Hey, Sailor
Summary: It’s Fleet Week and Rooster would rather be anywhere else than on the flight deck of the USS Portland. That is, until a pretty thing in a sundress catches his eye and then suddenly his day is looking up.
Pairing: Bradley”Rooster” Bradshaw x Female Reader
Length: 5.8K
Warnings: Flirty Banter, Smut, and Bradley Bradshaw in Summer Whites (Minors DNI)
Note: When @roosterforme asks you to write her a Fleet Week fic, you write the Fleet Week fic! Here you go, Em! 💛
Normally, Rooster loved Fleet Week.
He loved the lively atmosphere and the parades. He loved the free drinks that were handed to him as soon as he entered a bar. And he especially loved all the attention he got from women when he wore his Summer Whites.
He usually came back to the ship looking less than pristine with lipstick on the collar of his uniform and hidden on other places on his body.
The USS Portland was teaming with excited families and camera-happy civilians taking in the sights from deck of the transport ship as they settled in for the five-hour journey to the San Diego. It was a Fleet Week tradition to welcome people aboard for an immersive experience, picking them up from a port further up North and then cruising along the coast before making their final docking for the week.
There were grills set up on the deck and the smell of flame kissed hamburgers and hotdogs mixed with the sea salt air. The sun was shining and the mood was light.
But this year, Rooster simply could not be bothered to give a fuck.
Especially not when he could have been home already instead of being stuck giving tours on a ship that he’d never even stepped foot on prior to three days ago when he and Hangman had been given orders to join in the procession on the vessel into the city after completing a short training deployment.
His superiors had okay-ed the terrible suggestion from some random Public Relations Specialist who clearly didn’t realize that he had better things to do with his time.
Early that morning, Bradley had stood on the dock with his arms crossed and wearing an impassive scowl as they had lifted his Super Hornet onto the flight deck like it was some kind of decorative hood ornament.
Sure, it was fun to watch the kids’ eyes get wide with excitement as they ooh-ed and ahh-ed over the features as he pointed them out, but he was getting hot and uncomfortable in his uniform in the mid-afternoon sun on the black tarmac.
He’d rather be in his service khakis like Seresin. Or better yet, naked at home in his own bed.
How Hangman had weaseled himself onto barbecue duty with a beer in his hand, Rooster would never know. The bastard probably played his Texan sir, I came out of the womb grilling shtick.
And every time he passed by the son of a bitch would give him a cocky salute with his tongs.
Jake was irritating on the best day, but today he was downright insufferable.
And he knew it had everything to do with the fact that Hangman’s girlfriend was laughing and lingering at his side, having surprised him by flying in with tickets for the coastal cruise.
At least someone was having a nice time, because it sure as shit wasn’t him.
Rooster was in the process of wrapping up his fourth tour of the day and handing out a couple of Dixie Cup hats to kids on the landing deck on the stern when he was stopped dead in his tracks and had to do a double take because he eyes were definitely playing tricks on him.
You were the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.
And he swore for a minute time slowed down as you flashed the most gorgeous smile at some Junior Officer as you laughed along with whatever undoubtedly stupid joke he’d told you. All while the wind played with the ends of your hair.
You looked like such nice girl, such a good girl in your pretty light blue sundress.
The sun was bouncing off your shoulders and the little ruffle at the hem was taunting him with the way it danced around your thighs. It coasted over your curves like water, and fit you just snug enough that there wouldn’t be any Marilyn Monroe moments on deck, much to his disappointment. But the blow was cushioned by the stunning display of your smooth, shapely legs.
From the way your breasts bounced as you walked, he knew there was no way in hell you had a bra on under that little dress.
He’s never been able to resist a bad girl wrapped up like the girl-next-door.
From the second he saw you, he knew you were just his type.
And for the first time that day Bradley is grateful to be wearing the crisp, pressed Summer Whites.
He knew how good his biceps looked in the short sleeves of his uniform. And the way his pants clung to his legs and ass. He’d been spending a lot of his free time in the gym lately and it showed.
