so easily - to her. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his white T-shirt. She was grabbing him as if he was a lifebuoy. “What happened?”
As her only answer, her body broke into violent sobs. Bradley kept her close, stroking her hair gently, trying to soothe. It took what seemed to be like a couple of minutes for her to at least remember to breath and a couple more for her to be able to speak multiple words in a row. This time, Bradley held her through it all.
“Henry fell down the swing and the school called and- and-” Some more sobs rocked her body and Bradley only held her tighter, heart swelling of seeing her in this state. She must have had the scare of her life. Again.
“It’s okay,” Bradley reassured her. “Is he with a doctor now?”
She nodded, more tears falling down her cheeks. “He has a bad cut on his forehead,” sob, “needed stitches,” sob, “I couldn’t - I couldn’t” stay with him, Bradley understood even if she didn’t finish her sentence. “Shouldn’t see me like that.”
“It’s okay.”
Y/N was still grabbing his T-shirt like she would drown had she ever let go, so he held her a little more, wondering how long she had been in the ER waiting room, clearly in utter panic.
“Breathe with me,” he said. She looked up at him and gently, he dried off her tears. For one split second, he was brought back to that night, what felt like a hundred of years ago. He had promised her everything would be okay. How wrong had he been…
If anything, this was a very bad remake of their break-up.
“He is okay now, more fear than harm.” Y/N nodded, trying to gain back her composure. “You know, somebody told me one day that scars actually made you look pretty badass,” he pointed to his own scars on his chin and cheeks. “It will be a hit with girls and boys for sure.”
“I don’t remember saying that,” she finally smiled. There she is, he thought.
“Miss Y/L/N?” Y/N let go of him to turn to the doctor he understood was taking care of Henry. “We are all done. A nurse is doing his bandage right now. It will need to be redone once a day for a week and we’ll see him again in ten days to remove his stitches.”
Y/N squeezed the hand Bradley didn’t realize she was holding. She was relieved and still, she did not move when the doctor went away.
“You’ve got an automatic, right?” This made Y/N turned back to Bradley in surprise. He had that small smirk on his lips that she could recognize anywhere. The one that he offered when he had a surprise for her. Whatever it was a bath after an extremely long day or to watch Love Actually for the second night in a row when she was on her period. All she had to do back then was to follow his lead, she knew he would take care of her. The truth was, she would have followed him anywhere.
And even after all those years, she still trusted him.
“You do the paperwork, I’ll get him?” Y/N nodded slightly, muttering a quiet thank you. After yet another nod to make sure she was okay, Bradley finally let go of her hand and went to get Henry. On his way, he texted Mav to let him know he did not require a lift up from the hospital anymore. Something had come up, but he’ll explain later.
When Bradley entered the examination room, Henry was sat down on the examination table and a nurse was just finishing to put the last blaster on his forehead.
“Hey buddy!” Henry’s eyes face lifted up seeing Bradley on the doorstep, unfazed it was him rather than her aunt who went to get him. “A little birdie told me ice-cream would make it all better.”
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“Bradley!”
Against all will, the ice-cream little “date” had become a recurrent event now. It started ten days later when Henry had his stitches gotten taken out - Y/N asked if she could pick him up after PT to return him the favour. Then, it was a week or so later, for the end of the school year. Then again, on regular occurrence during the summer - sometimes with their friends and family. Some other times, just the three of them.
Today was the first day of the new school year, Henry’s first day of 1st grade. It also was six months now that Bradley had been in contact again with Y/N. Still a couple of weeks until he could get cleared for flying again. A couple of weeks until he would be deployed somewhere on this planet.
And Bradley, picking up Henry from school with ice-cream for celebration, wasn’t really sure how to feel about it; he had decided to elude the matter for now.
“Hey buddy!”
Bradley watched the little guy through his reversing mirror to make sure he was putting his seatbelt on before driving off. He and Y/N had planned to meet up at the beach, once she would have finished work.
On the way there, Henry told him all about Mrs Simpson, his new teacher; how he got lucky to be paired with his best friend, Tom in the class room, and how sure he was that, by Christmas, he would be able to read so they could share reading of his bedtime stories: “You’ll read Daddy Pig’ part and I’ll read Peppa Pig’ part, okay?”
Yes, after all, Bradley definitively did not want to think of his future deployment; he would rather just stay here, in this moment in times.
After taking a swim and perfecting Henry’s swimming techniques (Bradley had taught him how to swim during the summer in between two ice-cream dates), Bradley and Henry were in the middle of sandcastles building contest when Y/N finally arrived.
Bradley sat on the beach towel, Y/N at his side, as Henry excitingly told them about his day and most importantly, all the painting materials they had in his class and that he couldn’t wait to test. The sun was starting to decline in the distance, bathing them in its last warm sunshine. A soft breeze was tenderly blowing his hair. Y/N, with Henry on her knees, was sharing a story of her sister’s first day of ‘big girl’ school and her nephew had a million questions about his mom.
Like every time the subject was brought up in his presence, Bradley tried to add as much details as he remembered of Y/S/N. It was some of his best childhood memories after his dad died: Maverick and his mom making sure his dad’s memory was still alive. He hoped it would be the same for Henry.
“You know what our family tradition was to celebrate the first day of school year?” Henry shook his head no. “Pizza night!”
Bradley laughed as the boy’s face lighted up; he was quick to be on his feet and gather his stuff to get back to the car - it was probably the first time ever Henry would agree to leave the beach without making a fuss.
Y/N helped Bradley to get up - even if he had told her multiple times before that his knee was perfectly fine, she had still treated him as if he would fall down any time. He was attending his last physical therapy sessions by now and he had already started physical training at the base. In a few weeks, he would have to have a medical examination to confirm he could fly again; his accident was well behind him at this point.
Folding the beach towel together, Y/N took this as the opportunity to thank him again for picking up Henry that day.
“My pleasure,” Bradley had assured her.
“Seriously, I owe you big time. I couldn’t see myself putting him in afterschool for his first day.”
For a split second, Bradley saw on her face an expression he knew by heart but couldn’t quite recall what it was; the next second, she was continuing to file her bag with Henry’s beach toys. It took a moment more to Bradley to understand what he had just seen: guilt. The same guilt he had observed in his mom eyes when there were things he asked, and she couldn’t simply offer him as a single mom.
“I don’t know if you are being told that enough but Y/N,” He gently grabbed her wrist to make her stop filling her bag and look back at him. “You are doing more than good with Henry.”
“I am trying my best.”
“And you are doing good,” he assured her again, squeezing her hand in his. Realizing what he had just done, he grimaced slightly but Y/N was quick to reassure him and squeezing his hand in return. “Let’s go.”
Later that afternoon, they were sat down at Pizzeria Luigi, waiting for their pizza. Bradley and Henry were having a funny face contest - Bradley copiously winning despite all the kid’s efforts. Y/N was laughing along with them, the small intimacy moment they shared before was long forgotten.
“That’s a cute family you got there,” the waitress smiled as she put their pizza on the table.
“Oh, we are not-” Bradley started, but was quick to be cut by Y/N saying:
“Thanks!”
While Y/N exchanged a few more banalities with the waitress, Bradley looked at her, utterly touched she would consider him family. He was incredibly lucky she even accepted him in his life again, after how much he had hurt her. On the restaurant terrace, surrounded by the last rays of the summer sun, she looked so happy. When she looked at him with her big sparkly eyes and the biggest smile on her lips, his own heart swelled of happiness.
And he swore he could have kissed her. Right here, right now.
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“Henry, can you go wash your hands please? Dinner is almost-” Y/N passed a head through the kitchen door framing, looking what Henry was doing in the entrance corridor. “Bradley?”
“Hi,” he greeted her quietly from the doorstep, Henry by his side the doorknob still in his hand.
Bradley stayed silent, not moving, and his eyes wouldn’t quite meet Y/N’s. It wasn’t uncommon for him to come over - he was more and more these past weeks, but he was usually texting first to confirm he wasn’t imposing on them. Him showing up unannounced, at that time of the night, was odd.
“Your hands, please.” The kid passed in front of her on his way to the bathroom and Y/N waited for him to be gone before turning back to Bradley.
He was looking at a picture hooked up on the hall wall. The picture of his sister’s wedding on which her sister, her husband, Bradley and she were all smiling. It has been taken a few weeks before he was accepted into the academy. A few months before her whole world crashed down. He had walked by a multitude of times before, yet today he couldn’t take his eyes off it.
“Bradley?”
Bradley’s attention finally went back to her, a look on his face Y/N couldn’t quite read. It wasn’t the apologetic look he had worn when he broke up with her. It wasn’t the mask of fury she had seen on his face when he had explained to her one night that his US Naval Academy application had been rejected, by Mav out of all people. It wasn’t either the naturally serious face he would most often wear, nor the sly smirk she had seen on his lips so many times.
His stare was even darker than usual and heavy on her. She couldn’t quite figure out what he wanted to say if he wasn’t using words. One thing she had learned with Bradley was to not rush him and let him come to her.
“We were about to eat, mind to join us?” She asked instead of the millions of questions in her head.
He only nodded, not speaking a word. Y/N took another look at him before heading back to the kitchen.
They stayed silent for a couple of minutes in the kitchen, waiting for Henry to come back from the bathroom. Knowing the kid, with the times he was taking, he was probably making a mess with the soap in there, but none of them went checking on him.
Y/N was watching the vegetables cooking and Bradley was leaned against the kitchen sink unit, deeply in his thoughts, arms crossed over the short-sleeve shirt he still wore even if it was already late October.
“I’ve been cleared.”
Y/N was surprised by the tone of his voice - if there was only one thing for which Bradley was living, it would be flying. “Is that… a bad thing?”
Bradley sighed, passing a hand on his face. He had only received the news about an hour ago and the first thing he had done was to drive to Y/N’s place. He had tried so hard not to think about this moment and what he would do - as if he had any other option than just to follow the orders. Now that the moment had come, it didn’t feel right with him.
“I-” another sigh, “these last months, I just realized what I could have had if-”
If he hadn’t felt like he had to do it on his own.
If he hadn’t been too scared of hurting her.
All those moments he shared with Y/N and Henry over the last few months had made him realized that his own fear - of hurting the people he loved and especially leaving them behind - had prevented him to live some beautiful moments. He had self-sabotaged himself, breaking off with Y/N so he could be sure she wasn’t hurt by his choices - ironically enough. He had shut her off, convincing himself somehow that he was doing the right thing for the both of them - and how wrong had he been, those last few months had proven him.
“Do you remember what you told me when you broke up with me?” Y/N asked suddenly, making Bradley look back at her. He wasn’t exactly sure what he had said besides ‘sorry’ and ‘I love you’. When he thought about that night, he could only remember her tears, her hands grabbing his shirt and not wanting to let go of him. She had fought for them, so hard, but he had already made up his mind.
He shook his head no as Y/N moved closer.
"Sometimes good things fall apart so better things can come together,” Y/N reeled out quietly as if she had re-lived this scene over and over again in her head.
Bradley laughed bitterly, “I overdid myself on that one, didn’t I.”
Y/N wasn’t laughing. She was staring at him, this determined look on her face. Like she had waited for this moment for a while now. “I do think that is true, somehow,” Y/N smiled softly.
She had thought about this a lot over the last few weeks - it wasn’t just only her now, she was also responsible for Henry. It wasn’t her intention falling back in love with him, after Bradley got back in her life. She had been pleased to find in him a friend, a friend that had rekindled a flame inside her with his sly grin and attention. She felt more alive than ever. He made her feel so… whole.
Heart pounding, Bradley watched her intensely. There were unspoken words in the air, words neither of them wanted to stay out loud, too afraid it would break the spell. He knew looking at her now that they were on the same page. He knew he could let go of his fear; whatever life had in store for them would always be worth it.
They could have stayed like this forever. But Y/N couldn’t let her chance pass.
Without warning, she kissed him. If he hadn’t been leaned against the unit, Bradley would have fallen backwards from the feeling of her lips on his, how his hands found her hips by instinct to bring her closer to him, and how he could feel the warmth radiating off her. It was like in his best memories, and just like it had always have been: two puzzle pieces fitting together perfectly.
“What does that mean?” he whispered as he pressed his forehead to hers. He needed her to say it.
“That, perhaps, you could add me back as your emergency contact?”
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senawashere · 11 days
Text
Carolina?
Summary: Who is Carolina? Is she the other woman? And why Bradley is talking about her in his sleep?
A/n: I wrote this like 2 or 3 years ago for another character and i wanted to post again🤭
Warnings: tooth rutting fluff actually. Maybe a bit angst. And a bit smutt at the end. Hehehehe.
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Bradley always talked in his sleep,most of life. So you were ok with it. But one night,everything chances.
You slowly wake up to a chill in the air, realizing that Bradley has closed most of the windows once again, as usual.
The room is dark, and the digital clock on your nightstand shows 4:28; you've only been asleep for four hours.
As you turn to the side, you see Bradley curled up in the blankets, lying on his side with his back turned to you. You approach him, pulling the blanket closer for warmth, and snuggle up to your husband, wrapping your arm around his abdomen. You drift back to sleep with you melting in his embrace, emitting a low, soft purr from his curled lips.
He feels so warm and resilient against you that you bury your face into his back, inhaling his scent, placing a few kisses on his shoulder blades before laying your head on the pillow. You hear Bradley's gentle murmurs as he returns to his dreams. When you open your eyes, you lift your head slightly, leaning towards him in hopes of understanding what he's saying, but his words are jumbled.
"Brad?" you whisper, wondering if he's about to wake up.
"Baby..." he murmurs, and then you hear something inconsistent.
"I'm here," you say softly, kissing his shoulder. He usually calls you "baby," so you assume he's talking to you.
"Baby... My baby..." he repeats, and as you smile at the thought of him dreaming about you, everything shatters with a single word.
"Carolina... Carolina, baby… my…girl"
Wait a second, who is Carolina?
It wakes you up faster than an alarm. As you sit up, looking at your still-sleeping husband, talking about someone named Carolina in his dreams, you're left puzzled. You don't know anyone by that name, so she must be someone Bradley knows, and that's concerning.
"Carolina... beautiful..." the words spill from his lips, almost inaudible but piercing your ears like a punch to the chest.
Lately, he's been so confused, but you haven't thought much about it, attributing it to all the work he put into his job and getting promoted. However, now you see it in a different light.
And yes you know his mother’s name is Carol but the problem is Carol and Carolina are not the same.
Or are they? No probably not.
Could Bradley be spending time with another woman? The thought of him cheating on you didn't cross your mind. Everything seemed so perfect; you were planning the moving somewhere else next summer, and he didn't seem regretful of his decision to marry you.
But then who is Carolina? And if she invaded his dreams, how important could she be? More important than you? It made your stomatch flip.
Afterward, you struggled to sleep, tossing and turning in bed for hours.
Bradley stops talking afterward, turning his face up, and while you lie awake next to him, going through every possible theory in your mind, he simply sleeps peacefully, unaware of your racing thoughts. As the sun begins to rise on the horizon, you're already out of bed, perched on a kitchen stool with your laptop, hoping to find a clue Bradley left behind as you delve into the history.
But what if he's really doing this? If he's cheating on you, he wouldn't be foolish enough to get caught like this. Right?
You make tea and reluctantly check his socials that he follows almost everyone he knows. You hate stalking your husband with the thought of him cheating on you but now you want to know if something strange is happening. Unfortunately, or fortunately, nothing suspicious comes up. Most of the accounts are from people who works with, either with people you know,his old friends, or his family members and some of his dads old friends.
No sign of another woman.
That’s good. Right?
Bradley wakes up to an empty bed. It's strange that you're not cuddling him or holding onto him like a koala bear. He blinks his swollen eyes a few times, adjusting to the low light, and straightens the other side of the bed where your body used to rest. Since the room isn't even that cold, he knows you've been up for a while.
Yawning and rubbing his eyes, he throws on a sweatshirt and slowly exits the room, sliding his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. He notices you immediately, curled up on the edge of the couch, looking out of the window. Your forehead is creased, indicating something is bothering you.
"Hey, honey, the bed was cold without you," he murmurs, walking towards you with slow steps, sitting beside you on the couch near the window.
You look at him, your jaw clenched,on verge of tears and even though you didn't want to start like this, the truth about the morning overwhelms you.
"Who is Carolina?"
Confusion is evident on his face. It's not the kind of thing that someone doesn't know what or who is being talked about. Carolina is a real person, and Bradley knows exactly who she is.
"What's this about now?" he asks, leaning back, putting some distance between you two, his arm dropping over the back of the couch,confusion is clearly visible all over his face.
"Do you know anyone named Carolina?" you push, narrowing your eyes.
"I do... well, I mean... it's not what you think honey really..."
"You talk in your sleep, Bradley."
"What?" his eyes widen.
"You often murmur incoherently, but last night, you kept repeating the name Carolina, and... you even called her baby. You called her baby! You only call me baby. "
The revelation dawns on him as you watch, and he takes a slow breath, exhaling gently. This is going to be more complicated than you anticipated.
"I'm telling you, but promise not to think I've lost my mind, okay?"
"You're scaring me, Bradley," you breathe out. "Tell me. Please."
"Okay, okay," he says, inhaling deeply and then nodding slightly. "Do you remember... the day when we thought you might be pregnant, about like five months ago?"
"Of course, I remember," you nod,biting your lip.
Your period was late, and you had vomited in the morning. Bradley had taken a test, and you both sat on the cold tile floor of the bathroom, waiting for the results. It came back negative.
You felt relieved, but a part of you wondered how it would have been if you were pregnant. Something in your head told you it wouldn't have been a big deal, but the timing wasn't right because you two were just about to get married and it would have been nice to get married first before having a baby.
"A few days after that... I had a dream."
"A dream?" You furrow your brows, unsure where this is going.
"Yeah. It was about you and me, and... we had a baby. A little girl. It wasn't something crazy; you were breastfeeding her in our bed, and I was watching you, and then I was holding her, rocking her to sleep and she was sleeping in my arms... It felt real, and when I woke up... I felt like something was missing."
You listen to him carefully, your lower lip tense, and your heart pounding in your chest.
"Since then, I've been having similar dreams. At least twice a week. Always the same baby, always with you inside, but we do different things. Sometimes we bathe her,sometimes we play tickling,sometimes we walk in the park, and sometimes she sleeps in a stroller... Once my mom and dad were in it and one time I saw Mav and Penny too, God, it felt so real," he confesses with a shaky breath. "The last few times, we didn't even have her with us. We gave her a name."
"Carolina? Her name is Carolina?" you softly ask, pushing yourself closer to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.
"Yes. She looks a lot like you, but her eyes are like mine. A perfect mix of both of us, and... I couldn't shake it off. Sometimes I wake up after a dream, and I feel like something has been taken away from us, it feels so real,I miss her even though I don't know her."
"Why didn't you tell me about these dreams, Baby?" you whisper, placing a small kiss on his shoulder.
"It felt super foolish, and I didn't know how it would make you feel. I knew we talked about trying for a baby after the wedding, and I thought bringing it up would upset you," he shrugs, planting a gentle kiss on your forehead.
As you sit on the couch, silence falls between you two, your head resting on his chest, his arms around you. This wasn't the outcome you expected. None of your theories came close to the truth Bradley just revealed.
"I was thinking about the same thing...for a while." you say.
"About what?"
"About having a baby. If the test had come back positive, how would it have been?"
"And...?" He leans back to look into your eyes.
"I wouldn't have aborted it," you admit honestly, and Bradley takes a slow breath, gently kissing your forehead. "Do you want to... start trying for a baby before we talk about,Bradley?"
"It can wait," he replies, looking as if he's afraid to say something that might upset you. "If we continue what we're doing, it's okay..."
"But I want to know what you want, Bradley. Tell me."
He takes a deep breath, running his tongue over his lips before speaking.
"I think I want it." The way your heart explodes at his words is undeniable. Realizing that he feels exactly the same way now brings tears to your eyes.
"It would probably mean a blow to the squad if we start now and succeed," you laugh, watching his eyes glimmer.
"That would be the best thing that ever happened," he chuckles, confessing, "just the thought of going on adventures while our baby grows under your heart... God, I could just cry just thinking about it."
"So," you grin, slyly teasing him as you hold his chin with one hand. "Carolina?"
"It could be something else if it's a boy."
"I like it," you murmur, nodding. "We can add it to the list. But before we start making lists, we should probably start trying for a baby, don't you think?"
He doesn't need more encouragement. As you both laugh and kiss, you find yourselves in your bedroom in an instant, clothes flying off as you fall onto the bed. Giving him a passionate kiss before he undresses you, you can't help but whisper, "I love you."
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Ekkkk full of cuteness🥹🥹
I'm tagging people who might be interested:@ohtobeleah @sebsxphia @callsigns-haze @sailor-aviator @sorchathered @greenorangevioletgrass @teacupsandtopgun @roosterforme @floydsglasses @lyn-js @bradshawssugarbaby @torchflies @its-dee-lovely @its-the-pilot @friedchips94 @bradshawsbaby @hardballoonlove @perfectprettypisces @topguncortez @hangmanapologist @bradshawsbaddie @shanimallina87 @djs8891 @themusingofagothicsoul @the-romanian-is-bae @mamachasesmayhem @jessicab1991 @iefitzgerald-blog @charcole-grey @waterriseslew @desert-fern @promisingyounglady
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bradshawsvinyl · 26 days
Text
Begin Again
Part two.
As a first grade teacher, you couldn’t help but fall for your sweet student and her very attractive Navy fighter pilot father.
based off an ask! (screenshot at the bottom.)
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You woke up on September 6th joyful and excited. It was your first day as a first grade teacher in San Diego. You had wanted to be an elementary school teacher for as long as you could remember and after six years of schooling, you were finally ready.
Your first day teaching went well. You and your students played games and got to know each other. By three thirty all of your students were picked up except one.
Tara Bradshaw was a little girl with brown curly hair and big brown eyes. No one had come to pick her up yet so you decided to stay behind with her for a while and try to get in contact with her parents.
“Hey Tara,” you said while kneeling down to her level in the pick up area. “Let’s go back inside okay? I’ll call your parents and remind them to come get you.”
“Okay.” Tara replied hesitantly while grabbing your hand. “Can you call my daddy?”
“Of course I can, sweetheart.” You replied “Let’s go.”
The walk back to your classroom was short. While Tara made herself comfortable at her desk, you picked up her file and phoned the number.
“Hello,” A deep voice answered after the third ring.
“Hi. I’m Tara’s first grade teacher at school and I was just calling to ask if there was someone available to pick her up? School ended at three o'clock and she’s still here with me.” You said politely.
“Shit,” The deep voice replied. “I’m so sorry. I’m at work right now. I completely forgot. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“No worries,” you replied kindly. “Bye.” You said quickly before hanging up.
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Bradley hung up his phone and quickly made his way to the school. He couldn’t believe he had forgotten to pick up Tara. He felt like the worst father in the world.
Tara’s mom left Bradley when Tara was only two years old and he hasn’t heard from her since. Being a single father was hard for him. He was the only one in charge of taking Tara to school, bringing her home, feeding her and more.
Bradley got to the school within ten minutes and quickly made his way inside. After visiting the main office, he found your classroom. He knocked on the door. “Thank you so much for staying with her. I can’t believe I forgot.” He said as Tara started running towards him.
“It happens,” you replied sweetly. “No worries I promise!”
Bradley knelt down to Tara and said, “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”
Tara hugged him and said, “It’s ok daddy.”
You watched the heartwarming scene. Feeling a sense of fulfillment that you had seemingly helped a stressed out Bradley. As Bradley stood to leave with Tara, he glanced at you and couldn’t help but notice your warm eyes and polite smile.
“You know,” he said sheepishly, “Tara’s lucky to have such a caring and uh…cute teacher like you.”
You chuckled softly, feeling flustered. “Thank you Bradley. I’m just happy I got to spend some extra time with Tara today.”
“Yeah well thanks,” He replied “Tara say bye to your teacher.”
“Bye bye!” She said as Bradley gathered Tara’s belongings and smiled at you, leaving a bright blush and flutter in your stomach.
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“Jesus Christ Bradshaw,” Bradley said as he buckled Tara into her car seat. “Get it together.”
Bradley couldn’t believe he had been stupid enough to call you cute. You were his daughter's teacher and here he was hitting on you. He couldn’t believe what he had done.
As Tara napped on the short drive to their house. Bradley called his best friend, Phoenix.
“I’m so stupid,” he said into the phone as soon as she picked up.
“No hi Bradshaw?” She replied, the hint of a smile in her voice. “What did you do this time?”
“I picked Tara up from school late and then I called her teacher cute.” He said, sounding slightly frustrated with himself.
On the other side of the phone, Phoenix burst out laughing. “Oh my god Rooster.” She said, still laughing. “Well was she pretty.”
“Of course she was pretty, Nat. She might be the most beautiful woman I've seen in a long time” Bradley said as he recalled your sweet face. “Look, I just got home and I have to bring Tara inside. I’ll call you later.”
“If she really is that cute, don't worry about it, Rooster.” Phoenix said before hanging up.
To Bradley’s surprise, Tara was awake in the backseat. As they both went inside their home, Bradley couldn’t help but worry about how he was going to face you tomorrow. Embarrassed couldn't even describe how he felt.
