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nolita-fairytale · 1 year

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call sign: tennessee whiskey | rooster x fem!reader & hangman x phoenix | chapter eight

summary: you and bradley spend three days in encinitas on your proverbial honeymoon and make a big decision about your relationship.

warnings: smut, fluff, minor angst, suggestive language, swearing, mentions of death, military & aircraft carrier inaccuracies, second person pov

wc: 4.8k

listen to: the playlist

a/n: this is an exclusively rooster x whiskey chapter and gets a little smutty. this is the second to last part, so next chapter i'll wrap up the rom-com of these four. i'm going back to work and very much want to finish this nine chapter adventure before i do. however, i AM planning on writing a more extended oneshot that catches up with these guys a year and a half later so i'm definitely not done with these four.

chapter seven | masterlist | chapter nine

Friday

“Look at us! We’re almost normal,” you comment, optimistically as you breathe in the bright California air. Sometimes, when you’re on leave, you can almost trick yourself into believing you’re a civilian. “No one would know by looking at us that you just saved the world!”

“And almost died trying,” Bradley grumbles as a reminder the job you share is rarely ever that glamorous.

Bradley holds your hand in his as the two of you walk along the beach. The drive up hadn’t been long, but you’d been eager to go for a walk after arriving. Once you’d arrived, Bradley had barely been able to put his seabag down before you’d practically tugged him outside across onto deck, past the gorgeous private pool, and off to the beach.

“That’s what I mean! We’re not aviators this weekend. We’re not facing near-death today! We’re just… two normal people who don’t have to worry about deployments or fighter jets or top secret missions funded and backed by the pentagon,” you continue, celebrating the freedom you’re leaning into on this particular leave.

“Probably shouldn’t say that too loudly,” Bradley coughs, scanning the beach for any curious listeners.

“Ahhhh yes, you’re right,” you mumble, lowering your voice.

“But I like where this is going. We’re just… Mr. and Mrs. Smith,” Bradley chimes in, playing along with you. “You know… the boring ones. Not like... the spy assassin ones.”

“Right, right. Because there’s a fine line, Bradshaw,” you fire back.

He laughs in response with a shake of his head, his eyes full of endearment towards you.

“Okay so… how’d we meet?” you ask, turning to steal a glance Bradley’s way.

“How does anyone meet these days?! On an app?” he answers, in his best well-duh tone of voice.

“No!” you cry out, giving his arm a little shake. He laughs again, giving your hand a squeeze in return. God, no one’s made him laugh this much in a long time. He shoots you a quizzical look as you clarify with, “C’mon! There’s no romance in that! No, we uh… we definitely had a meet-cute.”

“Who knew you were such a romantic, Mrs. Smith,” Bradley chuckles as he teases you, giving your hand another squeeze.

“Okay then. Tell me more about this meet-cute.”

“Okay hmmmm… so you’re…” you trail off, before letting the silliest, furthest away from reality thing tumble out of your mouth. “... a yoga instructor.”

“What?!” he yelps, his eyes widening at the ridiculous sentiment.

“And I'm… a chef who’s just recently moved to San Diego to open up yet another fusion restaurant gentrifying small surf towns across the nation,” you continue, making sure your faux-job feels just as silly as his does.

“Wait. Why am I the yoga instructor!? I can’t even touch my toes,” he backtracks, alarmingly.

You laugh, “Because it’s funny! And maybe the furthest thing away from what we actually do.”

“Okay fine. I’m a yoga instructor,” he grumbles, resigning himself to his new pretend-occupation. “But I’m not growing out a man bun.”

“No, the mustache alone gives you enough street-cred. Or rather, hipster-cred, if you will,” you reply, playfully.

“You like the mustache,” he shoots back.

“Oh, I definitely like the mustache,” you smirk. “In fact, that’s how we met. I spotted that mustache across the room in a coffee shop, made sure to let you know that, even though they don’t really do it for me, yours was pretty cool, which of course led you to inviting me to the yoga studio that you own.”

“Which was just an excuse to see you again,” Bradley adds, playing along.

“Exactly,” you giggle, as the story continues to grow more and more ridiculous. “… And well, you know what they say! The rest was history.”

