notroosterbradshaw's library

“No one else gets to see the lengths you’ve gone to and made sure the kids are giggling by 6am because of the positions and acts you’ve put that damn toy into. Or what I get to see you put that cursed Elf into before you make it so much more kid-friendly.”

He laughed quietly. “It’s fun, I can’t lie. I love the grins and laughter. I’m not usually home for this stuff. To get Christmas home is a miracle in itself,” he reminded you, and looked back at the tree. “These kids are so spoiled.”

“Well, I finished their shopping to the point of respectful. You,” you wandered over and cuddled him from behind, only in his PJ bottoms of the matching family set he insisted you all wear, casually caressing the firm body beneath you as he leaned into your caress. “You were the one who said they needed more.”

“I just can’t wait to see their little faces. It’s been three years since I was home on Christmas morning,” he reasoned.

“You want it to be perfect.”

“I want it to be be perfect for us,” he replied as you kissed between his shoulder blades and he groaned. “You gettin’ fresh with me back there?” He teased.

“Could be,” you hinted. It made you hot to see the effort he was going to to. Not to get you wrong, Jake was a devout husband and father, but Christmas time brought out the best in him. Having him home, and not waiting all day for the promised email or video call on tenterhooks that may not come was a relief although he would bring a certain chaos to tomorrow, of that you were sure.

He turned to face you, the warm white of the lights in the tree the only thing lighting the room.

“I love when you’re on leave,” you pushed back his longer blonde locks (the longest you’d seen in years) and the beard he was intent to grow in until New Year when duty called again. “So unruly and unkempt,” you tutted.

He laughed. “You mean lazy.”

“You’re not lazy, you’re still in the gym with Javy at stupid o’clock and home before the kids get up,” you reminded him, clutching his dogs tags in you grasp.

“Wanna be my best for them. Especially for you,” he confided.

“I wouldn’t care if you were the fat man in the red suit,” you said as he laughed against your lips and kissed you deeply, his calloused palm gentle against your cheek.

“I keep eating all the Christmas treats like I am I will be.”

Untrue, you both knew this. “Take me to bed.”

“Ready for your Christmas present?” He smiled, taking your hand and leading you toward the bedroom.

“Are you on the nice or naughty list?” You asked as he hitched you into his strong arms, hands groping as he stalked you to the bed.

Chewing his lip in anticipation as he quietly unlaced his boots, he wandered into the dim living room, only lit by the glow of the fading white lights on the tree and carefully curated tea lights flickering on the fireplace. But he couldn’t interrupt the revelry as you danced gently around the tree you were trimming, one hand adjusting a decoration, the glass piano that once belonged to his old man, and a balloon of Pinot Noir in the other. He watched as you took a delicate sip, the floor around the tree littered with beautifully wrapped gifts and the stockings full of candies and odds and ends.

It really was a picture. You curated magic.

If he knew you, and he knew you so well, the tree would have been up on Thanksgiving evening and perfected every night until now, Christmas Eve. So beautiful in what little you wore, one of his many threadbare old Navy tees and maybe some undies underneath for modesty, or maybe not, he hoped. The reflection of the lights danced against your bare skin on display that had him swallow rough, and like most instances in your presence, hard. So hard. Three months without your touch, taste and sweet voice hard.

“Hi,” Bradley said finally, as you jolted slightly and looked in his direction, a smile growing on your face as he made his way to you, steadfast as he wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his forehead against yours. 

“Hi,” you said simply, even though you had a thousand things you wanted to tell him. “Merry Christmas, Bradley,” you said as he smiled softly at you, grasping your cheek in his calloused palm and searching your face intently – looking for anything that may have changed, confident in his recall he could never forget one feature on your divine face. 

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

“I didn’t think you’d make it,” you confided delicately. And honestly? Neither did he. 

He looked at his watch. “With moments to spare,” he said, amber eyes dancing mischievously. “God, I missed you,” he breathed, your delicate perfume grounding him, ridding away his sea legs. “May I?” he nodded towards the wine in your hand, and you gratefully passed it to him. “Like this,” he told you. “Glass for me?”

You made a face. “Like, six hours ago… maybe?” 

He grinned. “That good, huh?”

“I’m sorry, but you were so late.”

“So late,” he mocked, bobbing to put the glass on the coffee table.   

“And yet you still haven’t kissed me,” you mumbled.

He huffed a gentle laugh and did exactly what was expected of him. Three months away from your soft lips, and sparkling eyes as he pulled you closer to him with a firm hand on your lower back. Three months of fantasising what this moment would feel like even though it had happened dozens of times before. How slick your tongue was against his and it reminded him of the soft-spoken, even shy freshman he met in college in his sophomore year. The first time your eyes met in the dorm hall as you dragged your suitcases behind you, looking for room numbers and coming up short. So small in the ocean of chaos.

Bradley had no reason to go over and ask if he could help you. Leave the conversation with friends about, he reckoned, the Phillies… Countless students were struggling with the same problems, but you? Magnetic. No one else mattered, it was like no one else in the universe existed. And still… now? Aside from your beautiful daughters, maybe no one else did either.

That’s how Bradley Bradshaw’s kiss made you feel after all these years. The man who could have any woman he wanted, and those who still felt entitled to try and sway his attention on the infrequent nights out you shared. 

And just like the boy you fell in love with, his firm hands skimmed the fabric of the tee. You felt a warm palm against your hip and drift to your thigh and of course, his intended destination, against your bare ass – “Perfect,” he breathed against your lips.

You weren’t sure when he’d started dancing with you, his hips slowly guiding you to whatever song was in the background, now you weren’t so sure because all there was was him.

As he kissed and moved you, he whispered if his girls were asleep… that no one was about to wander in from their bedroom. And as much as he wanted to see his babies, his gorgeous girls, he needed their mother more and he would eagerly see them tomorrow morning.  

“Upstairs,” you told him, and he knew that meant homecoming was less raucous than it was when you were both a little young and dumber. No fucking on the couch or your back pressed up against the wall, your thigh in his calloused palm and his slacks dropped to his ankles the second he walked in. Those days were gone, greeting each other so much softer.

You weren’t entirely surprised when his hand smoothed from your side and drifted between your thighs to your delicate core. He tenderly pressed his soft lips into your pulse as his long, slender index finger tenderly skimmed the smooth skin of your pussy. “You feel good,” he breathed gently, so conscious of his voice raising and bringing the kids’ attention downstairs. “I want you. I’ve missed you, sweetheart,” he moved to your lips again and he kissed you the way he did when you first started seeing each other. The way his tongue flicked against your lip, tracing with an edge of demand as you gave in, willingly falling under his spell and kissing him back with the same ferocity.

His strong thigh pressed against your core, and you gasped against his lips, the rough material of his uniform making you heady as he tilted you that little further to almost ride him. 

“Not here,” you told him, guiding his pout to your mouth and leading him by the hand to your bedroom, the master bed, your sanctuary and sometimes the loneliest room in the world when Bradley was away. 