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The next school day went by quickly. You again woke up early and made the drive to work. Your students seemed excited about the lessons today, and you felt proud that you were able to get them to like you. You were trying to distract yourself from the voice in your head that was seemingly screaming BRADLEY CALLED YOU HOT.
Bradley Bradshaw was attractive. You couldn’t deny that. He had loose, curly brown hair and big puppy dog eyes. But it was probably wildly inappropriate to have a crush on your student's father. For all you knew, Bradley was married.
But you hadn’t seen a ring. And for some reason, that excited you.
At dismissal today, Tara was the last student to get picked up. But at least Bradley wasn’t extremely late today.
When Tara caught sight of her dad, she began jumping up and down. Once her father was in earshot, she turned to you and proudly said, “My daddy thinks you’re pretty!”
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Here’s the ask!
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I’ll make a part two if people are interested!
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sometimesanalice · 2 months
Text
Sweetest Devotion
Summary: Loving Bradley is the easiest thing you've ever done, and coming home to him is always the best part of your day. Especially when you come home with cake. But a slight mixup at the bakery leads to the sweetest of promises.
Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Female Reader
Length: 5k
Warnings: So much fluff (side effects may include giggling and kicking your feet)
(Author’s Note: this fic was written for my one year celebration of the ‘Like I Can’ series, but it can be read on its own!)
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After a long week, there was no place you’d rather be than at home with Bradley.
The two of you have been living together for a couple of months now, but seeing his Bronco parked in the driveway of the condo you shared knowing the empty spot next to it is meant for your own still made your heart flutter out of sheer giddiness.
Even if he still teased you about your practical Honda Civic’s lack of street cred. But it did have a spacious backseat with its own set of doors and an actual trunk, unlike the Bronco.
And on the rare rainy days you got in San Diego, Bradley was asking to borrow your car rather than risk the interior of his big blue baby. Those days you just got to preen as you handed over your car keys to him. Sure, you could be the one to drop him off, but it was funnier watching the way he valiantly attempted to hold back his grimace as he tried to adjust the driver’s seat to comfortably fit his bulk.
As you pull into your spot, you’re hit with that same gust of summer breeze warmth you always are as you. It was a feeling you didn’t expect to go away any time soon.
It takes a bit of finesse getting the front door open with your work tote and purse slung over one shoulder while you cradled the paper bags of bread and box of treats you’d stopped for on the way home in the other.
Bradley had texted you to let you know that he was making dinner earlier, but had forgotten the bread during his grocery run and had asked if you didn’t mind making a quick stop to grab some. He’d promised to make it worth your while, and while you would have done it for him anyways, a little extra incentive was always nice.
Especially after the way he had teased you in the shower this morning.
You picked up the baguette that he’d requested along with a couple loaves of fresh bread for sandwiches that you were planning to stick in the freezer for later. At the checkout, they’d had a few fun pink bakery boxes packed with six individually wrapped cake slices in different flavors. It seemed like more fun than the basic red velvet cupcakes you had been debating as you waited for your turn to pay, so you’d picked up one of those boxes too. Since it was Friday, you figured a little treat was very much deserved after such a long week.
The two of you had just gotten back from a little trip back home not too long ago, but you were already dying for another vacation. Ideally one that involved creamy blended beverages served in coconuts and Bradley Bradshaw wearing some 5-inch inseam swim trunks with his thick thighs on display in the golden sunlight.
It had been so nice to see your parents and to visit the sights of your childhood growing up together. You’ve always gone home for holidays, but it had been years since he’d been there with you. Some things had stayed the same like the ice cream shop where Bradley had had his first job. And some things had changed with the times like the empty parking lot where he’d first taught you how to drive was now the site of an upscale organic grocery store. Now that you and Bradley were you and Bradley, the nostalgia of your younger years felt extra sweet as you’d strolled with his hand tucked yours.
It’s a miracle you get through the door without dropping anything.
You’re waiting to hear the scamper of little paws against the laminate floor headed your way as you kick off your heels, Duck was usually the first one to greet you when you got home.
The puppy was growing all too quick for your liking. For as much as Bradley grumbled about being woken up early on the weekends by the black and white ball of fluff, you’ve caught him on more than one occasion cooing at the dog and slipping him treats. The sweet, goofy little dog was the perfect addition to your dynamic duo.
Even if Bradley still got huffy about the name and how Duck had come to be in your life.
On the occasional night when Bob’s friend Casey from the animal shelter- the man you’d been on exactly half of a date with once close to a year ago- was invited to come hang out, your boyfriend always was finding reasons to stand a little closer to you or leave his hands lingering a little longer on your hips. Those nights usually end with the two of you sweaty and out of breath, tangled in the sheets of your canopy bed.
You can hear Bradley singing along with one of his playlists in the kitchen and the sounds of drawers opening and closing as you tuck your purse and tote under the side table at the entrance. You smile to yourself as you drop your car keys into the bowl where his are already resting, the keychain on the keys to his Bronco was the same one you’d given him when you were teens when Mav had gotten him the Montero for his 16th birthday.
Taking the bread and box of cake slices with you, you pass through the living room you see Duck passed out belly up on his Sherpa lined dog bed. His ears flopped out to the side and his little paws twitching as he dreams about chasing balls or squirrels. It’s a good think your hands are full or you’d be collecting even more photos of your sweet boy in addition to the hundreds you already had on your phone.
“I’m home,” you greet, rounding the corner to the kitchen, the savory smell of onions and garlic growing stronger the closer you get, “And I come bearing a baguette.”
Standing in front of the stove is Bradley with a checkered kitchen towel slung over his shoulder. His curls look a little damp, still drying from the shower he must have taken earlier. The soft looking shirt he’s wearing is pulled taut across his back, and the sweatpants he has on are hugging the curve of his ass in the best way. He looks so at ease and comfortable, none of the tense strain in his body that he sometimes comes home with.
Bradley looks over his shoulder towards you with a grin on his face, “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” His pretty brown eyes rake over you in a way that has you wondering about just how he is planning on thanking you for picking up the baguette you’d stopped for. He lets out a low whistle, “Damn, I love that skirt on you.”
“I’m glad you clarified,” you say, sending him a wink and setting your bakery haul down on the island counter, “I wasn’t sure if you were talking to me or the armload of freshly baked carbs.”
He leans his hip on the side of the counter, “A little yeast and flour have got nothing on you, kid.”
“Now you know you can’t go around saying things like that an expect me not to fall in love with you,” you tease, opening the freezer to put the sandwich bread away.
“I’m failing to see a problem with that- oh shit,” he curses, hastily turning back to the stove to adjust the range knob as something spits and sizzles on the top of the convection cooktop.
You step around the island and over to him, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind him. He’s always been the right kind of warm, the kind that makes you want to melt into him. You press your face against his back, his shirt soft against your cheek. Under the woodsy smell of his body wash there’s still a faint lingering scent of jet fuel. It’s your favorite smell.
“Hi, sweet girl,” he says, settling his big hand over yours, still stirring the sauce with the other. And you can almost see the easy, contented smile on his face just from the gentle tone of his voice.
“Hi, Bradley,” you hum, happy to be home.
“How was your day?”
“I’m glad it’s the weekend,” you say with a sigh, “The beach day tomorrow with everyone is going to be much needed.” A sympathetic sound rumbles from his chest as his thumb runs over the back of your hand. You were looking forward to sitting under the shade of the stripped umbrella and feeling the sand between your toes as you sip on an icy cold beer. “How was yours?”
“Not too bad, I took Seresin out and now he owes me $200. So overall, it’s been a pretty good day,” he says, clearly pleased with himself. “Cyclone let us out early, so I was productive. Did some errands, got the groceries. Well, most of them. I even took Duck to the dog park and let him run around for a bit. He made friends with a Great Dane, I took a few videos of them playing on my phone for you.”
The mental image of Bradley recording a video of your puppy being cute and playing in the park in the same way a proud dad would film his kid’s little league game makes you feel more than a little weak in the knees.
Pressing up on your toes, you skim a kiss against the side of his neck and prop your chin on his shoulder to peer at what he’s cooking up.
“It smells really good in here,” you tell him, taking in the pot of sauce simmering away on the stove. Off to the side there’s a cutting board with some fresh basil chopped up and a pile of papery vegetable scraps and a couple empty cans of tomato sauce.
“Yeah? It’s been awhile since I’ve channeled my inner Stanly Tucci, so I thought some homemade spaghetti and meatballs sounded good.”
Your eyebrows raise on their own, the surprise evident in your voice, “Homemade meatballs?”
“Ok, maybe those came from Trader Joe’s,” Bradley admits, “But the sauce is all me. I even put the red pepper flakes in it the way you like it.” He reaches over for a handful of basil and adds it into the pot.
You send your thanks up to Carole for making sure her son at least had known the basics of cooking. He could more than hold his own in the kitchen, and the competent way he handled a chef knife in his big hands was endlessly attractive to you.
“‘Semi-homemade with Bradley Bradshaw’ has a nice ring to it, want me to pitch it as a reboot to the Food Network?” You feel the way he chuckles under your palms, the muscles of his stomach contracting and releasing.
“I don’t think I’d make it out with my liver intact. That woman loved her cocktails strong, I’m pretty sure her sangria recipe would send me to the floor,” he jokes, “No wonder why our moms were always watching her.”
“A woman after my own heart,” you sing, “I’m so glad I inherited such good taste from them.”
Bradley shakes his head amused, “The good news for you is that there’s a bottle of red open and waiting for you, funny girl.”
The promise of wine perks you up immediately. Pasta, wine, cake, and Bradley. What more could a girl need?
“God, you’re the man of my dreams.”
“I sure hope so,” he says, squeezing your hand.
“Oh, you are so getting lucky tonight, Lieutenant.” You take advantage of the way he leans his head back and laughs to press a quick kiss to his cheek.
You slide your arms back from around his waist, only managing to take one step towards the bottle of your favorite Cabernet Sauvignon that’s breathing over near the sink with one of your wine glasses set out next to it before you’re being stopped with a gentle hand on your wrist.
“Hold up, where do you think you’re going, kid?” Bradley asks, tugging you back to him with a grin.
He doesn’t wait for your response before he is leaning in to properly kiss you for the first time since he left for work this morning.
At the press of his lips against yours, you feel every ounce of strain you’d been carrying from the day dissolve like melted sugar. A satisfied hum escapes you and you feel the way the corner of Bradley’s mouth ticks up at your reaction to him. His hands cup your face, tilting you head until it was at the perfect angle for him to deepen the kiss. You don’t even notice he’s back you up against the island until the countertop is digging into your lower back, too distracted by the way the coarse hairs of his mustache scrape along your upper lip.
If it weren’t for the sound of the timer going off the two of you might have almost would have forgotten about dinner entirely, it wouldn’t have been the first time it’s happened.
“Is there anything I can help with?” you ask, smoothing out the wrinkles of his shirt from the way you’d had it clutched in your fists just moments ago before letting go of him so that he can silence the beeping coming from the oven.
“You want to make us a salad to go with it?”
“Yes, chef,” you purr as you spin on your heel taking off in the other direction.
And really you should have expected the cheeky way his hand connects with your ass in a quick, sharp slap. You shoot him a glare over your shoulder, but he’s already facing the stove and stirring the sauce again as he adjusts the seasoning with a smirk.
You take a moment to pour yourself a glass of the wine Bradley had opened for you and take a sip. The bold, juicy flavor dancing across your tongue as you set about gathering the things to make a simple salad to go with the dinner he’s made for the two of you.
This is your favorite part of the day, when it’s just the two of you together.
The back and forth has always been easy with him. Whether it’s making dinner or running errands or doing laundry together. The things that always felt mundane on their own had become some of the things you most looked forward to during the week. It’s not that you need to be around him, but you always want to be around him.
When Bradley declares the sauce to be perfect, he comes and joins you at the island. Grabbing a cutting board of his own he starts slicing up the fresh baguette you’d picked up, offering you the end to snack on.
“Oh, what’s this?” he asks, picking up the box of assorted cake slices.
You continue chopping the cucumber in front of you, “Isn’t that fun? They had a stack of those at the checkout. I think they must have made too many cakes this week on accident, but it’s so smart of them so sell them that way. Why get one flavor when you can have six? Best of both worlds for everyone.”
“That so, huh?” he sounds amused by your enthusiasm, “Is there something else you wanted to talk to me about?”
It hadn’t been a particularly noteworthy visit, other than you’d been able to score a parking spot in front of the building, “Uh, not that I can think of?”
“You sure?” Bradley prods.
“No?... Oh! I was going to pick up that marbled rye you like while I was there getting the baguette, but they were already sold out. So I got a loaf of the multigrain brown bread and some sourdough instead.”
“Mmm, interesting.”
Stopping your salad prep, you look up at him skeptically, “Ok, why are you mmm-ing me, Bradshaw?”
Bradley’s eyes are alight with playful mischief as he slides the box of the cake slices towards you and pointedly double taps on the sticker on the upper right corner of the pink box with his finger.
You hadn’t stopped to read the shiny gold label when you’d grabbed it at the bakery, the tempting layers of cake and frosting and fillings had immediately sold you on it, but you couldn’t unsee what the curly scripted font said now.
Wedding Cake Sampler
“So, when’s the wedding? I’m assuming I’ll be invited,” he grins.
You feel your face get hot as you realize your mistake. It wasn’t just a sample box, but a very specific type of sample box. A very specific type of sample box for a very specific occasion.
Suddenly the interaction with the bakery employee as you were paying makes so much more sense now.
“Oh my god, the girl at the checkout said ‘Congratulations’ and I said ‘Happy Fri-yay’ back to her,” you groan, covering your eyes with your hands, “I thought she meant it like ‘Congrats on making it to Friday’ thing.”
He laughs, “Sweet girl, that’s about the damn cutest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Happy Fri-yay, Bradley! She was congratulating me on our- I mean- the nonexistent impending nuptials she thought I had and I reply to her that? We need to find a new bakery, I can’t go there ever again,” you lament. It’s truly a tragedy, since they have the best sticky pecan rolls in the area.
“And you call me a drama queen,” Bradley lightly teases, “She probably thought it was funny.”
You groan again, louder this time. If he was going to call you a drama queen, you’d at least try out your best Mariah Carey impersonation.
Your face is still hidden behind your hands when you feel Bradley gather you into his arms, running a warm hand up and down your back. “C’mon, it’s not even that bad. I’m sure I did at least three things more embarrassing than that today.”
“Yeah, I bet you did too,” you grumble into his chest without heat. The way he chuckles at your surliness lets you know he doesn’t take it personally. Not only is he getting laid, but you decide you’re definitely going to give him head too for being the sweetest man alive.
He takes your wrists in his hands and pulls the away from your face, “I gotta tell you, I’m glad it was just a little mix up. It would have sucked to find out my girlfriend had a fiancé I didn’t know about.”
You can see every shade of brown in his eyes as he looks into yours, the affection and amusement rippling there the same way the light catches the surface of a cup of coffee on a Sunday morning.
At this point you really do just have to laugh at yourself. It’s such a silly thing to get worked up about, especially since you know you’re probably more ruffled about Bradley potentially thinking that you’re trying to drop a not-so-subtle hint with it. And fact of the matter is that you still probably would have picked it up anyways, you just might have peeled off the incriminating sticker off in the car before bringing it in.
“You’ve got nothing to worry about, Bradshaw. I’ve got my hands more than full enough with you.”
“Yeah, you do,” he boasts, the insinuation is not lost on you.
You snort a laugh and shove at his chest lightly. He drops a kiss to the side of your head and makes his way back to the other side of the kitchen island as you get back to your salad making duties.
“Hey, just so you know, I can’t wait to eat wedding cake with you later,” he says as he continues to slice up the baguette.
You playfully toss a cucumber at him for his teasing and he pops in mouth with a grin.
A little later, when you have your steaming bowls of pasta in front of you at the dinner table, he raises his glass of wine to you, “Happy Fri-yay, sweet girl.”
And your laugh is as crystalline as the clink of your glass meeting his in cheers.
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After the leftovers are put away and the dishes cleaned, the two of you are cozied up watching the new romcom that was just added on Netflix.
You’re stretched out across the couch with your feet in Bradley’s lap eating the cake you’d picked up. You try a bit of each flavor deciding which one you like the most to save it for the end, while Bradley takes his chances and eats one slice at a time before moving on to the next one. It’s truly unhinged behavior and you couldn’t help but tease him about it when you’d noticed his cake tasting methodology.
Bradley moans around a forkful of cake and you know he’s just found the carrot cake- his favorite.
He’s always been a bit of a pseudo health nut with questionable logic. “It’s got carrots and walnuts, it’s basically a superfood” he’s claimed on multiple occasions, while purposefully excluding the part about the pound of butter and cream cheese that goes into the frosting.
“I’d clear my schedule in heartbeat and take you to City Hall any day of the week as long as we get to have this carrot cake when we get married,” he says right before he licks the frosting off of his fork.
Your breath catches in your throat.
When, not if.
He says it so easily like there’s not a doubt in his mind that it’ll be you and him facing each other at the end of an aisle as vows about forever are exchanged.
He says it like a fact.
He says it like he knows.
“I didn’t realize I missed the part where you asked me,” you say, setting your plate on the coffee table in front of you, too full of the hope of it all to keep eating.
“And here I was waiting on you, kid,” he says playfully, taking another bite.
He’s teasing, you know he is. Bradley isn’t the type of man who would lead you on or play games with your heart.
“Bradley.” It’s an almost whine the way his name comes out of your mouth as you nudge his thigh with your foot. You turn your head to bury your face in the cushion of the couch, suddenly feeling very bashful.
The two of you have never talked about it, at least not like this before. Only in casual passing comments like getting a place with a bigger backyard for Duck or about setting up a joint banking account. A hypothetical future.
“Hey, c’mon. Look at me,” he coaxes, squeezing your foot. When you peek at him, the look on his face is all open sincerity, “You’re my forever girl. I love you and I’m planning on spending the rest of my life with you. That is, if you’re ok with that.”
A rush butterflies happily swoop and swirl around in your stomach.
He’s been in your life for almost three decades now. You’d known the boy, the teen, and you more than liked the man he’d become. You had absolutely no intention of ever letting him go. He was yours. Forever and always.
“That’d be ok with me,” you tell him freely. You watch as his smile gets wider and broader until it’s taking up his whole face, his eyes crinkling around the edges. “I think I could handle quite a few more decades with you, Bradley Bradshaw.”
“Is that so?” he drawls, his fingers skimming up and down the top of your calf.
“Oh, definitely. You’re stuck with me,” you grin.
“Good.”
He tugs your ankle, pulling you until your back is flat against the couch. You squeal in delight as he pins you down on the cushions, your arms and legs wrap around him on their own drawing him in even closer. Then he’s kissing every inch of your face that he can reach as you laugh in delight.
If it weren’t for Bradley’s sturdy bulk on top of you, you’re pretty sure you might have just floated away. You’ve never felt this incandescently light in your whole life.
He brushes one more quick kiss to the top of your nose before he pulls away, “But just so we’re on the same page, that wasn’t an official proposal. More like a declaration of intention.”
“I don’t know,” you muse, stroking his pink cheek, “Sounds like you’re desperate to wife me up, Bradley. Practically begging for me to take you to the courthouse.”
His hands go straight for curve of your waist, attacking that ticklish spot that’s always made you giggle and squirm. Only taking mercy on you once you’re out of breath. You’re almost positive that the smile on your face might be there permanently.
You don’t miss the intensity in Bradley’s eyes as they trace over your face as he settles himself more fully on you, “You don’t know the half of it, kid. But I’m letting you know now, I’m not going to make either one of us wait long for it.”
And then his mouth is on yours.
You feel the promise he’s making to you in his kiss. The caress of his hands along your body feels like a vow. You feel every ounce of just how much he loves and cherishes you. The cake was sweet, but his honeyed kiss tastes even sweeter.
“Tell me we can have carrot cake at our wedding, sweet girl,” he murmurs against your lips.
Our wedding.
The thought of it made you giddy.
You wanted to wear his ring on your finger just as much as you wanted to see him wearing one of his own one day. You liked your last name, but there was nothing more you wanted than to be Mrs. Bradshaw. It would be another thing you and Carole could share. A name and the everlasting love for her son.
“Ok, we can have carrot cake at our wedding,” you agree, wholeheartedly, “It’s basically a superfood, after all.”
“Damn right it is,” he beams.
The cake is quickly forgotten in favor of pulling your shirt over your head.
You might not have a ring. Yet.
But you did have a lifetime with Bradley and a carrot cake to look forward to. And that was more than enough for you.
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Bradley was pretty sure that there was nothing better on this Earth than having you draped across his chest as you slept soundly in his arms. Your breathing had softened and evened out ages ago, but his mind was whirling with thoughts of his bright future with you.
He’d meant it when he’d told you he wasn’t going to make you wait long. Bradley didn’t know how much longer he could go on calling you his girlfriend when all he really wanted to call you his wife. He’s imagined you in a white dress walking towards him more times than he could count.
When he’d planned the surprised trip back to your shared hometown as a gift for your six-month anniversary, he might have had some ulterior motives. While it was nice to see the place you’d both grown up in again as adults, there had been a more pressing issue on his mind the whole time.
He hadn’t been able to control the nervous bounce of his leg or his sweaty palms when he’d ask your mom’s permission for your hand in marriage. It hadn’t been any easier the second time, when he’d had to do it all over again with you dad that sunny day at the golf course.
Bradley knew it was a bit of an antiquated tradition, but he’d never proposed to anyone before and he wanted to get it right. He wanted you and your parents to know just how serious he was about his intentions to love you for the rest of his life. He’d even asked Mav for his blessing too, just to make sure he had his bases covered.
It had thrown him through a loop when at the end of the trip you mom had slipped him the ring she’d worn while she was married to your dad. She’d told him there was no expectations or pressure to use it, she just wanted him to have it just in case.
The engagement ring his mom had worn had been tucked in the back corner of his nightstand for almost four months now. Bradley had pulled it out of storage sometime around the third month of officially dating you. It would be too soon for anyone else, but he’s already had decades with you. And he’d never been more sure about anything in his life as he was about knowing you were the one for him.
The two of you had always been perfectly right on time in your own way.
He’d dwelled on it for weeks trying to figure out if he should give them both to you at once. Or if he should propose to you with one and save the other to you during another monumental moment, like when the two of you started a family. He’d heard about push presents. He figured could turn one into a necklace or something for you.
Bradley could feel the presence of both rings every time he walked into the bedroom. They were both equally were important to him, he wanted to get it right.
His mom had known and loved you, he knew that she’d have been so excited to see her ring on your finger. And after his mom had passed, yours had helped him during those rough days in ways he didn’t think he could ever properly thank her for. Even though your parents’ marriage hadn’t worked out, they were the reason that you were here and he couldn’t imagine his life without you.
It wasn’t until Natasha had shown him the Toi et Moi style ring that things locked into place in a way that made his heart race at the very idea of it.
The right ring for the right girl.
He lets his fingers trail up and down your back gently as you slept soundly against him.
In the kitchen earlier that night, he might have bent the truth about his day just a little bit.
The final design had been sent to his email that morning. And it was more perfect than he could have imagined.
He did win $200 from Jake and had gone to the dog park with Duck, but he’d also stopped by the jewelers across town to give them both of the family heirlooms because he didn’t want to waste a single minute.
Two diamonds, one ring. The start of you and him. A story of your beginnings to be worn on the finger that would tie him to you with a golden thread for the rest of your lives together.
He’d even paid extra to have it engraved.
My sweet girl. My forever girl.
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I genuinely thought I was one and done after I wrote my first fic in December of last year. And then came these two. 'Like I Can' was meant to be a oneshot that turned into a 3-part series that turned into half of my masterlist. I adore this couple with my whole heart. Thank you for reading along and celebrating with me!
Elle (@callsignspark) thank you for sending me the TikTok that inspired the headcanon about the wedding cake sampler, I'm showering you with shiny 'thank you' shaped confetti! And another big thank you to Jordan (@gretagerwigsmuse) for getting as giddy about these two as I do and for always enthusiastically reading the snippets I send you! You both are the best!
If you enjoyed these two, you can read their story from the start here!
You can read my other stories here!
Taglist:
@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader
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ddejavvu · 9 months
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Love to Lie - Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader (Part 1) / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 (Final Part)
Summary: Your worst fear is recognized when Bradley’s jet goes down with him in it. You’re not sure why you’re still his emergency contact, you’d broken up two weeks ago, but when you rush into the hospital room, you discover that you have a chance to fix the mistake you’d been cursing yourself for. The only problem is, you have to lie to Bradley, and you discover that you love doing it if it means you get to be with him again.
Contents/Warnings: fem!reader, Mitchell!reader, angst, angst with a fluffy/happy ending, amnesia trope, hospitals and their subsequent medical details, memory loss, goose and carole are still alive because i say so
WC: 11.3K / navigation / inbox
A/N: thank you to everyone who has encouraged me in my development of this series! it's three parts long, and each part will be posted one week after the one before it. that means you get chapter 2 next week, and chapter 3 two weeks from now. and after chapter 3 is released, i will post the full fic in one single post, so that it's easier to read. this series means a lot to me, it's the longest fic I've ever finished for this account, and I would really love to hear what you think of it. Thank you to the love of my life miss jade (@luveline), for being the first person to read this (!!), and for all of your wonderful feedback that cheered me on as I crossed the finish line for this series. I don't think I would have finished it if it wouldn't have been for your support, so thank you sweetpea <3
feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!