He never did mind playing An Officer and a Gentleman when the occasion presented itself, he was always happy to help fuel some fantasies.
The last time he had worn this uniform out during Fleet Week he ended up going home with an absolute smokeshow, so hopefully whatever appeal his uniform had for him back then can still work for him now.
Fleet Week was finally looking up for him.
However, what he didn’t like was the fact that the butterbar was still dominating your attention.
He wanted that smile turned on him. Wanted to see if the look in your bright eyes would be just as playful with your gaze pinned on him instead. He wanted to be the one making you laugh.
It’s not like he’s going to go over there and lick your face like a kid might try and claim dibs on a cupcake.
No, he was going to act in accordance to his rank and station as an Officer in the United States Navy.
Securing the white cap on his head from where it’s been tucked under his arm at every opportunity he’s had that day, he straightens up to his full height and purposefully struts over to you.
Bradley’s never been one to shy away from making an entrance.
He forcefully taps the younger officer’s shoulder, and glances down when the guy turns around to get a look at his name tag.
“Ensign Hubbard, you’re up for civilian tour duties. The next one is due to start at 1400,” he looks down at his watch for dramatic effect, “Which is in about 10 minutes on the starboard bow, so you best get going if you don’t want to be late, junior.”
He might feel a little guilty for springing this on the kid if it wasn’t entirely within his right to assign him the nonexistent task 684 feet in the opposite direction- a fact he learned in preparation for giving tours all day- and away from you.
Especially when he sees how flustered the guy gets as he rushes through his salute and the stammered apologies he gives you before he takes off in a brisk jog heading towards the other side of the ship.
He stands up a bit taller and makes himself a bit broader as your eyes sweep over him.
“Apologies for interrupting, ma’am. But I’d be happy to pick up where the Ensign has left off.”
There’s no missing the appraising interest in them as you take him in.
“The tours are starting at the front of the ship now, are they?” you muse out loud with a little tilt of your head. “What are all those folks over there are lining up for then, I wonder?”
You point deliberately to the group of people who are currently being greeted by the Lieutenant who was scheduled to relieve Rooster of tour duties for the next hour.
“Mm, that sure is a mystery. But Hubbard seems like a smart kid, I wouldn’t worry too much about him.” He shrugs with an unapologetic smirk on his face.
You lift a pointed eyebrow at him.
“So, you sent him away…” the almost-but-not-quite question trailing in the breeze.
“I sent him away,” he readily agrees with a nod. His eyes catch on a golden heart-shaped locket that you’re wearing around that dainty neck as it glints in the sunlight.
A smug smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you notice where his eyes have dropped too, “You’re not even going to deny it, Sailor?”
“Nope,” he says with a grin. “And actually, it’s Lieutenant Commander.”
“Ok, Lieutenant.”
“Commander.”
You hmm contemplatively like his rank was somehow up for debate, toying with that damn little heart-shaped locket in a way that was tempting his eyes to drift further down.
Rooster didn’t think it could be possible, but you’re even prettier up close. He knew you’d be stunning, but he couldn’t have prepared himself for the way your mischievous eyes sparkled magnetically. Or for the warmth spreading in his chest with the way you are broadly smiling at him now.
The top buttons of your dress are undone one more than would be strictly considered family friendly. But Bradley wasn’t bothered by that in the least.
Clearing his throat, he notes, “It’s a nice day for a sail.”
“Ensign Hubbard and I already covered that rather riveting subject earlier,” you tease while looking at him like well, what else have you got.
“Let me try again then.” If you wanted him to put in the work, he was more than up for the challenge. “What brings you for a casual five-hour cruise down the coast on one of the Pacific Fleet’s finest?”
“Now that’s not something we got to before he was telling me about what his ribbons meant in great detail,” you say with a laugh. “Would you believe me if I said I had a deep appreciation for $1.6 billion-dollar ships purchased with Uncle Sam’s defense budget?”
He gives you a half smile as he pretends to contemplate it for a moment, “You know, for some reason, I can’t say that I would.”