Bradley wasn’t surprised to see a few candles lit in the bedroom either. As you got older, your need for romance seemed to have crept through with the solitude that came along with a husband who served and two little girls who ran you off your feet every day. Bradley, a romantic at heart, unleashed some of the sweetest things that had ever happened to you. He was always big on flowers, and planning sweet dates but physical touch was his love language. 

He was a hand holder, he liked that you were the right height he could rest his lips against your temple and kiss you when close, skilled hands and massage. But it all meant so little in comparison to him holding you tightly in his arms. Something over the years you missed dearly when he was absent, you never felt safer than feeling his warm palm pressed into your lower back, the way his brawny arm would curl around your waist and tuck you into his side.

You were the other’s missing piece and so lucky to have met each other so early in life. 

“Too young to fall in love, too young to get married,” Bradley reiterated all the things you heard all those years ago. “Too young to start a family.”

“They may have been right about the last part.” At 23 and in over your head with a newborn and a husband dedicating his career to defending the country was one thing, it was one of the hardest things you’d ever thrown yourself into, leaving family to move where Bradley’s job required. The other military wives took you under their wing, (s)mothering where they could. And you were so proud of all of Bradley’s achievements, but it didn’t cure the sad nights of solitude once the kids went to bed, and you had time to think about how hard it all is to do alone. 

Bradley huffed a laugh into your ear. “Maybe. But I wouldn’t change anything now.” 

“They never thought we’d last,” you rolled your eyes like you did every time you two embarked on this quiet joke that was now at everyone else who didn’t believe expense.  

“Like I told you. From the moment I met you, it was forever,” he pulled you towards the bed, lightly tossing you towards the pillows with little effort on his behalf, you gave him a look as you adjusted against the soft pillows. “Was I wrong?”

“You’ve been very convincing,” you teased as he playfully rolled his eyes.

“In what way?” he played along.

“Well, you’re a wonderful father.”

He hummed, as he began on the buttons of his shirt. How were you supposed to continue when he was playing a strategic game of rendering his wife speechless? After 15 or so years, his body was more impressive now than the day you met him. It was almost criminal. 

When you met him, a gangly 21-year-old boy who was endeavouring to improve himself, prepare himself for the rigours of being a pilot for the navy. Gym, protein shakes, gym, school. It had been quite a development, watching Bradley grow into the man he is today.

…and you got to reap every single benefit. 

“Just a good dad? Shit…”

“An amazing father and from what I can gather, a pretty fantastic leader.” 

“Captain, Mrs Bradshaw,” he corrected. “But I’ll overlook it this time.” 

You rolled your eyes again, watching his nimble fingers get to the last button and push back the material to – disappointing. An undershirt. He tossed his shirt at you gently, his cologne wafting over your senses. “How many layers you got there, Captain Bradshaw?” 

Eyebrow raised; he kept your gaze as he stripped the second layer that kept you from his golden skin. “Better?”

You didn’t hide your shallow breath. Because yes, your man was only getting finer as he got older. The precision of his well-defined muscles glowing by candlelight, the smattering of freckles across his shoulders and broad chest, abs, abdominals, abs – they seemed to go on and your favourite, his Adonis belt. May as well have been named the Bradley Belt for all you cared, because his was spectacular. You reached the familiar logo of his boxer briefs and slender hips. The snail trail that led to the jackpot. “Better,” you confirmed as he moved to his belt, slacks and zip. “More,” you replied. “I’m practically naked here.”

Bradley’s lip quirked. “I think that tee you’re wearing is at least 10 years old.”

“Sue me, it smells like you when you’re away,” you sniped as he winked cheekily and stepped out of his dropped pants, approaching the bed. 

“I hope you’ve washed it after three months.”

Three months. But yes, you’d begrudgingly washed it. But it was still nice to be wrapped up in something that belonged to him when it wasn’t his arms to keep you safe. “Would have been better if you were here…”

“I know, sweetheart,” he sighed, making his way to the bed and crawling over to you, resting his cheek on your breast, tightening a grasp around your waist. “God, I missed you.”

Smoothing his curls, you tenderly kissed his temple. “No way as much as I did, Bradley.” 

“Were the girls good?” 

“They had their moments, but they’re nearly teenagers…”

“I can’t believe I’m gonna have to start fending dudes off at the door,” Bradley pinched the bridge of his nose, not wanting to believe his baby girls were growing so quickly. Violet was in Grade 7 and Olivia Grade 5. It was hard to miss so much of their lives and sometimes felt like lifetimes between his time at home. But he’d reconciled he would do more time on dry land this year, taking up a training facilitator role on base for new Top Gun recruits. You’d spoken about it for so long and now it looked like he was getting his opportunity to make Friday night basketball games, and swimming on Saturday mornings and whatever else was expected of him. 

“Not long now,” you had to agree but as much as you wanted to tell him everything he’d missed that couldn’t be fit into the couple of minutes you managed to get him every once in a while, you were so desperate for your husband, you didn’t want to play the polite game. “Bradley?”

He hummed again. 

“I want you.” 

Looking up at you, he ran his slick tongue over his top lip. “Well, ma’am, I guess I’d better get to work, huh?” his grin was wet, and he reached to kiss you, so tender and sweet but you knew it was laced with so much more as he rolled you beneath him, propping himself on an elbow and using his free palm to raise your thigh over his hip. His kisses were so good, and you knew you were a keening mess for him… when weren’t you?  

Gasping into his mouth as he lightly walked his fingers to your core, he was bold and spread your lips, taking your arousal, sticky and warm, he pressed your clit and started to rub, just so to relax you. You melted beneath him. After all these years, he knew exactly how to make you a bag of bones. He didn’t need to ask as he pressed his long index finger in, never once breaking the kiss, just increasing the intensity. 

Making out with Bradley while he fingered you. He was going old school. Those days before you slept with him, you’d be tangled together on your shitty single bed, grinding against the other. The first time he dared touch you, how he asked so sweetly if he could try and make you cum, to finger you. When you gave him a shaky yes in reply and opened your legs to him as he slid his long fingers under the waist of your tights, his soft eyes reassuring the panic that washed over you, kissing you tenderly and promising against your lips that he’d stop if you wanted him too. You told him you wanted to because he was Bradley and you’d never met anyone like him, you’d never felt the things he was making you feel. Maybe you had something to prove – to him, to you? You weren’t sure but as Bradley’s big hands slowly tugged your tights down your legs, carelessly discarding them and seeing those pretty pink undies soaked through with your excitement, he breathed, scared he’d cum before he’d touched you. He dared to sweep your undies to the side, your pretty pussy bare and glistening for him. 

He did that, he made you that wet, he thought proudly. He was so excited and popped the button on his jeans, needing to relieve some friction and moved to coax you under his arm, his nose nuzzling against yours. 

