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qvid-pro-qvo · 2 years

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preteen in progress

rating: bradley bradshaw x jake seresin x natasha trace, background pete mitchell/tom kazansky.

word count: 2073

rating: teen, for so much little preteen angst you can barely stand it, cw: father-son arguments/mentioning of hormones and puberty. also food mentions.

poor little nicky is getting older, and that means struggling with his parents being gone all the time. bradley is there to weather the storm, and give some advice about what it means to keep your parents in your heart.

link to ao3.

“Go away!” Nicky shouts as he stomps away. His voice cracks with the force of it, and Bradley’s jaw clenches as he moves to follow him.

“Nicky, it’s almost time for –”

“I don’t care!”

The door slams.

Bradley sighs.

He had known something was wrong as soon as he’d pulled up to the school. Nicky’s face had had that signature furrow, the one he’d gotten from his mom, and he hadn’t said a word once he’d slumped in the backseat.

A chatterbox, usually, the quiet had clued his dad in. Bradley had immediately straightened in his seat, glanced over to the passenger side.

“Hey, bud. How was school?”

“Dumb.”

And while it hadn’t cleared up a lot, he’d poked and prodded until he’d gotten the answer.

He hadn’t made the school football team.

The fact that they’d even had try-outs for a sixth grade team had made Bradley’s head spin, but Jake had simply nodded and taken it in stride.

“You know how it is down here. Everything’s about football,” he’d told them. “But it won’t matter anyway. Nicky’s got it.”

And now, Nicky had not got it.

Unfortunately that poking and prodding had gotten them to this point. Nicky yelling and running to his room, and Bradley left in the kitchen with empty hands.

This is the point where he feels the most helpless. Jake and Natasha both away, Maverick on the other side of the country with Ice, and Bradley himself being the only one left standing to get the full wrath of an angry middle schooler.

He’s the only parent left standing, and if this is how the rest of the week is going to go, well. It’s gonna be a long week.

He supposes it’s the age. Maverick tried to warn him. Told him all about the highs and lows and hormones, got the talk all over again with the added embarrassment of Maverick reminding him how insufferable he was when he could barely control his emotions.

(“Every day was the end of the world for one reason or another,” Maverick laughs.

That makes Bradley snort, as he glances toward where Nicky and Ice fold napkins for dinner. Nicky talks on and on and Ice is all too happy to listen while he moves to adjust the way Nicky folds a particular part. “As far as I was concerned, it was. The end of the world?”

“Your mother and I used to joke about Hurricane Bradley. A storm’s coming in.”

“But what’d you do?” Bradley asks, voice low as Nicky laughs and holds up his creation. A flimsy napkin paper airplane. Before he can think he snaps a picture. To show Nat and Jake when they come home. To capture the love he has for this kid who’s his whole damn heart come to life. “What do I do? When Hurricane Nicky…”

And Mav looks at him with a long look. One that reminds him of the last storm that came through. “Do what you have to do to weather it,” he murmurs. Voice a little distant. “And have faith it’ll pass.”

Bradley knows he’s not talking about the preteens, all zits and weird hairs and the unshakable feeling in his pants. He nods, swallows right before patting Mav on the back.

Tries not to think about the fact that the storm almost didn’t pass at all.)

Bradley goes about packing Nicky’s lunch for tomorrow. Gives him the space he might need, hopes it’s what his son is asking for. Sends a text to Jake and Nat he knows their phones won’t get until they land stateside, because the updates matter.

And then, a snack in hand, he makes his way to Nicky’s door.

When he knocks, it’s gentle. “Bud? Can I come in?”

“No.”

It’s so resolute, but that’s where the snack comes into play.

“Bummer. Well, I grabbed the animal crackers from the top shelf. Getting kinda hungry… I don’t know if they’ll last long, though, so if you want some…”

It takes a moment. Then another, and then another, and then the door opens a crack, one of Nicky’s eyes peeking out at him. The permission comes begrudgingly – they’ve both always had a soft spot for frosted animal crackers. And with two less people to share it with, the bag is full enough to be tempting.

“I get the pink ones.”

“Always, kiddo. Always.”

Bradley gently pushes the door open. Glances around the room. After a moment Nicky flops on the bed, framed photo held tightly in his hands.

He’s seen the picture Nicky is holding – a photo of the four of them on their vacation last summer, arm in arm in arm in arm – but hadn’t realized someone had gotten it framed. Bradley had never been a mountain man, but after a week and a half in Colorado with just the four of them, he’d been utterly convinced it was the happiest place on Earth.

Nicky looks at it now with contempt. The amount of rage the kid can brandish is honestly impressive. And Bradley knows it’s a lot more than anger, it’s a lot of everything all at once, but he can’t help but feel his chest ache as he sees it.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just stands, awkwardly in the doorway, hand lifting to rub over his head, through his own curls, over his facial hair. There’s a few more beats of silence, and then Nicky growls out something before tossing the photo aside on his bed and falling back to look at the ceiling.

He takes that as his cue. Moves closer to the bed, gently sets the photo to the other side of him as he takes a seat. And when there’s no protest, he lays back with Nicky, the two of them staring up at the ceiling, the animal crackers placed snugly between their sides.

There are no words. Not at first. But Bradley doesn’t mind. No yelling, no arguments. Just the crinkle of the bag as Nicky takes a cracker and munches on it.

And another. And another.

Bradley joins him. Eats a few crackers. Watches the ceiling fan turn slow and steady, lets his eyes scan the room and look at the posters. Soon, the bag is empty, and all that’s left is the two of them and the crumbs on their clothes.

“Why can’t you all just be home?”

It comes so suddenly. Like it spills out of his mouth. Like he can’t help the way he says it so fiercely, bitterly.

“Nick…”

But the boy doesn’t stop. Sits up so quickly the bag flutters off of the bed as his fist punches the mattress. “I didn’t even wanna do football. I don’t. Football… it’s scary but Pops likes it and I thought maybe it’d keep him and Mom home but now it doesn’t matter. And they wouldn’t even be home for the first game anyway.”

Bradley sits up, then. “Nick, I know, I know it’s hard without them here. But they come back, and they’re always thinking of you when they’re gone. That’s why we call them, that’s why your grandpas –”

“Rob’s dads are always home,” Nicky continues. Pushing on. “And Lily doesn’t have to worry about one of her parents not coming home because they have normal jobs. Why can’t you guys have normal jobs? I want you all home, I want them to be here, I want –” It builds, and builds, and builds, and then the dam breaks, and the sniffles overpower the words. “I want all of you here. Why can’t all my parents be here?”

Bradley’s heart shatters in his chest. He turns his head, watching Nicky, sees his own grief without his partners there beside him as the boy’s bright green eyes shine with tears still left unshed. There’s a sniffle, and then another, and slowly, carefully, Bradley’s arm wraps around Nicky’s shoulders. Tugs him close, against his side, and lets his son cry into his shirt.

He doesn’t know what to say. But he knows this storm is one that’ll always be raging, just a little. The injustice of having a father be gone, of losing a mom. Always having that little feeling in the back of your head that if things had been different…

Maybe there would’ve been a Nicholas Bradshaw Sr. on the bed next to him.

“I miss them, too,” he whispers. Kisses Nicky’s head right on his blond streaks, a summer impulse that are quickly fading without the sun helping out. “Every day they’re gone.”

“It’s not f-fair,” Nicky gasps out, into the wet spot on Bradley’s chest. He’s snotty and sobbing still, and Bradley doubles his grip.

“It’s not. I know it’s not. But don’t think for one minute that they’re gone because they don’t love you.”

It takes a while, but Nicky cries himself out a little. The tears come and come until they stop, and then he’s quiet as Bradley holds him tight.

The ceiling fan slowly spins.

The world hasn’t quite ended.

But Bradley knows it feels like it.

“You don’t need to be on the football team, or on any team, to keep them home. If they – if we – all had a choice, we’d be by your side every damn day. Work gave me your mom and your pops, but. Our jobs suck sometimes, a lot because they have to take us away from you.”

Nicky grips his shirt so tight Bradley thinks it might be stretched beyond repair. But it doesn’t matter. It can’t matter.

“You wanna know something, too?”

“Wh-what?”

“You don’t have to give us a reason. We will always, always, want to come home to you. And do everything in our power to. Because before you’re anything else? You’re our son. And there’s nothing better to come home to.”

Nicky looks up at him, all wide-eyed and fragile. Bradley lifts a finger to trace the furrow between his brows, chuckles to himself as he pulls his hand back.

“We love being home. I love being home. And the best part of being home is seeing the pieces of your mom and pops you have. Like that right there?” He taps the furrow again. “That’s all Mom.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And when your shoulders go all straight so you stand up to your full height? That’s Pops. He always hated being that little inch shorter.”

Nicky scowls, but he's fighting a smile right there in Bradley’s arms. “I’m not short.“

“Right. Not short. But. My point is. You’ll always have those kind of pieces of us with you. Right there and right there.” Bradley taps Nicky’s forehead and he presses a hand over his heart. “And nothing and no one, not even the Navy, can take those away.”

The ceiling fan twirls overhead and Bradley watches the storm clouds clear, watches Nicky’s breath even out, rubs his back until his heart stops pounding. And then he watches his son, his incredible, fiery, brilliant son curl a hand around his midsection.

“Too many animal crackers,” he groans.

Bradley stifles a laugh, nodding quickly before feeling his forehead. “Right, well. Uh. Let’s get you a bucket? And lay down, and we’ll have a real light dinner, huh?”

“Uuurrrrrrgggh.”

“Nice burp, kid. Let it out.”

Later, when Jake and Nat call, two separate places in the world trying their best to match with their home in the states, Bradley and Nicky tell them about football. About not making the team, about trying out a rec league or another sport until he decides whether he wants to try again next year. About school projects and tests and how well he’s doing in English. And at the end, as they always do, Nicky tells them how much he misses them.

Bradley knows this time it’s hitting harder. Thinks about when the two of them get home, what he’ll say to talk about big scary words. What to say, what to mention. Retirement. Slowing down. But right now, he thinks about his son, and how much he loves his parents, and how no matter what happens, he’d weather any storm if it means seeing Nicky kiss his fingers and press them against the camera, if it means raising a son with the people he loves the most. If it means a son to come home to when he’s gone.