“Well, shucks,” you say with an over exaggerated shrug. “What about if I said I was roped into waking up at an ungodly hour to catch a flight up here because my best friend’s boyfriend is a Naval aviator and she wanted me to keep her company for the ‘casual five-hour cruise’, as you called it.”
“Now that I believe,” he drawled. “So, what’s his name?”
“Well, she calls him Jacob. He has one of those silly callsigns too, but I always forget it,” you scrunch your nose adorably as you search for it, “Something-man.”
“You mean Bagman?”
“Yeah, that sounds right.”
He smirks to himself.
“I take it you know him then?” You wait for his nod before looking up at him from under your lashes and asking him, “Does that mean you have a callsign too?”
“Yes, ma’am. It’s Rooster.”
He doesn’t miss the way you glance down, and he definitely doesn’t hold back his pointed smirk waiting for your eyes to meet his again.
And when he gives you a cocky raise of his eyebrow, all you do is shrug.
You didn’t just look like his type, you are exactly his type.
“Rooster Bradshaw, huh?” you ask, reaching out to tap a finger on rectangular name tag on his chest. “I take it you have a first name, Lieutenant Commander?”
“Sure do,” he drawls, “But it only seems fair that I get yours in return.”
You grin knowingly at him. His cheek ticks up as you stick your hand out towards him and give him your name. It’s pretty and suits you perfectly.
Bradley says it out loud savoring the syllables in his mouth as he shakes your outstretched hand. And he gives you his in exchange.
He likes how much smaller your hand looks in his.
“Since it seems like your friend has ditched you, what do you say about getting a tour? Not to brag, but I’ve been doing it all day and I’ve got it down to a science now.”
“A private tour? Lucky me,” you purr. “Lead the way Lieutenant Commander Bradley Rooster Bradshaw.”
You knew what you were doing, he’d give you that. And he was eating it up with a spoon ready to ask for second, third, and fourth helpings.
It’s less busy on the flight deck, as people are collecting around the grills waiting for their turn in the buffet lines for the late lunch.
He starts off by showing you his aircraft, giving you a brief rundown of its features.
You run a hand over the body of his fighter jet as he wraps up his now well-practiced spiel, “Do I even want to know how much taxpayer money contributed to this?”
“It depends. Does your appreciation for Uncle Sam’s defense collection extend to F/A-18s too? Or is that strictly reserved for amphibious transport vessels?”
“I’ll keep you posted after I get the full tour,” you say coyly.
“Well then, I shouldn’t keep a lady waiting then. Should I?”
“No, you certainly should not,” you agree.
He guides you past the table that’s set up with squadron memorabilia for people to buy and to the door with a hand on your low back. He’s close enough to smell your perfume now, he wants to bury his nose in your neck to inhale the scent directly from the source.
Rooster navigates the two of you like a pro through the narrow passageways as he takes you to the mess hall where coffee and pre-sliced cakes awaited tour guests. From there he takes you to the galley, the wheelhouse, the engine control room, the 24-bed hospital ward, and the massive hull used to transport heavy machinery.
You as him thoughtful questions every now and then. And he does his best to answer them. The two of you drift closer and closer, it doesn’t escape his notice the way you brush against him when you pass by to get a closer look at some of the things he shows you.
It’s easily his favorite tour of the day.
He loves the sound of your laugh as he tells you about some of the mischief that he and members of his squadron managed to avoid getting caught doing.
Along with some of the things that they did get caught doing.
Your teasing grin and witty banter and little sundress have done a number on him. And he isn’t ready to wrap this up by delivering you back on deck until the absolute last minute he has to resume his official tour duties again.
So when he circles back to the airwing, instead of turning left when he should, he leads you to the ladder that would take you down a level.
And he knows he shouldn’t, that he could get in some big trouble for showing you areas that weren’t explicitly on the official list of tour stops. But he’s always been more of the apologize later type.
Plus, he hasn’t been on this ship for very long, it’s not his fault if he manages to get conveniently turned around.