“Tell me if you’re uncomfortable or if I need to stop,” he breathed, his gentle rasp calming you as you softly gripped his wrist. 

This wasn’t the first time you’d done this, but with Bradley, it was like you’d never been touched before. He ignited sparks in you that you’d never felt before, no one else’s fingers did this… not even your own. 

“You’re beautiful,” he told you as you pulled a pillow over your eyes, so shy, so bashful. He tossed away the pillow and kissed you, his hand tracing down the side of your body and index finger gathering your excitement to coat your labia and clit. He started slow and asked if you touched yourself or if you had toys. And yes, you had a vibrator that gave you a pretty good impression of what you liked but this was already wildly exceeding anything the vibe brought to the table. “Do you like this?” he was so considerate and when you hitched a breath and told him ‘faster’, the keenness to learn you clouded over and his façade darkened, turned on by you telling him what you liked and he slid another finger into you, trying not to blow his load as you started to cry out, his thumb passing on your thrumming clit and shamed, you held back how much you really wanted to come alive for him.

You knew you couldn’t bite back your moans of pleasure, and as he laughed into your skin, he reached and lifted your sweater and bra, dragging his mouth down to your pretty tits, lapping and licking and sucking as you started the shudder below him. You clawed at his wrist that was buried within you and grinding against you as he toyed with your tits more, kneading and sucking harder. He was gonna blow his load before you even touched him. 

“Oh, Bradley,” your voice was so sweet as you fucked into his hand, quivering and sensitive and wet and desperate as you came. Everything all at once. 

“You’re so sexy,” he crooned with his deep rasp. “I’ve never seen someone cum like this…” He kissed you deeply as you felt the last bursts of electricity flow through your body before flopping into the mattress and urgently pushing his fingers away, too sensitive. He smiled against your lips and told you it was okay, he loved seeing you lose control. 

After you’d cum, and you nervously asked him if you could give him a hand job to return the favour or whatever, he knew he was in love. Young and dumb and no one could tell him differently. How he got to his back and watched as you drag his jeans off and pull down his boxers, his cock so hard, weeping precum. “Tell me if I hurt you,” you mumbled, the most nervous you’d been. “Or if you don’t like it.” 

“You could never hurt me,” he hissed as you used both soft hands to wrap around his length. “That is so fuckin’ good, baby,” he managed, head sinking back into your fluffy pillows, imagining if he was to die tomorrow, he’d die happy. And as he wrapped his hand around yours, showing you the tempo he preferred, he almost came as your wet mouth wrapped around the head of his cock without warning. “Oh, shit,” he hissed unprepared, trying not to fuck your face, his hips wild. He had never been so turned on. 

He’d dated and slept with a few girls, and had a few blowjobs but nothing, nothing felt like this, and he buried his big hands into your hair, massaging and encouraging you as best he could. He screeched a warning he was coming and to take your mouth away if you didn’t want to taste him. When you didn’t relinquish your sweet mouth on him, he came hard in the back of your throat and you swallowed the salty flavour of him down, he pulled you to him and kissed you deeply, telling you he thought he was in love and, silently, he hoped you were too. 

“That was the best head I ever had,” he peered up. “And you’ve never given a blow job before?” he was suspicious. You shook your head bashfully, but also excited he was so happy with your attempt, and you vowed you’d only get better if it brought out this reaction in him. “Feel free any time you wanna practice,” he almost laughed, falling back against the headrest of the bed.

A few hours later, as Bradley pounded into you, you’d be lying if you didn’t feel nostalgic, recalling the first time you had sex with him. It never felt like plain old missionary with him, he tucked you in close and you’d wrap your calves around his hamstrings, keeping him close as he whispered filth in your ear. 

You knew you’d bled, and you were begging not noticeably. You didn’t want that embarrassment, even if the towel caught it. Overall, it wasn’t a painful experience, Bradley had done everything to relax you, the slick of the lube reducing any real friction and he’d gone down on you before he’d even taken off his jeans. “You have the prettiest pussy, baby,” he told you as you shuddered beneath him and he continued fucking you with his fingers until you pushed his face away, so sensitive. “Okay, okay,” he cooed to you, trailing wet kisses up your naked body, exposed wholly to him. 

It had been a very fun few weeks, lots of kissing, touching, and making the other cum and sneaky sleepovers but when you told him you were ready to have sex – with him – your first – Bradley couldn’t believe his luck. He couldn’t believe you would be interested in him, you were so sweet, and kind, and pretty. So sexy and he hoped, all for him. He hadn’t met anyone who he felt so connected to. He worried he was trying too hard to force something that wasn’t there, but as he slowly pushed into you, gloved cock long and girthy, stretching you and you sighed into his ear to tell him how good it felt and that you thought you were falling in love with him, everything stopped.

His hips, lips and heart froze as he must have misheard words he was desperate to return but far too timid to do so. 

“Remember the days we’d be in bed all day and just fuck and laugh. Order takeout and fuck again?” Bradley said between the rolls of his hips. “I wanna be able to do that again,” he groaned in your ear as you fuckingthrobbed around him, so close as you clenched. “I’m gonna take you away in the New Year. You, me, the Maldives. Private villa and all that good lovin’ we deserve.”

“You’re gonna make me cum,” you giggled against him, excited for him and the prospect that you would spend some uninterrupted time together and you rose to meet his thrusts, spurring him on with your enthusiasm. He felt so good: strong, rough and as the head of his cock hit your G-spot, a step closer to orgasm – heaven, he wasn’t sure. He knew your body like it was his, and he brought his fingers between your bodies, brushing against your pained clit as your back arched and his tongue swirled around your nipple. He sucked on the delicate skin, as you began to quake and grunted low, your warm, slick pussy. “Yes, Bradley,” you encouraged. 

“Your pretty cunt was made for me,” he murmured in your ear and that was it, you felt the quakes start in your toes, the muscles in your tummy start to coil and your pussy started to throb around his cock, your entire body on fire with desire for your sexy husband. “Yes, baby,” Bradley kissed you deeply, trying to concentrate on his thrusts but it was impossible as he made you feel so goddamn good. He raised your thigh to get that little rougher and you moaned, the gush fell between you both and he grunted, not giving you a moment of respite, chasing his orgasm. You fell back, completely spent as he laughed darkly, his cock rocking into you again, wrapping his palm around your waist and pulling you back to him. “So close, don’t give up on me now, sweetheart. You’re so fuckin’ wet.”

“Too sensitive,” you whined to him. “Cum, Bradley,” you begged.

It was low and powerful, the feral groan that met your demands. His hips sped up, desperate for release. He couldn’t hold back anymore and as your nails pierced the tanned skin on his back, he came with a low groan and fucked more unruly thrusts into you before collapsing above you, kissing you wildly. He gasped, completely spent, still in you without intent to move. “Gonna need to burn the bed,” he uttered to you as you barely managed a reply. It was fucking like that you missed so desperately when he was away. 