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It’s 11:14 AM when you get the call. Your phone buzzes ballistically beneath your pillow, where you’d stuffed it haphazardly last night somewhere close to 4 AM. For the record, you’d only slept because your eyes hurt from being open for so long. You’re certain that, after what you’d done, you deserved to ache for eternity, but you’d succumbed to sleep when it pulled hard enough at you.
Raising the phone to your ear is a chore, especially because the number on the screen is unrecognizable, but you stretch your tired, bed-ridden limbs and hold the cool glass screen to your face. It’s jarring, and you long for the stuffy warmth of the pillow again.
“Hello?”
“Miss Y/N Mitchell?” It’s a man’s voice, deep and strong through the receiver. It’s no-nonsense, and you almost worry that you’ve misfiled your taxes, that someone from the IRS is tracking you down.
“That’s me,” You rub sleep out of your left eye, harder than necessary so that your vision is blurry when you open your eye again. You’re not very gentle with yourself these days.
“You’re listed as an emergency contact for Mr. Bradley Bradshaw. He’s currently a patient at the Naval Medical Center in San Diego. He was brought in at 9:37 AM this morning when his jet malfunctioned mid-exercise, and he crashed into a canyon below.”
Your heart stops. 
Your cheeks get hot, your hands start to tingle, and your stomach feels like it’s going to start turning cartwheels, sloshing your insides around until you vomit what little you’ve eaten.
Bradley’s dead, you think, Bradley’s dead, Bradley’s dead, Bradley’s dead.
“We were able to airlift him out, and he’s stabilized now-” Bradley’s not dead,  “-but he’s still unconscious. His parents are here, as well as your father, if you’d like to join them.”
It takes a long time for you to speak. It’s almost a full minute, and the man on the other end has to call your name to get you to respond.
“Miss Mitchell?”
“I’ll be there,” You blurt, heaving a shaky breath as you seal a hand over your mouth. You part your fingers only to make sure he hears you clearly as you confirm, “He’s alive?”
“Yes, he’s alive and stable.” The man informs you, “He’ll recover, Miss Mitchell.”
Bradley’s not dead. Bradley’s not dead. Bradley’s not dead.
“I’ll be there,” You repeat, and for the first time in almost 36 hours, you kick the crappy motel blankets off of your legs and stand, “Thank you, sir.”
--
Wearing a bra again after two weeks of lazing around in bed is awful. But you’ll do it for Bradley, if only to make up for the last thing you’d said to him.
“I can’t love you anymore!” Rings in your ears, and a vision of Bradley’s hands reaching desperately for you flashes through your mind, covering up the green light ahead of you.
Someone honks behind you, a BMW. You jolt to attention, stepping on the gas and jerking into the intersection.
Easy, you chide yourself, You’re going to the hospital to visit a patient, not to be one.
You’re able to pull into the hospital’s parking lot without nearly causing any more car crashes, and you briefly wonder if you should take the coward’s way out again as you trek over the asphalt towards the hospital. You’d run two weeks ago, why not now? Why not now, when what you’d been worried about that night has actually happened?
Urged by the regret flooding your veins since fleeing, you walk on, stepping through the automatic doors of the hospital and sidling up to the reception desk.
“I’m here to see Bradley Bradshaw,” You inform the nurse there, “Uh- Lieutenant. If that… helps.”
She sends you a kind smile, filled with sympathy that you’re thankful for as you stammer and stumble your way through speaking. You’re sure you’re not the most distraught person here, and you’re guiltily thankful for that. 
“Room 624,” The nurse tells you, and oh, what a sick coincidence, “Down the hall and to the left, take the elevator up and follow the arrows on the floor.”
6/24 is not only Bradley’s birthday, but your anniversary; the day you’d kissed him on the swings in his backyard with hot fudge sticking to your lips. He’d been glum about his dad missing his birthday on deployment, and, of course, your dad couldn’t be there either. Carole had done her best to brighten up her boy, but some things couldn’t be mended with gift wrap, and you all knew that.
You’d snuck out to join him that night with a sundae, offering him the serving spoon thickly coated in the chocolate. He’d accepted it with a huffy eye roll, upset that you’d managed to cheer him up even a little bit with just one spoon of ice cream.
--
“It sucks,” Bradley mutters around the chocolate in his mouth, the syrup sticking his words together, “I know he can’t do anything about it. But I still want him here.”
“I know,” You hum, taking a bite of ice cream for yourself, “I’m sorry, Brad. If it makes you feel any better, he’ll probably get you something, like, really good when he gets back. He’ll feel all guilty, that’s what my dad did and I got a puppy out of it.”
“We’ve already got a puppy,” Bradley gestures to the Bradshaw’s family dog, well on in years by the gray around his muzzle and his tendency to nap instead of move.
“Maybe you’ll get one that you can actually play with,” You offer Bradley another bite of the ice cream, and you only feel a little bad for making fun of Lewis. But the dog doesn’t understand your teasing, softly snoring on the porch.
“Maybe he’ll get me a car,” Bradley gushes, “A bitchin’ one, like a Bronco or something. Then we can put our surfboards in the back and go to the beach.”
“You don’t even have a license!” You elbow Bradley, laughing at his lofty dreams, “But a Bronco would be cool. You should send your dad a magazine clipping of one with your next letter and talk about how cool it is.”
“You’re smarter than you look,” Bradley muses, a smear of chocolate over his lower lip that he doesn’t lick away.
You scoff, stomping on his foot where it’s planted in the grass beside your own. He jolts away with a yelp, and in doing so, jerks the swing he’s sitting on, He catches his balance and you notice the syrup on his lip, reaching out to clean it with your thumb.
“You’ve got hot fudge on your face, doofus,” You sneer, happy to return his teasing, “You eat like a toddler.”
“I’m not the one who put three cups of it on the sundae!” Bradley insists, and his lower lip catches your thumb as he speaks. Teenagers in love, you’re hyperaware of touches like that, and your breath hitches in your throat at the contact. He notices it too, staring down wide-eyed at where your thumb hovers over his lips.
“Sorry,” He blurts, and in doing so, his warm breath fans over your hand. You jerk it away, eyes on the ground as you mumble away his concerns.
“It’s fine,” You mutter in a terrible attempt to remain nonchalant, “We’re not four, it’s not like I think you’ve got cooties or something.’
Bradley takes to the teasing, glad it’s not tense anymore, “That’s not what you say when I leave my underwear on the floor.”
“‘Cause that’s gross!” You launch into a rant, “That’s, like, personal! And they’re used too,” You shudder, handing him the sundae intent on scrubbing a hand over your face, “Nasty, bro.”
Despite your casual nickname for the boy beside you, you feel like anything but bros when his hand brushes yours. He takes the ice cream from you, and his hand half-closes around your own, sending a spark shooting up your spine.
Your breath catches in your throat again and this time Bradley hears it, looking at you through his lashes with those wide brown eyes.
Neither of you move away this time, frozen just like the treat in your joint grip.
You feel extra affection for the boy next to you today, the shared grief of losing your fathers every few months bringing you closer together. It’s what compels you to lean in, tilting your swing sideways to brush your lips over his own in a painfully awkward teenage-style kiss. Before you have the time to panic about whether you did the right thing, Bradley reciprocates, pursing his lips slightly to fit them around your top one. You follow his lead and it goes much better, a chaste kiss that’s sweeter than the chocolate staining your lips.
--
You’re glad you’d kissed him that day, you’re glad you had the balls to take the leap that resulted in a nearly twenty year long relationship. It would have been twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-five, fifty if you hadn’t chickened out two weeks ago, but you try not to think about that in the elevator lest you make yourself sick.
You find room 624 easily, the painted arrows on the floor leading you down the hallway that the room stands in. You wonder if you should knock first, you’re not too knowledgeable on hospital etiquette, but you decide that manners can be damned, your boyfriend- ex-boyfriend is in there.
You turn the handle and step inside, and Carole looks up from Bradley’s bedside immediately. You think she’s expecting a doctor, and her desperation for finding one breaks your heart. Her teary face splits into a sad smile, and she rushes to your side to envelop you in a hug. You let her have it because she’s grieving over her son, but you’re surprised she’s not immediately angry with you for breaking up with Bradley.
“Honey,” She gushes into your shoulder, “Oh, honey, I’m so glad you’re here! Brad’s gonna be okay, they said he’s just gonna need some help breathing until he gets stable. Then they can get him healthy and ready to go again!”
“That’s great,” You hold her close, relishing the last Bradshaw hug you’ll probably ever get, “Where’s Nick and dad?”
“Oh, they went to get food,” Carole releases you, swatting her hand in the air in an affectionately teasing manner, “You know those boys, always hungry for something.”
You laugh awkwardly, watching as she settles down by Bradley’s bedside again. She looks back up at you where you’re swaying on your feet, gesturing to the chair beside her, “Well come on, girl! Get in here!” She seems much more lively now that she has company, and you hate to think of her grieving her injured son alone.
“Oh- I, uh,” You stammer, darting for the seat beside her, “I wasn’t sure if-”
“Don’t worry,” She seems to misplace your concern, “He’s okay, sweetie-pie, you won’t hurt him just by breathin’ on him.”
“Right,” You smile, though its disingenuous with tension, “Um, so it was a mid-exercise crash?”
“Mhm,” Her face dims slightly, “Apparently there was some freak accident with one of the engines, 'set off the whole thing. And that’s two crashes in one week! First it was that Javy boy, I tell you, I think they should vet those engineers better. I mean, aren’t they supposed to catch that stuff beforehand?”
“Yeah,” You feel partially numb, but you’re not sure whether it’s emotional or physical. You’ve been trying to avoid looking at Bradley so far, using his bubbly, bouncing mom as a distraction, but now that the blonde has settled beside you your eyes drift. 
He could be perceived as sleeping, if the color wasn’t drained from his face. His skin is still tan but it’s duller now, golden brown fading to a sickly, colder shade of it, like there’s no life beneath it. His eyes are shut and there’s a breathing tube up his nose; you wonder how pissed he’ll be when he wakes up to find out they’ve had to trim his mustache around the thing.
“Must be a Bradshaw family tradition,” Carole breaks your concentration, laughing weakly, her voice lined with a hint of tears, “Crashing, scarin’ their girls half to death.”
You remember the day of Goose’s crash like it was yesterday. You’d only been three at the time, freshly so. But grief like that, the panic you’d observed, doesn’t go away. It can’t be forgotten, it can’t drift out of your brain like so many memories do with age. You and Bradley had sat together in the hospital with Carole and your dad, and Nick still had the crummy plane drawings you’d done for him while waiting for him to wake up.
Carole’s usage of the phrase ‘their girls’ unnerves you. She’s been exceptionally nice to you so far, especially considering that she’s fiercely protective of Bradley, and should have kicked you halfway to Mars for ditching him like you’d done. But she’s leaning towards you in her chair, and you come to the dreadful realization that she doesn’t know you’ve broken up with Bradley.
“Now, I know you wanted to keep things hush-hush,” She gushes, happy to look at your animated face instead of Bradley’s still one for a moment. She reaches over to brace her hands on your knees, leaning eagerly into your space, “But I have to know, babycakes, how did it go?”
“Hm?” You look dazedly at her, still partially staring at Bradley.
“The proposal!” She squeezes your hands, sniffling weakly with the remnants of tears past, “I know that boy was finally manning up enough to ask you, 'should'a put a ring on you years ago."
Any other time, you'd groan at Carole's opinion on your relationship. She's been urging the two of you to tie the knot for decades, but you'd felt no burning desire to go to the courthouse. You were comfortable in your life, why spend an obscene amount of money to get a piece of paper that tells you you're in love? You knew that for free, in the way that Bradley looked at you, in the way that he memorized all of your fast food orders, in the way that his hand so often found yours beneath the sheets in his sleep. Now her teasing is a sore spot, one that gapes the wound already bleeding in your chest.
"-But when I asked him how it went he said he’d ‘share the details later’. I’m sure you wanted to make some big announcement or something, but I need this right now, honey, tell me what happened.”
She’s staring at you like she always has, like you’re the sweet little girl she helped raise when your mama had chickened out. Cowardice must run in the family.
There’s such pretty hope shining in her eyes that you can’t bear to crush it, ready to spew lies about how glorious Bradley’s proposal had gone, how you’d fallen to your knees to kiss him, how you’d shouted ‘yes!’ from the rooftops. Fortunately, you don’t have to lie to her, because the door opens and your dad and Nick step through.
“Hey,” Your dad cheers, tossing you a plastic-wrapped sandwich, “There you are, honey. I was worried you weren’t gonna show up, ‘thought you’d be mad at him or something.”
“You know she was mad at me when we went down?” Goose gestures to Carole incredulously, and you can’t see behind his sunglasses but you know he’s addressing you, “I wasn’t even flying the damn thing and I got lectured!”
He lets up, goes easy on Carole, you’re sure because he’d had to comfort her earlier. You see a slightly dark, damp patch on the left side of his Hawaiian shirt as he leans in to hug you, probably her tears.
“Good to see ‘ya, kid,” Nick rubs your back, “You doin’ okay?”
“Yeah,” You nod, voice slightly shaky as you smooth your previously-folded hands down your thighs. The movement catches Carole’s attention, and you look away before you can see her reaction to your bare ring finger.
“He’ll be fine,” Goose leans over to slap Bradley’s calf, and Carole looks like she wants to scold him for it, as if he'll die right then and there, “He’s tough just like’is daddy.”
“His daddy should go get me some tea,” Carole huffs, placing her hand over Bradley’s as if it would make up for Nick’s slap, “And take Maverick with you, I don’t want you getting lost.”
“Oh, again-?” Goose grumbles, setting his lunch on one of the plastic chairs around Bradley’s bed, “You could’a told me that before we left, honey.”
“Didn’t want it until now,” Carole insists, “Now shoo, get some for Y/N, too.”
The second the door shuts behind the two men, a stiff silence falls over the room.
Carole’s sweet voice breaks it, but it’s the last thing you want to hear, “Where’s the ring?”
You stare at the sandwich in your lap, like it’ll open face and read like a book, giving you instructions on how to lie your way through this.
“I know he asked you,” She presses on, voice pitched up with tension, “I- I gave him the ring Nick used to propose to me. That was almost a month ago. We swapped it out for a wedding band, and- and I thought Bradley could use the engagement ring for you, too. I know he asked you.”
“Carole,” You can’t bear to look her in the eyes, not the woman who’d fed you macaroni and cheese when your dad was halfway around the world in a fighter jet and tucked you in extra tight during a rainstorm so that the lightning couldn't sneak through the gaps in the blankets to get you.
“No, tell me, where is the ring?” She raises her voice, the way she used to when Bradley would leave his scooter out in the rain to rust, “Just tell me-” Her voice peters out into a weak whimper, “-tell me you didn’t say no.”
“I’m a coward,” You finally mutter as her answer, hateful and wicked, “I got scared. I wish I’d said yes, really, I- I wish I could take it back, but-”
“What did you do?” Her face crumples at your admission and she nearly shrieks, squeezing her hand tighter over Bradley’s, “Y/N, what did you do?”
“I said no!” You sob, chest heaving as you wipe away a tear from your eye heavy-handed, “I was scared, Carole. After Coyote went down,” You blearily recall the last plane crash you’d heard about, a member of Bradley’s own squadron caught in a bird strike. He’d been fine, but waiting for the news took you right back to your youth, and you’d been hit with the striking realization that it could happen to Bradley, too. It could be you in that chair, it could be your love on the line. You’d been so sick with dread that you’d backed away altogether, running away to preserve your emotions.
“I just- I didn’t want it to happen to Bradley,” You confess, “I didn’t want it to happen to me. So when he asked, I was-” You sniffle, hard, “I was so scared. I didn’t want to marry him and then lose him. For some reason this-” You suppress a sob, throat aching and chest heaving, “-dating a pilot is different than marrying one. Dating is- it’s temporary, even if you plan on it lasting forever. It’s less serious, it’s not set in stone. But marriage-” You hiccup, “-marriage is the real deal. It's like- It's like I was dating Bradley, y'know, the teenage boy who took me to homecoming because I was sad no one asked me. But- but then all of a sudden I was marrying an aviator. And that’s- that was scary! That was real. I- we’d been together for twenty years!” You gush, wiping your nose with the back of your hand, “I should have known marriage wouldn’t be any different. It’s not like we ever thought we’d break up,” You sniffle weakly, “Marriage was always sort of silly to me, 'cause we just thought we'd be together forever regardless. But I never realized how real it would feel. So I- I freaked out. When he asked me, I made up some stupid excuse, and I chickened out! But-” Your chest heaves with a sob as you finally lift your eyes to Bradley, “He crashed anyway. He went down even though I said no, and it still hurts.” You cry, face scrunched in despair, “It hurts so bad, Carole, I didn’t think it would still hurt.”
“You fool,” She huffs exasperatedly, but she reaches out to clutch your hand like a lifeline. She’s holding Bradley’s with her other, and you wish for a moment that you could cut out the middleman and hold his hand on your own. You don't feel worthy to touch him anymore. “You don’t stop loving someone by leaving them, you stop loving them by moving on. Of course it still hurts, you didn't move on; you still love him. And- and leaving him didn’t stop him from getting hurt, it just meant he probably went down wishing he got to tell you he loved you this morning, so you'd know.”
The thought breaks you, Bradley ejecting with you on his mind. Evidently he hadn’t fully accepted your breakup, not if he hadn’t even told his mom about it. You wonder if he was planning on trying to get you back, if after work today he would have come over with flowers and a thousand pleas on his lips that you didn’t deserve.
“He loves you,” She continues, tears wetting her own cheeks, “And even if you did say somethin’ stupid, I don’t think there’s anything you could tell that boy that’d make him stop loving you. Apologize when he wakes up, baby, he’ll understand. He'll be hurt, no doubt. But he’s been scared before, too, believe me.”
“I will,” You gush, nodding as she squeezes your hand and Bradley’s in sync, “I will, I promise! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
“Just make it right,” She pleads, “Can’t have you two splittin’ up now, not after all this time.”
“I wish I hadn’t done it,” You weep, holding your hands to your eyes as if you can plug up the tears, “I- I just panicked! And I’ve been a wreck ever since, I- I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, I can’t-”
“Tea’s here!” The door opens, and Nick is suddenly a lot quieter as he sees you bent in half and crying, “Oh, honey.”
“C’mere,” Your dad edges around Goose, squatting by the side of your chair while Carole rubs your back. He’s always been fantastic at comforting you, which you marvel at because he was so active in his career. He wasn’t always around when you were little, but that didn’t stop him from knowing how you liked your back rubbed, your hair done, and your cookies warmed.
“He’s gonna wake up,” Your dad soothes you, wiping a tear away from your face, with the hand that isn’t rubbing your back, “Don’t worry, sweetheart.”
“It’s okay,” Carole promises, and you know she’s talking about something else entirely, “It’s alright honey, it’ll all work out.”
Nick feels a bit useless now, standing there with two cups of tea in his hands while everyone else comforts you, but he’s quick to notice a frown work its way onto Bradley’s sleeping face.
“Brad- hey! Look,” He gestures with one cup of tea, only spilling a tiny drop, “I think he’s wakin’ up.”
All of a sudden you want to go home. You’re not sure you can do this, you don’t belong here with his grieving family. You belong in your bed, kicking yourself for your cowardice and wishing you’d done better by him.
But there’s no time to flee now, not again. This time you have to brave it, you have to watch as his big brown eyes slowly blink open, a haze of sleep and medication clouding them over.
“Agh,” He groans, hand twitching by his side, “What-?”
“Hey, Bradley.” Nick leans over the bed, tea now set aside on a tiny table, “How y’feelin’ bud? You had quite the plane crash.”
Bradley takes a moment to observe his surroundings, blinking blearily at your dad, then you, then his mom. His eyes drift back over to you and they feel like they’re lasers, boring searing holes through your chest where your heart used to be two weeks ago.
The slow and steady beeping that had been long since tuned out slowly started to increase while Bradley regained consciousness. Your dad looked warily at the machine, watching Bradley’s heart rate rise.
“I’ll get a doctor.” He ducks out, and Carole stands.
“We should go,” She grabs Nick’s hand, looking pointedly at you, “We’ll give you a minute alone with him, honey.”
Nick starts to protest about being led away, something about how ‘-he came outta my balls! I can’t see him when he wakes up in the hospital?’ but Carole’s already corralling him to the nurse’s station in search of your father. If you weren’t so fond of the woman you’d be cursing her for sticking you alone with Bradley, but you know you can’t let yourself succumb to fear again; this time you have to be a big girl.
“Baby,” Bradley rasps, turning your attention back on him. You watch him weakly, eyes apprehensive as he reaches for your hand, “C’mere.” 
You hesitate, and he lets out a weak chuckle, “Come on, now. You’re not gonna kill me by holding my hand.”
“Bradley,” You sniffle, reaching out for his limp fingers on the bed, “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s alright,” He smiles lazily, eyes drooping, “I’m okay. Comes in the job description, I guess.”
“I’m sorry,” You repeat, grief-stricken as you clutch at his hand desperately, “I shouldn’t have left, I- I wish I had stayed.”
“Baby,” His brows furrow and he laughs sympathetically, “They wouldn’t have let you stay, you know that. I work on a naval base, not at a chipotle. You can’t sit with me all day. Plus, there was no way you would’ve known I was gonna go down. I’m glad you weren’t there, sweetheart. I wouldn’t have wanted you to see that.”
All at once, your chest burns hot, blazing with panic. Is he not going to talk to you about it? Is he going to pretend nothing happened? Is he going to refuse to acknowledge what you’d said? You stammer, “What-?”
“Mr. Bradshaw!” The doctor comes in, cheery now that his patient is awake. You turn your head, still dazed and fear-stricken at Bradley’s demeanor. “Let’s see how you’re doing here. Any chest pain?”
“A little,” Bradley shifts in his bed, wincing infinitesimally.
“Probably just some discomfort due to the broken ribs. Headache?”
“Yeah,” Bradley admits with a groan, “That I’ve got.”
The doctor scribbles something down on his chart, “What’s the last thing you remember?”
Bradley strains to think, “I… don’t know. I don’t even-" He grimaces, "I don't even remember the crash, ‘just know it happened ‘cause he told me.”
Bradley raises a shaky finger to point at Nick, who’s happy to see his son gain some mobility back, even if he is worried for the boy. The three adults had filed back into the room after the doctor, and you pointedly avoid Carole’s imploring stare.
“Think hard,” The doctor commands, and you squeeze his hand like it’s a play-dough machine, like memories will ooze themselves into his brain in star shapes and heart cut-outs.
“I remember…” Bradley rasps, turning his hand beneath yours to grasp it, “Jake’s birthday party. That was-” He glances over at you, “-last night?”
“That was three weeks ago,” This time your heart rate is the one to rise, echoing dully in your ears like the soundtrack of a horror film, “Is that-” You sniffle, “Is that the last thing you can remember, B?”
His eyebrows raise and he tries taking in the information, “Yeah- uh, shit. Three weeks ago. What does that mean, doctor?”
“It sounds like you’ve developed post-traumatic amnesia.” The doctor scribbles once more on his paperwork, “The good news is, we think you have only a mild concussion. And amnesia induced by mild concussions typically lasts only up to a week or two at most. But there’s a very real chance you could remember everything in just a few minutes.”
Amnesia.
He doesn’t remember.
“What I want you to do now is to rest, and we’ll have a nurse send up something to eat. Please,” The doctor eyes Nick knowingly, “Do not feed him the funyuns you’re holding behind your back.”
“Foiled again,” Goose laughs, tossing the packet of chips onto a chair beside his own lunch, “You got it, doc.”
“Alright, glad you’re awake,” The doctor bids you goodbye, “And- a nurse will be in to run a few simple tests later. For now, just sleep and eat.”
“Will do,” Bradley tries tightening his hand around yours but you worm away from him, and it’s heartbreakingly easy to do with his limited mobility. You stand abruptly, legs shaky and heart pounding in your chest as you stumble away from his bed.
Amnesia. Amnesia. Amnesia.
He doesn't remember.
“Honey?” Bradley calls warily, face scrunching into a tired frown.
His eyes follow you as you back right into your chair, the plastic scraping against the floor with an ungodly screech. Now the attention is all on you, and you give into that dreaded fight or flight response you seem to always fall victim to.
“I need to use the bathroom,” You ramble, rushing for the door, “I’ll be back!”
“Y/N-” Bradley tries calling, but his voice is weak enough where you can pretend you haven’t heard it as you try to refrain from running down the hall. You don’t make it ten steps before Bradley’s door closes with a sharp click, and the voice of one Carole Bradshaw cuts through the silence of the hallway.
“Y/N Mitchell!”
She’s using the same tone she used to use when you’d get in trouble for pulling a girl’s hair at school, or throwing mud at a boy who was mean to Bradley. You react just like you had then, spine stiffening and limbs locking. 
“Don’t you dare walk away from me,” She warns, stomping towards you in her half-raised heels, “Turn around, young lady.”
You follow her orders even if the nickname is outdated. She’s got her pretty eyes narrowed, and as much as it pains you to be on the receiving end of one of her seldom-used withering stares, it’s better than being in there and watching Bradley’s eyes shift when he suddenly remembers you’d been the biggest douche on planet Earth.