“You are so silly,” Bradley chuckles, releasing your hand as he wraps an arm around your shoulders instead.

“Gotta keep you on your toes, Bradshaw,” you giggle, your sliding around his waist. “Oh! That reminds me. We need to go to the grocery store.”

“I thought you said we could stay in bed all weekend,” Bradley challenges, his tone light.

“Fuel,” you shrug, coquettishly.

“Besides, I’m cooking you dinner tonight.”

“Well, you are the chef between the two of us.”

“Now, you’re catching on.”

It’s later that night that Bradley learns that while you gave him the job furthest away from reality, the possibility of you being a chef was a lot more probable. He watches you create a lemon-scented pan sauce, his mind wandering back to earlier when he’d been surprised by your knife skills.

“Holy shit! You really cook?!” he practically exclaims in the middle of the state-of-the-art home kitchen you’re occupying all weekend.

“Guilty,” you answer, as if it’s some kind of confession. “If I hadn’t gotten into the Naval Academy, I was going to go to culinary school. Just one psycho thing for the next.”

You coat the back of a spoon so that you can taste the sauce for seasoning:

Salt levels are good. Shallots are perfectly caramelized. Capers add the right amount of tang to it.

You scoop up another pool of the liquid in the spoon once more, offering it to Bradley.

“Come try this,” you say. “It’s a lemon chicken piccata. I think you’ll really like it.” You hold the spoon up to his lips, watching as Bradley tastes the lemon butter pan sauce.

As soon as the sauce hits his tongue, you watch as he closes his eyes, in total disbelief.

“Holy shit. This is un-fucking-real, honey,” he says, the term of endearment making you blush a little.

“Thank you,” you smile, leaning in to place a kiss on his lips.

As you pull away, he pulls you back for another kiss before murmuring against your lips, “Though I think I like it better on you.”

Holy shit, is that hot.

As Bradley releases you, it’s almost as if you’ve forgotten to breathe. Your head feels light and you have to remind yourself to take a deep breath.

“I won’t distract you any longer. Sooner we finish up dinner, the sooner I get you naked,” he coos, his hands dragging across your hips as he pulls away.

Jeez, this man is perfect, you think to yourself.

What the hell were you getting yourself into?

As you sit down to dinner with your lemon chicken piccata and a funky orange wine, you learn that Bradley can’t cook to save his life. You can’t believe that after two and a half weeks of the craziest of training, you’ve managed to find yourself on your proverbial honeymoon with a guy you’re quite sure is perfect. Sure, he’s got enough baggage to sink the USS Roosevelt, but you’re not sure you mind. He is, after all, who he is because of it.

He finishes telling you another story from his days at UVA and you’re caught in a fit of giggles as you watch how animated he gets as tells you about his college-day shenanigans.

“What?” he asks you, seeing the look on your face.

You know you probably look like you’ve got goddamn hearts for pupils at this point, so your answer is simple:

“The more I learn about you, the more I like you, Bradshaw.”

He blushes.

“I really like you too, Whiskey.”

Saturday morning:

Rooster Bradshaw thinks he’s died and gone to heaven.

It doesn’t feel real.

As you stand there in the middle of the kitchen, clad only in his NAVY tee, it’s as if the domestic bliss he’s always craved is right in front of him.

This is all he’s ever wanted.

Bradley’s frozen for a second, paused in a moment in time. Ever since his mother died, there’s been a hole in his heart he’s never been able to fill – not with girlfriends, not with work, not even with himself. It’s this hole in his heart that yearns for a family – that allows himself to be taken care of, to be cherished, to be loved. But he can feel something, this feeling, swelling in his chest as he watches you make breakfast in the way-too-fancy home kitchen after knowing you for barely three weeks.

Now that he’s proven himself in the Navy, maybe he could begin healing his relationship with Mav. He could let himself open up to you. Maybe the part of his healing he’s been missing… is letting himself be loved.

He’s not sure how long he’s been standing there, but he figures it’s been long enough as you turn back around to him, sending him a curious look.

“Good morning, handsome. Coffee?” you greet him, with the sweetest smile he thinks he’s ever seen in his life.