“That was incredible,” you said, kissing some sweat on his brow away. “I love you.” 

He chuckled into your skin, pressing kisses into your pulse. “I love you, baby,” he was a dream, this man. “Good job, team,” he raised his palm for a limp high-five, both spent. 

“Roll the dice,” you reiterate to Bradley. “If we get pregnant, great. If we don’t…”

“It’s you and me and we are great with that,” Bradley answered with the faintest glint of hope in his shining honey eyes. Was this happening? Was Bradley about to get the family he’d been missing for so long?!

But in the back of the afterglow of lovemaking as husband and wife, you’d told him you’d go off birth control after your honeymoon if he wanted to try for a baby so soon. You didn’t want it to be immediate, you wanted to enjoy being married and the fun that came with it. And Bradley wholeheartedly agreed. 

Bradley was so determined to rise through the ranks, that you didn’t want to detract him any more than you might have but you were young and in love and when you found out you were pregnant with your first baby, a girl to be named Violet. The thing was, you were only hoping to be a newlywed once - marriage wasn't as big a thing for you as it was for Bradley so the drama of it all (even as intimate as it was for you was a one-time deal). And even babies. But even he admitted he wouldn't have the first idea of how to do it since his dad wasn't around when he was growing up and Maverick wasn't exactly a glowing example of fatherhood. 

He was a smitten young man. A beautiful wife, and a gorgeous little girl waiting at home for him while he served his country and continued slowly but surely through the ranks, getting a reputation as Rooster, slow into the fight.

Or Rooster, and the size of his cock, you’d joked quietly one evening. The way he seemed so scandalised and as the devil crept into his gold eyes, the grin behind his growing moustache was seen to be believed. Not many people knew that about the version of it, you shared, and when you’d learned he’d been adorned with it, whoever gave him the callsign would rue the day of the double entendre. One of life’s funny coincidences and Bradley wouldn’t wipe the devious smile off his face when you’d christened him with it.

When Violet was three, you found out Olivia was going to come into the world punching. Now both tweens and the baby-making days were well behind you both, you felt like you were starting to live your lives again, not bogged down with school runs, weeknight ballet, gymnastics, basketball, softball, soccer and whatever else they were desperate to try. Both athletic like their father, you felt like a taxi when Bradley was away, running the girls from one thing to the next, the sweet solace sometimes found when both girls were away from home at sleepovers and the like.

They were the nights you couldn’t wait to introduce to Bradley. A date night, Jesus, wine on the couch uninterrupted for a drop-off or pick up to what was for dinner or “Mama, I have an assignment due tomorrow and I haven’t started.”

Recalling when your period was late after about two cycles after going off birth control, you kind of hoped it was the drama of irregular periods and what it brought. It was why you went on the pill in the first place in your teens. 

But there was something different while you channel surfed and Bradley cooked in the kitchen. A strange cramping in your tummy. Not unbearable, but noticeable as you sat up, a little perplexed. It was too early for a period and you weren’t ovulating. Popping up, you joined Bradley in the kitchen, wrapping your arms around his hips to kiss between his shoulder blades. He smiled, turning back for a quick peck before you quietly excused yourself to do a pregnancy test. And you weren’t entirely surprised when it revealed you were 1-2 weeks pregnant. And you weren’t entirely surprised when you showed him the positive pregnancy test after dinner that still certainly said PREGNANT in fat, bold letters.

“It tells you how many weeks?” Bradley was astonished. 

“Clever, huh?” you said quietly. Bradley watched you, he looked at the test, begging it wasn’t about to flash NOT PREGNANT and he’d read incorrectly – but he gazed back at you. Unreadable at best, erring on the side of too quiet. Reserved, he had trouble reading you sometimes, and this was one he'd need you to talk through. He needed to know exactly what was going on through your head. 

“You good?” he asked softly, grasping the test in his strong palm. It was so small, but it held his world in his grip. He put the test down to caress your jaw, forcing your gaze to him. “Baby…” his fingers light as they had sunk into the hair at the nape of your neck. “Sweetheart,” he called to you. 

“I think I am. It’s just… quick," you surrender, falling into his sound touch. And he was due to leave within weeks. You were 23, you had only just found the job of your dreams -

“It is quick,” Bradley agreed, kissing your hair. “Is it too quick?”

“Maybe…” you admitted as he pressed a kiss into your temple and wrapped his strong arms around you. He felt so warm and so protective as he held you without question, you really couldn’t imagine life without him right there. What if something happened on tour, what if - 

“If it’s too soon, that’s okay," he said softly. 

You looked up at him, trying to placate your growing fear. What if he never came home? “I just thought we’d have more time maybe.”

He bit back his smile and sighed. “Sweetheart, is this what you want? If you're not ready - if you have changed your mind - ”

“I’m not sure.”

He nodded. “That’s okay.”

Well, it wasn’t – it was a choice you’d actively made together. To make love, to make a baby. The liberty of changing your mind seemed so incredibly unfair to you and Bradley after you were both so sure this was what you wanted. “I think I just need some time,” you admitted, cutting him off. “Just to get used to it all happening.”

Bradley softened. He in no way felt like it was his place to speak. He could not hold you and whisper that whatever you decided was okay, and he would support you with anything you decided. 

“What if this is our only chance?” You asked quietly. “What if - ” You shut your mouth and the guilt of the situation started to overwhelm you, Bradley chose to remain mute. “Would you hate me?”

“No. Oh sweetheart,” he kissed your hair. “But I would never live with myself if I forced you to do something you weren’t ready for. Come,” he took your hands and led you to the bedroom. He helped you take off your clothes and change into your oversized nightie, his large palm lingering gently over your abdomen for just a second longer than he should have… his baby in your soft belly. 

He pulled back the duvet and patted your pillow. You snuck under the cold sheets and he climbed in after you, the scorching skin of his chest against your back. His fingertips traced your hip, slowly drawing his name on your skin. "If you don't want to do this, it's okay. But it's still something you'll need to consider..."

"I want this," you were able to say, but it was easier with him not boring his eyes into yours. He kissed your shoulder and nuzzled the nape of your neck. “I think…”

"I love you," he said so softly you almost didn't hear him. “I won't let you do this alone. Whatever you decide, I’m right there with you.” 

But with a belly of arms and legs and your sheepish husband standing before you a few months later, you screeched, "You're getting deployed?" you looked at Bradley, eyes wild, six months of baby belly all that separated you. His head fell back.

"I know."

"You know?" you mimicked sarcastically, spoiled for months of your husband home with flight and combat training simulations and he finds himself deployed as you enter your final trimester. "Bradley, you'll be away for the birth of your daughter." 

"I know..." he said a little meeker. He was sick about this conversation. Sick. 

"Did you not put in the leave paperwork?"

"Of course I did,” he did, he did. Didn’t he? Shit, he doubted himself for one second but in this instance knew beggars couldn’t be choosers and he had his leave approved, but he also had his orders and he was so close really getting into it.