“Did you apologize?” She inquires, and you nod obediently.
“But- but Carole, he doesn’t remember-!” 
“He will,” She promises, “And when he does, you’d better apologize again. He needs you right now, y’know? He thinks it’s three weeks ago, before you ran off and left'im. As far as he knows, you’re still his adoring girlfriend who he’s probably yearning to see right about now. So go in there,” She reaches for your hand, “Kiss that boy on the mouth,” She demands, “And stop running away!”
“What? I can’t-” You gush, trying to pull away. But she’s stronger than Bradley is at the moment, and her hand tightens around yours, “I can’t lie to him! Not about this, I- how long am I supposed to pretend?”
“As long as you can,” She insists, already pulling you back towards his room, a woman on a mission, “You march right on in there, and tell him how worried you were, and let his memories come back to him on his own time. He’s traumatized right now, he just doesn’t know it yet, and he needs you there. If you break the news to him now, it’ll only stress him out more. Go play nice, and when he comes around in a few minutes, you can have a real talk.”
“I don’t want to lie to him,” You lament, and she stops pulling you down the hall to narrow her eyes at you.
“Babydoll?” She asks sweetly, and fooled by her kindness, you hum in question, “I don’t give a shit.”
She’s never foul-mouthed, so it catches your attention. She holds your incredulous gaze, “You want him back?”
“Yes.”
“You wish you’d never left?”
“Yes.”
“Well as far as he knows, you haven’t.” She huffs, the fabric of her skirt flowing near her calves, “So get in there and be there for your boyfriend of twenty years, and when he suddenly remembers you aren’t his girlfriend anymore, Grovel. Sound like a plan?” She raises an eyebrow, and you tamp down the nerves rising in your chest. You nod cautiously, resolutely, and she loosens her grip on your hand. She still holds it to lead you back to the room, but she stops outside the door to speak one last time.
“I know you love him,” Her voice is softer now, genuinely sweet and caring, “And I also know you like to run when things get scary. And that’s understandable, but it’s not okay, not right now. You can’t stop loving someone just ‘cause you don’t wanna lose ‘em. It’ll hurt worse if you walk away.”
“I know,” You breathe shakily, squeezing her hand, “Thanks, Carole.”
“Anytime, sweetpea,” She smiles, tears still gathered in her eyes, “Now get in there and kiss my son.”
“There they are,” Your dad stands as you reenter the room, “You ladies have a nice bathroom break?”
“‘Had the time of our lives,” Carole nods, letting you take the seat closest to Bradley’s head. Your feet feel burdened with lead weights as you step towards his bedside, and he watches you with worried eyes. You’re sure he knows you weren’t really going to the bathroom, not with the way you’d fled, but you’re glad he’s choosing to pretend for your sake. He seems worried, though, and you curse yourself for making this about you.
“Y/N,” He reaches out for you as soon as you’re in reach, his voice still hoarse. His hand squeezes yours instantly, and you feel for the panic he's probably experiencing. He deserves a shoulder to lean on, a hand to hold, and it should be someone better than you.
“Bradley,” You murmur back, trying to stop your lips from trembling, “I- can I kiss you?”
Carole’s voice rings in your ears, and you don’t have to turn around to know she’s smiling at the two of you. Bradley pauses, then his worried eyes soften and he nods weakly against the pillow.
“Oh,” Nick teases as you brace your hand on Bradley’s bed, leaning down to press a feather-light kiss to his lips, “Lovebirds!”
The kiss is nothing but awkward. It’s hesitant on your end, because you can’t believe you get to do it again. You’d really believed the goodbye kiss you’d shared with Bradley before he picked up dinner for the two of you would be your last one, so fitting your lips over his in the hospital seems like something otherworldly. You’re careful, too, because you don’t want to hurt him, not that you think you could ever smooch him to death. He doesn’t reciprocate much, he can’t, but the familiar prickle of his mustache against your lip is a welcome feeling that makes your heart feel light again, if only for a few seconds.
When you pull away, it’s gone. Because you have to look him in the eyes, the same ones you’d forced tears out of two weeks ago, and pretend like none of it happened at all.
“I’m so glad you’re okay,” You gush, voice cracking, and it feels right starting off with the truth. You can get to the lies later, the ugly little abominations you’re cooking up so that he preserves as much mental energy as possible while on bedrest. You know Carole’s right, you know he needs to heal as much as he can before you make it worse with the news, but lying feels so wrong. He’ll find out sooner or later, and what if he really was done with you? What if he hadn’t told his mom so that no family drama erupted, what if it wasn’t because he was going to try to get you back? What if he hated you, and what if he hates you even more when he knows you’re lying through your teeth to him?
“Yeah, I’m okay.” He promises, his fingers curling slowly and carefully around your own, "Are you? You ran off, I was worried."
"I'm fine," You insist, waving away his concern with a shake of your head.
He doesn't seem satisfied with your answer; he can read you like a book. But he accepts your answer, and you admire him for not wanting to pry in front of everyone. He changes the subject, glancing briefly around the hospital room, “Baby my- my phone, can I have my phone?”
“It’s here,” Your dad hands it to him, and Carole watches your eyes widen infinitesimally. What if Bradley sees his text conversations? What if he sees that you haven’t talked in half a month? What if he finds messages from someone on a dating app he’d used, a rebound-in-the-making?
What if he’s changed his background? What if he wants an answer as to why it’s probably some picturesque sunset, a jet plane cutting through the clouds above. Or maybe it’s of Lewis, he’d recently had photos restored of the dog.
What if he notices your contact name is changed to something like ‘Do not answer’? What if he realizes he’s blocked you? What if all of your pictures together are deleted off of his phone, and he wonders why?
There’s a thousand things that could go wrong.
“Coyote called,” Bradley rasps, upon first sight of his screen. Then, “Hangman. Twice. Phoenix, Bob, Fanboy, Payback, I- I should send out a message.”
“I will!” You lunge for your own phone, digging in your back pocket with suspicious urgency, “Uh, I’ll let everyone know, you just- just rest.”
“Okay,” Bradley hesitates for only a second, letting his grip go loose around his phone so that it falls back to the bed.
He seems content to let you do it, if only a little deterred by your insistence. But you’ll play the part of the fussy girlfriend, not wanting her injured love to work harder than he has to.
Nick and Pete take the time that you’re creating a group thread to question Bradley more on his memories, and every answer he gives sets your heart on edge. Your fingers feel numb as you type out ‘Rooster’s stable now, he has a mild concussion and a few broken ribs, but the doctors say he’ll recover fully. His memories are a little hazy from the past few weeks but apparently those will be back soon. I’ll send you any updates we get.’
Before anyone even has a chance to reply, you set the thread on silent. You can’t bear even getting a notification that the message can’t be sent, because you’re sure Bradley’s team aren’t too fond of you right now, and you wouldn’t be surprised if they’d blocked you in solidarity for their friend. But Bradley hadn’t even told his mom, would he have told his team? Would he even need to? Or would they notice the circles beneath his eyes worsening, the stubble adorning his cheeks from a lack of motivation to do anything productive? Or, maybe even worse, would they have seen him with another girl hanging off of his arm at a bar? Would they have caught him out to lunch with a woman and figured it out themselves?
“Hey,” Bradley rasps, effectively breaking your zoned-out worry spiral. Your eyes don’t lose their intensity but they focus on his pale face, and he offers you a weak smile, “Anyone respond?”
“Always the attention seeker,” Nick laughs, creating a distraction so perfect that you don’t bother checking the text to answer Bradley. “Should we tell ‘em to bring flowers too, Brad?”
“Shut up,” Bradley’s voice is far too quiet to be menacing, but it’s the type of teasing he always engages in with his old man, “When you were in the hospital you said I had to draw you one picture a day or you’d think I didn’t love you.”
“And I only got fifteen out of eighteen,” If Goose is capable of a withering stare, it’s what’s directed at Bradley now, “I can’t believe I bought a Bronco for a kid who doesn’t love me.”
“Alright, you two,” Carole swats at her husband’s arm, “Cut it out, don’t overwhelm him.”
“His heart’s beatin’ real fast,” Nick snickers, “But that’s probably ‘cause Miss Mitchell is doting all over him.”
The attention’s back on you, and it means Bradley’s waiting to hear your response. You dry swallow after sending Nick a good-natured eye-roll, trying to act like your heart isn’t beating ten times faster than Bradley’s.
Miraculously, nothing awful awaits you in the group chat. There’s no error messages, no scolding, no pledges of hatred for you, and it makes you think that you really might be able to get away with this for a while. Carole won’t tell, and that doctor said Bradley might not retain his memories for weeks. It’s like everyone has hit undo on what might be your biggest mistake in life, and you don’t know how to take the opportunity.
“Bob says he hopes you recover soon,” You push the panicked fog out of your head, reading in a low voice, “Hangman says he’s gonna give you flying lessons when you get back so that you,” You snort softly, “Get the hang of it, and to that, he is receiving a barrage of middle finger emojis.”
Rooster lets out a laugh, one that’s genuine and thick from his chest. It’s unlike his voice has been so far, it’s not fractured or achy, and the sound warms your heart. Some of the sickly despair that’s been coating your heart like globs of poison dries up, and you almost feel normal again when you slide your hand into his. He holds your back, and it’s like nothing’s ever happened.
You have your Bradley back; the only question is for how long.
Lunch is a sorry state of affairs for Bradley. His tray consists of chicken and gravy that runs into his mashed potatoes, and the jello they give him has a layer of cherry red liquid pooling overtop. You and Carole take turns spoon-feeding the man, giving each other a chance to mow through your sandwiches between bites.
Your dad watches out for the doctors while you sneak Bradley some of your sandwich. It’s cafeteria turkey, and honestly you’d rather go for the chicken on his plate, but he hums gratefully at the spread of mayonnaise and mustard on the bread.
“Thanks, babydoll.” He croons, a smear of mashed potatoes in his mustache that you wipe away with watery eyes at the nickname. He puckers his lips to kiss at your thumb and it’s like you’re at home on his birthday, feeding him in bed and stealing kisses between bites.
Bradley’s eyes start to droop halfway through his watery jello, and your dad stands, brushing sandwich crumbs off of his jeans.
“Alright, buddy,” He squeezes Bradley’s foot reassuringly, “I’ll head out. Probably best to let you sleep. Get some rest, and make her give us updates,” He narrows his eyes at you, accusatory, “I know you’ll be too wrapped up in him to remember we exist, but take some time away from his lips to tell me if he’s still breathing out of ‘em, m’kay?”
“Don’t be makin’ out too much, “Nick goads, standing when Carole grabs his hand and does herself, “His heart rate’ll skyrocket and the nurse is gonna think he’s havin’ a heart attack!”
‘Yes, yes, they love each other very much,” Carole hums, leaning down to kiss Bradley’s forehead. He leans into it but his hand stays in yours, and you gladly accept the same gesture from the woman on your cheek, “Let’s leave him be, okay? Brad, I’m coming back tomorrow morning,” She promises, “Your dad and Pete have some work to do in the backyard, but they’ll join us after lunch.”
The men don’t seem to have known about this yard work until now, and they share equally exasperated groans. 
“And I’ll be here,” You throw in, meeting Carole’s appreciative gaze, “I’ll stay until they throw me out.”
“You could always handcuff yourself to the bed,” Your dad hums, and you pointedly ignore Goose’s comment about the pair of handcuffs you ‘probably keep in your nightstand.’ It gets him a sharp smack upside the head from your dad, and you’re sure Nick will choose a better audience next time.
“We love you,” Carole promises, squeezing Bradley’s arm as he bids her goodbye, “We’ll see you tomorrow, baby!”
“Love you,” Bradley hums, voice less gruff than before now that he’s used it again, “See you tomorrow.”
The entire time he’s been awake, he hasn’t let go of your hand. He turns to you with those sleepy eyes of his, big and brown and begging for a kiss. You lean in before you can stop yourself, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.
His heart rate picks up.
You laugh against his mouth at the increased beeping, and he’s barely sheepish as he nudges his nose against your own. You feel like you’re loving on borrowed time, like any second now he’ll be slammed with the memory of you breaking his heart, stomping all over it like it hadn’t been yours for the past 20 years - maybe all of your life.
“I love you,” He murmurs, squeezing your hand, “Y/N, I- I love you so much. I don’t remember anything,” He’s slurring his words slightly with fatigue, and you kiss the corner of his mouth as he speaks, “But I know you could have lost me forever, and I’m sure it wasn’t easy to handle.”
He has no idea how true his words are. Of course, you’d nearly lost his life to the crash. But two weeks earlier, you’d lost his touch, his voice, his gaze, his love, and you’re grateful the tears that line your eyes look natural.
“Mhm,” You nod, sniffling, “It was- it was hard, Brad.” You admit, thinking back to the night you’d left. You’d checked into a shitty motel for the night, and you’d cried yourself sick in the shower. Even after your stomach was emptied you couldn’t bring yourself to eat for two days afterwards, and you’d only given into the mini fridge after nearly passing out. Your days were long and spent regretting your decision, wondering if you’d ever be happy without him by your side, and worrying that he might be able to.
“I just keep wanting to do it over,” You gush, feeling his hand tighten around your own as you sob, “I- I wanted to take it back, to-” You swallow a sob, remembering your lines, “-to stop you from going to work. If I’d just made you stay…” Your face crumples with a gush of tears you aren’t able to hold back, and you give up on speaking for now.
“Hey, it’s not your fault,” Bradley hums, kissing the space between your nose and your cheek. It’s all he can reach from the way you’re sobbing into his pillow, and you’re thankful for the comfort you might not be able to get soon.
“You couldn’t have changed anything,” He promises, and you nestle your head into his own to absorb his soothing voice, “My plane was still the one with the defect, baby. I would have gone down tomorrow if not today. ‘S only a matter of time.”
A wave of sickness washes over you at his choice of words, and you nod, trying to regain a grip. You lift yourself up from the pillow, neck aching as you crane it to kiss his chin. He smiles at you, his eyes so genuine and sweet that it makes you want to lose your lunch; it’s an expression you don’t deserve anymore, even if you long for it. It’s only a matter of time before he remembers everything, and you don’t know what you’ll do if he doesn’t want you anymore.
“You’re tired,” You hum, and he nods against the pillow, “Sleep, baby. You need rest.” You sniffle, wiping away a tear from your eye more forcefully than you need to. You try to lean back in your chair but Bradley stiffens, and feel him tighten his grip on your hand.
“Please don’t leave me,” He begs, and more of that nausea comes rolling in. They’re the exact words he’d whimpered just next to your ear two weeks ago, keeping the door closed with one hand while the other wound around your waist. Then, you’d wormed your way out of his grip, ripping the door open despite his efforts to stop you and running off to your car. Now though, you meet his eyes, scared and desperate and lost, and you nod, scooting forwards to lay your head on his chest.
“I’ll stay,” You promise, and he raises a hand to brace it against your cheek. You turn your head to kiss his palm, and he strokes a thumb over your face, “I’ll stay, Bradley, I promise.”
The nap that you take on Bradley’s chest is the best sleep you’ve had since you left. Being in his embrace once more practically erases your undereye circles, and it takes you a few seconds after you wake up to remember that anything is out of the ordinary in the first place. Then it all comes flooding back, and you cycle through each stage of grief respectively while still slumped onto the bed. Then you feel a gentle tap on your shoulder, and you realize that Bradley’s nurse has shaken you awake.
“Hi,” The man smiles down at you, “Sorry to interrupt. I’m sure you didn’t want to wake up.”
“Oh,” You laugh hesitantly, slipping out from beneath Bradley’s hand and wiping away a slight glob of drool that had accumulated around the corner of your mouth, “No, no, it’s okay. What time is it?”
“Dinnertime,” Another nurse chimes from by the door, carrying another tray of meat and potatoes for Bradley, “Around six-thirty, Miss Mitchell.”
“You’re welcome to eat here with him,” The first nurse informs you, “But you’ll have to get something from the cafeteria, or order in. And visiting hours end at eight,” He levels you with a sympathetic smile, “But if you’ve got one bite left I won’t kick you out.”
“Thank you,” You chuckle wearily, your voice barely thickened with tears, “I appreciate that. Bradley,” You hum, squeezing his hand and stroking your free one through his hair, “Wake up, baby. They brought you some dinner.”
He comes to groggy, and you don’t blame him. He blinks a few times, then recognition washes over his face as he remembers why he’s there, and hopefully nothing else.
The nurses get busy with moving his bed, pressing buttons on the little remote strapped to the side until he’s inclined enough to eat his meal. The tray hooks into the sides of the bed so that he doesn’t have to hold anything, but you take his fork for him anyways, leaving his hands completely free.
“Thank you,” You nod gratefully at the nurses when they retreat for the door, a smear of mashed potatoes already gathered on the utensil in your hand. Bradley’s happy to let you feed him, humming at the taste of the beef they’ve given him. 
“Better than the chicken,” He hums, his voice gaining back a bit of its grating quality from earlier. He’s usually rough-voiced after a nap, so you don’t worry too much about it. Typically you indulge in his raspy morning voice, but now it seems insensitive. 
“Good,” You croon, scooping mashed potatoes and gravy onto a bite of the beef, “And it doesn’t bother your stomach?”
“What’s there to upset it, salt?” He grumbles around a mouthful, “Barely tastes like anything.”
“Sorry, Brad,” You hum, stroking a stray strand of caramel colored hair back into place, “I’m not supposed to feed you anything else, though.”
“I know,” He relents, lips puckering to kiss your wrist instead of wrapping around the spoon in your hand, “Not your fault, baby. But,” He rears back to takes the bite, chewing thoughtfully while you wait for his next sentence, “Can you bring me cookies tomorrow?”
You laugh, trying to keep it quiet in the slowly darkening hospital room. There’s no one around, and the door is closed, but his voice isn’t loud and you don’t want to overpower him. 
“I just said I wasn’t allowed to feed you anything else,” You roll your eyes affectionately, a teasing gesture you thought you’d never be able to do with the man anymore, “What makes you think I’d bring you cookies?”
“Um, ‘cause you love me?” Bradley drawls, voice finally rising to a healthy volume. Maybe it’s the food in his stomach, or maybe it’s a switch that was suddenly flipped in his chest, but he sounds like himself again.
His words sober your fantasy intoxication, and you smile sadly at him where he lays in his bed. You set the fork down to lay your hand over his cheek, your palm soaking in the warmth of his skin that’s newly returned.
“I do love you,” You promise, leaning in to kiss him. You have to lean over his plate to do so, and you’ll worry later about any potential gravy stains on your shirt. You go slow and gentle, worried that he’ll push you away for reasons he doesn’t remember yet. But he doesn’t. In fact, when you pull away to give him some air, he catches your wrist in a surprising display of agility for his weakened muscles, and you freeze in place.
“I’m sorry,” He murmurs, mustache shifting slightly with his apology, “I can’t stop thinking about you getting that call. I never-” His voice cracks, “I never wanted you to go through that.”
“Me neither,” You feel tears pricking at your eyes again, the same that are shining in Bradley’s, “But you don’t have to be sorry. None of this was your fault, and what matters is that you’re okay now. I have you back, Bradley, I- I didn’t lose you.”
“You’ll never lose me,” He vows, and your lips sting with the force of your bite to repress a sob. 
He lifts his head from his pillow, the first time he’s done it since waking up. He kisses your temple as you try not to cry, lips dotting staccato kisses against your skin as you tremble slightly.
“I promise, baby,” He hums softly into your skin as his hand comes up to hug you, “You won’t lose me.”
“I don’t want to lose you,” You cry, your fist gripping his hospital gown desperately. You want to believe him but it’s not even really Bradley talking, it’s three-weeks-ago Bradley that doesn’t remember you walking out of his life for self-preservation. It’s Bradley that doesn’t know the worst of you yet, but who could remember at any moment and cast you away.
“You won’t, I promise.” He coos, stroking up and down your back. You feel silly, accepting comfort from a hospital patient who went down in a fighter jet less than 24 hours ago, but you feel even sillier that it's the same man you’d torn to shreds days prior. But he’s comforting you, he’s rubbing your back, he’s kissing your face, and he’s promising you that you’ll never lose him, so you let him, because you love hearing him lie, even if he doesn't know he's doing it. 
“You promise?” You look up at him with watery eyes that blur out his face, but you see him nod. It’s unfair to ask, not when he doesn’t have the knowledge to truly promise. He cranes his neck forwards to bump noses with you, letting you cry against his skin.
“I do, honey.” He nods, holding you close like you’d never left at all,  “I promise.”
Going from crying into each other’s embraces back to eating bland mashed potatoes is hard, but you ease Bradley into it with a bite of granola bar you’d found in your purse. He’s grateful for something with flavor, and you’re glad to finally be rid of the half-eaten snack. 
“Oatmeal raisin cookies, please,” Bradley begs as he chews the snack, going as far as to bat his pretty lashes at you, brown eyes shiny with hope. 
You scoff, wiping a tear away from your face with a fond, albeit trembling smile, “Okay, Brad. Oatmeal raisin.”
“You’re the best,’ He hums, grinning with a mouthful of oats and chocolate. You check your phone to find that you’ve only got twenty minutes left until visiting hours are over, and your eyes dim as you glance back up at him.
“I have to go soon,” You lament, “Visiting hours are over in twenty.”
His face fades from its pretty smile, some of the newfound color draining from his skin once more. You’re sure he’ll have a nightmare tonight, something about jet crashes and dying alone, and you hate leaving him here so vulnerable.
“I’m sorry, baby,” You sniffle, squeezing his hand, “They open back up at 8 tomorrow, so as soon as I make those cookies I’ll be back, I promise.”
“I know,” He nods, raising your intertwined hands to kiss at your wrist, “It’s okay. Not your fault.”
“I’d stay overnight if I could.”
“I’d sneak you into my bed,” Bradley grins sadly, “S’alright, baby, just get a good night’s sleep. You deserve it after today.”
“You too,” You squeeze his hand, smiling sweetly at him, “And if you have a nightmare, text me, and I’ll crawl through the window, ‘promise.”
He laughs again, and now that he’s got most of his strength back it’s a normal sound. It’s not weak, it’s not subdued, it’s perfect. It’s Bradley.
“I’d like to see you try,” He teases, and you wipe a smear of chocolate off of his lower lip, remembering the first time you’d ever done that with a fond smile.
“I’m on the sixth floor.” He reminds you, and you shrug, sucking the chocolate off of your finger.
“Meh,” You crumble up the granola bar wrapper in your fist, “I could scale that easy.”
“Oh, really? Yeah, I bet you could,” Bradley chuckles, “You’re Spider-Man, suddenly? Sticking to walls? I must have forgotten your transformation.”
“Yeah, you did,” You grin with a laugh, “Actually, while I rushed over here to see you, a truck full of radioactive spiders crashed, and I got bitten by one. You’ve missed a lot, Brad.”
“Right,” Bradley’s brows raise, eyes alight with amusement, “Those radioactive spider trucks are a real nuisance, I hear.”
Giggling sweetly with him feels normal. The kind of normal you crave, the kind that isn’t settled for, but yearned for. And you’re clinging to it, pushing the truth out of your mind and playing the part perfectly.
A knock on the door interrupts your gigglefest and you turn in time to see the nurse from before entering, a bittersweet smile on his face. 
“I’m supposed to kick you out,” He jokes, holding Bradley’s chart, “And you’re free to sleep whenever, Mr. Bradshaw, we don’t need to conduct any more tests tonight. You’re just here to be monitored."
“Alright,” Bradley nods and you stand, still clasping his hand in yours. The doctor busies himself with straightening up the chairs around the bed, and you take the privacy he so kindly grants you.
“Sleep good,” You recite your pre-bedtime deployment sendoff to Bradley, the phrase having gathered dust in the back of your head since his last overseas assignment, “Sweet dreams, and call me when you can.”
“I will,” Bradley leans up to kiss you, going for your lips, then your cheek, then your chin, “You too, baby. Get some rest. I’m okay, I promise.”
“Yeah,” You beam down at him, smoothing his hair away from his forehead, “You’re okay, Brad.”
"See you tomorrow!" He calls as you leave, and you turn to nod.
"See you tomorrow, baby." You promise once more, hand on the door handle, "Goodnight."
“Sleep well, Mr. Bradshaw,” The nurse bids Bradley goodbye with a smile and a nod as you trail out behind him, and at the click of the door behind the two of you, it’s like you’re the recovering amnesia patient. Now that Bradley’s not there anymore, not smiling at you, not telling you he loves you, it’s like you can’t be sure of anything, like you’re still that imposter you’d been when you’d first stepped in. You come to the sickening realization, only after the fact, that you'd loved lying to Bradley, and it makes you feel worse. Your reverie is shattered, and the nurse beside you notices your shaky breathing as you trail down the hallway.
“Miss, are you okay?” His brows furrow in concern, and you nod.
“Yeah, just-” You smooth your hands down your pants, your palms sweaty, “It’s a lot. Being in there, seeing him like- like that. I guess I wasn’t prepared.”
“No one is,” The nurse smiles sympathetically at you, leading you to an elevator, “But he’s right, Miss Mitchell. He’ll be alright. And hopefully, his memories will restore themselves overnight. There’s a good chance he’ll wake up remembering it all.”
You’re sure that was meant to soothe you, but it’s only sent more nausea rolling through your body. You nod, forcing a smile as the doors shut between you, “Thank you, Nurse.”