(He does not mention stomach aches due to animal crackers. That’s their little secret.)

#sereshace #pilot trio #pilot trio family #nicky (the kiddo) has my whole heart and soul #bradley bradshaw #jake seresin (mention)#natasha trace (mention)#rooster #pete mitchell #pete maverick mitchell #maverick #tom kazansky (mention)#top gun: maverick #tgm #qvo ships tgm #my fic #my writing

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kyber-crystal · 5 months

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i will follow you into the dark || bradley "rooster" bradshaw

summary: your first instinct has always been to push people away when they get too close, but for some reason, you have trouble letting one pilot go. but little did you know that he had settled into your heart from the start and has no intention of leaving. (in which you have Bradley Bradshaw wrapped around your finger, and you don’t even notice—5 occasions that solidify your love for him, and 1 time you realize it)

words: ~3.3k

warnings: angst (BUT A HAPPY ENDING, I PROMISE), near-death experiences, brief mentions of violence, also my writing LMAO

a/n: hi guys i haven't posted a full-length fic in a LONG time but here we go :) this fic won the vote so it's going up first! hope you enjoy :)

I. meet me in the middle

“Mav!”

You and Maverick turned around at the same time. “Which one?”

“The pretty one,” Rooster stated.

“Be more specific.”

“I am being specific, Captain.”

“No, you aren’t.”

“Fine, I need your daughter.”

“You always need her for something.”

“Sorry, pops,” you grinned and clasped Maverick’s shoulder, and walked over to Bradley. “Come to kidnap me again, Bradshaw?”

“Actually, I’m hungry.”

“Then…go eat? I don’t see what any of that has to do with me.”

“I’m going to dinner, and I want you to come along,” he explained. “So, let’s go.”

“Is that why Cyclone was grumbling about someone spilling coffee all over him earlier? I knew it had to be you that put him in that mood.”

“Doesn’t matter. Come on.”

You looked back at your father, who simply laughed and motioned for you to go. The test flight would have to wait.

It was 5:30 when you got there, but the usually-crowded cantina had only one other person inside. Rooster didn’t hesitate as he set down his car keys and slid into the booth right next to you.

“There’s a seat right there,” you pointed out.

“And?”

“You can sit over there.”

“I don’t want to, though.”

“Alright, then.”

You weren’t even done for the day and already, felt tired and worn out beyond belief. The one thing that had been keeping you going was Maverick’s promise to take you on a Mach 7 test flight. (With the Admiral’s permission, of course. But you wouldn’t be surprised if he had never asked.)

Rooster tells the waitress your order without blinking, and you give him a tired smile as a thank you.

There’s no animated conversation, no loud comments or jokes or anything of the sort as the food comes out, but neither of you mind. Sometimes, all you needed to cool down from a long week was each other’s company and a steaming plate of fajitas.

The little routine you’ve established falls into place so easily you don’t even have to think. Impromptu dinners, blasting 80’s music as the sun goes down, taking the offbeat path down to the coast with salt in your windswept hair. Little to no words spoken, and somehow the silence speaks volumes.

But you don’t understand why he’d choose you to do this with, out of everyone. You’d expect him to drift towards someone less damaged. Someone who could keep up to his free and daring spirit and push him to his limits. Someone who had less baggage and didn’t flinch at every little touch.

But despite all that he doesn’t leave. Even when everyone else around you seemed to, he was always there, assuring you he’d wait no matter what.

“Don’t worry about it.” He places a gentle hand over yours as he hands his card over to pay later that evening. “Let me treat you tonight.”

“Thanks…”

He holds the door open for you as you walk out and keeps a ghost of a hand against your back the whole way to the car. You’re trying to burrow into yourself, but he doesn’t stop looking at you. The feeling of his eyes on you sends shivers running down your spine and you nervously shift in your seat.

“You okay?” Rooster places his hand on the headrest as he reverses out of the parking lot. “You seem quiet tonight.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t press any further, assuming that you’re tired and that’s why you’re unwilling to say much. He knows. He understands. “If you ever need to talk, though, I’m one call and a 15 minute walk away. Or 7, if I sprint.”

This makes you laugh a bit. “If you say so.”

II. waiting on you

As soon as you hop out of your plane, he’s the first one there to greet you and pulls you in for a hug. You have no time to react to it because he’s so quick to sweep you up into his arms. You can smell a mix of sweat and coffee and a little bit of raspberries on him, and it helps bring you back down to reality.

“You saw me a few hours ago, Roos…please let me go…” you mumbled into his shoulder. His grip on you only tightens further. “What’s with the excitement?”

“Nothing. I’m just happy to see you.”

Not knowing what else to do, your hands awkwardly reach up to pat him on the back. “It’s good to see you, too.”

Though you don’t say it out loud, you’re also just as happy to see him—it’s comforting to know he’ll be waiting whenever you return from something. And that, you think, is more than enough.

Rooster carries your things for you without asking, and you’re grateful because your shoulders feel like they’re going to fall out of their sockets. Once again, he’s standing close by as you go to your quarters, ever the watchman. If he doesn’t have a hand on you, then his eyes will stay glued to you for as long as they can be.

“Is that my shirt?” he asks as you step out of the bathroom wearing an oversized vintage T-shirt and a pair of jeans.

“No.”

“It looks better on you, anyway.” He smirks; you fail to notice the way his gaze lingers on you a bit longer than normal. “You ready to go? They’re waiting for us at the Hard Deck. Hangman’s complaining about a rematch or somethin’.”

You lean into his side and smile, and he puts an arm across your shoulders. It feels so natural that you almost don’t notice. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

His eyes never leave you, even when he’s in the thick of the game. It’s impossible to ignore the heat pooling in your stomach every time his gaze flickers over to yours.

Coyote notices your dazed look and nudges Payback in the side. “How is it that everyone knows that Bradshaw and Y/N love each other except Bradshaw and Y/N?”

“Because they’re stupid,” Payback whispered back.

“Ah. Makes sense.”

“So, we need to do something about it.”

“Hm…I’d say we wait it out. They’re going in the right direction.” A small smile graced Coyote’s face as Rooster pumped a fist up in victory before rushing over to embrace you. “A room full of people, yet all he sees is her.”

“You’re so right, man.”

III. rose-tinted glasses

“What are you looking for out there?” Rooster called out.

“Something pretty,” you replied as you stood by the ocean’s edge, the wind fanning your hair around your shoulders. He’s sure that he’s never seen a more mesmerizing sight.

“I beat you to it, because I already found one,” he stated with confidence, eyes never leaving you.

“Where?”

“I’m looking right at her.”

“That’s not what I meant, silly. Do I look like a seashell to you?”

“No, you’re even better.”

You laugh once again and resume your search. Right then, a glowing scallop catches your eye, and sand dusts your clothes as you bend down to pick it up. It’s smooth and seems to glow in rose gold amidst the early evening light.

“Would you look at that,” you breathed out, palm extended to show him what you’ve found. “It’s perfect.”

Rooster encloses his hand around yours, and you can feel the heat radiating from his skin. It’s cold out but you’re not freezing at all because he’s so close. He’s so close. Your heart skips a beat.

“Wow…it sure is.”

He kneels down with you, and you spend the next few hours making it a competition to see who can find the most unique set of stones. A strange feeling washed over you as you watched his brows furrow in concentration. Never had you imagined to be spending Thursday night with Bradley Bradshaw by the seashore, and yet, it feels like you’ve done this thousands of times before.

Everything seems to fall into place.

IV. for you, i’d cross the line

“Y/N, hey.”

“Are you drunk?”

“Doesn’t matter. Move over.”

You shifted on the bench to make room for him and he sat down next to you. This was probably his tenth time playing his rendition of ‘Great Balls of Fire’ but that didn’t matter; the man knew how to sing. You found yourself leaning into him and listening to his heartbeat, and the sensation lulled you into a peaceful trance.

You took one good look at your best friend. Sweat lined his forehead and his face was bright red from both the alcohol and heat, but still, you were 100% sure that you’d never seen a more beautiful sight in your life.

The way he seemed to gaze at you made your heartbeat pick up speed. It didn’t matter that he had too one too many drinks in the moments leading up to this, nor did it matter that he was always one to be rather affectionate with you. It didn’t make you love him any less—if anything, it made him all the more endearing.

“You’re looking at me very…intensely,” you mumbled. “It’s making me nervous.”

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he murmured. “A man can’t help it when he’s in love.”

“Was that tipsy you or sober you?”

“Sober me is saying I love you.” He continues playing, unfazed, and the sound of the piano in your ears fades away into nothingness.

It’s drunk Rooster telling you he means what he says, the confidence boost making him do things he normally wouldn’t. It’s drunk Rooster attempting to serenade you as his warm, alcohol-riddled breath falls against your neck. It’s drunk Rooster talking…but there’s a sober truth hidden behind his words that sends a shiver down your spine.

You’re nose-to-nose as he starts to sing, and you lose yourself in a sea of gold and blue as his warm thumb grazes over your cheek. As if there’s an invisible string drawing you together, you move closer and closer towards each other. Drunk or not, he was utterly enchanting and you couldn’t turn away.

Once again…you ignore the stirring feeling in your chest at the feeling of his body being so close to yours.

V. saving grace

You find yourself opening the door to Rooster, who has a bouquet of your favorite flowers and some large Tupperware in hand. Butterflies flutter in your stomach as you accept them and step aside to let him in. “What is this for…?”

“Thought you’d want something nice to add to the kitchen. You and Mav need to work on decorations,” he said. “Why? Do you not like them?”

“No…I’m…how’d you know these were my favorite, anyway?”

“I heard you talking on the phone to Phoenix about them six months ago,” Rooster explained, taking his jacket off and hanging it over the couch. “I pride myself on being observant like that. Also…I woke up early to cook you that pasta you always go nuts over when we drive to LA.”

“Oh.” Your heart twinged as you glanced over—that damn pasta was your favorite thing on the entire planet. You claimed that nobody could make it as well as the diner in Newport did, except Bradley himself. (He didn’t tell you how many times it took to get it just right, though. He didn’t want you freaking out over that. And besides, Maverick’s pots and pans that he borrowed had already paid the price.)