His career was on such a sheer trajectory, his head was swimming with its force. 

“Is anyone going with you?”

"Payback, Phoenix," he confirmed softly. 

“Will you be home for Christmas?”

He nodded. “Yes,” he stepped towards you, his large palms sinking into the round belly under his grasp, tickling the stretching skin. You sighed and collapsed into his hold. 

“I’m just scared. The birth is one thing… but I can’t raise our baby on my own,” you said, the fear in your voice evident.

“And I’d never let you,” he whispered into your hair. 

"If you see one ounce of action, I swear, don't dare come home." 

He nodded. Dear God, he knew. 

“Come on, Mama, give it to me,” Bradley urged as he held your ribs, thumbs toying with your nipples, that delicate roll of your hips grinding down on him as the sun started to rise. Neither of you slept even though you were both exhausted, you wanted to ground yourselves together before the madness of the day commenced. Between lovemaking, different positions and so much mess, you just chatted quietly, catching the other up on what they missed, knowing full well you would be next to useless for the lunch Penny was putting on with Mav (you were flying out in a few days to spend New Year with your parents). “Look at you, as sexy as the day I met you,” he continued, chewing his lower lip – he was close but we wouldn’t cum until you did. “Pretty little thing.”

Bradley had leaned into the whole encouragement during sex – and you will credit him for bringing out a wilder side you never knew you had in you – his voice still made your stomach flip flop and how off, give him everything he deserved in your shared pleasure and more.

“Mama, is Daddy home?” you heard a screech from upstairs. Olivia. Daddy’s girl. “His bag is at the door!” A prompise Bradley had always made his girls was he would wake them even if it was the dead of night to reassure them he was home.

Last night… he did not.

Bradley’s eyes flicked open as you paused above him, knowing your girls were unlikely to burst in but also… Dad was home and maybe, just maybe they were likely to run in excitedly. He rolled you off him quickly and you landed with such a lack of grace that he snorted and he tossed his tee at you, hitting you square in the face. He scoffed another chuckle as he reached for his discarded boxer briefs and stood to height, still hard but if you knew him, visualising the worst of the worst to settle. “I’m home. I’ll be right out, just need to hit the bathroom, girls,” he carefully called back, starting for the door and snuck a look back at you. “You got five minutes; I know I can’t hold those two wildcats back from a tree with presents under it.”

You nodded with a grin as you pulled the shirt over your head and moved towards the en suite but not before changing direction and stopping him before he went to see his girls and pulling an old Lakers singlet over his – god, so many golden muscles. “Merry Christmas, Bradley,” you tenderly traced an ab or eight and he smiled, bending to kiss you. “Last night was so good. Been a while since we had a night like that.”

He chuckled lightly against your lips. Pride evident, he shrugged. “I miss the days we’d fuck for hours,” he sighed, low. “We’re going away, just you and me. Okay?”

“I can’t wait, handsome,” you told him as he kissed you again -

“Dad?” Violet now. 

“At ease, Captain,” you told him as he playfully did as instructed, kissed your forehead softly and let the reign of terror commence, greeting his darling girls after months apart with excited hugs, kisses and giggles.

“I missed my girls,” you heard Bradley rumble. And it was always the same, the way he’d swallow back the emotion of seeing how much he’d missed. “You two have to stop growing, okay?”

“Or you could stop traveling,” Olivia said, often quite vocal about how often her dad was away.

Hearing your name as you straightened in front of the mirror a few minutes later, brushing your mussed hair and impatient with the slight burn Bradley’s moustache caused on your upper lip (pussy and thighs but that was a tale for another day), you wrapped yourself in your light gown. You breathed and headed to the living room to start your Christmas morning, your girls perched in front of the tree, the lights still fading in and out after a night left on, and your husband safe and sound on the couch. He winked, the happiest man on the planet with his three girls, everything exactly where it belonged.

Even last night’s half-full wine glass.

"Thank you," you told him, your fingers grazing his and it was beyond the point you could avoid the flirt in your voice. You knew you'd made the right choice to stay. You'd been flirting with him all night, there had been enough wisecracks from everyone that you were cute together.

"You can cut the sexual tension with a knife," Hangman broadcasted at one point.

"Mistletoe, Rooster?" Natasha teased, finally taking her leave and heading for the guest bedroom you were supposed to share with her. "Merry Christmas, friends," she said, disappearing. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do. Or do," she teased and you both heard the door close.

And finally, it was just two of you. You loved Natasha, but if you didn’t find a way to get Rooster to yourself, you felt like you’d spontaneously combust. You had just enough liquid courage to hide the shyness in your smile and he had to admit, he was feeling a little bold too.

“Just us,” you said, stretching your legs, your sneakers lost on the way in and he reached for your calves, massaging them from the other end of the couch. “I have heard you for years at a piano, but I gotta say, the guitar is a surprise,” you noted the instrument in the corner.

“Love to play,” he admitted, with a shrug. “Sometimes the only way I can unwind from a long day.”

“The only way?” you dared ask. 

His lip quirked. “I said sometimes.” 

You hummed. “Can you play me something?” 

He seemed surprised by this. “Okay,” he said a bit uncertainly. “Dealer’s choice though,” he said, popping up and crossing the room for his acoustic. 

“Surprise me,” you allowed it with a smile, as he sat back down, pulling the guitar to him. His long fingers gently strummed and he shook his head, adjusting the tuning. When he seemed happy a moment later, he looked a little bashful. “I don’t generally play for intimate audiences like this.”

You grinned. “You don’t have to be embarrassed with me.” 

He took a deep breath. “Well...” he started and laughed coyly. “Okay, okay. Be kind, I’m just learning this one,” he composed himself, strumming the first few chords and you couldn’t pick it, but the song was so familiar...

I would climb any mountain Sail across a stormy sea If that's what it takes me, baby To show you how much you mean to me

“Foreigner,” you covered your face with your hands. “I love this song,” you told him, scooting closer. His voice that you’d heard sing so many times had you enraptured. You could not be more attracted to him if he tried, and right now, he wasn’t having to do anything except be himself. He was so much more than just Rooster Bradshaw, the naval aviator. You kind of wished he was Bradley Bradshaw, under you as you came.

You couldn’t help yourself, and you may have sounded like nails on a blackboard, but you went for it anyway. He chuckled quietly as you joined in.

And I guess it's just the woman in you That brings out the man in me I know I can't help myself You're all in the world to me

Spying the mistletoe again later as he strummed some random chords, the words of the song long gone ."So, does it work?" You pulled yourself off the couch and wandered away as Rooster stopped playing and put his guitar out of reach. It was now or never, you realised.

"Does what work?" Rooster asked, a little confused.

"Does the mistletoe work?" you asked again, standing underneath it and pointing up casually.