Bradley waits at the bottom of the steep ladder, actively looking anywhere else but up as you make your descent. When you’re at level with him, he helps you down the rest of the way with a steadying hand at your waist.
And when you turn around he doesn’t step back.
You reach up and run a playful finger along the brim of his cap, “So what’s a girl got to do to get a turn wearing the hat?”
His mind flashes with images of the last time he’d let a woman wear it.
“I’ll have you know this is technically Naval property, they don’t let just anyone have one. You usually have to earn it. But for you?” he pauses and gives you a heated once over, “I’ll let you try it on for free.”
“Well, I wouldn’t want any special treatment,” you say demurely. “But I think in this case, Uncle Sam would understand. I’m a model citizen after all.”
He takes the cap off of his head and gingerly sets it on yours, “You’re something else, that’s for sure.”
It slides forward down your head, “Oh, it’s heavier than it looks.” And Rooster wishes he had his phone on him to get a picture for himself. He likes the way you look wearing his things.
“Looks good on you,” he hums, letting his finger brush against that little locket around your neck.
You run a bold hand down his chest, “Where to next, Lieutenant?”
This time he doesn’t bother to correct you, he knows the game you’re playing now.
Instead he grips your hips and pushes you against the ladder and brings his mouth to yours.You make a noise of surprise before your arms are wrapping around his neck to pull him in closer.
The kiss starts out light and teasing. Your lips are so soft beneath his. He gently grazes his teeth against your lower lip, before gliding his tongue along the seam of your mouth seeking entrance. The sweep of your tongue against his is everything. The soft moans escaping you are making his pulse thrum in his veins.
It would be so easy for him to get lost in the feeling of your perfect body against his and of the way your fingers were playing with the short hairs on the nape of his neck. But he’s already pushing the limits bringing you down here, he can’t get distracted by kissing you out in the open where anyone could stumble upon the two of you.
The small whimper that you make when he pulls away makes him grin. As does the sight of his cap sitting crookedly on your head.
He thumbs at the lipstick that’s smudged at the side of your mouth, “C’mon, I’ve got one more place I want to show you.”
This time he takes your hand as he guides you down the gray passageway and through the door on the left.
The ready room on the USS Portland is much smaller than the one’s he is familiar with from the aircraft carriers he is usually on, but the set-up is mostly the same. There are a couple of projection screens adhered on the bulkheads and there are a few rows of leather seats with a swivel tray tables attached to the arm rests.
“Tell me what happens in here.” You ask him so genuinely, so sweetly and he already knows he wouldn’t stand a chance against you with the way you flutter those eyelashes at him.
So he tells you.
He likes that you want to know these details about his job, he likes that he gets to share this with you. Even if the clock is ticking down before he has to get back on deck.
Rooster watches the tantalizing way your sundress dances around your thighs as you walk around the space. You take a seat in one of the chairs in the front row and pull the desk top over you before turning to him with a beaming smile with his cap still perched on your head.
And he is hit with a wave of affection for you so intense that it makes it hard for him to breathe for a moment.
He’s grateful when you see something else that catches your eye, giving him a moment to get himself back under control. You’ve got him feeling like he should be on his knees for you.
In the spot where he is used to seeing a lectern, on this ship there is a glossy wooden table inlaid with the ship’s coat of arm that you standing over.
“Does every ship have their own unique crest? Do you know what the symbols are for?”
He really needs to figure out who put him on tour duty and send them an Edible Arrangement or something. And maybe one for whoever put together the ten-page packet of “fun facts” that he had rolled his eyes at when he had first seen it.
“Yes, ma’am, I sure do.” He comes up to stand behind you, resting his chin on your shoulder as his arms cage you in against the table. “Yes, all ships come with their own. It’s something that the prospective commanding officers are responsible for designing when new ships are about to be launched.”
You lean forward a bit, gazing your ass against him, “Dark blue and gold are traditional Navy colors, right?” He hums confirmation into your neck, as he runs his mustache along your soft skin. He feels more than hears your sharp inhale. “What does the gear on the anchor mean?”