He paused for a moment after setting the container down on the counter. “I noticed you went home early today. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine,” you lied as you put the flowers in a vase. But that was no use; he could see right through your monotone response. “Didn’t sleep enough last night.”

Bradley sees your hands tremble slightly. “Sweetheart.”

That’s all he needs to say before you step forward and lean your head against his chest. One arm finds its way around your waist to pull you close, while his free hand smoothes your hair out. A cracked sob escapes your lips and you squeeze your eyes shut in the hopes that if you kept them closed long enough and prayed hard enough, a guardian angel would swoop in and save you.

“I’m here, it’s okay, you’ll be okay,” he murmurs. “You’ll be okay.”

“Please don’t go, Bradshaw,” you begged, voice hoarse. “Don’t leave me.”

“I’m right here, don’t worry,” he reminds you, his hand moving down to rub your back. “I’ll be here whenever you need me, I promise.”

You reach your pinky out a bit, and the two of you link your fingers together.

You’re never letting go, and neither is he.

epilogue—soul ties

“I’m trying to shake them off. They won’t let up—shit, I’m hit—”

His panicked voice cuts through the buzz of static and you can feel your whole body go numb. What if he doesn’t make it back… The thought alone is too much to bear.

He curses under his breath and you hear something like that of a whispered prayer and several mentions of Please let me come home to her. Your heart clenches in your chest and you feel like you’re going to puke. Noticing your sudden uneasiness, Maverick grips your hand to keep you steady.

“Bradshaw, what the hell is going on there?” Coyote nervously rubs at his forehead as he looks up at the screen. “If you die, we’re all going to kill you.”

“Left engine’s completely blown out. I have two bogeys on my tail.”

You bite the inside of your cheek until the tangy, metallic taste of blood fills your mouth. This couldn’t be happening. There already was a ghost amongst the skies, and Rooster could not afford to become the second…

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit, I’m going down, guys—” Rooster curses again, and the earsplitting sound of a large blast interrupts him before he can say much else.

“Bradley!” you shrieked as you watched his radar signal slowly fade off the screen. “No—”

Silence punctures the air and you finally lose balance, succumbing to the black void of nothingness.

—

10 hours later, you sit outside the hospital room in the cold hallway, a thin, tear-stained blanket wrapped around your shoulders. Hangman and Phoenix had long since given up on getting you to move, so they took turns sitting with you.

“You should try eating. There’s In-N-Out nearby, I’ll get something for you if you want,” Jake offered.

You shake your head.

“Come on. It’s been all day.”

“No.”

“You’re really that worried about him, aren’t you.”

“No,” you muttered bitterly.

“You claim to not care, yet you’ve been sitting here for the past ten hours.”

“I don’t care. This is me looking out for him in the same way any colleague or teammate of his would. This is what I’m supposed to do. What we’re all supposed to do.”

“Y/N.” Jake sounds a bit more serious this time, and this makes you stop trying to bury yourself within your thoughts. “Listen to me.”

“What,” you exhaled.

"The fact of the matter here is,” he cleared this throat, “Bradshaw cares about you…a lot. Not in a simple and innocent ‘friendly’ way. And if you keep pushing him away like you always do, all 'cause you're scared, you're gonna lose him for good. Losing a good man out of fear is never worth the cost."

Your heart stops.

Every hug, every word and cheesy pickup line, every lingering glance and touch and intertwined set of fingers—he'd fallen first long ago, and pulled you down with him. But you let him, and you'll walk to the ends of the earth if it means he'll hold your hand along the way. And that's when everything hits all at once—the realization comes crashing down like a waterfall.

You were hopelessly in love with him, the man who brings you flowers every Friday night. In love with the man who holds the door open for you, gives you his favorite jackets, and stays up late or wakes up early to learn your favorite comfort meal (even if it means failing 17 times in the process and ruining Maverick's kitchen), the man who serenades you to classic rock ballads with the taste of rum on his lips.

This was Rooster Bradshaw, and he was your soulmate.

“But I already lost him,” your voice falters as you struggle to find the right words to say, “I can’t.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. That man is going to stay waiting for you until the day his body is buried six feet underground. Deny it all you want, but he’ll keep waiting long after he takes his last breath.”

You let out a long sigh and stood up. “Okay.”

You’re hesitant as you step inside the small hospital room. He’s asleep, but he must’ve sensed your presence and his eyes flutter open.

“Sweetheart…”

“Bradley.” He moves over a bit for you, and you sit down next to him. “You’re alive.”

“Sorry for not dying. That must’ve disappointed you,” he jokes. If he’s in any sort of pain, he manages to mask it behind a soft smile. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

“I waited ten hours.”

“You should’ve gone home and slept.”

Closing your eyes, you rest your head against his chest. “I wouldn’t be able to sleep knowing that you weren’t okay.”

He hums some tune against the crook of your neck; lips brushing over your skin. “But I came back, like I promised. I’m okay, because you are.”

Helovesmehelovesmehelovesme.

As if he could read your mind, he leans in just that bit closer. You look up at him and your heart somersaults in your chest.

When your lips meet, everything clicks into place and it’s like you finally found the missing puzzle piece you’d been searching for. He was here all along; it made so much sense. Everything else fades away into the background as you get lost in the feeling of him and him alone. You knew from the moment he stuck out his hand and told you with a million-dollar smile “I’m Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw, and I can make a mean lasagna or anything else you want,” that choosing him would be the single best thing you ever could’ve done.

And you were most certainly right about that now.

“I kept it, you know.” he murmurs as you eventually break away, “I didn’t think it would last as long as it did, but here it is.”

“What…what are you talking about?”

He fingers dip below the scoop of his T-shirt and he brings out the glittering charm, laying it in his hand. “You gave it to me ages ago. It was a while ago but I still remember the exact time and place. August 5th, 2010, 2:26 a.m. We were both on the verge of falling asleep.”

Your heart grows warmer. “Roos…”

Rooster opens the locket, and inside is a picture of you beaming as you wrapped your arms around him from behind. So young and so in love, but not yet knowing how you felt about each other.

“I think this is what kept me alive up there. I was in the air long enough to think about and reflect on the fact that I was dying, but I knew I had to come home to you. I was dying, Y/N, but you saved me. If you didn’t come into my life right when you did then I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t be telling you that I love you.”

He has you at a loss for words yet again. It didn’t matter that you’d known each other for years because he would always find a way to steal your breath. The once-tiny caterpillars crawling in your stomach had morphed into giant butterflies that never stopped fluttering when he came too close.

He leans in and he’s kissing you again; this time it’s like you’re his sole source of oxygen and he’s in desperate need of fresh air. Your grip on his hand tightens as he deepens the kiss, and you pray to God that your heart won’t explode into a million pieces like it did when you thought you wouldn’t see him again.

I’ve died and come back to life twice now, Rooster tells himself.

And both of those times, you’re the angel that magically appears to save him from a certain, unfortunate fate.

tags, including people who may be interested (sorry if this list seems off, it hasn't been updated in a while hahah): @sarcastic-sourwolf @totomoshi @sebastianstangirl01 @purelyfiction @lunamoonbby @hazelgirl355 @multifandom-fangirl4 @paintballkid711 @buckysbeloved @lyn-lc @spawn0fsatan @milestomaverick @teacactusworld @cherry-waved @ellabellabus07 @vitanileon @lam-ila @criminalyetminimal @whatlovegattado @queenbbarnes @yeehawnana @t-stark35 @thesunsetphantoms @danirose-0420 @callalily2000 @the-untamed-soul @shizzybarnaclee @bananaa @luvfurdogs @shalaniela @unordinare @and-claudia @lgg5989 @katiemcrae @elenavampire21 @joyfullyswimmingface @nyx2021 @cosm1cfae @ellabellabus07 @vane28282 @bittergomez @littlebadariell @tallrock35 @whotfatemywaffles @hoedameronsworld @aerangi @julia-marshal @uwiuwi

(also if you filled out the general taglist form/top gun taglist form and you're not on here, that means i couldn't tag you for some reason)

#top gun #top gun: maverick #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fanfic #top gun fanfic #top gun fic #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #rooster bradshaw x reader #miles teller #bradley bradshaw fluff #bradley bradshaw x y/n #top gun maverick fic #top gun fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x you

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roosterforme · 2 months

Text

The Younger Kind Part 55 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley can't get enough of the adrenaline rush that is accompanying his special mission, but he has reached the point where the excitement doesn't outweigh his desire to return home. Every day feels the same for you, until one of them starts to feel much worse.

Warnings: mentions of blood, pregnancy topics, potential pregnancy complications, swearing, angst, fluff, and age gap (18+)

Length: 4300 words

Pairing: Single dad!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x babysitter!female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! The Younger Kind masterlist.

Every day was the same now. Every morning started out with a hopeful feeling in your chest. Your engagement ring was still noticeable on your finger, although you figured that would fade with time as it became a permanent fixture. At first, you woke up to the delicious feeling of being pregnant and engaged to Bradley, but when you rolled over to reach for him, the rest of the bed was cold. The covers were untouched. His pillow was still in the exact same place you left it when you made the bed yesterday.

Tears stung at your eyes. You knew exactly how many days he had been gone, because the updated number was practically all you could think about. The days had become a week. Then two. And now that hopeful feeling was starting to vanish only to be replaced by dread almost immediately after you cracked your eyes open.

You whispered, "I miss you," and climbed out of bed without even looking at the vacant side now. You started to dress in your scrubs without a smile on your face, and then you went into the bathroom which was completely silent. You thought that if you just had an inkling, the barest idea of when Bradley might be returning, you'd feel much better, but you had no clue.

You and Noah had only had one brief conversation with him over the phone. The connection had been pretty bad, and you knew someone was sitting right there with him monitoring every single word. He'd told you that much before his personal phone had been taken away from him the day he arrived. You had to pause as you put toothpaste on your toothbrush, because the tears were going to start if you didn't get yourself under control.

Bradley had hung up a few post-it notes around the house for you and Noah to find. Most of them were reminders of how much he loved you, but the one on the bathroom mirror took your breath away every time you saw it. It said April 25th with a heart around it. And above that'd, he'd drawn a crown. The fact that you had no idea how much of your pregnancy he was going to miss threw you off every single time. You ran your fingers over the note, but you didn't move it.