Recognition crossed his face and he eased a slow smile. It was starting to become your favourite thing about him. The way the side of his mouth quirked was incredibly sexy. You wondered if he even knew he was doing it. Rooster stood to his full height, took a deep slug of his whiskey and approached you as you eased back against the doorframe.

"I fuckin' hope so," he said, taking the last step and he could touch you now, the mistletoe he put up for this purpose alone dangling precariously above you. "Wanna find out?"

"I really think we should," you told him, reaching for the white V-neck tee he wore, pulling him to you. You had dreamed of this moment for so long, you hoped and prayed it didn't fizzle and he could feel the sparks you were sure you were feeling between you all night.

His lips were remarkably soft, plump, and extremely kissable and you could swear, he was smiling against your lips as he closed the gap between your bodies and wrapped his arms around your waist, his strong hands pressing into your lower back. Your body felt perfect against his. You recalled afternoons on the beach gawking at the well-worked peaks and ridges now under your touch, something you never dreamed. “I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” he said between breaths, tongues and touches. 

“Me too,” you admitted.

“How drunk are you?” He asked softly.

“Pizza helped sober me up enough to know I really want this. Probably made me a bit more ballsy than usual.”

It appeared to be the answer he wanted. “Tired?”

“Could stay up all night if you want me to,” you told him as he revealed a dark chuckle, caressing your jaw and leading your mouth back to his. He hitched you into his arms and you could feel how hard he was. If only he knew how turned on you were with him… how turned you always were in his presence. He disregarded his successful ploy of planting the mistletoe and carried you to the couch, letting your body fall onto him as he collapsed back and you straddled his lap, taking control of the kiss you both refused to break. You adjusted your posture, rolling your hips forward over his straining cock. He groaned, head rolling back. “I want you, Rooster,” you whispered to him.

“I know, sweetheart. I’m aching here. Let me just savour your kiss a while longer, okay?” He licked his lips and claimed your mouth again. “We don’t need to rush.”

But you were desperate. You had planned this whole seduction act when he asked you to stay for Christmas. Tomorrow Hangman was putting on a spread and you knew if you didn’t tell Rooster how you felt right now, you weren’t sure if you’d have the courage again.

You’d been deeply in lust with Bradley Bradshaw for so long, your body ached for him, and you ground on him to let him now. He held your hips and helped you work against him. He was so confined to his jeans and asked if you could take them off.

Rooster sat back and gave a casual shrug, leaving the next moments to you. You reached for the belt, loosened his fly and he cursed, your delicate fingers anything but around his dick. “Raise your hips?” You asked quietly and he did as requested as you laced your fingers in the waistband of his jeans, dragging them to his knee as he raised his feet from the floor and you disregarded them altogether. “Better?” You asked.

He scoffed a laugh, noting his lack of modesty in his boxer briefs. “I suppose. You look so sexy. Do you want where this is going? I need to know where to stop because I’ve wanted this so long, I dunno if I can give you what you deserve as slow and sweet or just to fuck you hard and fast.”

Both seemed delicious to you and he patted his powerful thighs, a seat you greatly appreciated. You picked up the skirt of your dress and drifted onto his lap, so close now you could feel the outline of his cock against your clothed core. “I wanna ride you,” you told him. “I’ve wanted to for so long.”

“Can’t wait to feel you,” he was doing everything in his power to remain calm. He’d pleaded to hear your words for so long and it was better than he ever expected. 

“Thought about it so many times,” you confided.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he sighed, brushing his hands through his mussed curls. 

“Have you seen you?” you asked him, tracing a gnarly scar on his shoulder.

“Have you seen you?” he retorted. “You are so fuckin’ far outta my league. If I had half a hint you were into me, I would have made a move months... years ago.” 

You gave him an easy smile. “So I guess that’s out.”

He laughed quietly. “Can’t take it back now,” he agreed, trying to remain calm. He really had no idea you felt like this, had such an urgency for him because if he knew, the politeness would have been over months ago. But, he figured, it was a nice full circle fucking near the Christmas tree on Christmas morning. It would be pretty hard to forget this day and moment. 

First kiss, first fuck. December 25. 

He was a simple man after all. 

“Hey,” you smiled fondly at him. “You with me?”

He grinned, hitching you closer to him. “Yeah, I’m so fuckin’ with you.”

“Then show me.”

“Well, I’m enjoying you in charge, but I will give you anything you want,” he reasoned.

You were encouraged by his words and may have suddenly grown bashful as he giggled quietly. You reached for the hem on his tee and lifted it over his head. “Your body is in so much better than I give you credit for.”

He rolled his eyes. To be honest, he knew. He worked hard on it so at times like this, whoever was with him knew it too. “Come here,” he laughed quietly. “Lemme show you what I can do with it, kid,” and he kissed you again. 

You appreciated his hands, they wear incredible. Strong, and everywhere. Tugging your hair, gripping your chin, pressing into the sides of your ribs, curling under your breasts, looking for the zip on the back of your dress - 

You gave him a negative hum. “No zip,” you giggled.

“Well, ya need to give me a hand here, because I got no fucking clue,” he teased. 

You gently pushed him back into the couch and stepped back, bunching the material in your palms and raising the soft garment over your head, letting it drop beside you.

“Oh,” he managed, mouth dry at the sight of you, naked except for a measly scrap of underwear. He reached for the whiskey before him and took a sip. As you moved back to him in only your undies, his eyes never left you. He offered you the glass that you finished and placed back on the table. “Holy shit, you’re beautiful. Lemme have you,” he urged, reaching his hands but you playfully hesitated. “If you’ll have me?” he looked at you with big puppy dog eyes.

That was new, you realised. You had to laugh as you dropped your undies to the floor and he eagerly removed his boxer briefs. His body hard, heavy and wanting. You held his face as his eyes fluttered closed to kiss you and you seated yourself again. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling your body against his. He could feel how wet you were - his inner thigh covered in your slick. 

“Can I touch you?” he begged.

“Anywhere,” you granted, kissing across his chest and again, his hands took the lead. Strong and they massaged your hips, desperate to touch every searing part of your body. His hands groped your ass and he gasped as you beat him to the punch, your soft palm lopping around his long cock and massaging in a rhythm that was, well frankly, perfect. 

“You beat me,” he joked, kissing you while you continued pumping him. “Shit,” he muttered.

“What?” you didn’t cease your actions as you kissed away his dismay.

“My condoms are in my room,” he muttered. 

“You clean?” you asked as he nodded once. “It’s your lucky day, champ, I’m on birth control. It’s okay,” you reassured him. 

“You sure?” he raised a concerned eyebrow.

“I’m a big girl, I make my own choices. And if you say you’re clean, I trust you.” 

He nodded slowly, impressed with your moxie. “You keep getting hotter in my estimation. Each time I think I’ve got you figured out... I realise I don’t know a goddamn thing.”

“Well, I’ll let you know something for now.”

“I’m all ears.” 

“Stop talking, start fucking,” you demanded. “Have you always been this chatty?” you teasingly accused.