Once the doors shut, you want to burst into tears. You don’t want the reception desk to see that, though, so you rush through the motions of leaving, practically running to your car. Once you’re safely inside the floodgates open, and you’re surprised you don’t trigger the horn from how hard you’re sobbing against the steering wheel.
You try to channel Bradley’s voice, ‘I promise baby, you won't lose me.’ but it makes things worse, it piles guilt on top of your sickness and makes you want to run away again. Because he’d promised you that he’d never leave you, not that he’d ever let you come back if you’d left him. And that’s what you’re worried about now.
Running away hadn’t stopped anything bad from happening, it just made you feel worse when bad things did happen. Thankful for your second chance, you swear to yourself in the stuffy silence of your car that you’ll do anything to fix this, and that you’re not going to fuck this up again because you’re scared. Love is scary, giving yourself completely to another person is scary, but Bradley’s always been good at soothing your fears, and there’s no one you’d rather give yourself to.
You steel yourself as you prepare to drive back to your motel, but second-guess it when you remember that Bradley has his phone with him. You have each other shared on Find My Friends, and he doesn’t normally check it unless he’s worried about your safety, but you’re paranoid that he’ll find your pin at a crappy motel and know something is wrong. So you punch in Bradley’s address instead, the one you used to share with him, still labeled as ‘home’, and set off.
The drive looks familiar in no time, and it reminds you of how much you’d missed it. The big oak tree on your neighbor’s lawn, the flag perpetually at half-mast because the man across the street fell while adjusting it and never fixed it, the tricycle on the sidewalk beside your front door that the toddler next door always seemed to leave on your walkway. You check the mail and feel something stabbing at your chest when your name is on one of the letters, and your house key is cold with disuse as you slide it into the slot.
You hesitate when the doorknob turns beneath your fingers. Walking into Bradley’s space will tell you exactly how he feels about what happened between you. There’s either going to be empty bottles strewn everywhere with pictures laying around covered in tear stains, or there’s going to be a hot pink bra in his bed, and a new woman’s makeup kit in his bathroom. Hell, maybe she’ll even still be there, maybe you’re about to walk in on your replacement.
But the promise you’d made to yourself in the car wasn’t for show, and you turn the knob after taking a deep breath, stepping into the darkened home.
You call out an uncertain ‘hello?’ into the place, waiting with bated breath for a woman’s voice to respond. But it never does, and you flick the light on beside the door.
You’d been right with one of your guesses.
It’s messy. Not exactly the outwardly disastrous type of messy you’d imagined earlier, but knowing all of the little things about Bradley means that you know he’s let himself go over the past two weeks. His running shoes are gathering dust by the door, which seems to suggest that he’s been lazing in bed just like you have. The living room is pristine, the pillows all arranged the way you set it up that Bradley doesn’t care to replicate, and you wonder if he’s sat on the couch at all the entire time since you’ve been gone. There’s no grocery list on the fridge and upon further inspection, the appliance is close to empty, one lonely beer left alongside ketchup, mustard, and a rotting head of lettuce. Unless he was eating the worst burgers known to man, you don’t think he’s been eating anything from the kitchen. Your heart aches for Bradley; you hope he’s been ordering food in.
Walking through the space is like revisiting a crime scene as the killer. Everything here is because of you, the pictures stripped from the walls are gone because of you, the lonely toothbrush in the dual holder is because of you, the neatly made side of the bed with its messy counterpart is because of you. 
You realize that it’s your side that’s slept on, Bradley’s still tucked neatly in place, unused. You spot a red covering over your pillow, reaching for it and finding it to be an old t-shirt of yours that Bradley had raided your dresser drawers for. It’s one he’d bought you at a tourist trap on your vacation a few years ago, and it was your favorite to lounge in. You notice a dark spot on the fabric and only then realize that you’re crying, that it’s a tear that had fallen from your eye. Then it’s like everything hits you all at once, and you sink onto the mattress clutching the pillow. It smells like Bradley, and you know he’s been clinging to it every night, a thought that solidifies your sneaking suspicion that you might be the worst person on the planet.
You curl up and cry there, you don’t know for how long. All you can do is sob, soak your pillow with tears that you thought you were out of, clutch the bedsheets like they’ll reveal Bradley, hidden underneath and eager for a cuddle. This bed feels as empty as the motel’s had, maybe even emptier, because you’ve never slept in it away from Bradley. When he’s on deployment you always have a sweatshirt of his and a picture of him tucked under the pillow, but you know it won’t be there now. Now you’re alone, really alone. 
Your eyes droop and you know you need sleep, especially if you’re going to wake up early to make Bradley cookies in time for visiting hours to start. But you can’t bring yourself to sleep without the picture of him under his pillow, so you stumble out of bed to fetch it from your box of memories.
Your fingers close around the slightly wrinkled photo, a shot of you in a gown and Bradley in a suit. It’s one you’d taken yourself at your graduation, high school turned college sweethearts. He had wanted admission into the Naval Academy, but in order to spend more time with you, you’d enrolled together at a university. It’s your favorite photo to have with you, and you reach out to Bradley’s pillow to slide it underneath. Upon lifting the pillow, you find a stack of pictures already there. Each one of you, most with Bradley pictured in them too. They only make you cry harder, and you recognize some as the inserts of the picture frames that had been taken down from the hallway.
It looks like Bradley hoarded photos of you, and some are stiff and stained with tears. The sight is something out of a movie, a dramatic indication of the inner turmoil of its main character. You see a shot of your silhouettes together, faces darkened by the sun streaming in behind you. You’re kissing on the beach, and without paying much mind to the structural integrity of the photo, you clutch it to your chest.
You’re a wreck. You just want your Bradley back, but your Bradley isn’t yours anymore. You want three-weeks-ago Bradley back, the one who you didn’t run away from. But he’ll probably have his memories back by tomorrow, and there’s no telling if he’d even want you to visit again. Looking at the sorry state of his apartment, you know he misses you, but whether he wants you back is another question altogether. All you can do is wait and worry, and worry you do. As you sob and heave in the bed, your brain shuts down, and eventually you drift into a dreamless, unpleasant sleep, nose still buried in your shirt that smells like Bradley.
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jupitercomet · 4 months
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There Are 15 People in This House, You’re the Only One Who Has to Make Trouble
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summary - Your job was simple: write a heartwarming article about the selfless firefighters who are working around the clock instead of celebrating the holidays. You thought it would be easy, firefighters are supposed to be friendly, right? Well the fire captain who's had it out for you since the day that you started certainly isn't. When he's not undermining you at every turn, he's making your life a living hell and downright ruining your Christmas. All because he caught you from falling out of a tree one time!
warnings - firefighter au, language, enemies to lovers (I tried), firefighting inaccuracies, mentions of guns, mentions of arson, there's a fire, mentions of toxic family, age gap though it's not really specified, a little suggestive, Bradley is 6'6" because I said so
word count - 14.2k
this fic is part of @sailor-aviator christmas challenge, be sure to check out what everyone else has written and I hope you enjoy!
the christmas fics
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“Honey, I don’t think—” 
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Layford,” you wave off the older woman as you move to unbutton your coat. “Here, hold this please.” She takes your purse from you apprehensively, still wary as you set your coat on the ground and start sizing up the tree in front of you.
Mrs. Layford wets her lips against the chill of the morning air, trying again to deter you when you wrap your hand around one of the low branches. “I’ve already called the fire department, honey. They said they’re on their way.”
With a soft grunt, you hoist yourself up onto the lowest branch of the tree, peering through the snow covered foliage to catch sight of your target. Mittens, the slightly pudgy (though you’d never say it to his face—or Mrs. Layford’s) orange tabby, clings to one of the branches, letting out distressed meows every few seconds. He has a habit of getting stuck in trees—hence why Mrs. Layford knows most of the firefighters by name—and as the neighbor she often came to for help with things like the wifi and the apartment upstairs that plays their music too loud, you felt it was your civic duty to rescue Mittens on this snowy morning.
“Hey, buddy,” you call out to him softly before turning back to call down to Mrs. Layford. “I’ll have him out before they even get here, don’t worry.”
Letting go of the tree with one hand, you move to unwrap your scarf from around your neck, balancing around the rough bark of the trunk. You certainly have a hole in your tights and this was not the best activity to do in a skirt, but you shuffle along the trunk anyway and now, if you outstretch your hand all the way, you can reach the tips of Mittens’ puffed out fur.
“Oh, thank goodness!” You hear the relieved voice of Mrs. Layford, but you’re too busy trying to maneuver your scarf around Mittens’ plump middle that you don’t look down. “My neighbor’s trying to get him now but…”
Whatever she’s saying dies off and suddenly you hear heavy footsteps approaching the tree. A gruff voice clears its throat. “Ma’am, I’m going to need you to get down from there.”
You wrinkle your nose. Ma’am? You’re 27. That’s hardly an age that people start calling you “ma’am”. In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever been called ma’am in your life. “Miss” maybe, but never “ma’am”—“mademoiselle” that one time you went to Montreal on a work trip.
“Ma’am—”
“Hold on, hold on! I almost got him.” You interrupt the man who is terrible at estimating ages, finally wrapping your scarf around Mittens.
Carrying a cat in a scarf is a two handed job, and a cat as heavy as Mittens had no trouble throwing off your balance. You suppose you should have thought more of this through—if you were holding Mittens, it meant that you weren’t holding the tree and your thighs are not quite secure nor strong enough to keep you attached to the bark. A shriek leaves your lips and you hold Mittens to your chest as you suddenly lose your footing on the branch and feel yourself falling backwards off the tree.
Closing your eyes tight, you prepare for the impact of hitting either icy dirt or concrete sidewalk, but feel neither when you land in secure arms and a solid chest, the scent of cedar and smoke almost overpowering your senses. 
Blinking your eyes open, you collect your bearings and find yourself face to face with a well groomed mustache that’s twitching in agitation. Before he can say anything, Mrs. Layford is rushing over to you with a worried expression pinching her features.
You unwrap your scarf quickly, holding out an unharmed Mittens to hand over. “He’s okay,” you assure her. “Not a scratch on him.”
Mrs. Layford lets out a breath of relief, holding the cat close to her chest before turning her attention to the man still holding you. “Thank you, Bradley.”
“What? I saved him! Don’t I deserve a thank you?” You squawk in offense.
“Well, he saved you both,” Mrs. Layford glares at you with a look that tells you that you don’t want to keep arguing with her. Her face softens when she turns back to your—alleged—savior. “I’m sorry for any trouble we’ve caused, I’ll bring some cookies over to the station for you and the boys.”
“No need.” You feel his words vibrate in his chest, sending tingles along your arm. “Happy to be of service.” He lifts you suddenly, as if to gesture to you, and you let out a squeak of surprise, clinging to his compact, black t-shirt. “I’m just gonna check her for any injuries and be on my way. Why don’t you and Mittens go inside where it’s warm.”
Mrs. Layford does just that, with one last goodbye, and you watch her make her way back into your apartment building with one last glance back at you. Finally, the firefighter sets you back down on your own two feet, crossing his very large arms as he scans you up and down. You can’t help but fidget under his stare even though you know he’s only making sure you’re okay.
“Do you usually have this much disregard for your own life, ma’am?” He asks finally.
You scoff. “I wouldn’t have died from a fall from that height. And don’t call me ma’am.”
“Yes, you could have. You were falling backwards—head first at that—if you had landed on your neck wrong, this could have been a whole different story,” the firefighter narrows his eyes cockily, like he’s beaten you somehow by being more right than you. “And what should I call you then? Kitty? ‘Cause those are the only things I save from trees.” He smirks when your jaw drops at his audacity.
“Excuse me? I was saving a kitty. You were just standing there—”
“Just standing there?” He drops his cool guy persona to look at you incredulously. “I saved you from serious injury!”
“Ha! So you admit I wouldn’t have died!”
The firefighter’s mouth snaps shut when you point a finger at him. You watch his jaw clench and then he rolls his eyes.
“Well as delightful as this has been, I’m going to be late,” you smile at him sweetly as you bend down to grab your coat, much more smug now that you’ve finally silenced the man in front of you. “Gosh, I hope the firefighters I have to interview are as heroic and charming as you.” You shove your arms through your jacket before shooting him another look. “Am I free to go?”
“You know what—” The firefighter looks like he’s going to start another lecture, before his features falter and he pauses. “Did you say you’re interviewing firefighters?”
“Yeah, I’m writing an article for the paper. For the holidays and all that,” you pause from buttoning your coat, fingers stilling on one of the large, black buttons.
“You walking?” He questions.
You give him a weird look. “...Yeah?”
He looks at you for a moment and then lets out a deep sigh. “Come with me.”
“Excuse me? I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Well, you might as well.” With that, he starts walking away from you, not even giving you the decency of facing you as he continues his sentence. “We’re going the same place, kitty.”
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“So…” You tap your fingers along the wooden stool below you, drawing out the word as you watch the man in front of you clean up things around the station. “Bradley Bradshaw, huh?”
“Fire Captain Bradley Bradshaw.” He corrects.
You hold back an eye roll, lifting your pen to jot something down on your notepad. “Right.”
“What are you writing?” Bradley stops suddenly, marching over to you and ripping your notepad from you before you can protest. He reads over the few words you have scribbled and narrows his eyes. “I do not have an authority kink. And I highly doubt your article is supposed to be about my sex life.”
You shrug, plucking the notepad back from him. “I’m just writing what I see.” Hoping down from the stool, you give him another sickeningly sweet smile. “Maybe if you actually gave me an interview, I wouldn’t have to rely on my people reading skills.”
“I already told you, I already have a guy that’ll give you an interview. He eats this press shit up.” Again Bradley seems to have no regard for face-to-face conversations as he’s already walking away from you.
You’re borderline running to keep up with him. “And I already told you that my assignment is to follow you guys around for a week, I’m going to need more than one interview.”
“Alright, fine.” Bradley stops suddenly and you nearly trip over your own feet to stop from bumping into him. “You want an interview? Here’s an interview. I’m a firefighter, I fight fires. Sometimes I catch careless girls from falling out of trees—it’s not really my job, but I like to give back to the community.” He shrugs sarcastically. “When I’m not putting out fires, I wait here until someone calls me to put out a fire, and then I do. That good enough for you?”
You ignore his not so subtle dig at you in favor of jotting down notes. This is probably the most you’re gonna get with him, so you might as well take advantage of it. “Are you sad you won’t be getting time off for the holidays?”
“No, I’m not. I don’t really celebrate, so I don’t care that much.” Bradley crosses his arms.
“Uh-huh,” you nod, still looking at your notepad. “And when will you be accepting your award from People Magazine for Grumpiest Man of the Year?”
“When will I—” When Bradley processes your words, his jaw clenches and you’re suddenly aware of your height difference as he towers over you menacingly. “Oh, you’re real funny, kitty. Look, in case I haven’t made it clear, I don’t like you. And if I had it my way, you wouldn’t be here at all, so let me make this easy for you. Stay out of my way.”
The two of you stare at each other and you note how tense Bradley’s shoulders are. He looks like one of those bulls in the bullfighting rings that chase after the red capes. You read once that it isn’t the color red that sets off the bull, but actually the movement of the cape and if you’re the red cape in this scenario then you probably shouldn’t move. Honestly you wonder if bulls can even see the color red. But that caricature of a bull with smoke coming out of his nose is exactly what Bradley looks like right now. You wonder if you should tell him that.
“Seresin.” He barks suddenly, still keeping his eyes on you and it takes everything in you not to jump.
You hadn’t even noticed the other firefighter making his way down the stairs and you’re mildly impressed by Bradley’s peripheral vision. Finally Bradley breaks eye contact with you and it’s only then that you turn to take in the other man in front of you.
Much like Bradley, he’s unfairly tall. His uniform certainly hugs him in all the right places and he fills it out with what you know is concentrated muscle. Blond hair is gelled up slightly on his head and piercing green eyes meet your own with a polite smile that his captain hadn’t given you.
Bradley nods his head in your direction. “Give our journalist here an interview.”
“Sorry, Captain,” The man’s eyes dart to the exit and he almost seems to shift his weight nervously. “I actually have to be somewhere—”
“That was an order, Lieutenant.” Bradley interrupts him and then he’s stalking off before you or the other man can get another word in.
With that lovely, uncomfortable aura in the air, you shoot the man in front of you an apologetic smile. “Hi,” you introduce yourself, holding out a hand. “I’m with the Union-Tribune. I’m writing an article about the firefighters working over the holidays and would love to get an interview from you if you have the time.”
“Well, apparently I do,” the blond chuckles awkwardly, scratching at his neck as he shakes your hand with his other one. “Jake Seresin.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Jake.” You smile again.
He nods—infinitely friendlier than a certain Bradley Bradshaw. “So what questions were you wanting to ask me?”
You move to find somewhere for the two of you to sit and Jake follows with what looks to be a strained smile. His name feels familiar, though you certainly couldn’t have put it to the face, and you recall a recent article one of your colleagues had written about a nasty apartment fire that had practically brought the complex down. As of now, there weren’t any casualties, but you’d heard there had been a high number injured, including one in critical condition. Jake Seresin had been one of the firefighters to arrive on the scene—that’s how you recognized his name—and had been the last one to go in and look for any other people.
You know better than to ask him about the event, not when it has nothing to do with your article. You clear your throat with another smile. “Um, did you always know you wanted to be a firefighter?”
“I guess so,” Jake chuckles before pulling a bit of a face. “I thought it looked cool in the movies. My ma always said I was a bit of a wild child.”
“Oh, so you find firefighting to be a bit of an adrenaline rush?” You push.
“Well, I—” Jake falters. “I don’t know if I’d say that. I mean it can be, but it’s also…” He trails off, clearly looking for words that don’t seem to be coming to him.
“It’s okay,” you assure, knowing when to move on. “Complicated question. What about the holidays? Are you sad to be working?”
Jake looks infinitely relieved that you’ve changed the subject. “Originally, I was planning on heading home but… things changed and I figured if I was staying here, I might as well be working.” He glances at his watch suddenly and winces. “Is there another time we could do this? I’m sorry, but I really have to get somewhere.”
You nod hastily. “Of course! I’m sorry to keep you. I’ll be here all week so anytime you’re free, you know where to find me.”
Jake lets out a breath of relief. “Thanks. I’ll— I’ll be sure to do that.” He gives you an awkward wave before hastily heading towards the exit. Right as his hand meets the door, Jake pauses, turning back to you with a more sincere smile. “Oh, and don’t worry about Bradley. He’s like that with everyone.”
You watch him leave before sagging in your seat with a soft sigh. If the rest of the firefighters were like Jake then maybe this week wouldn’t be so bad—at the very least, you’d be able to write your article. Your thoughts drift to honeyed brown eyes and that permanent sneer that seems to cement every time it’s shot in your direction. You look down at your notes.
Bradley Bradshaw:
Authority kink
Biting back a smile, you scribble something quickly.
Authority kink (maybe)
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The next day, you’re back at the fire station with a bright smile on your face. After a good night’s rest, you’ve decided that you’re not about to let the whole Bradley thing deter you. You are a trained professional and you’re certainly not about to let a man with a stick up his ass make the world think any differently. Securing your fingers around the bright pink box in your hands, you take one finally deep breath before walking inside the station.
“Hello?” You peer around, hoping to catch a lingering firefighter (ideally doing something praisable, like fostering a litter of abandoned kittens—it would look good for the article.) When you find no response, you call out again, louder this time. “I brought doughnuts.”
There’s a slight commotion from upstairs and then a group of six are filing down the stairs. At the front of the pack is a man with the prettiest curls you’ve ever seen, his eyes lit up excitedly as he takes in the treats in your hands.
He shoots his hand up suddenly. “I call jelly-filled!”
The man behind him shoves him and you hold back a gasp when he almost trips over the last step because of it. “You can’t call the jelly-filled one, dude.” You watch as they both make it down the stairs, still arguing with each other as they get closer to you.
“Boys!” There’s a sudden whistle and you also look up to see a stunning woman with dark brown hair pulling her fingers from her mouth. “You wanna say hi first? You’re being rude.”
The two men turn to you, much more sheepishly, embarrassment covering their features. “I’m Mickey,” the first one says, holding out his hand before realizing you’re not quite in the position to shake it.
“Reuben,” provides the other one.
You give them your name—along with your whole spiel about why you’re here—and open the box of doughnuts for them. “Don’t worry,” you wink. “I got two jelly doughnuts.”
Reuben and Mickey light up, taking the two powdered treats from you hastily as the rest of their colleagues finally make their way over to you. Jake you recognize and he’s flanked by a man slightly taller than him with a cropped buzz cut and jovial eyes. The woman is accompanied by another man whose thick glasses are balancing on his nose. Out of everyone, he seems the kindest—he just gives off that vibe—and he smiles at you politely when he realizes you’re staring at him.
“Bringing in the big guns, I see,” Jake teases, gesturing to the doughnuts Reuben and Mickey are already snacking on. He seems in better spirits than yesterday—or, at the very least, more sure of himself.
You play along, picking up a maple frosted doughnut and offering it to him. “I figured a little bribery never hurt.” You wait for him to take the doughnut before turning to the other three people standing next to him. “Would you guys like any?”
The man behind Jake, raises his hand, stepping forward to grab a sprinkled doughnut from the box. “You clearly did not think this through, because there’s no way I can give an interview with my mouth full,” he jokes before taking a large bite.
“Oh, good point,” Jake points at him and you feel you’re already getting a sense of their dynamic when they fist bump.
“Okay, since clearly all of you were raised in a barn, I’ll be the polite one,” the woman in front of you rolls her eyes, before shooting you a kind smile. “I’m Natasha,” she introduces. “That’s Bob.” She points at the man with glasses. “As you’ve heard, that’s Mickey and Reuben. The smartass over there is Javy.” The smartass in question waves, still eating his doughnut. “And I’m assuming you’ve already met Jake?”
You nod as both she and Bob finally reach over to grab a doughnut. Bob lets out a quiet “thank you” as his fingers wrap around a blueberry one.
“It’s nice to meet you all,” you say honestly.
“Well, it’s nice to meet the woman who’s gonna tell all of San Diego how sexy and heroic I am,” Javy winks at you. “Right?”
Jake scoffs good-naturedly. “Javy please, she’ll be far too distracted watching me.” He shoots you a look that you assume usually leaves women reeling (you’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little flustered yourself.) “Just let me know when you want to continue that private interview, sweetheart.”
“Private interview?” Javy whines. “C’mon man, you can’t give me one of these things?”
You snort. “Well, actually, I was hoping to get private interviews from all of you.”
Before anyone else can respond, someone clears their throat from the top of the staircase. “If you’re just gonna be distracting my firefighters, this isn’t going to work.”
You recognize the voice—of course, you recognize the voice—and you force a smile onto your face as Bradley Bradshaw, in all his black t-shirt and firefighter pants glory, descends
 the stairs. Though you’re trying to keep it professional, Natasha does not share that sentiment and rolls her eyes.
“Oh lay off it, Bradshaw. We’re not even doing anything right now.”
“Yeah,” Jake chimes in. “Just grab a doughnut man, we saved you the chocolate frosted one.”
Bradley growls. “I don’t like chocolate frosted doughnuts.” From over his shoulder, Jake mouths “He does!” and you bite back a smile. “And you may not be doing anything right now, but you’re all on call. You shouldn’t be standing around eating snacks.”
“Bradley—” Bob starts, but you wave him quiet, forcing your smile even wider.
“No, he’s right,” you nod politely in Bradley’s direction, closing the box of doughnuts. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have distracted you guys.”
“Your job is to follow us around, not get in the way,” Bradley reminds you—because you’re learning it might actually kill him to be nice to you. “And put those in the fridge or something. I don’t want Goose getting to them.”
You pause, brows furrowing in question. “Goose?”
As if on cue, a large dalmatian suddenly comes bounding down the steps, nearly tripping on his big paws in his haste. Behind you, you hear Mickey whisper something about how “he must have jumped the baby-gate again”. You can hardly react before the dog sets his sights on you, racing over to you with wide, brown eyes and a tongue practically flopping around the side of his mouth.
On instinct you bend down, shifting the doughnut box in one hand and leaving your other free to pet the very excited dog. You miscalculate his force though and when he runs into you, you stumble, the doughnut box wobbling in your hand as you try to steady yourself and pet Goose at the same time.
The box is snatched from your hand right before it can fall to the floor and you look up—fingers still locked in Goose’s fur—to find Bradley glaring at you, the doughnut box now in his possession. “What did I just say?”
“Leave her alone, Bradley. You’ve let him eat way worse than a couple doughnuts.” Reuben comes to your defense, but there seems to be a silent agreement in the air that the firefighters are going to get back to work as they all start making their way up the stairs where you assume the offices and bunks are.
Luckily, Bradley does decide to let it go, moving to shove the doughnuts in the mini-fridge they had set up nearby. He brings his fingers to his mouth and lets out a sharp whistle. “C’mon, Goose.”
The dog doesn’t move from where he’s panting in front of you and—not wanting to start another argument with Bradley—you remove your hands from the dog in hopes he’d be more incentivized to return to his owner.
“Goose.” Bradley calls again, a somewhat confused expression on his face as he pats his leg.
This time the dog plops his butt down on your shoes, looking up at you with Bambi eyes as if urging you to keep petting him.