He drops a kiss to your shoulder, “The cog is a symbol of manufacturing, a nod to the ship’s namesake and the city’s history for building ships in World War II.”
You grab his wrist and bring his arm across your body, he takes the hint and presses in closer into you. “And the trident?”
God, you feel so perfect in his arms. Your body is fitting against his like a dream.
“The black symbolizes determination,” he murmurs into the space where you neck and shoulder meet. “And the choice of the three prongs is because it’s the third ship to be given the name.”
You lean your head to the side, and he takes the opportunity to trail open-mouth kisses up your neck. Your nails bite into his forearm in response, as you rock back against his rapidly hardening cock. “And the rose?”
“Portland is the City of Roses.”
“Does it have any other meaning?” you ask soft and breathy.
“It represents strong ties, baby. It’s a symbol for the supportive partners and wives of those serving onboard,” he whispers low and sweet into your ear.
“Bradley,” you sigh as you turn your head towards him for a kiss. It’s desperate and wet. And he can almost taste the neediness of your moan on his tongue.
He’s never done anything like this while on duty on a ship before, and the thrill of it has his veins thrumming with adrenaline.
“You’ve had me hook, line and sinker since the damn second I saw you.” He grinds himself against your ass and you whimper at the contact. “What do you want from me? I’ll be so good to you, so good for you.”
“Want you to touch me,” you pant into his mouth, “Want you to fuck me, Rooster. It’s the only thing I’ve been able to think about.”
“Fuck me.” He can feel his pulse thundering in his throat.
“I’m trying to,” you whine.
He barks a strained laugh before he spins you around, crowds you into the table. He doesn’t waste any time getting his lips back on yours, slipping his tongue into your mouth. You meet him stroke for stroke, just like you’ve been doing since the moment he laid eyes on you.
“This fucking dress,” he groans when he cups your breast through your fabric, as you fill his palm in just the right way. You arch your chest into his hand, and he was feeling entirely too self-satisfied in the confirmation that you weren’t wearing a bra. “Knew you weren’t a good girl.”
“So why are you treating me like one?” you taunt, breathlessly. Your greedy hands go straight to his cock, squeezing him through his pants.
Your hand feels so good on him.
“God, you’re so much fucking trouble,” he rasps, throwing his head back.You lean forward and your hot mouth works against the hollow of his throat.
He’s trying to undo some of the tiny buttons that line the front of your dress, but the teasing way your tongue is dipping out to trace the line of his tendon is making it hard for him to think.
“Are you gonna show me how you got that silly, little callsign of yours or not?” You give him one more squeeze, before bringing your hands up to the button of his white pants.
He knocks your hands out of the way before roughly grabbing your ass and hauls you firmly against him, “That feel little to you?”
Your gasp makes his fingertips dig further into your ass. The pretty color of your eyes has been completely eclipsed by your heavy, dark pupils. He can feel the way your thighs clench together.
“You want my attention? You’ve got it, baby,” he roughly rasps, “Go on then, show me how bad you can be.”
He dips his head down for a filthy, hungry kiss.
You push him back with a hand to his chest and a gleam in your eyes. You hold his heated gaze as you slowly undo his zipper and reach into his boxer briefs to pull him out. He moans when your thumb sweeps over the top of his cock.
Rooster thinks for a second that you’re going to drop to your knees for him, the mental image of you looking up at him with those doe-eyes is enough to make his jaw clench with desire. Especially with the way your sundress is gaping open at the top, giving him a clear view of the swells of your breasts.
Instead, you surprise him by bending over that glossy table and shimmying the skirt of your dress up over your luscious hips.
“Holy shit.”
You’re wearing the smallest, laciest little thong he’s ever fucking seen.
The band is a series of crisscrossed straps attached to some intricate and dainty floral lace. The juxtaposition of it against your skin is enough to make his ears ring. He’ll be dreaming of the way you’re enticingly arching your ass towards him for months.
And he’ll sure as shit never be able to be in a Ready Room again without getting a hard-on. The memory of you bent over the table before him will forever be ingrained in his brain.