“Yes, ma’am,” he laughed, guiding your eyes to his cock and you started again. “That’s perfect baby, but I don’t wanna cum in your pretty little hands.”

You nodded, adjusting your body closer to his and sunk down on his dick. It was a sweet stretch, Rooster’s clearly had something to strut about. You’d heard the rumours in passing about Rooster’s BDE and you could now comment on the affirmatory.

“That is...” your eyes rolled a little, bottoming out and adjusting to him inside you. “Amazing.”

“I know, baby,” he held your hips, watching intently where your bodies met and he waited keenly for you to move, but surprised him by kissing him and if it wasn’t the hottest thing, his tongue melding with yours. He appreciated the cockwarming, it was so personal and kind of sexy and when he least expected it, you started to slowly roll your hips, raising and falling along his cock. He struggled to keep his eyes open, wanting to see every single move you made, how your body flowed, how much you were enjoying yourself.

He desperately chewed his lower lip as you flicked your hair from your eyes, a little more intensity to your movements now and he was excited to move his hips to your rhythm, pushing his hips up and enjoying those oh-so-sexy moans that escaped those pretty lips you chewed to keep from calling out.

The next time you fuck, he vowed, Phoenix would not be in the next room. 

“Yes, baby, that is amazing,” he murmured, gripping your hips and forcing you down on him.

“You feel so fuckin’ good,” you told him and kissed him madly. “Touch me, Rooster, please,” you begged.

He released your hips and protectively wrapped an arm behind you. He’d never understand why men couldn’t find the clit. They didn’t deserve the gifts that came with it if they didn’t dedicate the devotion it required and deserved. You hissed as he slipped his middle finger on the sensitive and you chewed your fist.

“Fuckin’ wake her,” he encouraged as your moans got louder, his wet tongue tracing around your nipple, and you wrapped your arms around his head, begging him to continue what he was doing. “Christ, you’re so tight. You’re so close.” 

“Wanna cum,” you managed, driving your hips further down and he hissed. 

“Come on, baby. Lemme feel you,” he dared. “You are so so so,” he grunted, his hip speeding up and needing the friction. “Sooo fucking close.” 

“Fuck,” you cried as Rooster’s hips pistoned roughly into you, and you saw stars. It was one of the most intense orgasms you’d had as you bit into his brawny shoulder to avoid yelling out. Rooster held both your hips, forcing you down on his, desperate for his release. “Do you want to finish another way?” you asked him sweetly, panting, spent. He raised an eyebrow and smiled, darkly. He gave a slow nod as you stood, legs a little shaky, and he bent you over, your hands gripping the end of the couch for life. 

You knew this would be a rough ride.

He breathed, collecting himself, his strong hands caressing your back and the curve of your ass that you slowly wriggled back at him enticingly. He let out a raw laugh. “Yes baby, I see you,” he licked his lip, almost unbelieving this was how his night ended up. “I see you.” 

He pumped himself a few times before gently pushing into you but there would be nothing sweet about it. He wanted to cum, and bonus if you did again after before, but he wouldn’t last long in this position. He teased you with his first few thrusts, savouring how wet and silky you felt but it only encouraged him. He clutched your hips and started to give his all, the sound of skin slapping harshly as you tried to keep your balance, his quads ripping into your ass and hamstrings, your unsteady legs faltering. 

He was all around and surrounded you. Had he always been this big? Had he always been this strong?

The whimper you made when he slapped your ass was one of the sweetest, hottest sounds he’d ever heard. His hips snapped into you harshly as he started to come. 

“God dammit,” he breathed, quickly pulling out and catching himself in his palm as he came white hot. “Holy shit,” he shuddered, lowering his chest to cover your back as you smiled and looked back, reaching and kissing him crudely. He held you tightly, kissing you with as much vigour, standing you and pulling you to face him. “You okay?” he stroked your cheek with his knuckle, a smile tugging at his lips. You were so blissfully fucked out and he’d never seen you more beautiful. You reached for his boxer briefs, realising he might want to tidy up. “Thanks.”

“Why did we wait so long for that?”

“I dunno,” he breathed with a laugh, tossing the underwear away. “C’mere,” he flopped onto the couch, and you snuggled into him. You tried to hide a small yawn, resting your forehead on his shoulder, bashfully. “All night?” he teased. You giggled into this golden skin.

“Might need a kip,” you admitted. He tenderly wrapped his arms around you and you trembled anyway. 

“Sure you’re okay? Not sore?” 

You shook your head. “Cold. Adrenaline waning.”

He kissed your temple and found his tee near his feet, latching on close enough to reach. “Ease back, baby,” he said quietly and lowered the shirt over your shoulders and moved back to lie down. “Get that kip, sweetheart.”

“Hmm,” you hummed, peppering hisses around his chest and he groaned. “Merry Christmas, Rooster.”

“Merry Christmas. Thank you for staying.”

“Thank you for planting the mistletoe,” you giggled as he grinned at him, sleep finding both of you quickly. 

“Well, this was bound to happen. About time, losers,” Natasha whispered to herself with a small smile, looking at Rooster on his back and you snuggled into his chest in his tee from last night on the couch. A throw blanket covered any lack of modesty from her gaze as the lights from the tree zoned in and out. “And ew,” she tiptoed out, closing the door behind her. 

masterlist.

Thing was, you were only hoping to be a newlywed once - marriage wasn't as big a thing for you as it was for Bradley. And even babies. You loved your niece and nephew and Uncle Brooster was fantastic with them - it always left a pang in your heart that he would be such a good father. But even he admitted he wouldn't have the first idea of how to do it since his dad wasn't around when he was growing up and Maverick wasn't exactly an example of patriarchal learning.

You didn’t want to add the stress of calculating ovulation even if an app would do it for you, the disappointment of periods coming… you just wanted to have fun fucking, and pleasing each other as you moved into the next phase of your lives. The stress Annie went through and the lengths she was going to with IVF therapies - overwhelming hormones, nausea, mood swings, sore boobs, abdominal discomfort. God, when you had a difficult period, you could assume similarly but as Annie went through her treatments, at a fairly young age, it was eye-opening at best.

You remembered one sentence so vividly that it scared you to your bones, “When your biological clock starts… it’s all that your brain hears. You can’t undo it and it messes with your head.”

See? Terrifying. Fair for all involved.

But when your period was late after about two periods since going off birth control, you kind of hoped it was the drama of irregular periods and what it brought. It was why you went on the pill in the first place in your teens.

But there was something different as you channel surfed and Bradley cooked in the (motherfucking, finally renovated) kitchen. A strange cramping in your tummy. Not unbearable, but noticeable as you pressed against the pulsating pressure and made a face. Sighing, you unfolded yourself from the couch and moved to your handsome husband. You tenderly kissed between his shoulder blades and he gave an over the top shudder, as you giggled into his skin. He put his utensil down and turned to you, holding your chin in his calloused bug hand and giving you a quick peck before you quietly excused yourself, but not yet willing to admit to him it was to do a pregnancy test. And you weren’t entirely surprised when it revealed you were 1-2 weeks pregnant. And you weren’t entirely surprised when you showed him the positive pregnancy test after dinner that still certainly said PREGNANT in fat, bold letters.