From behind Bradley there’s a snort and you’re unsure what to do except stand there until Bradley finally rolls his eyes.
“Fine.” He turns around. “Stay there then.”
You wait for Bradley to ascend the stairs and disappear from sight before crouching down and scratching behind both of Goose’s ears. “Thanks for keeping me company,” you whisper. 
You spend most of your time with Mickey and Reuben after that. The two are more than happy to answer your questions, sharing little fun facts with you as they check the firetrucks and do all the other things Mickey likes to call “busy work”. They have plenty of anecdotes - like the time Jake organized a sexy fireman photo shoot or the time a drunk Javy went down the fireman’s pole upside down. Through every story, both men are smiling brightly and you can tell that they genuinely care for the other people working around them.
“I mean, yeah it sucks I’m not seeing my family for the holidays,” Mickey tells you, eyes trained on checking the hose attachments on the truck. “But these guys are kinda like my second family, you know?”
Reuben elbows him good-naturedly. “That was fucking cheesy, dude.” He turns to look at you. “But what about you?”
“Sorry?”
“Well… You’re spending the holidays with us too, right? How do you feel about that?” He questions and, once he points it out, it seems to register to Mickey too and he looks equally invested in your answer.
You shrug, fidgeting with the end of your notebook. “Um, I was kinda expecting it honestly. It’s sorta my thing to work over the holidays, so I was ready for it.”
“You don’t go home?” Mickey furrows his brows.
“Nope,” you force a laugh, desperately hoping to move the conversation on to something else. You’re saved thankfully, when Natasha comes bounding down the steps.
“Guys, we’ve got a car accident on Waters and 1st,” she informs you all and you step out of the way quickly, not wanting to slow them down in the slightest.
Mickey and Reuben just nod, giving you a brief wave goodbye before following after Natasha. You watch them all load up into the truck quickly, wincing slightly when the loud siren starts sounding. They leave impressively fast—a note you make sure to jot down—and once they do, you look for something else to do until they return.
Remembering the doughnuts you brought—and the fact you’ve had yet to have one—you make your way over to the mini-fridge to grab the box. A small smile stretches across your face when you realize that the chocolate frosting one is missing. You discard the thought of grabbing a doughnut, instead reaching for your pen.
Bradley Bradshaw:
Authority kink (maybe)
Likes chocolate frosted doughnuts
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Day four and you’re walking in with a smile on your face and a paper bag clenched between your fingers. The day before had proved to be similar to your second day at the station, you followed Jake and Javy around as they did much of the same of what Mickey and Reuben had done the day before. It meant that you also got to watch in on the tour of the fire station that they gave to a small class of children and their teacher. Unsurprisingly, the kids were most excited to meet Goose, but it was clear how much fun they were having with Javy and Jake. 
When you asked why a classroom would be visiting the station over their school break, Javy informed you that they’d scheduled another day for all the kids who were sick on the days that their classes got to visit the station. It was heartwarming to see both Jake and Javy take extra time out of their schedules for these kids and it was definitely going into your article.
You’d caught sight of Bradley a few times that day, but, unsurprisingly, he was doing his best to avoid you. Not that you exactly minded, but you knew you couldn’t write this article without at least one interview with the fire captain and you were determined to do just that.
Bradley doesn’t even look up when you finally find him in his office and drop your somewhat crumpled paper bag on his desk.
“What’s this?” He asks, flipping through more paperwork, like your sudden appearance hardly warrants pausing his work.
You shrug it off, telling yourself it’s highly unlikely that he’ll want to talk to you if you catch an attitude after his first question (granted he already has one, but still!) “A chocolate frosted doughnut.
This catches him and he lets his eyes snap to the bag. “I don’t want it.”
Asshole.
“That’s okay,” you force a wide smile. “I just thought you might, but you don’t have to eat it.”
“Why’d you bring it?” Bradley asks suspiciously and, with the way he’s looking at the bag, you’d think there was a bomb in it.
You let out a breath. Now or never. “Well… I was hoping to get an interview with you.”
For the first time, maybe ever, you see Bradley’s lips twitch upward slightly. “The first one not enough for you?”
A joke! He made a joke!
“Well, it was, but then I realized it made you sound like a tool,” you tease. And the smile drops. Damn it! You open your mouth to amend quickly. “I mean, I figured you might want to say more… about being the fire captain and everything.” You’re gonna have to pull out all the stops for this—including the authority kink.
Bradley studies your face and, again, you want to fidget under his gaze, but you do your best not to. He glances at the clock and then gestures for you to sit. “5 minutes. I have work to do.”
You physically hold back the eye roll and the retort that he must be quite good at knowing what 5 minutes feels like. (Actually, you know for a fact that he probably doesn’t, not with those arms… and those thighs. He could probably go for 12 hours, the bastard.) Shaking off all your thoughts, you sit down in the chair at Bradley’s desk. Goose lifts his head from where it’s resting in his dog bed and trots over to you for head scratches.
Bradley watches the interaction but keeps his mouth shut.
After giving Goose one more scratch for good measure, you shift into work mode, reaching for your pencil and notepad. Deciding to ease your way into everything first, you start off with a fairly simple question. “Is there anything you would want people to know about you?”
Bradley shifts and then shrugs. “Not really. I don’t believe in getting praised for just doing my job. I still don’t even know what the point of all this is,” he gestures to your notepad as if to refer to your whole article.
“Well, I think a lot of people would disagree with you, your job’s pretty heroic,” you tell him honestly, even in the few days you’d been here, you’re able to see that. And you’re able to see how much Bradley has to do with it. “What about your childhood? Did you always want to be a firefighter?”
Bradley visibly stiffens at your words, the papers in his hands crumpling a bit as his fingers tense. “No.”
“No?”
When it’s clear you want at least a little more from him, Bradley shifts in his seat. “I wanted to be a cop.”
That catches you by surprise, your pencil stilling on your notepad. 
“My godfather was one— Well, still is, he’s chief now,” Bradley continues, almost as if you aren’t there. “I spent my whole childhood trying to be just like him and then he pulled my application from the police academy.”
It’s clear that this affected Bradley far more than he’s showing with his nonchalant retelling—if the haunted look in his eyes is anything to go by. And he’s telling you far more than you ever thought he would, far more personal things. The air is uncomfortable after he finishes and you really don’t know what to say, so you just say the first thing to come out.
“Oh, thank god.”
Bradley seems to snap back to the room, his brows furrowing. “Excuse me?”
“I mean, I don’t even want to think about a world where you were given a gun.” The words keep coming out and you know you shouldn’t be saying them, but you genuinely can’t stop yourself. “Probably woulda shot me out of that tree or something.”
Bradley looks genuinely speechless, lips slightly parted as he stares at you in disbelief. “You—” Words fail him until he finally narrows his eyes. “Was that a joke?”
“Yes!” You blurt quickly in a last ditch attempt to save face.
“You are—” Bradley chuckles darkly and it’s very off putting. “You are something else, kitty. And I really don’t think you’re in a position to be judging.” He says it like he knows something you don’t.
You cross your arms. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He leans forward against his desk, a condescending smile on his face. “You really think people care about shit like this?” He gestures to the station around you. “No, it’s the holidays, and I know a lot of very important things worth writing about over the holidays.” Your face falters and you know that Bradley knows he has you. “Things that, if you were respected in your field, you’d be writing about. But instead you’re here for something no one’s gonna read. You know what that tells me, kitty?”
You swallow. “What does that tell you?”
“That I’m not the only person who finds you incredibly annoying.”
Okay.
Massive asshole.
Godzilla sized asshole.
However two could play at that game. You sit up in your seat, meeting his cocky gaze with a sickeningly sweet smile.  “Are you an arsonist?” 
“Excuse me?” Bradley blinks back in surprise.
“There’ve been studies that show that firefighters with god-complexes could be more likely to become arsonists because they love the thrill and attention. They light the fire, wait for someone to report it, and then they put it out and play hero,” you lean back in your chair with a smug look on your face. “Some actually get sexual gratification from it.” You sniff. “So I think it’s in both of our best interests that you answer me honestly, Mr. Bradshaw, because I can promise you that people would read about a fire captain outed as an arsonist. So could you state that you do not get sexual gratification from putting out fires?” You smile and blink up at him. “For the record.”
How’s that for annoying, asswipe?
Bradley clenches his jaw.
“Oh, would you look at that?” You pretend to gasp, getting up from your chair so you’re finally the one towering over Bradley, and move to step out of his office. “I guess my article will be about your sex life after all!” 
With that, you close the door a little harder than you need to, smoothing down your skirt and tipping your chin up before walking away from Bradley’s office. So your interview hadn’t gone as well as you’d hoped. But, as you spare a quick glance behind you and see him through the window angrily pulling out your doughnut, you get the feeling that anything good you learn about Bradley Bradshaw wouldn’t be anything he’d tell you to your face.
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“Thank you, Bob!” You smile kindly as the bespeckled man starts heading back to continue working around the station. 
Now with a notepad full of anecdotes and personalities, you feel a lot better about the state of your article. As you suspected, all of the firefighters were far more forthcoming than Bradley had ever been—and significantly nicer too. Speaking of the disgruntled man, you’d taken his advice and stayed out of his way as much as you could these past couple days. It proved to be a bit difficult because his dog Goose seemed to take special liking to you, which clearly annoyed Bradley to no end. But he has yet to give you some old man lecture or threaten to kick you out again so you’re doing your best to keep it that way.
If this were anything but your job, you’d probably be far less likely to put up with his bullshit. (And even though it’s your job, you know you still make fun of him constantly if given the chance, which is why you’re doing your best to avoid him so that you don’t have to suddenly explain to your publisher why you’ve somehow been banned from the fire station.) You’re sure you’ve gotten off on the wrong foot with him, but you’ve actually never seen him be nice to anyone here. He’s respectful—to a point—and he cares about them, but he’s never nice. The only person you’ve seen him be nice to is Goose. And Goose is a dalmatian.
Looking over your notes with another breath, you decide to see if you can find Natasha for another interview. Out of all the firefighters you’ve met, you’ve found her to be one of the most inspiring. One of the few women in her field, she shared with you briefly just what she’s overcome to get here. Everyone around the station calls her “Phoenix” after an accident in the beginning of her career that only caused her to come back stronger.
That’s how you know that Bradley cares about his firefighters. Reuben told you that he seemed to take Natasha’s accident the hardest—that he takes all of their accidents the hardest. You can see it in the little things Bradley does too, you’re sure if you were allowed to follow them onto scenes you’d see how he always has her in his sights, always accounted for. But it’s also in the waters he wordlessly hands her when they get back to the station and the fact that they always ride in the same truck. How he never stops her from doing her job or acts like she can’t handle it, but just simply cares about her.
It’s Bradley’s job to look after his firefighters—and you know if you pointed that out to him, he’d say it in some almighty, obnoxious way—but he takes it more seriously than you ever expected him to. Natasha isn’t the only firefighter he treats like that. You have a feeling if you called him out on it, he’d deny it, possibly stop altogether. So you don’t. You just silently watch the parts of Bradley Bradshaw that come out when he doesn’t think you’re looking.
Finally making it to the common quarters and small kitchenette, you spot Natasha leaning against one of the counters, taking a bite of a cream cheese bagel.
“Nat!” You call with a wave (she asked you to call her that), heading over to her when she looks up with a smile. “Are you busy?”
She sucks some cream cheese off her thumb. “Not especially. Why?”
“Well, I had a couple more questions, if you were up for it.”
“Oh,” Natasha seems a tad surprised before a grin overtakes her face. “Oh, Jake and Javy are going to hate this.” She laughs.
“Hate what?” Javy catches the end of her sentence, strolling into the kitchen and opening the fridge.
Natasha smirks. “That you and Jake haven’t wooed her enough to be her favorite.”
“I’m hurt.” Javy directs at you with a pout, pulling out a lunch container that definitely has the word “Bob” written on it on a piece of masking tape. “Didn’t you see how upstanding I was, giving those little kids a tour of the station?”
You raise a teasing, unimpressed eyebrow. “You mean when you almost popped a blood vessel trying to stay flexed for their teacher?”
“Ouch! Kitty’s got claws,” Javy wiggles his brows as you and Natasha laugh at him.
You pause, your giggles pattering off as you take in his words. “Wait, what did you call me?”
“Kitty?” Javy seems unbothered, peeling off the lid of Bob’s tupperware and pulling out a white bread sandwich with the crust cut off. “Bradley’s been calling you that since you got here. Since he rescued you from a tree and all that— To be honest, I didn’t know he could make jokes like that.” The explanation is told to you through a mouthful of turkey, cheese, lettuce, and tomato and you try to keep your expression in check.
He rescued you? Is that how he told it? 
You purse your lips before smiling. “And where is Bradley?”
“Unloading one of the trucks, I think.”
You nod, meeting Natasha’s knowing gaze before turning on your heel with a quiet “Excuse me” before you start marching back to the staircase, your anger growing with each step. It wasn’t that you hated the little name Bradley had given to you. Embarrassingly, you almost liked when he called you that. What you didn’t like was why he felt it was appropriate to share this nickname when you weren’t around like it was a joke between him and everyone else and not like it was something between the two of you.
When you reach the last step, you’re practically seething, marching over to Bradley without a care of who might be around him at the current moment.
“Fire Captain Bradley Bradshaw.” You call out loud enough to get his attention.
Bradley turns around—almost surprised—before his expression falls to the one of muted annoyance you’re used to him directing at you. “Can I help you?”
“You see how nice it is when someone calls you by your name?” You continue like he hasn’t spoken. “And not some nickname they use to make fun of you when you aren’t there?”
Bradley’s eyes widen slightly in understanding and, for once, he has the decency to turn around and face you fully. “Look—”
“No, you look, Bradshaw, I am honestly so done with you thinking that you’re better than me because of a narrative that you made up!”
“I made it up?” Bradley narrows his eyes incredulously. “I would understand if your memory was a little shaky if you’d hit your head after a fall or something, but you didn’t because— Oh, wait! I caught you.” He crosses his arms.
“Yeah, and every day since then, I’ve been wishing you didn’t because then you wouldn’t be holding it over my head!” You argue back, before you realize where you are and take a deep, grounding breath.
If you weren’t so angry at him, you might be angry at yourself that you’d let a man get under your skin this quickly, but you weren’t about to stick around to be some kind of low blow comedy routine for a man who had yet to treat you with an ounce of respect since the moment you met him. But honestly, it hurt. You know you aren’t Bradley’s favorite person, but you’ve seen him with everybody else. You know how he thinks of every little thing that could affect them or hurt them in some way and does what he can to avoid it. You don’t know why it hurts so bad to realize that he’s so careless when it comes to you.
You’re just a little over halfway through the week, but you’ve gotten a fair amount of what you need. If you added a few embellishments and wrote like a high schooler trying to meet an essay word count then maybe you could hand something passable to your publisher. It wouldn’t be your best work, but that didn’t matter, because you didn’t want to spend another minute in the company of Bradley Bradshaw.
“Well, congratulations.” You laugh bitterly. “Think of this as my Christmas gift to you because I’m leaving.”
You have every intent to just walk right out of the station and never take a step back in. You wouldn’t even let yourself be dragged here. No, Bradley Bradshaw could rot in hell and you’ll live happily knowing you never have to be around his stupidly groomed mustache and giant muscles ever again.
From behind you, he calls out. “Why would I want a Christmas gift from you? I don’t like Christmas.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?!” You whirl around, throwing your hands up in the air because you have genuinely never met a man more infuriating. “That’s all you have to say? After all of that, the only thing you’d like to correct is that you’re a giant fucking Scrooge?”
Bradley scoffs. “Scrooge? What is this? The 1840s?”
“I hate that you actually know when A Christmas Carol was published!” 
“And I hate that you’re throwing a tantrum because I called you a name that wasn’t even an insult!” Bradley argues back.
Rage is simmering on your tongue, but you swallow it down in favor of making sure your words come out exactly how you mean them. “You will never understand what it’s like to have to somehow earn the respect of everyone you talk to, okay? You will never understand what it’s like to not even get the chance to prove yourself because a bunch of men have already decided what you are for you. You may think it’s funny to turn me into some sort of joke around your station, but it’s not and I’m done putting up with it.”
You turn around again, finally ready to be done with this man who, for the life of you, you cannot stop arguing with.
“Wait.”
His voice causes you to freeze and, when you turn around this time, Bradley looks as though the fight has finally left him too. “Don’t go,” he tells you. “You… You don’t have to go.”
“Bradley—” You start, but he shakes his head.
“You’re right, I’ve been… unfair. Just finish out the week. Tomorrow’s training day, that would be good for your article right? You can follow me around.” It’s hardly an incentive and he has yet to even say he’s sorry, but you know someone dropping a proverbial sword when you see it.
You let Bradley sit in his awkward silence for a few seconds before you finally let out a soft breath. “Fine.”
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The next day, you can tell that Bradley’s doing his best to be on his best behavior. He gives you a polite nod as a greeting and lets you follow after him as he starts setting up for drills and the CPR recertifications. You’re also trying to play nice, you don’t ask any smart ass questions and you spare him all your quips. You simply watch him, taking the occasional note and petting Goose, who’s also been following the two of you around. 
When Bradley calls down all the firefighters to start running through drills, even they seem surprised that the two of you are standing next to each other so peacefully. Bob raises his eyebrows and Mickey literally does a double-take. You just wave at them all politely and then try to stay out of their way.
Oddly, it’s a little boring watching them all climb up and down the fire station stairs, Bradley shouting orders at them as they run through drills. You find yourself doodling on your notepad until they all start moving towards the rescue dolls. (Is that what you call them? You’d have to google that when you get home.)
You’d gotten CPR certified once when you were 15, you were working as a lifeguard over the summer and it was obviously a requirement. It’s been a while since you brushed up on it though, so you do pay attention as the firefighters go through the motions of compressions and breaths. 30 compressions, 2 rescue breaths, with a rate of 100 to 120 compressions per minute. Hopefully it wouldn’t have to be vital knowledge to you, but good to know all the same. 
There weren’t enough practice dolls for every firefighter, so after the first round finishes, Bradley calls for them all to take a quick break.
“Fitz, open one of the doors, will you?”
The newer recruit looks happy that his name was even remembered (even if it was just a nickname) and hastily heads over to the side wall to press a button that would open one of the large garage doors of the station. You watch Bradley watch him, his face neutral until something seems to trigger what almost looks like panic.
“Wait, Fitz, not that one—”
Fitz presses a button on the wall and, instead of the doors opening up like you expect them too, suddenly the sprinklers from the ceiling turn on. You let out a shriek as water starts pouring down onto you, nearly tripping over Goose—who’s bouncing around like this is the best day of his life—looking for cover before you’re soaked through. 
You realize quickly that that’s a useless endeavor as you take in everybody else accepting their fate of getting doused in water and try to decide that it’s okay. You didn’t love this outfit anyway. Instead, you wipe your hair away from your face and try not to shiver too much from the chill of the air. Natasha gestures you over to her and the two of you can’t help but laugh at how soggy the other looks.
“Aright, got it.” 
Finally the water shuts off and you look up to see that Bradley had made it to the other side of the room to fix everything. Fitz is next to him looking drenched and sheepish and you hope Bradley doesn’t give him too hard of a time.
Instead Bradley surveys the room, placing his hands on his hips as he sighs. “Everybody go change.”
The squadron cheers and you can’t help but join in, until you realize that you don’t technically work here and that means you don’t have a spare set of clothes with you. Bradley seems to have accounted for that too though, as he comes over to you with a nudge of his head.
“Follow me.”
And that’s how you end up in a pair of Bradley’s old sweats and a baggy t-shirt with the fire station’s emblem on it.
Thankfully your underwear stayed relatively dry, so you weren’t going entirely commando. But your bra had been beyond saving and it wasn’t lost on you that you were wearing something of Bradley’s against your bare skin. 
The whole sprinkler fiasco seemed to cut the day short, but no one seemed to mind not having to continue drills, if anything, Fitz was a hero in their eyes. With nothing left to do, Bradley gifted everyone the day off and you watched as they all started trickling out of the fire station, hair dripping and smiles wide on their faces. You stay though, for some reason. 
You honestly don’t feel quite ready to leave yet and, with basically everyone gone, you reason that maybe it’s okay to make yourself a bit comfortable. Mickey and Reuben had shown you once where they’d gotten a TV set up for the long nights with not much to do and they’d even brought in a small, comfortable looking couch to add to the whole thing. 
Settling down in the cushions, you try to relax as you browse through the movies and TV shows the station has downloaded. Your lips perk up when you land on Home Alone and you start the movie quickly, setting the volume low even though you’re practically alone.
You think the whole thing would be better with some popcorn, but there’s not too much to complain about and you’re perfectly content watching the antics of Kevin McCallister anyway.
Over the movie, you hear the sound of muted footsteps and then, “What are you still doing here?”
It’s Bradley—of course it’s Bradley—but he doesn’t sound as clipped as he usually does. You roll your head over to look at him with a small smile.
“Watching a movie,” you say as if it isn’t obvious.
“Why haven’t you gone home?” Bradley asks, though it’s not quite as accusing as you’re used to.
You don’t really have an answer so you shrug. “I wanted to watch a movie.”
Bradley doesn’t respond, but he does step inside, wordlessly making his way to the couch and sitting down next to you. It’s quiet and a little awkward, but it’s the nicest Bradley’s ever been to you and you know you’d ruin it if you whipped out your phone now to time him. Instead you do the next best thing and sigh, too tired to inevitably start fighting with Bradley again.
“But I can go,” you tell him, moving to get up.
Bradley stops you. “You don’t have to. I just didn’t know anybody else was here.”
It’s quiet and you start to think that maybe Bradley had really taken to heart how he’d been treating you because he seems almost thoughtful as he sits next to you. Still the silence makes you shift as you try to think of ways to fill it.
“Thanks for the clothes,” you land on.
Bradley shrugs. “Figured they’d be more comfortable than your wet clothes.”
“They are,” you look down. “Actually, what detergent do you use?”
Bradley looks at you strangely. “You ask a lot of weird questions, you know that?” He leans back against the couch.
You laugh. “Comes with the job, I guess.”
The conversation patters off and you look down at your fingers to hide your nerves. You’re not used to having actual, polite conversations with Bradley, at least you knew how to act when you were making fun of him. Now you don’t know where to look or when you should laugh or what you should even say.
“Persil.”
“Huh?” You look up when Bradley speaks.
He turns to look at you. “That’s the detergent I use. Persil.”
“Oh.” You blink. “Um, thanks. I’ll be sure to put that in my article,” you try to joke with a small smile.
Bradley wrinkles his nose. “Why would anyone want to read about that?”
“Well, it’s not like anyone is gonna read it anyway,” you slouch down against the couch cushions and laugh a little. “You were right about that, I guess.”
“I didn’t—” Bradley’s mouth remains open as he's reminded of the harsh things he'd said to you, but no words come out. When a few seconds go by and he still hasn’t spoken, you wonder if your conversation has died for the second time. You and Bradley aren’t very good at this whole being nice to each other thing.
“I’ll read your article” is what finally comes out of Bradley’s mouth and when you look surprised, he nods more resolutely. “Yeah, I didn’t mean— I’ll read your article. When it comes out.”
In this light, he looks almost nervous and you smile softly. “Thanks, Bradley.”
“Sure,” he coughs awkwardly, looking at his watch to avert his gaze. “Are you sure you want to stay here? I mean, wouldn’t you rather be spending time with your family while you can?”
Your smile dims slightly and you give Bradley a knowing look. “Why do you think I’m watching Home Alone?”
Bradley doesn’t seem to follow, but his eyes drift to the screen to watch Kevin in the middle of grocery shopping all by himself and you watch his features still slightly.
“I actually can’t remember the last time I spent the holidays with someone. Isn’t that sad?” You don’t really know why you’re telling him this. Maybe Bradley’s been nice to you long enough that you’ve tricked yourself into thinking he’ll care. Maybe you’re just tired of being by yourself. “I went no contact with my parents a few years ago—and I know it was the best thing for me to do—but, I don’t know, it’s made the holidays a little… rough.” You confide quietly.
You watch Bradley roll his lips between his teeth in thought. His eyes finally leave the TV. “Oh, thank god.” He says finally.
You blink, letting out a surprised laugh. “Sorry?”
“I thought you were watching Home Alone because you liked it,” Bradley explains. “But now I get it, it’s like a ‘woe is me’ thing.”
You realize now that he’s basically flipping your whole cop/gun conversation back onto you, but you can’t even begin to process that because “You don’t like Home Alone?”
“No,” Bradley wrinkles his nose. “It’s all physical comedy. Like, yeah, the bad guys get hurt, is that all there is?”
You turn to face Bradley, jaw dropping. “You can’t be serious,” you tell him. “Are you serious? Home Alone is a classic!”
Bradley just shrugs.
“No.” You grab the remote to restart the movie. “No, I am not sitting by and letting this happen. You are watching this movie and you will like it!”
Bradley snorts in disbelief. “Yeah, and how are you gonna make that happen?”
You don’t really know. You’ve never actually met anyone who didn’t like Home Alone because that would make them an actual crazy person. Maybe Bradley just hasn’t seen it in a while and has forgotten how good it is. Maybe—
“Wait a second, you’re not pretending to not like Home Alone just because I like it, right?” You look at him accusingly.