“Is this bad enough for you, Lieutenant Commander?” You shoot him a grin over your shoulder as you wiggle your hips invitingly.
That sultry smile is swiped from your face the moment his large hand connects with your perfect ass. The sound echoes throughout the small room. He palms you once more before he yanks down your barely-there thong.
“Gonna fuck that attitude right out of you.”
Giving himself a few rough pumps, he lines himself up and slides into you with one steady thrust.
You both release an unrestrained groan of the sensation of him filling your warm, wet cunt. He barely gives you a moment to adjust to the size of him before he starts moving.
“’s big,” you sigh shakily.
“Tell me how much you like this cock.”
He slaps your pert ass again when you release a breathy whimper instead of answering him.
“Feels good, Rooster.” Your hands are struggling to find a way to support yourself as he fucks into you. “You feel so good.”
He pushes your dress higher up your body, his eyes are greedy for more of your skin. What he wouldn’t give to have you entirely naked and spread out before him. He wants to see all of you, he wants to hear you loud and needy for him.
“You’re so fucking pretty,” he murmurs as he watches himself smoothly gliding in and out of you.
The little noises you are making are driving him crazy. He knows you’re trying to muffle your sweet moans and sighs and whines. The sound of your bodies coming together fills the room.
How his cap is still perched on your head he doesn’t know, it jostles every time your bodies come together.
“I need more,” you beg, “Need you to touch me.”
“Ask me nicely.” He punctuates the demand with a sharp snap of his hips.
“Please, Bradley. Please.”
He slides his hand around to the front of you, his fingers drawn to your clit like a magnet. You keen at the contact and tilt your hips into his hand. The sound is music to his ears, “That’s more like it.”
He doesn’t think there’s anything else better on the planet than being buried in your perfect pussy. You’re so wet for him. He already knows he’s going to need more of this, more of you.
“You’re taking me so well,” Bradley grunts as he speeds up his thrusts, “Looks like all you needed was a nice, thick cock. Just a sweet thing now, aren’t you?”
“Oh my god,” you gasp as you writhe against him. “F-fuck.”
He is so turned on by the way his hands span across you as he grips your waist and pulls you against him with every roll of his hips. His heart is racing in his chest.
The feeling of your body tensing around him is paradise. There is nothing he wants more than to be able to draw this out, but he is all too aware of how quickly time is slipping away from him.
He sets a rough and unrelenting pace. Redoubling his efforts on your clit, his indulgent strokes turn into tight, purposeful circles. And you cry out at the change of sensation on that sensitive part of you.
Your thighs start to tremble as his cock drags against that spot deep inside of you. The heat is pooling in his lower back as he fucks into you over and over again.
“Rooster, I’m gonna-”
“I know, baby. Let me feel it,” he murmurs hotly against your ear, his thumb rubbing back and forth across your clit. “Come on my cock like a good girl.”
The goosebumps erupt across your body like fireworks a moment before he feels you shiver and tremble beneath him as you come with a choked sob. The way you spasm and clench around him is dizzying.
Bradley is teetering on the edge, your cunt felt like heaven. Warm and wet and gripping him just right. He almost doesn’t want to give himself up to it as the pressure at the base of his spine intensified. He doesn’t want to stop fucking you.
You’re so perfect for him.
He loses himself to the feeling of your pussy milking him as you continue to pulse and writhe in the aftershocks of your orgasm. He grips your hips harder as he pounds into you before emptying himself inside of you with a shattered groan.
And for a moment all he can hear is the blood rushing in his ears as he works to catch his breath. Rooster feels like his knees might buckle as the soft whimper you make when he pulls out of you.
He gently pulls that lacy little thong back up and helps to pull your dress back down over your hips and thighs before turning you around and lifting you onto the custom table.
He doesn’t know how he is going to make it through the rest of the journey knowing his come is collecting in your panties.
You’re flushed and looking thoroughly well-fucked as you smile up at him brightly.
Bradley threads his finger under the chain of your little gold heart-shaped locket that was etched with a rose in full bloom, and lightly tugs you in closer for a lingering kiss.