"Mommy?" Noah called out, and you heard him jump down from his bed. It was so obvious how much he missed his dad; he was extra clingy with you right now, even shedding a few tears now when you tried to drop him off before you went to work each day.

"I'm in the bathroom," you called out as best you could with your toothbrush still in your mouth. You opened the door so he could come in with you, and he immediately wrapped his arms around your thigh.

"Is it daycare today?"

You spit out the toothpaste and rinsed your mouth. "Yes, Sweet Noah. You have daycare today."

"I want to go to the park with you and Daddy."

That sounded so perfect, you wanted to scream. "As soon as Daddy comes home, we can all spend a whole day at the park. But not today." You didn't even want to tell him that you had to work an extra hour and a half and as a result would be picking him up later than usual. You agreed to cover some extra shifts all week long even though you were tired enough that you'd been passing out in bed right after Noah went to sleep each night.

When he sniffed and looked up at you with watery eyes, you could barely handle it. Bradley had been gone for less than three weeks, but you were already getting a little desperate. You knew you would feel like a failure if you reached out for help at this point, even though Natasha and Penny had both been texting with you to check in. Bradley even had Tracy emailing you in case you needed anything, and you couldn't decide whether you had to make more friends to get him off your back or simply be appreciative that he cared enough to set things up.

"I know," you whispered to Noah, running your fingers through his soft curls. "But we can make ants on logs later. And we can take Skittles for a nice walk." When you said her name, the pup appeared in the bathroom doorway, her brown eyes also a little sad without her favorite person at home.

"I'm hungry," Noah murmured against your scrub pants. You bent to scoop him up into your arms and carried him to the kitchen where you got breakfast ready for everyone. It was going to be a long day for you, and you'd been so wrapped up in your feelings, you almost forgot you were going to have to see Casey.

You groaned at the thought of her, and you immediately lost your appetite and scraped your eggs into the dish on the floor for Skittles to enjoy. After you packed yourself a lunch and got Noah ready, you realized you were kind of running late. Everything felt ten times harder when you had to do it all yourself.

"I don't know how Bradley managed," you whispered as you zipped down the block in your car. A soft smile played at your lips as you thought back to how adorably hopeless he had been when you first met him. He hadn't eaten a good meal in probably months before you started babysitting Noah for him. At least he could cook a little bit now, even if he still couldn't figure out how to use his phone.

When you took Noah inside his daycare, Casey's eyes were immediately glued to your ring as it shone in the sunlight. She slid the clipboard to you and watched you sign Noah in while you held his hand. Then you knelt down and kissed his cheek and whispered, "I'll pick you up later. I love you."

He smiled, and then you let Casey walk him inside. You stood there long enough to make sure he started to hang up his bag like you always did, and when she walked back out into the lobby, she was smirking. "Did Bradley leave you? He hasn't been here in weeks."

You rolled your eyes as you said, "He's deployed. We've been over this before."

She held up her hands in mock surrender. "I'm just saying, it kind of looks like he left you and Noah in the dust."

"In what world would that man leave Noah?" you practically shouted.

"That's true," she replied with a smile. "Bradley would never leave his adorable son, but I could see him ditching you and your make believe baby."

You rubbed your temples and took your phone out of your pocket to check the time. You'd barely make it to work before the first patient if you didn't leave right now, but you couldn't help yourself. "I'm done, Casey. I've had enough. Which of the owners is here today? Because I'm not going to listen to you talk to me like this for one more minute."

Her face went ghostly white and she muttered something that you couldn't quite make out. "Speak up," you snapped. "Or apologize to me and don't bother talking to me again unless it's completely necessary."

"Sorry."

"Great," you told her loudly. "Have a great day, and when I pick Noah up later, just keep your mouth shut."

You took in the stupid looking expression on her face before you turned to leave, storming out the door and across the parking lot to your car.

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

It didn't take Bradley long to get used to the sleek controls and seductive design of the sixth-generation fighter jet that everyone appropriately referred to as Shadowhawk. By the second morning on base in Yokosuka, Admiral Palmer was singing Bradley's praises. He showed up early and did as he was told, hoping to spend as much time in the air as he could each day.

It was an adrenaline rush every single time. He was going substantially faster than he ever did in a Super Hornet, and all of his readouts were being recorded. He had to pass a quick physical and stress test every morning before he was allowed to fly, and then he was hooked up to monitoring equipment and let loose. He and Shadowhawk were flying the same loop far out over the pacific ocean at insanely high altitudes, and each time he fell a little bit more in love with being in the air. He could maneuver through rolls and dive into an attack formation faster than he could even imagine.

When he was flying, it was easy enough to focus on the task at hand. He knew if he wasn't one hundred percent focused, it would be dangerous. He might not snuff out the launched missile in time with his flares or his guns. He might lose sight of his targets. But as soon as he had any sort of mental reprieve, he was thinking about you and Noah and Skittles and his bungalow tucked away on a side street in Coronado.

"Fuck," he muttered as he unloaded from Shadowhawk one day just as the sun was setting. He was drenched in sweat and exhausted, and all he could think about was taking a shower with you before dragging himself off to his king size bed that always smelled like wildflowers and falling asleep in your arms. He let the peripheral staff detach all of the cables and heart monitor from his flight suit before he found an officer who spoke English. "Is there time for me to make a phone call tonight?" he asked.

It was about three o'clock in the morning in California, and he knew he wouldn't be able to talk to Noah, but he was dying to hear your voice. He knew he'd wake you up, but the ache was so strong, he absolutely needed to if he could. He'd been allowed to make exactly one call so far, and that was already more than two weeks ago.

All he got in response to his question was a quick shake of his head. "Tomorrow," she responded. That's what they told him every day. The lack of communication felt like a prison sentence at times, but there wasn't much he could do but accept it. All of the data they were collecting as well as Shadowhawk itself were considered proprietary and top secret. He practically had to sign his life away every day before he was allowed to touch the thing.

"Tomorrow," he repeated. "But will it actually be tomorrow? Or does that mean a week from now?"

"Tomorrow," she said more firmly, and he thanked her quietly before heading up to the tower to debrief with the admirals. There wasn't much else he could do.

The next day was a lot more of the same, and the routine was starting to grate on his nerves now. The aircraft still felt incredible, beyond his wildest dreams. He was still happy to be here, but at the same time, he was ready to go home now. They weren't giving him any updates on the progress of this assignment or when it might end, so he just decided to approach Admiral Palmer directly.

"Sir, I'd really appreciate a ten minute phone call, if that can be arranged." Once again, it was the middle of the night for you, but Bradley needed it.

The older man eyed him closely and cleared his throat. "It's a liability, Lieutenant. I'm sure you can understand that."

Bradley felt his fingers flex into fists at his sides. "Sir, someone would be monitoring me the entire time. And I'm just asking to talk to my fiancée and my son. That's it. Any time of any day."

The answer of, "There's no guarantee," did not sit well with Bradley. He had to bite his lip until he was tasting blood to keep himself from talking out of order, but he was sure the other man could read the frustration on his face and in his posture. "Maybe a very brief call, but we could be wrapping up our preliminary testing on Shadowhawk any day now. Either way, I'm sure you'll be able to finish out this temporary assignment like a professional."

Bradley swallowed down every retort that came to his mind, saluted Admiral Palmer, and left for his tiny room in the barracks. But another week passed, and Bradley knew there was no end in sight. And perhaps no phone call either.

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

"Is this normal though?" you asked Natasha over the phone one night after Noah was in bed. You'd thought about taking a long bath, but you were so tired from working late almost every day, you could barely hold yourself up. You were already in bed at 8:45 with your phone pressed to your ear. "I haven't heard from Bradley in almost a month."

The words made a lump form in your throat. It was actually twenty-two and a half days since he'd called. You needed to hear his voice. Noah was asking for him nonstop, and he had missed your most recent checkup with your obstetrician. The whole thing had been such a blur during your lunch break without him there, and you wanted to show him the new ultrasounds.

"Well, I don't think this assignment is exactly normal, you know?" she replied. "On a regular deployment, you'd be able to talk to him almost weekly. But this is something else altogether."

You made a soft sound. There had to be a way to make the time pass faster. If you didn't have to get Noah by six o'clock every day, you would try to pick up more hours at work. Maybe this weekend you could start cleaning up the extra bedroom that you and Bradley decided would become the nursery. You already promised Noah that you'd take him shopping for a Halloween costume, so at least that would entertain him for a little while.

"Thanks, Natasha," you murmured to Bradley's best friend.

"Hey, if you need a little break this weekend, I'd be more than happy to come over and play with Noah on Saturday or Sunday," she said, and you sighed in relief.

"That actually sounds fantastic. I'll call you."

You ended the call a minute later, curling up in a ball of exhaustion as you tried to imagine where Bradley was and what he was doing. You were tired now as you tried to do the math to determine what time it was in Japan. Was he sixteen hours ahead of you? Something like that? You yawned and fell asleep with your phone on the pillow next to your head.

Then you heard your ringtone blaring in your ear, and you almost fell out of the bed as you realized your phone was so close to you. RESTRICTED CALLER. "Oh my god," you gasped, trying to answer the call while you saw that your battery was down to four percent because you never plugged it in. "Bradley?!"

"Princess."

"Bradley!" You climbed out of bed, your body immediately shivering as you were exposed to the cool air. Your nerves were frayed as you plugged your phone in and asked, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Baby. I'm so sorry I woke you up."

"It's okay!" you said, your voice sounding more like a sob as you sat on the floor. "I've been so worried about you."

His voice was a deep, familiar rumble as he said, "I've got five minutes. Tell me everything."

"We miss you, Daddy," you said, rubbing your hand low on your belly which was starting to feel a little tender as you got closer to thirteen weeks along. "Noah asks for you all the time. The baby looked good at the last appointment. But your best friend, Skittles, is barely holding it together."

"I missed your appointment," he said, his voice strained with emotion. "I should have been there."

"It's okay," you whispered. "We're doing okay." But you weren't. You and Noah thrived when you had his attention. You felt loved when he was home to hold you and whisper plans about the future until you fell asleep each night. "I just thought you'd be able to call more often."