And damn, he loves the way you look in his t-shirt.

“That would be great,” he answers, a lovestruck grin plastered to his face.

You hear the sounds of his footsteps before you feel his hands on your hips, pulling you in close to him from behind. You giggle, turning your head for a good morning kiss. Bradley’s lips are soft – a stark contrast from the rough texture of his mustache – earning another giggle from you.

You nod towards the french press on the counter that holds the coffee you’ve just made. There’s a second mug resting on the table that you pulled from the cabinets for him. He likes that you thought of him – thought to do that. He likes being thought of.

“How’d you sleep?” you ask, plating up two plates of eggs, bacon, sliced avocado, and a mix of berries you’d purchased yesterday.

“Great. How about you?” Bradley answers, a soft smile on his face as he watches you.

You wrap a hand around the edge of the plate while your other hand carries your coffee cup.

“Wonderfully. Why don’t you grab a fork and meet me out by the pool?” you tempt him, sending a wink his way before disappearing, heading towards the sliding glass doors that lead to the deck.

Instead of following suit, Bradley watches, taking this all in. He takes a few steps so that he can see you through the glass door. You sit down with your copy of today’s paper, while you snack on a few strawberries before picking up your fork to eat your soft scrambled eggs. Bradley swears under his breath, still in disbelief that this is real, before fixing his cup of coffee and taking his plate outside to join you.

“You know… I know we have the same one… but I think I like mine better on you,” Rooster says, taking a seat on the lounge chair next to the one you’ve posted up on.

You can practically feel your heart speed up, as you watch Bradley pop a strawberry into his mouth.

“Listen. I’m just relieved you own something other than the Hawaiian shirts,” you admit, a cheeky smile on your face.

“What’s wrong with my Hawaiian shirts?” he teases you with a wink.

“Absolutely nothing. But… it’s not like I can bring you as a wedding date in a printed shirt and jorts,” you tease him back, playfully.

As much as he likes to banter with you, he’s more focused on the fact that you’re thinking of ahead – thinking of the future with him.

“How do you feel about eventually making our way out to the beach today?” you propose, continuing with your breakfast.

“If we make it out… yeah,” Bradley replies, suggestively.

You smirk, “Well in that case, finish your breakfast. You’ll need the energy.”

You enjoy the poolside breakfast with him, handing him the sports section of the newspaper so that he can check out some of the baseball stats. You swap: the arts section for the sports section when he mentions maybe seeing if there’s a show you both could go to – making plans that you most likely won’t make anyways.

After breakfast, you pull Rooster’s NAVY shirt over your head, revealing your barely-covers-anything bikini you put on earlier.

“You wanna-?” you start asking, with every intention of getting in the pool.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” he says, grabbing your hand.

Before you know it, Rooster’s thrown his empty breakfast plate on the small end table between both lounge chairs, pulling you back towards him. You follow, more than eager to explore exactly where this is going. As he pulls you down on top of him, you sit over his hips, just to feel how excited he’s gotten from seeing you in your bikini.

“You are such a tease,” he growls, bucking his hips up into you.

“I think you like it,” you smirk, leaning down to ghost your lips over his.

“Uh huh,” he answers, and you can feel his breath on your lips.

“Already, Roos?” you ask him, a devilish smile on your face as you grind your hips against him.

He hisses, pushing his hips up again as he answers, “Baby, you’ve had me this hard all weekend.”

You giggle, your lips finally meeting his, your tongues easily tangling together as your lips move in perfect time.

“I like these,” he says, his fingers dancing over your hips as works to untie your bikini bottoms.

“Yeah?” you ask, your eyes filled with lust.

“Yeah,” he answers, untying one side completely.

Rooster sits up, flipping you over so that you’re now laying back against the lounge chair, earning something between a gasp and a laugh from you. Eagerly, he pulls your bikini bottoms off, tossing them somewhere on the deck as he covers your body with his in this new position.

“Rooster,” you moan, his mouth moving lower.

His lips and tongue are everywhere: your shoulders, your breasts, and rapidly making their way down your abdomen.