Bradley rolls his eyes. “Right, because a guy can’t just not like a movie.”
“You totally are! I can’t believe you, you have to be mean just because I like something—”
“Not everything is about you!” Bradley protests.
“This is!”
“No, it isn’t!”
Before you realize it, you and Bradley have moved so close to each other that you can practically feel his angry huffs on your face. You seem to both register this fact at the same time as your cheeks begin to heat and Bradley’s gaze drops to your lips for the briefest of seconds. You should pull away. This is Bradley for crying out loud! You’d rather burn your lips off with acid than kiss him.
It’s unclear who moves first—you probably move at the same time honestly—but you both surge forward before you can think better of it, your lips smashing into Bradley’s. He holds your face in his large hands, frantic but still gentle, and you can’t stop yours from weaving into his still damp hair. 
The feeling of his lips against yours is addictive as is the way that his tongue coaxes into your mouth, swallowing any muffled sounds you let out. Every action reads clearly - he’s thought about this before, maybe a lot. 
Bradley’s hands move from your cheeks, down your sides to your hips. He plays with the hem of your shirt, and you wonder how he feels about the fact that it’s his, before his large hands make their way under it, planting onto bare skin. They’re warm and calloused as he strokes your stomach and tips you back so that you’re laying flat on the small couch.
It’s a bit of a fit for the two of you, but that’s hardly going to stop you now. Bradley’s lips leave yours—and pull a whimper of protest from you—but only so they can latch onto your neck, his teeth sinking into your pulse point. As his tongue soothes the sting, you let your hands crawl under his shirt, running over the curves and divots of his defined muscles. Your nails rake against them gently and Bradley grunts into your skin. It’s such a masculine sound, it would make your thighs clench if he wasn’t between them.
A crash sounds from the television—no doubt Harry or Marv falling for one of Kevin’s traps—and it pulls the two of you apart, the reality of what just happened crashing down on you. You can’t quite meet Bradley’s eye as you take your hands out from under his shirt and he can’t quite meet yours when he pulls his hand out from where it was dangerously close to holding your bare breast.
It’s silent as the two of you catch your breath and, finally, Bradley clears his throat.
“We should—” His voice is husky and his lips look thoroughly kissed. “We should probably get home. We have an early day tomorrow.”
He’s not saying anything about how the two of you were just making out on a couch like horny teenagers, but you decide that you don’t really want to talk about it either, so you nod.
“Okay… I’ll see you tomorrow,” you smile weakly. 
Bradley only mirrors your nod.
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You’re in an unusually chipper mood when you enter the station. You greet Natasha gleefully and Jake and Javy even joke that you’re glowing. You decide that you are when you think about it. After a night of good sleep, you’re able to come to terms with the fact that you actually like Bradley Bradshaw. He’s still an asshole and makes it too easy to argue with him, but he can be thoughtful and, weirdly, talking with him—even if you started arguing over Home Alone—had made you feel better despite your holiday situation. 
He wasn’t perfect, but you knew deep down Bradley Bradshaw was good and he was certainly someone you wanted to talk to more—preferably during civil conversations. 
Which is why you’re smiling at everyone as you walk into the station with a bag holding a chocolate frosted doughnut and one goal in mind - asking Bradley on a date. A proper one, where the two of you talk about your favorite things to do over dinner and try to guess which of the people at the tables around you aren’t going to be going on a second date. And maybe a date that involved more of Bradley kissing you senseless… but only if it felt right.
When Bradley finally appears in your vision, you light up, scampering over to him. “Bradley!”
He turns around and almost looks surprised to see you, but schools his expression quickly. “Hey,” his eyes dart down to the bag in your hand.
You swallow your nerves. “Hey.”
There’s an uncomfortable silence and weirdly—in all your time knowing him—things with Bradley have never felt this awkward. You open your mouth to desperately fill it, but it seems he had the same idea.
“I was actually hoping to ask—”
“I was thinking—”
You both stop and you laugh nervously. “You first.”
“Right.” Bradley scratches the back of his neck. “Well, I was thinking and I know today’s your last day at the station.” You’d honestly forgotten about that fact during the whirlwind of everything and your hope rises. Maybe you didn’t have to ask Bradley out on a date because he was already doing it! “Honestly we’re not going to be doing anything interesting today and I wouldn’t want to waste your time with stuff you already have notes for, so if you’d rather just head out and, I don’t know, do other stuff… I don’t know, I just don’t think it really makes sense for you to stay.”
Oh.
Suddenly you’re not so sure you’re glowing anymore. In fact maybe you’re the opposite. Maybe you’re dull. Because Bradley is now pretending that your kiss never happened and he’s even going as far as letting you know that he actually never wants to see you again after. Like kissing you was nothing more than a lapse in his judgment.
You could be mean to him, make fun of him or say something just to spite him, but you know that’s childish. Bradley has every right not to be interested in you romantically. And you certainly know how to take a hint.
“That’s—” You give him a stiff nod. “That’s a good idea. Thanks.” You suddenly remember the bag in your hand and you jerk it out to him. “Here.”
“What’s this?”
You force a smile. “A goodbye gift, I guess.”
That’s all you can say as Bradley takes the bag from you and then you’re walking away. You keep your eyes on your fingers, lost in thought as your feet lead you back to the exit. You know that you should say goodbye to everyone—it’s rude to just leave like this—but you can’t. Even though it’s only been a week, you’ve really come to love everyone at the station and the thought of saying bye to them now feels unbearable. Besides, you’re sure they’ll enjoy the peace and quiet now that you’re no longer aggravating their captain.
Bradley’s right, anyway, you have more than you need for your article and maybe now you could start on it and get it done earlier. It makes more sense than you just hanging around. And that’s exactly how you explained it to your publisher when you walked through the doors of the Union-Tribune a day earlier than you’re supposed to.
“Alright,” he looks at you skeptically. “It better be a damn good article then.”
He walks away once you promise him—scouts honor and all—and Lucy whistles from where she’d been watching the whole thing in the hallway. She strolls over to you with a grin, bumping your hip with hers.
“Back from your field trip?”
“It appears so,” you shrug.
Lucy knows you better than that though. Having become your best friend the minute you first walked through the doors, you and Lucy have always been inseparable, spending a little too much time gossiping when you weren’t working. You genuinely don’t think you could survive without her. 
She raises a brow. “Meet any sexy firefighters?”
“A couple,” you tease. “I’ll give you their numbers.”
“I meant for you, but you know I’ll never say no to that.”
No longer wishing to talk about sexy firefighters and whether they’re interested in you, you quickly change the subject. “How have things been here?”
Lucy rolls her eyes and you know you’ve hit the jackpot conversation topic that will keep anything firefighter related far from your mind. “Mindy’s annoying as always, even worse now that I didn’t have you to glance at when she said something outrageous,” she complains and you laugh. “Oh! And Scott started acting super weird too. He’d just stand in the kitchen area and watch me— He microwaved the same thing, like, 12 times to not look suspicious, but he kept trying to talk to me every time I left my office.”
“And the microwave still worked after?” You joke, it was a fact known all through the office that your kitchen microwave was on its last legs and it certainly didn’t help that everyone loaded the outlet either. 
The two of you reach your office as Lucy replies. “Remarkably. As for Scott, he left me alone after an offhand comment about how much pepper spray I carry. Anyway, I’m going to use the bathroom, but then you are telling me everything about your little fire station visit. Don’t think that I’m just letting that go!”
She doesn’t give you a chance to argue before skipping off to the bathroom and you huff a laugh. You knew she’d know something was up. If only to delay the inevitable, you step into your office, pulling out your notepad to start compiling notes for your article—you wouldn’t need everything you’d written down, so you still have to pick out the best ones.
It’s slightly ironic that after a minute of you flipping through your firefighter notes, the fire alarm goes off. You’re not too hectic with getting up and getting out of the building, you’re pretty sure it’s just a drill even though you’d already had one earlier this month.
It’s not until you hear someone shouting about the microwave and where the fire extinguisher is that you realize that this is real. You scramble up quickly and make your way out of your office. Your coworkers are already forming a line to file out of the building and you can hear your publisher shouting to just leave the fire and call the fire department, but something in your gut feels amiss.
Lucy.
Without even thinking, you rush back towards the bathroom. You wonder if she knows what’s going on. She can definitely hear the alarm, but maybe she was like you in thinking that the whole thing was a drill.
“Lucy?!” You call out as you try to open the bathroom door, but you're met with resistance and it doesn’t budge.
From behind the wood you hear a faint, “It’s stuck!”
Does nothing in this office work?!
“Okay, um, okay,” you try to think, taking a deep breath. “The fire department should be here soon and they can probably break the door down,” you reason. “So I’ll stay here, okay? They’ll be able to hear me better.”
“What! Are you crazy? You can’t stay here!”
“Well, I’m not leaving you!” You argue. “Look, it’s fine. The fire’s contained to the kitchen and it’s still pretty small.” You’re actually not sure of that, but that’s what you’d assume—you also aren’t going to tell Lucy that last part.
“Alright, fine!” You hear Lucy suck in a breath and you try to open the door again. “But promise me you’ll leave the second it looks dangerous.”
You know how fast of a response time the fire department has, but now you’re witnessing it first hand as, a little more than 5 minutes later, you’re hearing sirens. You let out a breath of relief and try to listen for people entering the building.
“Help!” You call out. “We need help over here!”
Nothing.
You call out again, cupping your hands to your mouth to project louder. There’s a rustle of movement and then a bit of a commotion. Someone shouts your name—almost as a question—and then Jake and Javy are rushing over to you.
“What are you doing? You should have evacuated the building already.” Javy looks at you incredulously.
“My friend’s in there,” you explain. “The door won’t open.”
The two share a look and then Jake nods, moving to break down the door as Javy escorts you out of the building. All your coworkers are lined up in the parking lot along with fire trucks and ambulances and you smile at Javy gratefully when he pats your shoulder in comfort, but he appears to be looking behind you, a pinched expression on his face.
You turn around to see what he’s looking at and then someone’s hugging you.
You recognize the scent of smoke and cedar instantly and the large arms that are practically cutting off your air passages. He only hugs you for a couple seconds���and you hug him back—and then pulls away to look at you, checking you quickly for any obvious injuries. You’re not sure what you’re expecting him to say, but you don’t expect him to be so angry.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Bradley yells. You blink. “Are you insane?! Because I’m trying to understand why the hell you would stay in a building when there’s a fire!”
“My friend was still in there—” You try to explain.
“Yeah? Then we would have gotten her out!” Bradley counters. “Do you know how reckless you were being?”
“I—”
“No, I really don’t want to hear it! I mean what were you thinking?!”
“Bradley,” you try to calm him down. “I’m fine. I’m okay.”
He doesn’t seem to be listening, words spewing out of his mouth in rapid succession. “What if the fire had spread, huh? Did you even have an exit plan that wasn’t the front door? You could have trapped yourself in there all because you were too fucking reckless to just tell one of us where your friend was when we arrived on the scene!”
Truthfully, you hadn’t thought of that and you feel a little stupid. Maybe you hadn’t had the best plan and it was never your intention to make anybody worry about you. You open your mouth to apologize. “Bradley, I’m—”
“Just because you have nobody to come home to doesn’t mean you can just go on fucking suicide missions, because some of us have to fill out the paperwork!”
His words ring in the air and Javy ducks his head quickly to pretend like he isn’t listening. You're speechless, trying to stop the tears stinging at your eyes as you take in what Bradley said. You know you hadn’t exactly told him about your family in confidence, but you didn’t expect him to just use it against you so quickly. And paperwork? You know Bradley didn’t like you but is that all he saw you as?
Bradley lets out an angry sniff, turning his head like he can’t even look at you before directing his attention to Javy. “Just take her to the EMTs to get checked out.”
Bradley doesn’t talk to you again after that. The firefighters pack up and leave, and everyone goes home, and Bradley doesn’t reach out once. As you suspected, the fire wasn’t that damaging—only being the catalyst for the kitchen’s much needed remodel—and it was safe to go back to work a couple days after. Bradley never attempted to contact you—even when the rest of his squadron came to visit you with a little goody basket—and you spent the time you weren't at work eating ice cream, watching break up movies, and crying.
It was pathetic. But maybe so were you. 
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“The hell is this?”
You hardly look up when a newspaper is thrown carelessly on your desk. Turning away from your computer boredly, you cross your arms, raising your gaze to meet Bradley’s cold eyes.
“Well, if I’d have to guess, I’d say a newspaper.”
Bradley scoffs, grabbing the newspaper again and holding it closer to him as he reads aloud the article it contains. “Then there’s Fire Captain Bradley Bradshaw, always followed by his co-captain, a black and white dalmatian affectionately named Goose. Bradley Bradshaw does more for his community in a day than most people do in a lifetime. In fact, I had to stop keeping count of every chivalrous act he completed by day two because I knew that would make this article far too long—” His eyes snap up to you again, though you both know that there are paragraphs more singing the same praises. “Why did you write this?”
You sniff, crossing your legs to slightly settle your nerves, with a light clear of your throat. “Contrary to what you think of me, I am competent in my job, Bradley.”
“You have done nothing but make fun of me and get in my way since the day we met, and I know I haven’t been friendly to you either,” Bradley corrects, taking a step farther into your office. “So why did you write this? Did you want me to feel bad or something? Like this makes up for the past week because—”
Not liking the way he’s towering over you, you spring up from your chair, matching his body language. “I wrote it because you’re a good firefighter, Bradley! And that was my job - to write about how good of a firefighter you are. Not about how you can’t fucking smile to save your life, or how you need to control everything otherwise you’ll throw a fit like a child, or how you somehow don’t like the movie Home Alone— Who doesn’t like Home Alone, Bradley?! You are the person who decided that I’m some incompetent airhead. And I’m sorry that me actually being able to do my job surprised you so much that you marched all the way down here, but if that’s all you came here for, then why don’t you just leave?”
The air is tense once you finish, so silent you could hear the slight whirring sound of your diffuser puffing the light scent of cinnamon into your office. You catch your breath slightly, wrapping your arms around yourself defensively. Suddenly, you feel vulnerable in your work skirt and blouse, swallowing thickly as tears prick your vision. You don’t want to cry right now.
Bradley only stares at you, something unreadable in his eyes. “I don’t think you’re an incompetent airhead.” He says finally.
You let out a watery scoff, letting your eyes dart to the ceiling as you feel more tears well up. “Yes, you do.”
“No I don’t,” he repeats.
“Really? You’ve done practically everything but call me that to my face—”
“Do you have to argue with me every time? Why can’t you—” Bradley stops himself, shoulders relaxing as his features soften. “Look, I’m sorry.”
“What?”
Bradley swallows. “I didn’t mean to make you feel that way. I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry?” You shake your head in disbelief, if only to hide the way your tears are starting to fall. “Sorry for what, Bradley? That you’ve treated me like a chore since the moment you met me? Sorry that you kissed me? Or sorry that I confided in you—that I trusted you—and you threw it in my face?” Bradley opens his mouth, but you continue. “Look, I know you didn’t like me, okay? You made that abundantly clear. And I know that I wasn’t trying to be very likable either—why would I? I didn’t even like you. But then we got to know each other and I thought maybe you weren’t so bad. I thought…” You could almost laugh at how stupid you feel. “God, I thought you could actually be nice sometimes, and caring, and sweet. And— And then you kissed me and I realized that I really like you. And I thought that maybe you liked me too, despite everything, but then you just went on like nothing ever happened. You— You made me feel so stupid. And now you’re in my office, causing a scene, because you still think that it’s impossible that I could ever be nice to you.” You wipe your cheeks hastily, trying to compose yourself as more tears roll down your cheeks. “I know you don’t like me. But… But, god Bradley, was I really that—” Your lip wobbles and your voice cracks and you hate yourself for it. “Was I really that awful?”
The room falls to silence and Bradley just looks at you with an unreadable expression on his face. Honestly it makes you want to scream, that he thinks—after everything—he has any right to barge in here and accuse you of playing games. If you were closer, you might try to punch his stupid, sculpted chest, but you don’t—you doubt he’d even feel it anyway.
You sniffle and it seems to jump start the room, or at least Bradley, as he jerks up suddenly and, before you know it, he’s grabbing your arm and pulling you into his chest. You fight back, not wanting to admit that you find comfort in the familiar scent of cedar and smoke, trying to push him away, but you’re no match for his strength and he only pulls you closer with more determination.
“Let go of me!”
“I’m sorry,” Bradley says again and he sounds so guilty that it causes you to freeze. “I’m sorry that I treated you like a chore. I’m sorry that I didn’t do more after we kissed. I’m sorry that I said those things to you… I’m sorry that I made you feel like you were awful.” His arms are wrapped around your neck, his cheek nestled against the top of your head. 
You’re not quite hugging him back, your arms trapped between your chest and his, but you’ve stopped trying to fight his hold.
Bradley continues. “I know I went about this all wrong, I know that. And, if I could, I promise you that I would have done a lot of things differently. You just don’t understand—” He sucks in a breath, his biceps tensing around you. “You don’t understand what it was like to show up on the scene and realize you weren’t there. I’m supposed to be in charge, I’m supposed to keep a cool head and tell everyone what to do, it’s my responsibility to stay calm in any situation. But when I realized you were still inside? I couldn’t even think. Jake had to physically stop me from just running into that building by myself.”
Your eyes—which had been closed in a weak attempt to stop the tears—open in surprise at his words. No one had told you that. Had Bradley really been that shaken up? 
“I shouldn’t have said what I said to you, I didn’t mean it and it wasn’t okay.I was just— I was just scared. I was scared because I thought for a minute that I hadn’t been able to protect you. And I was scared because I haven’t felt that fear of not protecting someone in a long time. I wasn’t mad at you—I was never mad at you—but I just didn’t know what to do. I should never have said that though. I’m sorry.”
Bradley lets out a breath as he finishes and, for a moment, neither of you move. You swallow thickly, taking in all of his words before tentatively wrapping your arms around Bradley’s middle. He relaxes at your touch, burying deeper into your hair. 
“Why didn’t you just come here and say that?” You finally ask him weakly.
Bradley lets out a quiet chuckle. “Honestly, I thought that I’d already fucked everything up. But then I read your article, fully expecting you to drag me to filth, and you didn’t. Instead you talked about me like I was some kind of superhero and… and I guess it just made me feel worse about everything.”
You nod your head in understanding slowly. “You’re an idiot.”
You feel Bradley laugh against you. “I know,” he agrees. “And I’m sorry,” he repeats. “For everything.”
“Everything?” You look up at him.
“Well…” Bradley trails off, head dipping so that his nose is brushing yours. “Maybe not everything. There is one thing I’d like to do again.”
And then he’s kissing you sweetly and letting his arms untangle so that his hands can land on your hips. You lean into him, without a doubt in your mind that he’d ever not be able to support you, humming appreciatively when he deepens the kiss. 
It’s only when he murmurs your name that you pull away with a wrinkled nose. “Why are you calling me that?”
“You said you didn’t like being called ‘kitty’.” Bradley looks equally confused.
“Well… I don’t mind when you call me it,” you mumble bashfully before looking up. “As long as it’s not to make fun of me!”
Bradley chuckles, his hand moving to your ass to give it a squeeze. “Oh, it was never to make fun of you, kitty, believe me. You know, Cat Woman was my celebrity crush growing up. You don’t wanna know the things I imagined—”
“Okay, I get it,” you laugh. “You can have your kitty privileges back, Fire Captain Bradley Bradshaw.”
Bradley growls, his hands moving to your thighs, prompting you to jump as he steps forward to pin you against the wall. “You don’t know what it does to me when you call me that.”
“I told you you have an authority kink,” you tease.
“Yeah?” Bradley smirks, and then the hairs of his mustache are brushing your ear. “Why don’t we test that?”
You know you should worry about having sex in your place of work first and foremost, but you actually can’t help but worry about the fact that Bradley is still supporting all your weight as he holds you up against the wall.
“Like this? You’ll get tired, Bradley.”
He shoots you a look. “Did you forget what my job is? I could probably do 5 rounds of this, kitty, and still be able to go for a run after.”
At the mental image you can’t help but let out an exaggerated moan. “That is so hot.” Bradley grins, but before he can respond, you hold your finger to his lips. “But, I also like my job and would rather not get caught having sex— No matter how good it is.”
“Fair enough,” Bradley concedes. “But I did almost get to second base at my job, so if we want to keep it even…”
You glance over Bradley’s broad shoulder to make sure the door is firmly shut—you know you should go lock it but that would mean parting from Bradley and you don’t want to do that. “I guess that’s fair. You ready to hold the best boobs of your life, Bradshaw?”
Bradley laughs. “Oh, I’m ready, kitty.”
When you finally leave your office, Lucy’s shooting you a look like she expects a thorough debriefing as soon as you get home and also like she could maybe hear the two of you through the walls, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Not when you're holding hands with Bradley and talking about your holiday plans. Your shared holiday plans.
“I’m gonna get you A Christmas Carol and a bundle of all the Home Alone movies,” you tell him.
Bradley glares at you playfully. “You’re not supposed to tell someone what you’re getting them for Christmas.”
“How would you know, Scrooge?”
Bradley huffs a laugh, giving you an “are you serious” look.
“I’d throw in a matchbox too,” you continue. “But I think my service to the community will be sexually gratifying you enough so that you don’t have to keep committing arson—”
Your words cut off when Bradley swoops down to kiss you firmly. He doesn’t pull away until you're dazed and he nods smugly.
“That’s better.”
You could argue with him, but instead you grab his collar and yank him down to kiss you again. Because that’s a much better alternative to get Bradley to shut his massive pie hole and you’re sure he feels the same way.
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roosterforme · 2 days
Text
Thanksgiving Liars (Rooster x Reader)
Part of The What If Collection of blurbs for Roo and Baby Girl. My masterlist. Banner by @mak-32
Warnings: language, fluff
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After you ended the call, you tossed your phone aside and looked at Bradley as he cradled you on his lap. "Do you think they fell for it?" you asked him.
"Gullible," he replied with a nod. "They're all so fucking gullible."
You erupted into laughter as he rolled you onto your back on the couch. "They aren't going to know what hit them. Planning a whole entire wedding in just two months? They will all be shocked."
Bradley kissed you and guided your arms above your head, pinning them gently to the cushion. "We intive them for Thanksgiving dinner, wine and dine them with your incredible cooking, and then... Bam! Welcome to our wedding, suckers."
You couldn't stop laughing as he kissed you and teased you with his nose everywhere. "Our moms will both cry," you giggled. "Your dad will think it's great that we decided to get married in a parking lot, and my dad will ask if we're hurting for money for the exact same reason."
Bradley pressed his lips to your ear and whispered, "It makes me wild that you thought of it in the first place. Right there in the spot where we had our first kiss is absolutely where we should get married."
"I agree."
He ran his fingers along your arm, and you snuggled against him as he said, "You've been working so hard, Baby Girl. I know what getting another promotion means to you, and I'm already proud. But thank you for agreeing to get married this year."
"Hey," you replied softly, taking his chin in your hand. "I want to marry you, Roo. More than anything. And this is going to be perfect."
--------------------------
Bradley was practically cackling as you and he cleaned up the plates after Thanksgiving dinner. Everyone was still mulling over glasses of wine and the promise of dessert when the two of you slipped into the kitchen. 
"They are oblivious," he said, setting some dishes in the sink while you pumped your fist silently in the air.
"They have absolutely no idea!" you hissed. "Your mom thinks you're going to teach her how to surf tomorrow."
"I don't even fucking know how to surf!"
Bradley watched you double over in quiet yet hysterical laughter as you gripped the edge of the counter for support. "That's why it's so funny!"
He had to press his fist against his lips to keep silent as he heard your dad and Nat laughing about something in the dining room. Your wedding dress was hanging in the bedroom closet, and so was his outfit. But everyone else would be arriving to the beach parking lot tomorrow thinking they'd been invited to hang out all afternoon and evening. "This was the best idea you've ever had," Bradley said as you stood again with tears in your eyes, and you wrapped him up in a hug.
"I can't wait! Now let's get these pies out there and get this show on the road."
But you and he both burst out into another round of stifled laughter before you were able to keep it together long enought to get the desserts on the table. 
"Hey, what time should we all meet at the beach tomorrow?" Nat asked as she helped herself to nearly half of the apple pie. 
"Around 3:00," you and Bradley replied at the same time. The plan was that you'd fake a stomach ache and skip the lunch plans with your parents and his so you could get changed into your dress. Bradley would entertain everyone without you before telling them to change at the hotel and meet at the beach which was right across the street. It was flawless. Inspired. All courtesy of your breautiful brain. 
"We'll have dinner on the beach and watch the sunset," you added. "It'll be great."
Bradley watched his mom stand up from the table and immediately give you a hug. "Dinner was perfect, my sweet girl. Thank you for such a beautiful day, I don't know what could beat it! But I'm going to take Goose back to the hotel before he falls asleep."
Sure enough, Bradley's dad looked like he was about to doze off in a turkey induced coma at the table while everyone else around him chatted.
You kissed Carole's cheek and said, "See you tomorrow," with a secret glint in your eye before turning toward Bradley.
When everyone was gone, he left the mess in the kitchen; he would clean it up later. "Can I take you to bed now?" he asked as he followed you down the hallway.
But you stopped in the doorway. "About that... shouldn't you sleep in the other bedroom? It's supposed to be bad luck to see each other."