“I see you found your gift early, baby.”
Bradley would never forget the first time he saw you that night at the bar downtown last year during Fleet Week.
He had noticed you right away, it had been impossible not to. You and your girlfriends had been all done up in hot pink outfits for the Bachelorette party you were out celebrating.
Your friend had flounced right up to Jake taking the shot of whiskey out of his hand before swallowing it down then cheekily offering to buy him a replacement. Hangman had been wrapped around her finger ever since.
While your friends had all but shoved you in his direction while he had looked on entirely entertained as you had shot a scathing glare back at them. A sparkling tiara that read Bridesmaid sat crookedly on your head.
And then you had greeted him with a “Hey, Sailor” so weak that the couldn’t help but let out an amused laugh. There was a split second where he thought that he might have fucked it up before it could even start, but then you smiled back at him.
It was a charmingly self-deprecating smile and he was yours from the moment he saw it.
“Hiding it in your nightstand next to the batteries wasn’t the most original of spots, Rooster,” you affectionately tease him. “I didn’t mean to peek, but the remote stopped working. I hope you’re not mad. I love it.”
He could never be mad at you, especially not with his necklace around your neck. You were his, and he was so gone for you.
“It looks so pretty on you,” he tells you softly as his fingers brush over your collarbones.
“Oh my god, Rooster, I can’t we defiled Naval property.” You giggle as you wrap your legs around him to pull him closer to circle your arms around his neck.
“I hate to break it to you, but you’ve been defiling Naval property ever since you brought me home with you the night we met.”
You take that cap off of your head and set it back on his, and lean in to kiss him on the cheek, “Glad I’m getting a good return on my taxes then.”
He snorts a laugh, “God, I’ve missed you, baby. What are doing here? I thought you weren’t coming until the end of the week.”
“And miss the visual and culinary offerings of the USS Portland? I wouldn’t dream of it.” You joke as you run your hands along his arms where they’re pressed on the table on either side of you. “This uniform drives me just as crazy as it did last year.”
“Just the uniform?” he asks as he nudges his nose against yours.
“Maybe it has a little something to do with the man in the uniform,” you make a little hum as you check him out. “You’re so tan, Bradley, have you been using the sunscreen I sent with you-”
He crushes his mouth to yours, you were undoubtedly best thing that’s ever happened to him during Fleet Week.
“I’m glad I still do it for you,” he murmurs against your mouth before giving you another deep kiss.
The two of you work quickly to get yourselves looking presentable again. He’s only got a little time left before he is due to return to his tour duties back on deck.
He helps you back up the ladder and takes that left turn when he’s supposed to this time. All while your hand is tucked securely in his.
When you’re both back on the open flight deck he walks you over to the railing along the edge of the ship and wraps you up in his arms to watch the coastline crawl by with his last few moments of freedom.
“I really love Fleet Week,” you say with a contented sigh, as you lean your head back against his shoulder.
The golden rays from the sun are hitting you in a way that makes his chest warm.
“I do too, baby. It’s the best.”
Yeah, Rooster fucking loves Fleet Week.
Who doesn’t love a man in Summer Whites?! Consider this my formal petition for more Dress Whites in TG3!
Thank you for reading!
Hey, Sailor Moodboard
A peek inside the USS Portland One | Two
If you’re curious, here is some info on the crest I found! One | Two | Three
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The Feral One • Chapter 8
Finnick x Y/N
Series Masterlist Link
This chapter makes me want to cry especially knowing what I’ve prewritten for them.
Content Warnings - Talk of rape and murder, mental torture, talks of prostitution, tooth rotting fluff
One moment you were all sitting on the beach, the next moment, Finnick was bolting into the jungle after Katniss. You get up to follow but Johanna tells you to stay put.
She returns a minute later, beckoning for you and Peeta to follow. Something must be wrong with them.
You can spot Finnick and Katniss huddled on the jungle floor, hands over their ears as they try to block out some kind of noise.