His hands pull your legs apart to make room for his shoulders as he watches you with a fire in his eyes. You know exactly where this is going, waiting impatiently for him to touch you. Bradley licks a broad stripe up your already wet heat, his tongue stopping to move around your clit as you throw your head back, his name on your lips.

“Bradley.”

“God, you taste so good, sweetheart.”

You close your eyes, the hot sun kissing the both of you as he eats you out, right on the freaking pool lounge chair. He works at your clit, tracing little shapes around it as you moan his name, trying to remind yourself not to be too loud since your friends do have neighbors. As his tongue moves further down, his mustache bumping up against your most sensitive spots, your hands move straight into his brunette waves, bucking your hips up against his face.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you cry as you feel him begin fucking you with his tongue. “You’re so fucking good at this.”

You feel him smile against you, your words having unleashed something within him. From here forward, Rooster is relentless. He’s holding your hips down, pulling all kinds of sounds from your body as he continues to bring you heavenly pleasure with his tongue and his fingers.

“Fuck!” you cry, feeling that tight feeling in your abdomen as he pulls his fingers in and out of you.

“You gonna cum for me again?”

“Yes. God, yes. I’m so close!”

And it’s all he needs to hear to do whatever it takes to get you to cum, pulling you past the point of pleasure you thought you could feel. You come with a strangle moan, and before you know it, Bradley’s folding his body over yours once again. He presses his lips against yours and you can taste yourself on him, earning a moan from him as you kiss him with desperation.

“I hope your friends don’t have cameras out here,” he chuckles, in between kisses.

“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” you tease.

“Jeez, sweetheart. If that’s what you’re into….”

You were going to be the death of him.

And, he decides, what a lovely way to go.

Sunday:

“Bradley!” you gasp, feeling that all-too-familiar tightening in your abdomen, as Bradley winds you up.

“You gonna cum?” he grits out, his hips driving into at a rapid pace. “Go ahead. Let go for me, baby.”

“Yesyesyes,” you’re practically chanting as you feel him so, so deep inside of you.

“Fuck, Bradley. I’m gonna-,” you pant, and he groans, feeling you squeezing around him. “Please make me cum.”

“God, I love it when you beg me. Shit. Holy shit, baby. Fuck,” Bradley grunts out, his face buried in the crevice of your neck. He whines your name so sweetly as he releases, finally stilling the motion of his hips.

Bradley lifts his head, still inside of you as he leans down to press a passionate kiss to your lips.

“Holy shit. How is it possible that it just keeps getting better and better?” you sigh, your back hitting the sheets as you catch your breath.

“I don’t know but… if we get any better at it I might go into cardiac arrest,” he jokes, earning a laugh from you.

“No!!” you cry out, dramatically.

The two of you settle into a quiet intimacy, as you turn over onto your side, wrapping yourself up in the sheets. Bradley notices a shift in you, but remains on his back as you prop your head up on your hand.

“I want to be with you,” you blurt out, causing Rooster to turn his head in your direction.

He can’t even hide the smile on his face as he hears your words.

“I want to be with you too, Whiskey,” he grins, his eyes as soft as the morning light.

“Oh thank god!” you say, letting out a sigh of relief, eliciting the most amused look from Bradley. But you pause, and he can tell that you’ve got something else on your mind as you continue with, “I just-, I guess I’m just wondering if-. Do you… think we’re moving too fast?”

“What do you mean?” he asks, curiously, rolling over onto his side so that he can match your body language with his own.

“I don’t know…” you hesitate with an ambivalent shrug. “We haven’t known each other for that long. Is it… totally wild to feel this way about someone after only three weeks?”

Bradley takes a beat, his chocolate brown eyes warm and filled with confidence.

“Maybe. But stranger things have happened and… Whiskey, I-. I think I’ve been waiting to meet you for a long time,” Bradley answers genuinely.

“I think so too. Is that crazy?” you reply softly.

“If it is, then at least we’re both in it together,” he reassures you, pulling you over to him so that you can cuddle.

“Okay.”

“What do you want to do today?” you ask him, shifting a little to something more lighthearted.