Bradley laughed, but you did look kind of serious. "Oh, you're not joking." When you shrugged in response, he said, "All I've had is good luck since I met you, Sweetheart. The best luck."
"You almost died when you were deployed," you deadpanned.
"And luckily you were here to nurse me back to perfect health with your love," he replied easily. Then he sighed when you didn't laugh. "If you want me to, I'll go sleep in the other room."
You chewed on your lip and crossed and then uncrossed your arms. You shuffled your feet and groaned. "It'll feel like you're deployed again, and I don't like that. So nevermind." You took him by the hand and led him to bed where he stayed with you all night.
-----------------------
You thought you'd be a little nervous, but you weren't. You thought you might feel a little self-conscious in your wedding dress, but you didn't. When you pulled into the parking lot in your shitty, red car, Bradley was already there, and you gasped as you looked at him, somehow more handsome than ever before. 
"Sweetheart," he sighed when he opened your door and reached out to help you stand. You could tell he had some tears gathering in his eyes, but you knew you did, too. You went right into his arms as he said, "You're beautiful." Then your lips met his as you both stood in that empty parking spot between the two vehicles, where you'd shared your first kiss. Thousands of kisses later, it was the spot where you and he would make your forever promises to each other.
"You'll end up wearing my lipstick," you whispered, breaking the kiss briefly before he chased you down for more. 
"I don't care."
The two of you were fully making out, your fingers in his hair as you moaned his name, when Maverick arrived on that ancient motorcycle. He whistled as he removed his helmet. "Want me to come back later?" he joked. 
"Absolutely not, Uncle Mav," Bradley told him. "I want to get married as soon as possible."
You smiled up at Bradley and tried to wipe your lipstick from his face with your thumbs as Maverick went over the short ceremony he had planned. He was your only accomplice today. He knew the truth where everyone else only knew the Thanksgiving lie. "Sound good?" he asked with his signature smile.
"Sounds perfect," you told him, kissing his cheek and leaving another smudge behind. 
Bradley had his chin resting on your shoulder as said, "It's almost 3:30. And oh shit, look. Here they come."
You turned to toward the hotel, and you saw all four parents in their beach going attire as they crossed the street at the crosswalk. Your mom saw you first and froze on the sidewalk as she shook your dad's arm. Then you heard Carole scream, "She's wearing her wedding dress! The dress we helped her pick out in Maryland!" Goose must have slept off his turkey stupor, because he was the first one to make his way past the Bronco to where the two of you were standing in his loud, tropical print shirt.
Goose had his son in his arms, slapping him on the back and then rubbing rough circles while they shared a whispered conversation that you knew was too private for you to hear. But it didn't matter, because Carole was screeching her way toward you. 
"I knew it! I knew it from the first time he mentioned you that you'd get married," she said, pulling you into her arms. She kissed your cheek seven times before she said. "The way my Bradley talked about you made me so hopeful for his future, and I just knew you'd be his wife. But I didn't know it would be today! I'm wearing a bathing suit!"
You laughed and said, "Surprise!" just as your parents reached you. 
Your mom had tears on her cheeks as she said, "I don't appreciate being lied to, but this is okay."
Your dad pulled you in for a hug and asked, "Are you getting married in the parking lot? If you needed money, you could have asked."
Your laughter rang out, and Bradley looked at you as you said, "My dad wants to know if we're getting married in the parking lot."
"Yes, we definitely are," Bradley replied as Carole sobbed against his chest. "This parking spot is where she kissed me for the first time. It was perfect. I was already half in love, and that threw me over the edge."
You could feel the heat rising in your face as a chorus of 'Aww!' came from everyone around you while Bradley smiled. And then the cars started pulling in. Nat was hanging out the window yelling when she saw you, and Jake drove right over some of the orange cones that had the far entrance blocked off. The commotion got louder and louder as all of your friends arrived, jostling you around in their excitement. 
"What a pair of sneaky liars!" Jake shouted in just his board shorts. "We're all going to look like a bunch of idiots in your wedding photos."
"You'd have looked that way regardless," Bradley told him as he pulled you closer. His brown eyes were wide and hopeful as you wrapped your arms around his neck. "Everyone's here, Baby Girl. You ready to do this thing?"
You nodded and pecked him on the cheek. All of your friends were chattering and already taking pictures. Your parents were holding hands and smiling. Carole and Goose were looking at you like you were the best thing they'd ever seen in their lives. And Maverick was waiting quietly. 
"Yes. I'm ready, Roo," you promised, and he ran his thumb along your cheek as he whispered your name. 
"Okay, Mav," he rasped without taking his eyes off your face. "Make her my wife."
----------------------------
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laaundromat · 2 months
Text
Comfort Back Home, Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw
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Summary: As strong as Bradley can be, he feels miserable from time to time. This is the first time he crumbles in front of you.
Short (900ws), cute drabble for baby Bradshaw
Being the best upcoming aviator in the Navy has to be stressful, you think, and yet Bradley had handled it like a champ up until recently.
He’s always done everything by himself, and although behind closed doors he would let frustrated tears out, around people he would always show the confident and happy side of himself.
If not, he still kept himself relatively calm for when he was alone, not wanting to come off as vulnerable to others (mostly Hangman).
But, there’s always a breaking point. Since you had been around him during the deployment at Top Gun with Maverick, and you’d seen him react fairly well (apart from some quieter days and a snapping attitude from time to time), you’d think it would take him a bigger obstacle to completely break down.
And yet, all it took was a minimal fuck up in the air during training, and he’s now knocking on your flat looking like a beaten up puppy, blood-red eyes and shuffled hair. You heart tightens in concern gazing up at him, usually big and strong, looking small in an oversized hoodie that was his father’s.
“Baby…”, you whisper, a hand slowly rising for the instinct of giving him a comforting touch, but stopping midway to check if he’s okay with that. He has the strength to smile at your respect for him as he nods.
When your warm hand makes contact with his burning cheek, he takes a few seconds to close his eyes and the moment the irises disappear, a tear runs down his cheek.
You move in a heartbeat and yet somehow still slowly to not startle him from the bliss he’s feeling now. You keep one hand on his face, while curling the other around his waist to move him inside, and then close the door.
“Bradley,” you try, now both hands on his neck, thumbs overlapping a few stressed veins there. He opens his eyes, and you’re met with a thunderstorm of emotions that make you want to cry out in agony.
You recognize all of it. The pain, the worry, the bad thoughts, the lack of strength, the fear of being so lost and powerless all of a sudden. You know because you’ve experienced that as well. And seeing it on him, recognizing how much pain he’s in right now really destroys you. It’s the last thing you want for him. You want him to be the careless side of him all the time, cocky smiles and silly chokes. You try your best to do your side of what you can, and although you knew at one point it had to happen, it still grumbles your grounds.
You try to think fast, and doing that you can feel a hint of panic starting to make its way inside you. Fearing you’re not what he needs right now because you’re incapable of helping him in this situation, when he needs you the most. You can feel all your insecurities trying to take over you, but Bradley is your priority, his desperate eyes begging you to gain the power he's lost right now. All your memories with him calm you down and, at the same time, give you strength, and you know what to do.
You take off of his shoulder the training bag from work, and then slot your fingers in his hand and slowly, carefully, you bring him in front of the couch and staying there as he sits. He goes to drag you down with him but you restrain, silently asking him with your eyes to trust you with your thing.
You nudge his legs open with your knee and slot in between them, standing a few feet taller in front of him, his head leveled with your chest. Smiling reassuringly, you embrace his neck with both arms and lay his head on your chest, right between your breasts, his nose nuzzling on your right one, and eyes closed in bliss.
You whisper sweet nothings to him. Words of affirmation you know he needs. You tell him how much you missed him during the day. How much you thought of him. How needed he is in your life, how essential he is. You lightly sway left and right, in a silent lullaby, while calling him pet names you know he loves. He takes a few minutes to connect fully after a well deserved, love-ignited black out, and moves fast to wrap his arms around the low of your thighs. You feel his gratitude in the kiss he gives your breast followed by a content smile.
"My Baby," you say blissfully and, at one, he lets all loose.
He cries, tears damping your shirt and you couldn’t care less. you're cooing at him in understanding, though you know they’re not sad tears. They are of relief. He feels like all his worries just disappeared under those words, and he can’t believe it happened after a whole day they weighted on his shoulders.
You both don’t make a sign to move.
“Whenever I am sad, feeling you caging me like this brings me back to Earth. Makes me feel safe, knowing there’s someone bigger than my insecurities believing in me, helping me take those away. I wanted to do it for you too, baby. I’m sorry today was stressful, but I’m bigger than the bad things you thought of yourself throughout today. I am here always, at the end, and I’ll remind you of all the good things you’ve done and felt. And I’ll be with you when you feel like crying to fight for you, yeah?”
He nods against your body, arms tightening around you as few more sleepy kisses are left on the valley of your breasts.
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tongue-like-a-razor · 11 months
Text
Doctor Doctor, Gimme The News
Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Doctor!Reader
Summary: You receive a particularly difficult patient by the name of Bradshaw and you try your best to resist his charms.
CW: tall Bradley, Mavdad, it's goofy af you've been warned
WC: 1800+
A/N: I don't know, you guys, I just couldn't get this scene out of my head hahah
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Your back is turned when the two men enter the office, so you don’t notice right away that one of them is practically shoving the other inside. You hear the grumbling though.
“I’m fine,” and “Let go,” and “This is a waste of time.”
You glance over your shoulder as one of the nurses places a clipboard outside an exam room and gestures for the men to wait inside. It’s a slow day at the clinic so, after finishing up the notes from your previous appointment, you head over to check the chart before walking in to greet your next patient.
The two men look up when you enter. The younger one is sitting in a chair and the older one has a firm hand on his shoulder as if he’s forcefully trying to keep him there.
“Good afternoon, I’m Doctor Y/L/N,” you say, placing the clipboard on the table as the two men say hello. “What seems to be the problem?”
“He hit his head,” the man who’s standing says.
“I’m fine,” the other assures you.
“Hard,” the first man points out.
The seated man rolls his eyes. “He’s overreacting.”
You narrow your eyes slightly and approach them. “What’s your name?” you ask the man with the apparent head injury, crouching down so that you can look at his face up close.
“Don’t you have my chart?” he asks. He's wearing a cheeky grin and you can tell that he's flirting.
“It’s Bradshaw,” the standing man says. “His name. And I’m Captain Mitchell.”
You glance up at the older man. “If you could refrain from answering for the patient, please, Captain,” you say, slightly annoyed.
“Right,” he nods. “I apologize.”
The seated man raises his eyebrows. “Well, that’s a first.”
You move to grab a chair and position yourself in front of him. “Full name and rank?”
“Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw. What’s yours?” the man asks with a bit of a smirk.
You tap on the name tag hanging off your lab coat coolly. You’re not unaccustomed to receiving this kind of attention, however it doesn’t happen too often at work. “What’s the date today, Lieutenant Bradshaw?” you ask casually, reaching for your clipboard.
“You don’t have a calendar, Doctor?” Bradley asks.
You glance up at him pointedly. “Are you always this cooperative?”
“This is the kind of shit I have to put up with on a daily basis, Doctor,” Captain Mitchell mutters.
“Well, that’s good news,” you say, smiling up at the man. When he furrows his eyebrows, you clarify, “No noticeable change in personality.”
Captain Mitchell grins wryly. “What a relief.”
Bradley snorts and starts to get up. “We’re done, then?” he asks.
“Not quite,” you say, indicating for him to sit back down.
Bradley sighs wearily but resumes his seated position across from you. He places his hands in his lap and lifts his eyes to meet your gaze with a skeptical expression.
“Are you experiencing any dizziness?” you ask.
“No,” he responds, keeping his eyes locked on yours.
You glance down at the clipboard in your hand, slightly unnerved that he’s so boldly watching you. “Headache or nausea?” you ask without looking back up.
“Nope,” he responds.
“Can you count backwards from 100 by seven?”
“Are you serious?” he asks.
You glance up at him sharply. “Would you like to conduct the examination, Lieutenant?”
He sighs and starts counting.
You stop him after several correct numbers and ask, “What is your profession?”
There’s a brief pause during which Bradley lets his head dip to the side to study the contours of your face. You glance up at him expectantly and he looks into your eyes again. “I’m an aviator,” he says nonchalantly, although you notice his chest puff up with pride. As if you don’t regularly meet pilots working at the health clinic on base.
You look down at your clipboard as though you’re reading the questions off the page but, really, you’re just avoiding his gaze because his eyes have a we’re-gonna-fuck look about them and you’re almost starting to fall for it. “Any previous head injuries?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” he responds, and you notice the sexy rasp in his voice despite trying very hard to ignore it.
“He crashed his bike into a tree when he was five,” Captain Mitchell chimes in.
Both you and Bradley look up at him with some amusement, having nearly forgotten he was there. You blink at the captain pointedly before returning your attention to the chart in your lap. “I hope he’s better at maneuvering these days,” you comment.
Bradley starts laughing which makes you look up at him in surprise. Captain Mitchell is also chuckling mildly. “He has his moments,” he says.
 You give them a tight smile and rise from your seat, setting your clipboard down. Bradley stands too, towering over you because he’s still so close. You take a step back, nearly stumbling over your chair, and both Bradley and the captain grab your arms to keep you from falling.
“You alright?” Bradley asks.
You nod, straightening out your lab coat and pointing to his chair. “Sit, please,” you say, not meeting his gaze.
“You got it, Doc,” he says, sitting back down. Captain Mitchell smirks in amusement.
“Tell me what happened,” you say, approaching your patient confidently to perform a physical exam.
Both he and the captain start recounting two vastly different versions of the same event while you check Bradley’s vital signs. Once they’ve finished speaking and you’ve located the swelling on Bradley’s head, you glance between the two of them skeptically. Then you pull a penlight out of your lab coat and say, “Follow the light.”
You watch Bradley’s pupils constrict in response to the light but, when you move the penlight to one side, his eyes remain fixed on yours.
“The light, Lieutenant,” you remind him.
Bradley shifts his gaze to the right as instructed, but every time the movement of your penlight crosses the midpoint, he lets his eyes linger on yours for a split second. You flick off the light and observe as Bradley’s pupils return to normal size. His mouth quirks upward slightly but he never breaks eye contact.
“Good,” you say, dropping the penlight back into your pocket. “Now you can stand.”
Bradley gets out of his seat while Captain Mitchell watches on cautiously, as though he expects him to fall over. When the captain steps closer, Bradley holds out his hand.
“I’m fine, dad.” Bradley’s sarcastic tone indicates that the captain is, in fact, not his father, but his companion’s affectionate expression in response probably puts him in the category of loveable uncle who has frequently – albeit unsolicitedly – stepped into the role. Bradley straightens his back and looks over at you calmly, awaiting your instructions.
“Stand on one foot for me,” you say.
Bradley smirks. “Anything for you, Doc,” he says, bending his left leg upwards.
Captain Mitchell lets out a tired sigh, shaking his head, while you attempt to not roll your eyes. “You can put your foot down, Lieutenant,” you say crossly.
“You want me to put my foot down, Doc?” he responds suggestively.
“Rooster!” the captain warns.
“I’m kidding!” Bradley chuckles. “She knows.” He extends an arm out to point at you. “You know, right?” he verifies, glancing over at you.
“I apologise.” Captain Mitchell shakes his head again.
“That’s the second time,” Bradley notes.
You raise your eyebrows at the two of them. “Well,” you say. “That’s another good sign.”
“What?” they both ask.
“His sense of humor is intact,” you say.
Bradley grins at you. “You think I’m funny?”
The captain closes his eyes.
You fight to keep a straight face. “As long as you think you’re funny, Lieutenant.”
“Do you recommend treatment, Doctor?” Captain Mitchell asks.
You look at him with a small grin. “For the humor?”
Bradley snorts but the captain considers your question. “Might come in handy,” he says.
Bradley lets out a sarcastic, “Ha-ha.”
“No,” you say. “He’s fine.”
“Told you,” Bradley mutters to the captain.
“But,” you say, “if you start experiencing any of these symptoms” – you hand him a brochure on concussions – “come back in and we can do a more comprehensive assessment.”
Bradley takes the brochure from your hand. “I’ll do that,” he says with a nod.
As you’re heading back to your office, you notice Bradley eyeing you from the front desk. He mutters something to Captain Mitchell, in response to which the latter glances in your direction before looking back at Bradley pointedly. Then, he gives him a couple of claps on the shoulder and heads out the door.
Having arrived at the door to your office, you don’t linger to find out what Bradley is up to. But, just as you’re about to sit down at your desk, Bradley’s head peeks in through the partially open door. He drums on the doorframe with his knuckle despite already having gotten your attention.
“Was there something else, Lieutenant?” you ask, walking back around your desk toward him.
Bradley grins sheepishly. “May I come in?” he asks.
Truthfully, you’re surprised he’s not already inside. You gesture for him to enter.
“I uh,” he starts, hesitating when you meet his gaze. “I’m sorry,” he says, grimacing. “For being an idiot.”
You raise your eyebrows but give him a warm smile. “We can blame the head injury.”
Bradley nods slowly. “Let’s,” he says. “Although, I’m afraid it’s permanent.”
You chuckle. “Well, at least you’re self-aware.”
He cringes slightly but it quickly turns into a grin. He takes a deep breath, holding your gaze. “I like you,” he says bluntly.
You’re slightly taken aback by his directness, so you simply stare at him for a moment.
 “I hope that’s okay,” he adds when you don’t say anything.
“Uh, sure,” you respond awkwardly, panicking slightly because he’s so tall and broad-shouldered and charming.
“I sort of want to take you out,” he says, taking a step forward.
You sort of wonder how often he pulls this kind of thing. You’re nothing if not a veteran skeptic. “I don’t think that’s a very good idea.”
Bradley watches you with a knowing smirk. “But do you want to?” he asks.
You let out a nervous laugh, shaking your head. “Doesn’t matter.”
Bradley sticks his hands into his pockets, his eyes sweeping you up and down. “It matters to me,” he says.
“I’m sorry, Lieutenant. I can’t go out with a patient” –
“I’m not your patient anymore,” he says, the low rasp of his voice even more persuasive than his words.
“You’re a patient of this clinic,” you say.
“I can find another clinic,” he responds.
You lower your gaze, pursing your lips to keep from smiling too widely. “I work long hours, Lieutenant. I don’t exactly have much time to socialize.”
When you glance back up at him, Bradley flashes you a dazzling grin that demonstrates how fantastically unconvinced he is that your busy schedule is truly a reason for concern. “I haven't heard a no, Doctor,” he points out.
“You haven't heard a yes.”
Bradley chuckles. “That’s fine,” he says, taking several steps back toward the door. “I’m not in a hurry.” And with these words, he walks out of your office.
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Text
Target Acquired - Rooster
Pairing: Rooster / Female! Reader
Length: 1.2k
This work, all my works, and my entire blog are 18+ Only
Warnings: Discussions of Menstruation/Periods and Everything That Goes with It; Rooster (Slightly) Panicking; Amelia Being Sassy; Fluff; Flirting; Use of "You" but No Y/N; Female Reader but No Physical Description
Summary: Amelia gets her first period while Rooster is left in charge of her. He is forced to ask for help from the first woman he sees, which just so happens to be you.
Master List
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When Rooster agreed to watch Amelia for Penny for a weekend so that she and Maverick could have a weekend to themselves, he thought that it was going to be simple. Amelia was fifteen. She couldn’t drive herself anywhere, but she could advocate for herself. If he left her alone for half a day, she would survive.
But, of course, Amelia had to get her period for the first time. Ever. And Penny wasn’t answering her phone. And Phoenix wasn’t either. 
So, here he was, standing in the middle of Target, starting to pull his own hair out, as he tried to figure out what size of pads or tampons he should buy Amelia. He had no idea. Not a clue. His mom had given him an overview of what to expect with women on their periods, but his mind was completely blank as he edged towards a state of uncontrolled panic. 
“Just get the normal ones!” Amelia yelled at Rooster over the phone, holed up in her bathroom back at the house. “I still can’t find my mom’s stuff!”
“Just tell me what size to buy!” 
“The normal ones!”
“What color are the normal ones!?”
“I don’t know! Can’t you read!?” Amelia yelled back at him. Rooster sighed, forcing himself to take a breath. “Just ask someone!” 
“No, I’ll figure it out.” 
“I’m literally bleeding out in my bathroom right now, Rooster! Ask someone for help!” 
Rooster held the phone away from his ear, which he swore was ringing from Amelia’s yelling. Looking around, Rooster paused when he saw you step into the aisle. You offered him a kind half-smile before turning to the products. Quickly grabbing a set of tampons and pads, you were about to carry on with your shopping when Rooster seized his chance.
“Excuse me, Miss?” he asked awkwardly, causing you to grow a bit defensive. After all, women assumed that the one aisle where they wouldn’t be accosted by men would be in front of the tampons. “Um . . . I need some help picking out some pads and tampons.” 
“Okay,” you replied cautiously, clearly a bit confused. 
“My . . . step-sister just got her period for the first time and her mom isn’t picking up and I have no idea what the hell I’m supposed to buy. And I really need some help so that she doesn’t kill me when I come back with the wrong stuff.” 
Your face softened at his explanation and you even chuckled a bit to yourself. Pointing at his phone, you asked, “Is she on the phone right now?” 
“Yeah.” 
“Can I talk to her?” 
“Yeah, of course. Uh, her name’s Amelia.” 
You smiled and brought his phone up to your ear. Introducing yourself to Amelia and offering Rooster a reassuring look, you looked at the period products in front of you. 
“So, I think it’s probably best for you to start with pads,” you began, picking up two different boxes and placing them into Bradley’s basket. “I’m grabbing you a thicker pad and a panty liner. Start with the thicker pad and definitely wear it overnight. But when your starts to stop, you can switch to the panty liner just to make sure you got it all out.” 
“It seems pretty heavy now.” 
“The first days are usually the heaviest. It’ll get lighter as the days pass. Some women finish their periods in two or three days. But if it goes on longer than a week, you should talk to your doctor about it. Or maybe go to see a gynecologist, if you can.” 
Rooster stood there, quietly making notes to himself, in case he found himself in this position again. After reassuring and answering a few more of Amelia’s questions, you grabbed a box of tampons and placed them into the basket as well. 
“I’m giving you a box of light tampons. They’re the smallest ones. But don’t feel like you have to use them. I waited almost two years to use them myself. But if you want to try it out, you just squat a little, insert it, push the smaller moveable part up while you hold the bigger piece in place, and then slowly pull the plastic out. Don’t leave that in there. And don’t forget to take it out after a couple hours.” 
“Thank you,” Amelia replied, causing you to smile. 
“Anytime.” 
You handed the phone back to Rooster, who offered you a thankful smile before he pulled the phone up to his ear. 
“You okay? Do you feel better now?” he asked Amelia.
“I mean, I’m still bleeding out, but at least you’re bringing the right stuff back.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be home soon. Text me if you need anything else.” 
Rooster hung up the phone before turning back to you. Sliding his phone into the back pocket of his jeans, Rooster tried to not be awkward after his request to you, a complete stranger. A complete, very cute, stranger, who was no longer staring at him like he was a freaky weirdo lurking in the feminine products aisle. 
“I hope that was helpful,” you offered, causing Rooster to nod.
“Definitely. I was completely lost.” 
“I could tell.” 
“Right,” Rooster laughed off, rubbing the back of his neck. Slowly dropping his arm, he added, “Is there anything else that I should buy for her?” 
“There’s always things that you can buy for this,” you assured him.
You led him through the aisles, placing some pain relievers and a hot water bottle in his basket. And when Rooster asked again if there was anything else that he could get for Amelia, you pulled him into the food section. 
“Now, every woman is different, but when I’m on my period, I’m always craving something sweet. Chocolate is a good go-to, but honestly, I’m usually craving some kind of baked good. A cupcake or peanut butter cookies or something else entirely. Does she have anything that she usually likes to eat?” 
“Peanut butter, actually, yeah,” Rooster agreed.
The two of you walked through the rest of the food section to pick out a few items before slowly making your way to the checkout aisles. 
“I should pay for your stuff,” he offered, causing you to shake your head.
“No, no, it’s fine,” you insisted, holding your basket away from him. “It’s nothing.” 
“Let me pay for something, at least.” 
“You can buy me a coffee,” you replied, smiling softly. “After you go home and help Amelia, of course.” 
You typed your phone number into Rooster’s phone and the two of you bid goodbye to each other before heading your separate ways. Not even an hour after you left the store, Rooster texted you.
Amelia told me to say thank you again for your help. She and I know that I would have been hopeless without you. 
Sitting in your kitchen, you smiled to yourself as you typed back a response.
Always happy to help!
Biting your lip and wondering if the exclamation point was too aggressive, you let out a breath of relief when Rooster quickly texted you back. 
Are you free tomorrow for that coffee? Amelia’s mom is coming home then, so I’ll be free. 
Yeah, I’m free. Does 11 work? There’s a cute coffee shop right around the corner from Target with a nice patio in the back.
I know what place you’re talking about. I’ll see you there tomorrow at 11.
It’s a date, you typed back.
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notroosterbradshaw · 3 months
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Christmas (Baby, Please Come Home)
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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.
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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.
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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. 
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“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. 
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“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.
Even last night’s half-full wine glass.
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