"Me too," he said in a tone that sounded both annoyed and resigned.

"Do you know when you'll be home?" you asked in as hopeful a voice as you could manage.

"Soon, Princess. Soon. Now tell me everything about your appointment."

You gave him more details as you shifted around on the floor, and you told him that Noah painted a picture for him. Then you heard someone on his end of the call telling him that it was time to go, and you wanted to scream that it wasn't enough. But instead you let the tears fall down your cheeks, thankful that you at least knew he was safe.

"I love you, Bradley."

"I love you too, Princess. I'll be home before you know it."

You dried your tears and climbed back into bed, and even though you weren't able to fall asleep again, you felt so much better. Your imagination drifted to thoughts of the baby in the nursery, all of you curled up on the floor for story time together. You would start getting the room ready this weekend.

On Saturday, you took Noah to the Halloween warehouse store that seemed to pop up overnight. "You have to hold my hand," you reminded him as he reached for every single display in the crowded store. There were so many aisles, this would probably take up your entire morning with him. He was keeping a running list of options that he liked for trick-or-treating, and you had to keep reminding yourself not to check the price tags. You'd put whatever he wanted on your princess credit card and call it a day.

"Mommy, let's all be dinosaurs," he said, pointing to a costume in his size.

You glanced around the area and said, "They don't have any in my size. Can we pick something else?"

"I want you and Daddy to dress up, too," he whined, and you didn't want to have to tell him that you weren't sure if Bradley would be home in the next week and a half to accommodate that wish.

"Well, I will definitely dress up with you, okay? Let's pick something out where you and I can match."

But he wasn't going to be deterred. He was demanding that all three of you match along with Skittles. You walked around the entire store twice before you found an option that he agreed upon, and you were smiling as you gathered the costumes in all of the necessary sizes. "This is perfect, Sweet Noah," you said as you looked at the costume for Bradley and laughed. You just hoped he would be back in time to wear it. If not, maybe you could ask Maverick.

The sky was starting to look overcast, so you took Noah home for lunch and didn't feel too bad about keeping him inside for the afternoon, especially when it started raining. You set him up with his array of coloring books at the kitchen table and then went to investigate the extra bedroom. Nobody ever slept in there, so it was a bit dusty. There was basically no furniture besides the bed and an old desk, but it was cozy and perfect for what you had planned.

Your muscles were sore from standing at work, and you were so tired, but you started moving the bed anyway. You'd have to tell Dr. Kelly and the others that you were pregnant soon. It was time now, but you kept putting it off, enjoying the secret that only you and Bradley really knew about. Plus it still got under your skin a little bit when you considered that other people would have a knee jerk reaction to the timeframe of when you got engaged compared to when you got pregnant.

"It's none of their business," you whispered to yourself as you walked to the kitchen to check on Noah every few minutes. Then you went back to the bedroom and cleaned, moved things around and took measurements. "How big are cribs, anyway?" you mused before looking up some dimensions online. "Pretty big."

It took some creativity, but you thought you'd finally sorted out where everything should go. Then you moved Bradley's random junk from the closet to the attic, wiping the sweat from your face with each trip. You kicked your way through the boxes where you'd found the USB drive with the video he made with Meredith. At first you grimaced and thought you might cry, but then you remembered the way he had smashed the stupid thing to bits in the backyard. You wanted him to come home. You needed him to.

"Mommy?" Noah called out, luring you back into the kitchen. You were a mess, and when you noticed how much he was yawning, you silently rejoiced.

"It looks like you could use a nap," you said as you kissed the curls on top of his head. He scrambled up into your arms and hugged you, such a tiny reminder of his dad, and you carried him off to his room. After a few stories, he was asleep as the rain picked up a little bit, and you knew this would be the perfect time to take a shower.

You moved Skittles' bed into Noah's room temporarily, and coaxed her in with a treat. "Keep him company in case he wakes up," you whispered, and she walked around in a circle on the plush cushion before settling in. Her crooked, purple bow made you smile. Everything in this house made you smile and think about Bradley. You knew he'd have even more ideas about a theme for the nursery, but you started to scroll through some inspiration online as the shower warmed up for you.

The water ended up feeling better than you anticipated. Your shoulders were sore. Your hips were sore. Every part of your body was aching. It seemed it didn't matter how much you were sleeping, you were still exhausted all day long. Maybe Dr. Kelly would reduce your hours and give you a break. You thought about sneaking home one afternoon a week to take a long nap before going back out to pick Noah up. Then you thought about how Casey hadn't said a single word to you since you told her you were going to her boss. Then you smiled.

You were squeaky clean when you got dressed again in some old sweats and headed to the kitchen. Your stomach was growling, and you desperately wanted some coffee. "One cup is okay," you whispered, turning on Bradley's fancy machine while you made yourself a snack. You'd been meticulous about how much caffeine you were drinking, and Bradley helped by bringing home only decaf from the coffee shop. You downed the cup, and it was hot and delicious, and almost immediately you had to pee again.

Your doctor told you that was normal as the baby grew and started to stretch things out. You passed Noah's bedroom door where both he and Skittles were still sound asleep as the rain splattered against his window, and then you went to the bathroom. When you wiped, the toilet paper caught your eye, and your hand started to shake. Pink. Blood. Just a little bit, but there was blood.

"Oh no," you gasped, a dizzy spell overtaking your body. You'd read about this in your textbooks, and you knew it could happen, but you'd blocked it out of your mind when it came to yourself right now. You didn't want to be an example. You had to grip the toilet seat with one hand to keep steady as you wiped yourself again. There was more blood, a little bit less pink and more red this time.

Your own breathing was too loud. It was echoing through your mind and through the bathroom, and you wanted to throw up. You eased yourself onto the floor and started to panic. The baby. What if something was happening to the baby? "No," you whispered, trying to ground yourself. Using the edge of the tub, you pulled yourself slowly to your feet, your head spinning more with every inch you moved. "No," you said louder.

When you were standing on your own, you had yourself almost convinced you'd imagined it. You didn't feel bad. You were just a little sore. There couldn't be anything wrong. You reached for another piece of toilet paper and wiped, but the result was the same.

Where was your phone? Who were you supposed to call? You walked around in circles around the house while your heart thudded a sickening rhythm in your chest. You paused, unable to locate your phone and convinced you were going to throw up. After you backtracked to the extra bedroom, you found it and unlocked it.

Natasha's name was right there in your recent calls, and you tapped on it before you could even fathom what you were going to tell her.

"Hi," she said brightly when she eventually answered. "Want me to come over and play with Noah so you can take a break for a little bit?"

"Please," you gasped. "Please come over. Right now."

She must have sensed something in your voice, because hers turned serious as she assured you she was on her way. While you waited for her, you wiped yourself again and again before you made yourself wait in the living room instead of the bathroom. When she walked inside with dripping wet hair and concern on her face, you said, "Noah is still napping. I need to take myself to the emergency room."

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

Get to the hospital, Princess. This kind of scenario is very real and has happened to me. I will tread as carefully as I can. Please don't scream at me. We will hear from a doctor in the next chapter. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 56

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684 notes · View notes

tongue-like-a-razor · 2 years

Text

Faking It | Part I

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x F!Reader

Summary: Fake dating your friend, Bradley Bradshaw - what could possibly go wrong? Your sister is getting married and you need a date. You enlist Bradley's help and the rest is history.

CW: none that I can think of except that the reader's height is described as shorter than Rooster's.

This idea has been plaguing me so I had to get it out haha Hope y'all enjoy!

Bradley watches you skeptically. You have yet to convince him that pretending to be your date for your sister’s wedding is an outstanding idea. Your mother has undoubtedly invited a whole slew of bachelors because she thinks you might need some help in the romance department. You decidedly do not. Despite the fact that you are struggling to even get a fake date.

You make a face at him. “I will owe you,” you say. “Anything you want.”

He shrugs. “I don’t want anything.”

You roll your eyes. “C’mon, Bradshaw,” you plead. “I’ll do your laundry for a week.”

He purses his lips, not looking overly enticed.

“I’ll come over once a day and do all your dishes.”

“We’ve got Hangman for that.”

“Hangman does your dishes?” you ask incredulously, trying to picture Jake Seresin in an apron with a dishtowel thrown over his shoulder.

Bradley chuckles. “He lost a bet last week.”

You let out a soft laugh, then get back to business. “I’ll clean your room,” you offer.

“I’ll have you know that my room is immaculate,” Bradley replies.

You scoff. “Then do this for me out of the goodness of your heart!”

Bradley chuckles slightly. “I don’t know, Y/N. This is a big ask.”

“Please, my mother is rounding up all the eligible males on the western seaboard as we speak.”

Bradley laughs. “What does your mother have against landlocked states?”

“I don’t know. Political ideology?”

Bradley snorts. “Have you asked Hangman?”

You groan. “Please don’t make me ask Hangman. He will never let me live this down.”

Bradley nods. “That is true.”

“It’s just a weekend. A few photos here and there. Some superficial chitchat with my grandparents about the importance of educational funding for our nation’s youth. My niece loves airplanes so you can tell her all about your latest mission” –

“My classified mission?”

“Well, leave out the classified parts,” you retort impatiently.

Bradley contemplates your proposal while your mind scrambles trying to determine something that might make it worth his while.

“Free drinks for a week,” you say, wiping the already dry bar to give your free hand something to do.

Bradley raises his eyebrows. “You can’t do that.”

You roll your eyes. Bradley Bradshaw will never go along with a scheme unless it is one hundred percent above board. “Meaning I will pay for them. I get a discount on the alcohol.”

Bradley gives you an amused look. “So, you wish to buy my services.”

You let out a frustrated groan. “I told you, I will do anything you want.”

“Well, I don’t want you paying my tab,” he replies casually.

You lean into the bar with a heavy sigh, bringing your face closer to his. “You are really grinding my gears, Bradshaw,” you say.

His eyes lift to your face as he lets out a wry chuckle.

“Do you really think a weekend with me will be so torturous?” you ask.

“Nah,” he says, leaning back in his stool nonchalantly, but you wonder if he does it to expand the space between your faces. “I wasn't actually going to refuse. Just like to see you sweat.”