Like you’d predicted, despite every intention of doing so, neither of you had made it out of the house this weekend aside from the occasional beach walk and for dinner last night in Leucadia. Not that you were complaining. The hot non-stop sex-a-thon and staying up to talk till the early hours of the morning were absolutely heaven… but you knew at some point you’d both have to resurface.

“I think I might go for a run,” Bradley replies, as if it’s the most casual thing in the world.

“You haven’t gotten enough cardio?!” you practically shriek in surprise.

He chuckles, “Can’t take too many days off or I’ll lose my stamina, honey. Wanna come with?”

“Hmmm… I think I may just stay here… take a shower. Unlike you… I’m not a psychopath,” you joke.

He laughs, “Okay, okay. Then how about when I get back, I’ll take you out to breakfast and we can go from there.”

“Sounds perfect,” you agree with a totally lovestruck smile.

After a few more kisses, Bradley manages to unwillingly pry himself out of bed to get ready for his morning run. He’s right. You both have to return to reality at some point, and it’s not a bad idea to try to work in some of your routine before you’re back on base. You might’ve even agreed to go on a run with him, but selfishly, you’d like the alone time because you have to call Nat.

Once Bradley is out of the house, you slip a t-shirt left on the floor from the night before, hurrying into the master bathroom. You quickly FaceTime Natasha, praying that she picks up, considering this is the first time you’ve had a moment to call.

“Hey! Didn’t think I’d be hearing from you till you got back,” Nat says as soon as she answers the call.

“Oh my God, Nat. I am in love with this man,” you say, incredulously.

“Are you talking about Rooster?” she asks.

“Yes, of course I’m talking about Rooster!” you exclaim, with a laugh.

“Jeez, Whiskey. How much sex are you guys having?!” she teases, raising an eyebrow at you.

“You… don’t want to know the answer to that,” you answer honestly.

“You’re right,” she nods, her voice dropping. “I don’t. I guess I don’t even need to ask how it’s going then.”

“So well. Too well. I-, we told each other that we want to give this a shot. A relationship,” you fill her in.

“Holy shit.”

“I know.”

“I mean... Whiskey, I think he’s ready to settle down with someone and… that’s why I wanted to introduce the two of you so badly. Don’t overthink it. Chalk it up to good timing,” she advises.

“Okay yes, but do you think this is too fast?” you ask, nervously.

“It’s… fast, sure. But it’s not like you’re getting married or anything,” she reassures you, before pausing. “You’re-... not getting married-.”

“Of course not!” you interrupt her, rolling your eyes playfully.

“You know what the proverbial they say: when you know you know,” Nat adds, trying her best to offer up a little more reassurance.

“Yeah, I guess I’m just trying to check in with myself. Make sure we’re being realistic, you know?” you vent. Truthfully, your hesitations have nothing to do with Rooster and everything to do with the fact that you haven’t chosen the best partners in the best. But Rooster? He’s near-perfect.

“Have you told him about your deployment yet?” Nat asks you.

You shake your head, “Not yet. I didn’t want it to be another thing to raise the stakes, you know? But I’m… I’m kind of nervous to.”

“Rooster knows how this goes. He’ll be fine,” she replies.

You nod slowly, “How are things going on your end?”

“Uh… good. Just waiting for you guys to get back before I head back up to LA,” Nat replies with the most casual tone in her voice. You eye her suspiciously, knowing that that can’t just be it.

“And Jake?” you ask, curiously.

“What about Jake?” she asks back, earning a funny look from you.

Okay, Trace.

If she needs it spelled out, that’s exactly what you’ll do.

“Have you guys talked or are the two of you still just fucking each others’ brains out?” you rephrase, putting it bluntly.

Natasha rolls her at eyes at your crass comment before answering, “More so the latter,”

“Got it.”

You take a beat, not wanting to overstep, but then again this is the woman that quite literally parent-trapped you and Rooster.

“It would be okay, Nat… if you had feelings for him,” you begin, cautiously.

“Whiskey, I don’t-,” but she can’t finish the sentence. She knows she can’t finish that sentence because it would be a lie. And when has she ever been able to bullshit you? If anything, you’re the person who knows both her and Jake the best.