“Jabberjays,” Johanna sighs. “They’re stuck in that wedge for the next hour.”
“Can they hear us?” Peeta asks as he tries to break the barrier with his machete.
“Nope,” Johanna states.
You sit on the other side of the barrier from Finnick, watching as the birds torture him. His nose is bleeding but otherwise he seems physically unharmed.
Who would they use against you if you were in there? Would they use the voices of your dead family?
The only person they could hurt you with was the one sitting right in front of you.
An hour can feel like an eternity when you have to sit and watch the one person you love slowly lose their mind. When the barrier drops, Peeta runs to Katniss while you walk slowly towards Finnick.
Sitting down in front of him, you set your good hand next to his to alert him to your presence.
“Finn,” you sigh, seeing the pain in his face when he looks up at you.
“You were screaming,” he states. “They were torturing you and I couldn’t stop them.”
“I’m ok,” you reply.
You sit with him in silence while Johanna rants about the games and Katniss freaks out about her sister. I guess that’s who’s voice she heard.
“Can we go to the beach?” Finnick asks and you nod, walking down with him to the shore.
The two of you sit on the edge of the water, closer than you would usually sit but you can tell he needs the comfort.
“I can’t lose you,” he tells you as you stare out towards the cornucopia.
“I can’t promise you won’t,” you respond. “But I’ll try.”
“No you have to promise,” he states with pain in his voice. “I can’t lose you.”
You look at him and see how honest he is. As much as you’d like to hope he could survive without you, you worry he can’t.
“You won’t,” you sigh, looking into his sea green eyes.
“Can I hold your hand?” he asks. “I need to know you aren’t going to slip away from me.”
You allow him to grab your hand, feeling his calloused fingers against your smooth ones. The jabber jays must have really gotten to him as he never asks for physical contact with you.
Higher up the beach, Katniss notices the scene by the water.
“I thought we weren’t allowed to touch her,” she comments.
“Only he is,” Johanna replies. “Nobody else.” This made sense to Katniss after hearing her scream for Finnick for an hour.
“Why does touching her set her off?” Katniss asks. “I didn’t see her react that way in her games.”
Johanna sighs and looks out towards her two friends.
“She was, uh, raped during her victory tour,” she explains. “Killed the guy during it and hasn’t spoken or allowed people to touch her since. That’s why the capital calls her Feral, but they skewed the story to make it seem like she attacked him unprovoked.”
Katniss silently stares at Y/N, unsure of how to process that information.
“He was a game maker,” Johanna continues. “An important man in the capital. She never healed from it.”
“I don’t know how one would,” Beetee chimes in. “She’s been through a lot.”
“Why aren’t they together?” Peeta asks the older victors.
“They’re stubborn,” Johanna shrugs. “She doesn’t want to hurt him and he has a complicated deal with the capital that would make dating hard.”
“It would be hard to date all those capital women with a girl back home,” Katniss mutters.
“Don’t assume he likes jumping from woman to woman in the capital,” Johanna angrily states. “All victors have duties we don’t have a say in. Ever wonder why most of us have families anymore?”
Katniss swallows and looks at Johanna, shocked by this revelation.
“That could have easily been you.”
“What do you want to do when all of this is over?” Finnick asks you. You’re still holding hands and you’ve moved to rest your head on his shoulder. For once the contact isn’t bothering you.
“Go back to four,” you reply. “To our old routine.”
“That would be nice,” Finnick hums. He wishes so badly that he could tell you everything but he can’t. He barely convinced Plutarch to put you on the rescue list. He wasn’t sold on the idea of you being brought to 13 with your unpredictability.
When this is all over he wants to go back to four with you. He wants to move out of victors village to your own house by the sea with a big garden you can walk freely in. He wants to spend the days outside with you, showing you around the district you haven’t explored in 5 years.
He wants you to be his, permanently. He thinks you’d say yes, but at the same time he isn’t certain. He’s never asked you out for the simple reason that Snow would kill you if he did. He told Finnick as much.
He hopes you realize how much he loves you, even if he can’t show it.
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