He chuckles, ducking as you go to smack him with the towel you just used to wipe the bar.

…

“Aunt Barb is a hard-ass,” you say in a low voice, turning your head toward Bradley as your aunt makes a beeline for you at the rehearsal dinner. You end up talking into Bradley’s shoulder because he’s so much taller than you and he instinctively lowers his head so he can hear you better.

“What’s that, shorty?” he mutters, and you roll your eyes at the nickname. But the next moment, you can feel his breath on your forehead and you gulp when his palm flattens against your back. You had been the one who'd asked him to pretend to be your boyfriend, but you hadn’t actually considered what that might entail. Apparently, it entails Bradley Bradshaw’s hand on your lower back and a woozy sensation in your gut akin to a 200-foot roller coaster drop. You aren’t too fond of roller coasters.

You glance up at him and your eyes meet for a split second. Bradley promptly straightens his back. You let out an unsteady sigh and say, “Aunt Barb will be questioning you; be prepared. Have you read my notes?”

Bradley gives you a pointed look. “Of course, I read your notes.”

But as Aunt Barb approaches, you feel Bradley’s touch along your back waver until his hand finally drops at his side.

“Y/N!” your aunt exclaims, giving you a kiss on each cheek. She blinks up at Bradley expectantly.

“This is Bradley,” you say. “This is my aunt, Barb.”

Bradley holds out his hand. “It’s great to meet you,” he says.

Aunt Barb gives him a crafty smile. “Is this your boyfriend, Y/N?” she asks, but her question is directed more at Bradley than at you.

Bradley returns her smile. “That’s me,” he replies, giving you a quick glance.

“Oh, good,” your aunt says. “We were starting to get worried after that whole fiasco with Steven.”

You stare at her as Bradley turns to you. “Who’s Steven?” he asks.

Aunt Barb gives him a probing look. “You don’t know?”

Bradley eyes you inquisitively. “Should I?” he asks, still looking at you.

“Her ex, of course,” Barb continues. “He’s here, you know?”

You peel your gaze away from Bradley to look at your aunt. “What? Why?”

She shrugs. “He’s friends with the groom, of course. Or have you forgotten?”

You grimace. You don’t remember Steven being exceedingly close with your sister’s fiancé, so the fact that he somehow weaseled his way into this function aggravates you greatly.

When your aunt walks away, Bradley turns to you with his eyebrows raised. “Steven wasn’t in your notes.”

You give him a sour look. “He wasn’t supposed to be here.”

Bradley shrugs. “Still think you should’ve mentioned him. Was it serious?”

“Nope,” you respond curtly, ready to put the topic to rest.

Bradley seems to sense your reluctance to engage in this particular conversation and drops the subject. “Shall we go grab some drinks?”

You’re about to respond when your mother appears before you and you nearly bump into her. “Mom!” you exclaim in surprise.

“Y/N, why are you so jumpy?” she asks.

You shoot a nervous glance in Bradley’s direction, but he appears unfazed. “Afternoon, ma’am,” he says, bowing his head slightly.

Your mother looks over at Bradley with a judgemental air. “Are you the aviator?” she asks with a hint of distaste in her tone.

“Indeed,” Bradley responds, giving you a confident look before glancing back at your mother.

But your mother is no longer paying Bradley any attention. She turns back to you. “Steven is here,” she says.

You let out a sigh. “Yes, I know, mother.”

She gives you a knowing look before glancing back at Bradley. “We all thought they were going to get married,” she says with an artificial smile.

Bradley raises his eyebrows and nods his head slowly. “You must be disappointed,” he says.

Your mother seems pleased with his response and nods at Bradley vehemently. “They have a lot of history,” she says.

You close your eyes. “Mom, stop.”

“I’m just saying, he’s here,” your mom says. “Do with that what you will.”

You blink at her. “I will do nothing.”

Bradley watches you squirm sympathetically and, when you glance up at him defeatedly, he takes you by the hand. “Ma’am, it’s been a pleasure,” he says and starts to pull you away. “We just want to hit the bar before the first course.”

“Sure.” Your mom gives him a quick nod and throws a pointed look in your direction.

You cling to Bradley’s hand gratefully, even going as far as clutching at his arm with your other hand just to get away faster. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” you whimper.

He looks down at you, squeezing your hand. “It’s why I’m here, right?” he says.

“Right,” you agree, feeling his bicep flex under your fingers as his hand tightens around yours.

…

After dinner, you make your way through the crowd to the bathroom. The evening is nearly over and it seems that you and Bradley have put on a reasonably convincing charade. Bradley’s relaxed disposition has made the evening infinitely more enjoyable than you could have imagined and you find yourself feeling almost sorry that the night is coming to an end. Almost. Because, after all, you won’t be able to take a real breath of relief until you’re in the comfort of your room.

You’re lost in your thoughts as you walk back to your table and you completely miss the fact that your ex-boyfriend has spotted you and is heading your way.

“Y/N!” he exclaims as if he’s surprised to see you attending your own sister’s wedding rehearsal.

You blink at him in alarm. “Steven,” you say with a slight grimace, kicking yourself for not checking your surroundings before making your way across the open floor.

Your eyes scan the tables, desperately searching for Bradley. When you locate him, you can see that he’s already watching you.

Steven steps closer to you, holding out his hands. “It’s good to see you, Y/N,” he says, leaning in for a hug.

You recoil as he tries to put his arms around you. “Is it?” you ask, holding up your hand to keep him back. The last time you saw him, he was throwing every insult imaginable in your direction.

Over Steven’s shoulder, you can see Bradley getting out his seat and starting to make his way toward the two of you, a stony expression on his face.

“You look great,” Steven continues, finally lowering his arms.

“Uh, thanks,” you say uneasily just as Bradley steps around Steven to face him.

“Everything alright here?” Bradley asks, his eyes sliding between you and Steven.

“Mm-hm,” you say, instinctively shifting closer to Bradley as Steven continues to scrutinize your every move.

“I’m Bradley,” he introduces himself, confidently extending his hand to Steven.

“Steven.” Steven takes his hand tentatively and you can see the slight wince on his face as Bradley crushes his hand in a handshake.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Steven,” Bradley says, and you look up at him sharply.

“Oh, really?” Steven lifts his eyebrows, giving you a smirk.

“No,” Bradley replies flatly.

Steven blinks at him in confusion, clearly taken aback.

Bradley slides his arm around your waist possessively and you lean into him slightly, relieved that he’s playing his part so perfectly.

Steven gives Bradley a hostile look which Bradley expertly returns. Then, he lowers his face, saying, “Drink?”

“Yes, please,” you say, letting out a sigh.

“You take care, Steven,” Bradley says, wheeling you around in the direction of the bar.

Part 2

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sunlightmurdock · 8 months

Text

Ashes, Ashes | Prologue | Bradley Bradshaw

masterlist | next chapter

Six days after Maverick’s disappearance, Bradley isn’t quite whole anymore. But, there isn’t time to crumble.

warnings: : age gap (23/33), smut, angst, hurt / comfort, mentions of character death, mourning, extra warnings to be added chapter by chapter. This entire fic and my blog is an 18+ space, minors do not interact. Do not repost.

…

“Rooster, those bandits are closing. We can’t go back.”

“Rooster, he’s gone. Maverick’s gone.”

It’s a stomach-sick, sweat inducing kind of fever that lingers now on this mild morning. Breeze blowing across his skin, patterned and rhythmic, reminding him every now and again to breathe.

It has been exactly six days since Pete Mitchell was declared missing in action. Six days since a missile meant for Bradley hit Pete’s plane and sent the sixty-five million dollar aircraft spiraling into miles and miles of desolate, freezing forest. Bradley has slept four times in those six days, and each time he has, his subconscious reminds him of exactly what he is responsible for

Today is a relatively chilly morning in May, and Bradley is sitting on the front step of a cottage near Bird Rock in northern San Diego. Today is the first day since he got home three and a half days ago that he has left his apartment. Natasha stayed over last night. She has stayed over every night. She slept by his side, on top of his covers, just holding his hand. When he was in the shower this morning, she laid out his clothes for him. She hasn’t ever known him to be this quiet. Ever.

He hasn’t said much at all since they got back. Natasha knows that he’s picturing himself alone in that forest. Dead, or worse.

Now, she sits at his side and rubs soft circles on his shoulder over the black fabric of his t-shirt. He would do it for her, if she was the one going through this. She would be too stubborn to listen to him too. They have known each other since flight school. Natasha got so drunk the first Friday that Bradley spent his entire first Friday holding her hair back while she threw up.

The next day, Bradley embarrassed himself so badly in front of a girl he liked that he almost quit just so that they wouldn't have to see each other again. After that, they have remained pretty close. Especially now, when they need each other.

“Rooster, no one expects you to be here right now — you went through something awful out there.” She says it one last time anyway, even though she knows that it won’t change a single thing.

That’s one of the reasons that their friendship is so strong — sometimes a person just has to do what they have to do, Bradley and Natasha respect that sentiment. Even if it means texting back a no-good ex, or staying out a little too late on a work night now and again. Each other’s best interests are always at heart, but it’s human to not put yourself first now and again.

Bradley hasn’t sat on the steps of Maverick’s two bedroom beach cottage since he was thirteen. Right before Maverick pissed off an admiral and got shipped out somewhere crazy, somewhere cold — he can’t remember exactly where anymore, he never wrote a letter there. Right before he started only seeing Maverick on holidays and special occasions, the occasional baseball game.

Pete bought this place back in the eighties. He got it for a steal. A craftsman bungalow three blocks from the beach, with two bedrooms and a small yard. He had wanted to be close to Carole, and he had just gotten married. Bradley’s memories of Charlie are faint, but he knows that her father helped Pete with the down payment. Maverick hated him for that. His first and, as it happened, only marriage hadn’t lasted very long. Two or three years, maximum. She was gone before Bradley finished second grade, anyway.

The spare room here used to be Bradley’s. Back when his mom worked weekends at a hotel in La Jolla, and he and Pete would take Friday night trips to Blockbuster every week. He hasn’t even been inside yet. He can’t imagine how much the interior would have changed since those weekends back in the nineties.