She takes a beat before opening her mouth to say something else, “I don’t know if I’m ready. For that.”

You nod slowly, “And that’s okay too. You’re just gonna have to tell him.”

“Yeah, I know,” she sighs, dissatisfied with the resolution she’s come to. She changes the subject and you talk about a few other things. Who else is going on the next deployment from the Dagger Squad. Having lunch solo with Halo. That Maverick and Penny seemed to be a thing.

“Hey uh… I gotta run but, we’ll talk. When you’re back,” Natasha says, as she realizes what time it is.

“Yeah of course,” you agree.

“Okay. I’ll see you soon,” she smiles, signing off.

“Bye, Nat.”

You take a breath after hanging up the phone with Nat. Maybe you wish that she and Jake could just figure it out, but you also know that they’re not exactly those people. They’re actually the most stubborn people you know. You run the shower for a minute or so, waiting for it to come up to temp before stepping in, letting the water help you think through things.

You and Bradley were different. Both of you were looking for something – a relationship – and had found a connection with each other that felt good. It felt right to be with him, even if the idea of falling in love with him terrified you – even if it felt like the two of you were on the fast track. But Jake and Natasha? You’ve always felt like they were more similar than either of them would admit. They’d have to really want it, really want to be together to make it work, and it doesn’t seem like either of them are there yet.

You finish up your shower, enjoying a little you-time before Bradley gets back. You haven’t exactly had that much since you got here, but you know you’ll have plenty when you return to Lemoore. After shutting off the water and drying your hair as best as you can with just the towel, you wrap a second towel around your body before heading back into the bedroom.

Only, you see something you’re not expecting – something you weren’t quite ready for.

“Bradley…” is all that comes out of your mouth as you see him.

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, tanned skin glistening from his run while he holds loose papers in his hands.

Papers.

Those papers.

Your papers.

“Why didn't you tell me?” he asks, looking up from your deployment papers.

“Bradley. I’m sorry,” you repeat, your voice shaking a little.

You take a few steps towards him, stopping so that you can sit next to him on the edge of the bed.

“I don't know…” you answer, honestly. “I guess I just thought-. We've clouded our judgment with hot sex all weekend….” You laugh nervously. “... and all of this has just been so intense – between the mission, and you almost dying, and… – I didn’t want my deployment to change the outcome of this weekend.”

You wait for him to answer, and you can see the gears turning in his head as he listens to you. You’re right. The parameters of the mission, your hookup, all of it has been so high stakes. He’d be a fool to deny it. But it doesn’t change how crazy he is about you. He thinks he’d feel this crazy about you if he met you in the supermarket, not in training for a suicide mission.

“I understand,” he says, his voice low as he turns to you. “But I wish you had told me.”

“Would it have changed anything for you?” you ask, stealing a glance his way.

“No,” he reassures you, his voice softening. He slips an arm around your bare shoulders, his thumb rubbing soothing circles against your skin. “I just-, I don’t know. I guess I thought we’d have more time before we had to deal with… all of this.”

You nod, “I know. I should’ve told you earlier.”

“You still want to do this?” you ask again, with a nervous flutter in the bottom of your belly.

“Yeah, of course,” he admits with a smile. “But it’s not going to be easy and… I guess… these papers just reminded me of that.”

You turn your body towards him so that you’re facing him, no longer sitting side by side. Bradley runs his fingers through your wet locks, eventually moving to cup your face. There’s a sadness in his eyes and you can see that the reality of your jobs has set in.

“I kinda wish I was still a yoga instructor and you were some hot shot chef,” he chuckles, trying his best to make light of the situation.

“Me too,” you agree. “It’ll only be a month. And… then maybe once Cyclone has all the data he needs… they’ll make our detachment official. We-... won’t have to be apart.”

Bradley nods, “Yeah. We’re gonna figure this out together, sweetheart. I know it.”

You smile in response. How is this man real?

“How can you be sure?” you ask him, hopefully.

“I can just feel it,” he replies, leaning in to kiss you. He touches his lips to yours before pulling back to ask, “What would you say to getting back in the shower?”

You smirk, “Lead the way, handsome.”

read: chapter nine

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