The Other Girl

Natasha 'Phoenix' Trace x Female!Reader (x Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw)

Summary: Bradley is walking a tightrope. He's living two different lives and engaged to two different women, but, like a puppet master, he has everything under control. Or so he thinks.

One night is all it takes for his carefully constructed charade to come crashing down. You meet Natasha. Natasha meets you. It turns out you both know the truth.

Who's the first? Who's the fool? It doesn't matter. Because the two of you will do anything it takes to make Bradley pay for what he's done. And, amid the destruction, you both discover an addiction to something you never knew you'd been missing; each other.

Warnings: 18+ no minors please. Descriptions of controlling, manipulative and mentally abusive relationships, alcohol, swearing, sexual references and mentions of violence. Smut: Fingering, oral sex (female receiving), spanking, spit kink, degradation, over-stimulation, power switching. The middle section of this is straight-up FILTH. Enjoy!

Disclaimers: I've tried to avoid any physical descriptions of the reader; I think the only mention of appearance is that Natasha and the reader don't fit in the same tailored dress. Please excuse any inaccuracies regarding Naval aviation, Top Gun and the US in general (I am British).

Word Count: 11k

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Of course, Bradley, I understand."

"I knew you would. It's just a few more days, that's all. Debriefings and seminars and... well, I won't bore you with all that. But I'll be back before you know it. I miss my gorgeous fiancée."

You giggled and pressed the phone closer to your cheek. "I miss my gorgeous fiancé too. He left me all on my lonesome for a month and now he's called to say he's keeping me waiting for another week," you teased.

"What an asshole. I'll set him straight if I see him."

"Hmm, you'd better Bradley."

"Five more days, Bunny, then I'll be home. I'll show you just how much I missed you. So much that you'll be sick of me."

"I could never be sick of you, Bradley," you said, doing your best to stop your voice from faltering.

Bradley's end of the line became noisy for a moment, a gaggle of voices passing by.

"You out at that Navy bar tonight?" you asked. "What's it called - the Hardy Den?"

"Nah. I'm having a quiet one this evening, Maverick's run me ragged. I'm sitting on the porch outside my apartment, watching the world go by. Probably gonna nurse a bottle of beer in front of the tv later then hit the hay and dream about you."

"Oh Bradley, you'll make me cry."

"I'd never want to do that, Bunny - shit - my phone is on one percent. And I left my charger in my locker. I'm so sorry –"

"That's ok Bradley. I'm glad we got to talk. You enjoy your quiet evening."

"We'll be together soon, Bunny. I -"

And then the line went dead. You sighed and slipped your phone back into your purse.

Bradley was a good liar.

Because he wasn't on the porch of his apartment, watching the world go by. No. Bradley was at the Hard Deck, and, after stepping out to take your call, he waltzed back into the bar with the trademark swagger of a man who thought he was untouchable. He re-joined his fellow pilots at the pool table, took a swig of whiskey, and reclaimed his place as the centre of attention.