Glancing down at the IWC clock face on his wrist, the big hand has been creeping up on ten o’ clock for what feels like hours by now. Breeze sweeps a strand of Natasha’s hair off of her face. She leans against her best friend, her palm trailing to the middle of his back.

Natasha has two parents. They definitely don’t see eye-to-eye often, but she knows where they are. It’s a Sunday, they’ll be at Costco. She has a sister who gets on her nerves but adores her nonetheless, Leona will be at a spin class this morning. None of the people she loves are missing. If one of them were, she would have others to lean on.

For Bradley, it’s just her now.

“I can’t let her turn up to an empty house.” Bradley’s voice comes out more hoarse than either of them is expecting it to. He hasn’t cried yet. He keeps thinking he might, the urge is there, but the tears just don’t come.

Bradley doesn’t even know you. Not really. Not even when he was a kid. It’s been sixteen years since Bradley was even on speaking terms with Maverick. But now, everything’s different. He has a debt that he’ll never repay.

It has been six days. If Maverick survived the initial hit, and the ejection, then he has still been out in the snow for six days. Probably injured. Alone. Being hunted. He’s gone. And yet, Bradley just can’t — or won’t — grieve him. Moving on isn’t an option.

The person that they are waiting for is yourself. Pete Mitchell’s only child. Bradley doesn’t even know who he’s looking for. The last time he saw you was when you were three years old, staring at him from the backseat of your mother’s blue ford escort with a pacifier in your mouth while your parents argued a few feet away.

Penny Benjamin is the one that contacted you after the initial Navy correspondence. Bradley wouldn’t have even known how. He doesn’t have Maverick’s number any more, much less yours. Back when he knew you, you didn’t even know your numbers. Really he only saw you a handful of times. You hadn’t crossed paths much. Your mother lived up near Oregon. She was a waitress. Most of the time Pete drove up to see you, or the weekends that you visited him, Bradley would stay with a neighbour.

He bows his head just slightly, elbows rested on his parted knees. Maybe he shouldn’t have worn sweats. He hasn’t ever let Natasha dress him before. Today wasn’t a good day to start. Meeting Mav’s kid wouldn’t be a formal occasion, but under the circumstances.

His ears perk up at the sound of a misfire. Natasha flinches against him. She’s not been feeling that great since they got home either. Her dreams are like his too. It doesn’t matter. The car squeals around the corner at the far end of the street like its driver is trying to get it onto just two wheels. He lifts his head in time to see a steel blue ford escort hit the curb on the street just past Maverick’s property line.

Instantly, he pushes himself onto his feet. That kind of maniacal attitude to manning a vehicle must be hereditary.

Both he and Natasha watch as the driver slams their fists into the wheel in frustration. Then, you, the driver, notice them for the first time.

You’ve seen Bradley Bradshaw periodically throughout your life. There is no escaping his image when Maverick’s around. But, none of those photos are recent. They’re all from at least twelve years ago now. The only information you had been given was that Bradley looked kind of like Goose now.

And you — are not a little kid anymore. Natasha pushes herself to her feet, brushing the dust from her palms onto her jeans. A brief look is sent towards her best friend, but he doesn’t reciprocate. He’s staring straight ahead as you twist open the door handle and kick.

It complies with a groan and you start off with one foot on the pavement. High top black converse. The other foot follows next. Jeans. Normal, appropriate for the early May weather before the heat really picks up.

Then, as you push yourself to stand, Bradley can see the rest of you. You exhale and your hand flies to the back of your neck instantly.

“Hi,” You force out. “Bradley, right?”

That’s stupid. You know who he is. He knows who you are. You both know why you’re here. Natasha watches as you cringe into yourself, not necessarily physically, but it’s plastered all over your worried little face anyway.

“Yeah.” Bradley agrees without a nod. His hands are neither in his pockets nor doing anything else that might be productive. He tells himself that he should maybe shake your hand, but he doesn’t. He tells himself that maybe he should say something more, but he doesn’t.

Towering over the pretty brunette at his side, Bradley doesn’t look anything like he had in his photos at high school graduation. His face is longer and wider at the same time, his cheeks have lost some of their roundness but they still have a youthful pink flush. His hair is shorter, auburn and tidy around the back and sides. Still trying to be curly on top.

He grew up near the beach and his skin tells the tale. Freckles and a golden glow to his skin that you just know is an all year round kind of thing by now. Slight redness across his collarbones, the high points of his body where the sun hits most when he’s drying off after a swim.

In his eyes, you were hoping to find the boy from the pictures. The grinning blond in the baseball uniform. Instead, there’s something else.

Whatever it is, you hope it isn’t pity. Just because his dad — no, you shouldn’t think that. It shouldn’t start out like this.

“How was the drive? — Not too bad, I hope?” The tiny brunette finally bursts through the wall of silence that you and Bradley have been competitively building up since your sneaker touched the pavement two minutes ago. “I’m Natasha. I work with… — I — I’m Bradley’s friend.”

“Hi. It wasn’t too bad. I need to see a mechanic while I’m here, but — I don’t know. I’ll find time.” Just from watching you, Natasha can see that you’re all over the place. Neither here nor there. You don’t look like you’ve been crying either. Mascara intact, your makeup looks pretty.

Bradley knows that it has been a long time since he and Maverick were on speaking terms. He knows that even before that, they didn’t talk much about you. But, shit — he wishes now that he had at least seen a picture first so that he could prepare himself.

He remembers footie pajamas and drool and chubby, perpetually sticky cheeks.

Now, the belt looped through your blue jeans makes sure that the denim hugs you in all of the right places and that tank top is confirming to him that you’re no longer anything like the faint image he has in some of his oldest memories.

There’s got to be something wrong with him — that that’s the first thing that sprung to his mind. That Mav’s kid got hot in the twenty years since he saw her last. He shakes it from his head. Physically. He shakes his head and finally springs into action.

“What’s the matter with it?”

For the first time in five days, it’s the first time that someone hasn’t started a conversation by asking how you��re holding up. It catches you totally unprepared, and your knowledge of cars leaves you under qualified to answer anyway.

Bradley Bradshaw takes three long strides along the stone garden path and he has reached you already. He’s on a course right for you, and he’s big when he’s not squished into one of those photo frames in Maverick’s house. You lean back slightly, starting to brace for the impact of him hitting you.

He’s aware of his size and has learned to grow careful with it, stepping around you narrowly and heading straight for your old shitbox of a car.

“I don’t know. The steering is loose and the engine is making a weird noise.”

Bradley twists his neck and shoots an incredulous look at you, back over one of his wide shoulders. It’s a fourteen hour drive down from the Oregon coast, on a good day, and this car ran like shit when your mother bought it twenty something years ago.

Popping the hood, Bradley finds himself thinking of something other than those snowy peaks for the first time all week.

Ahead of you, you’re confronted with Mav’s place. The cottage you were forced to spend the occasional weekend or weeks in during the summer a couple of times through your childhood. Most of the times that you saw Pete were in your hometown. He was always the one who travelled. It seemed fair. His job meant that it didn’t happen often.

Your memories of this house are faint, but the same uncomfortable restless feeling it gives you remains. You remember quiet days sitting on the couch with your hands in your lap, waiting for that court-mandated forty-eight hours to be up.

Natasha is facing the other way. She watches Bradley step off of the curb and pop your hood. Bradley has a technical knowledge of engineering from his career, and a slightly broader scope from his interest in vintage cars — but he’s not a mechanic.

A quick glance to her right and she takes note of the way you’re frowning at the weeds poking through the stone path pavers.

Like watching a storm roll in before a big surf, Natasha has a bad feeling about this arrangement. Two people who should be coming to terms with their grief, and it's clear to her that you’re both planning on ignoring this problem by busying yourself for as long as you can.

“You can’t drive this piece of shit.” Bradley decides from the street. You turn slowly on the balls of your feet and push your hands into the pockets of your jeans. He doesn’t even look up.

Crowding over the hood of your car, glaring down at it. Thick shoulders filling out a plain black t-shirt and long legs hidden under loose fitting grey sweats. An auburn curl dangles over his forehead.

You twist and shoot a look back at Natasha.

“I… Kinda have to.” You point out. A recent graduate with no immediate career plans, who just quit their waitressing job to pick up the pieces of their presumably dead, semi-estranged father’s life. Buying a new car isn’t exactly in the budget right now.

Bradley opens his palms and braces them against the open hood. He turns his head and looks first at Natasha. His best friend. Then, the house. He learned to ride his bike on this street. Maverick lived on this street. Finally, his attention turns to you. He watches you watch him.

Leaning against your shitty, old car like it’s the only thing keeping him on his feet. Squinting at you because he left his sunglasses in work and the doctors won’t let him go back there for another couple weeks.

You’re staring back at him, wondering why he’s looking at you like that. Like he’s looking for something.

He pushes off of the car and stands, wiping his hands on his sweats. “I’ll take care of it. Whatever you need. I can drive you for a bit.”

As Bradley walks around to the back of the car and pops open the trunk to grab your bags, Natasha is struck with a numbing realization.

Maverick put himself in an early grave trying to make up for a mistake he made when he was young, and Bradley won’t stop until he does the same.

…

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#bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #miles teller #bradley bradshaw smut #jake seresin #rooster x you #rooster bradshaw imagine #top gun smut #bradley bradsaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x you

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coconutcordiale · 2 years

Text

up to no good

pairing- bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x female pilot!reader (callsign clutch) no use of y/n

an- my first fanfic ever! and it's just filth (lol) so 18+ minors DNI. top gun has a hold on me y'all. haven't even opened a word doc since college but the entire film basically lives rent free in my head and I had to write some obscene rooster so I could get back to functioning like a normal person. anyways *nervous sweating*

warning- seriously 18+, not beta’d, swearing, pwp (dogfight football is just an excuse for foreplay they knew what they were doing with that damn scene), unprotected sex, choking, edging, orgasm delay/denial, overstimulation, dom!rooster, oral (f receiving), rank kink if you squint, bruises, praise kink, dumbification, rooster is a leg man fight me, mentioning hangman during sex (yes this is a warning because jake seresin is sinful), the whole nine honestly I can't believe I'm posting this

length- 3.3k ish words

You silently curse Maverick for introducing the team to dogfight football as everyone trudges down towards the beach. Now, instead of working on your tan or napping on the beach for your one and only day off, you're being forced into athletic competition masquerading as a fun beach game. You like working out as much as the next pilot, but with one day off? You’d much rather spend it horizontal with your boyfriend than sprinting after him in the sand. Your gorgeous, half-naked boyfriend who's currently smoothing out his mustache in annoyance while he argues with Hangman about how they’ll split up the teams. You’re not sure who decided to make these two idiots team captains, but suspect it was born out of making sure they wouldn’t kill each other on the same team.