“It tells you how many weeks?” Bradley was astonished, his eyes glued to the digital reading before him.

“Clever, huh?” you said quietly. Bradley’s honey eyes flicked to regard you. Unreadable at best, erring on the side of too quiet. Reserved, but not disappointed, he had trouble reading you sometimes, and this was one he'd need you to talk through. He needed to know exactly what was going on through your head.

“You good?” he asked softly, grasping the test in his strong palm. It was so small but it held his world in his grip. He put the test down to caress your jaw, forcing your gaze to him. “Love…” his fingers light as they sunk into the hair at the nape of your neck. “My sweet girl,” he called to you.

“I think I am. It’s just… quick," you surrender, falling into his sound touch.

“It is quick,” Bradley agreed, kissing your hair. “Is it too quick?”

“Maybe…” you admitted as he pressed a kiss into your temple and wrapped his strong arms around you. He felt too warm and he protected you without question, you really couldn’t imagine life without him right there.

“If it’s too soon, that’s okay," he said softly.

“I saw how hard it was for Annie and just expected we’d be on our own a bit longer. Genetics and shit."

He bit back his smile and your inadvertent joke, or necessary sarcasm. Bradley hummed. “I think your genetics are pretty fine, if you ask me.”

Eyes rolling in corny, you muttered his name as a warning that jokes were unnecessary at this time.

“Okay, okay,” he answered, palms up, teasing off. He knew you were withholding and he knew he was holding everything back in his body not to go over the top with the excitement bubbling in his entire being. “Love, is this what you want? If you're not ready - if you have changed your mind - ”

I just need some time,” you admitted, cutting him off. “Just to get used to…” your voice trailed.

Bradley nodded. He in no way felt like it was his place to speak and as the facial one between the pair of you? Well. So he just continued to hold you and whisper that whatever you decided was okay, and he would support you with anything you decided, a lot or not he wasn’t sure. He thought you were on the same page. He thought you both wanted this -

Like you, his insides were much and could feel himself lightheaded. He grounded himself and carefully reminded himself this wasn’t about him for now. It was getting your beautifully convoluted brain and heart to the same place his was:

Ready.

“What if this is our only chance?” You asked quietly. “What if - “ you shut your mouth and the guilt of situation started to overwhelm you. Bradley only hummed, still choosing to remain mute. “Would you hate me?”

He remained reflective a moment, choosing his words carefully his best option.

“No, love. But I would never live with myself if I forced you to do something you weren’t ready for. Come,” he took your hands and led you to the bedroom. He helped you take off your clothes, his large palm resting gently over your abdomen for just a second longer than he should have and it didn’t go unnoticed by you.

His baby in your protective, strong body.

He pulled back the duvet and patted your pillow as you snuck under the cold sheets, thinking maybe you could sleep a year. He climbed in after you, the warm skin of his chest against your back under the slowly spinning ceiling fan. His fingertips traced your hip, slowly drawing his name on your skin. "If you don't want to do this, it's okay.”

There was your voice of reason.

“But it's still something you'll need to consider pretty quick..."

Always offering you both sides.

It was silent a while and while Bradley’s excitement was guarded carefully, even he knew this conversation was not the light and excited one he thought you’d share instead.

"I want this," you were able to say, but it was easier with him not boring his eyes into yours. He kissed your shoulder and nuzzled the nape of your neck.

"I love you," he said so softly you almost didn't hear him. "I won't let you do this alone."

The fateful night you told your family and the Dagger Squad was when it really started to feel real. Your pregnancy to that point has been pretty good. You only turned green as food cooked around you so it was easy to excuse yourself and the extreme exhaustion that overwhelmed you the first trimester slinked away entering the second. You weren’t horribly unwell but things were definitely changing within you.

Boobs sore and off limits to Bradley even though he’d playfully volunteered his palms but your personal support system. It went about as well as expected.

“Just ginger ale tonight?” Bob smiled a while later. You’d been chatting quietly together while Bradley’s squad played pool and generally one-upped each other around you.

“What do you mean?” God, you hated lying to such a delight as Bob. He was so sweet, and although Bradley had alluded to his well-guarded playboy-like ways, he was always darling to you.

“I have four sisters,” he sipped his water. “She pretended she was drinking bourbon and ginger ale to throw everyone off the scent she was…” he chuckled quietly and you’d be damned if you’d figured him out. “It’s okay,” he said quickly. “I understand if you’re just not drinking tonight.”

And while your family was aware of your news, Bradley had sworn not to tell his friends just yet. You weren’t ready to be looked in on 24/7 by overzealous Navy pilots.

“Nearly four months,” you said quietly.

“Phoenix guessed a little less,” he winked. “I won’t tell, but I’m very happy for you both. This baby will be so loved. Or smothered,” he shrugged playfully. “One of the two.”

“Bob?”

“Yes, ma’am?” He responded as you rolled your eyes playfully.

“This is how you do it, isn’t it?”

“Do what?” He played dumb.

“Find women. Because you watch and listen.” And suddenly it all made such sense as he blushed, toying with his glass.

“I can’t reveal all my trade secrets, but showing a little interest helps,” he admitted.

“I wanna know all your tricks. You’re absolutely fascinating to me.”

And for the first time, you heard Bob Floyd cackle as he nodded. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but that’s never gonna happen.”

"You're getting deployed?" you look at Bradley, eyes wild, six months of baby belly between you. His head fell back.

"I know."

"You know?" you screeched, spoiled for months of your husband home and he finds himself deployed as you enter your final trimester. "Bradley, you'll be away for the birth of your daughter."

"I know..." he said a little meeker. He was sick about this conversation. Sick.

"Did you not put in the leave paperwork?"

"Of course I did. Baby, this classification is my first real role as team leader. As command.”

"Who's going with you?"

"Payback, Fanboy," he confirmed softly.

“Will you be home for Christmas?”

He nodded. “Yes,” he stepped towards you, his large palms sinking into the round belly under his grasp, tickling the stretching skin. You sighed and collapsed into his hold. “Even if I have to jump overboard and swim back myself, I will be here for Christmas. I’m sorry, love. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m just scared. The birth is one thing… but I can’t raise a baby in my own,” you said, the fear in your evident.

“And I’d never let you,” he whispered into your hair.

"If you see one ounce of action, I swear to you, don't dare come home."

He nodded. Dear God, he knew. The most danger Bradley Bradshaw had ever been in was at this moment. And as his baby girl kicked him from her little cocoon in retaliation for making her Mama wild, he knew that nothing g else mattered anymore and that someway, somehow he was going to find a way to be home for his girls.