Rooster ends up choosing first, much to Hangman’s chagrin.

“Payback.”

“Wow,” you joke, your hand over your wounded heart for theatrics. “I see where your loyalties lie, babe.”

“Don’t be mad,” Rooster smiles into your hair before kissing your temple.

Pulling you into his side by the waist, he lightly skims his fingers across the part of your hipbone that always makes you shiver. The part that already has a bruise forming from his unrelenting grip this morning, while you were falling apart on his cock.

You glare up at him as if to say silently, don't change the subject, and he pointedly looks above your head to Seresin, pretending he’s not having flashbacks of your wanton moans.

“Hangman, go.”

The blonde flashes his signature smirk, stupid mischievous twinkle in his eyes, and reaches out to tug you from Rooster’s grasp, “Clutch, you’re with me.”

It’s surprising, of course. You weren’t actually mad at not being picked first, and definitely didn’t think Hangman of all people would be the one to do so.

“Bro,” Coyote grumbles. “No offense, Clutch, but what the fuck?"

Hangman shrugs in response, trying to maintain his poker face and not laugh out loud at the way Rooster’s jaw clenches. He knows having you on the opposite team is a huge distraction for mustache boy and well, he’d be remiss if he didn’t take advantage of Rooster’s ridiculous misty-eyed love for you, wouldn’t he?

Phoenix and Bob end up with Rooster too while Hangman manages to snag Coyote and Fanboy, punching Coyote in the shoulder for being so grumpy about not being picked first.

Not long into the game, Rooster has the ball, looking around for an open teammate and you see your opportunity.

As he knew there were no limits to your competitiveness no matter how much you complained about having to play, Hangman suggested you cover Rooster, so you’re already face to face with his very shirtless, very tanned body. You trail your hand across his abs, barely dipping your fingertips below his waistband. Subtle enough that no one else clocks what you’re up to, too consumed defending each other, but suggestive enough that Rooster’s attention snaps to you immediately.

“What’re you doing?” He asks, eyeing you suspiciously, hands still firmly planted around the ball that’s well out of your reach.

You flash the most innocent smile you can manage, “Sorry, babe, you just look so good. Couldn’t help myself.”

He beams down at you, completely disarmed and blushing a little despite his best efforts to maintain a healthy level of skepticism.

“Am I making it hard for my girl to concentrate?” He teases, arms faltering slightly.

“Something like that,” you grin, like the cat that got the cream, before taking advantage of his momentary lapse in judgment to snatch the ball out of his hands, swiftly turning and throwing it straight to Hangman by the makeshift endzone. He sprints through, throwing the ball to the ground in victory.

“And that,” Hangman shouts, practically banging his chest, “is why you’re never stupid enough to pick Clutch second, fellas!”

“Ruthless,” Rooster feigns hurt across his tanned features, fighting a smile at your cheesy finger guns. “Didn’t know we were playing dirty.”

“What, you think this is a fuckin’ game, Bradshaw?” You taunt.

“Oh, it’s on.”

You know you have to up the ante the next time around, without the element of surprise it’ll be harder to shake him.

You absentmindedly play with the bruise forming on your hipbone before the ball is anywhere near you and you can feel his eyes raking over the spot where your fingers touch. Fighting a smile, you adjust your workout shorts next, tugging them down the inside of your thighs where they’ve ridden up, fingers dancing a little close to your hot center for the public setting, but hey, hopefully no one’s paying attention. Besides, he’s always been a sucker for your legs, evident by how much time he spends between them. By the time he’s done staring and lifts his eyes to yours you’re smirking.

“Bradshaw, my eyes are up here.”

He doesn’t even bother looking ashamed, instead meeting your gaze with that filthy glint in his eyes. It takes everything in you to remain focused on the task at hand. You’re supposed to be sidetracking him, not the other way around.

You manage to sneak around him and catch the ball as Fanboy throws it your way, but you’re a little too far from the endzone to make a break for it without Rooster catching up to you. His dog tags are reflecting in the sunlight, resting against his hard chest and you smile, leaning in to grab them with your free hand.

Pulling him towards you by his chain so you can keep these words between the two of you, you adopt a comically casual tone, “I’ve always wondered what it’d be like if you choked me with these, babe, I mean your big hands are more than enough but—”

“Nope," Rooster cuts you off tersely as he picks you up and tosses you over his shoulder before marching in the direction of the parking lot.

You giggle, arching your back to toss the ball towards the group as best you can while still mostly upside down, and throw them a sloppy two finger salute, “See y’all later.”

“You guys are the worst!” Phoenix shouts after you and everyone yells in agreement.

He doesn't set you down until you're in the parking lot, immediately pulling you back against his front.

“You’re gonna pay for teasing me like that, princess,” he breathes in your ear, right hand sliding up your chest and to your neck as his left digs for his car keys.

“Oh no,” you drawl sarcastically, “That wasn’t what I was aiming for whatsoever.”

He can’t help but chuckle, even with his hand practically engulfing your throat you’re still playing him like a fiddle, teasing and pushing his buttons until he aches to put you in your place. He knows exactly what you’ve been playing at, but he still can’t help his primal response to it.

“Don’t worry, baby, I’m gonna wipe that bratty little smirk right off your pretty face.”

“I don’t know what you mean, Lieutenant Bradshaw,” you respond cheekily. “Was just admiring my gorgeous boyfriend all day. Always makes me smile, how beautiful he is.”

His fingers tighten almost unconsciously at his rank tumbling out of your delicate lips. And now it’s his turn to smirk, as he hears your breath hitch and feels you grind back onto his growing bulge. He unlocks the car and pulls the passenger side door open with his free hand, turning you around for a searing kiss before picking you up and setting you in his Bronco. He buckles you in, and you roll your eyes at the babying gesture, still in a fiery mood.

Shooting you a warning look for the eye rolling, Rooster gets in the other side and you begin running your hand up his arm, stopping to appreciate his bicep flexing as he turns the keys in the ignition. It’s almost innocent, really, but he sees right through you.

“No touching me or yourself until we get home.”

He bites back a laugh at your pout and settles his hand on your knee as he starts to drive. Which, you find out quickly, is much worse than not being touched at all, although you imagine that’s purposeful. He always knows how to wind you up while barely lifting a finger. You feel his hand burning on your leg, rubbing affectionate circles just south of where you want it. You shift in the passenger seat and the movement subtly urges his hand up your thigh, thinking he won’t notice as his eyes are decidedly fixed on the road.

As soon as he pulls up to a red light, he immediately removes his hand from your thigh to grab your jaw roughly and pull you into a kiss.

“You have to learn to be patient, baby. Keep trying to rush me and I won’t touch you at all,” he mutters against your lips. “Be a good girl for me.”

Your breathing shallows and you nod, both of you knowing as soon as that phrase comes out, you’re done for.

You’re crawling out of your skin by the time he pulls up to the house, mind on an endless loop of please touch me, kiss me, please do something, anything.

“I hope you remember your colors, because if I don’t hear the word red I’m not stopping,” he promises darkly, possessive hand around the back of your neck as he leads you into the house and to the bedroom.

He all but throws you on the bed, making quick work of your clothes. Stepping back and taking his time with his own while he admires you, naked and squirming for him. He watches patiently as your thighs press together, hands fisting in the comforter.

What feels like eons later, he settles on the bed, pushing your legs apart to fit his wide frame between them. Peppering kisses up the inside of your thighs, he refuses to put his mouth where you really want it.

You whimper in frustration and Rooster snickers at your exasperation before licking a stripe up your dripping wet slit. The sound that comes out of your mouth is positively filthy, doubling in volume when he slips one of those thick fingers in without warning.

“Fuck, baby,” It’s his turn to groan now. “You’re so wet. Surprised you didn’t soak through those tiny little things you call shorts.”

“Thought I was going to, been ready for you all day,” you grit out.

As much as you love his mouth on you, it’s not what you need right now as your cunt is aching to be filled. You untangle your fingers from the comforter to pull him up by the shoulders and attach your lips to his. Reaching down to palm his hard cock, you run your thumb across the slit that’s leaking with precum. He drops his head to your shoulder, panting as his control wavers.

“Need you in me,” you beg between kisses. “Please.”

You immediately wish you hadn’t said anything when raises his head to look at you, pupils blown but with newfound resolve and a smug grin on his lips.

“Greedy,” he teases, taking your hands from his cock and lifting your arms above your head.

He easily pins both wrists down with one hand, while the other traces down your body, taking his time palming your tits one by one, touching your hipbones with surprising gentleness, before settling between your legs once more. His fingers slide through your wet folds, pad of his thumb circling your clit and your head falls back against the pillows, body arching at the feeling.

He’s building you up, exactly how he knows you like, your inner walls already beginning to shake with anticipation, clenching around nothing as you get closer to the edge.

And then suddenly, he pulls his fingers away and you want to cry with how quickly you feel your climax disappearing into thin air.

“You’d let me do anything I wanted to you right now, wouldn’t you baby girl? You’d do anything to get my cock in that needy pussy.”

“Yes sir,” you whine submissively, even surprising yourself at how desperate you sound.

“No more Bradshaw and babe now, huh,” he mocks your cheeky tone from earlier. “Told you I’d fuck that bratty attitude right out of you.”

You wish you had the wherewithal to come up with a witty response about how he hasn’t even fucked you yet and could he get to it already, you really do. But before you can formulate half a thought, he’s finally pushing his thick member into you and no matter how many times the two of you do this you always, always forget how much he stretches you. How each time you wonder if he’s going to fit.

The only indication he gives that he’s as affected by this as you are is that there’s no time to adjust to his size before he’s thrusting, hard and fast and rough. It’s right on the line between pleasure and pain.

The moment he swipes the pad of his thumb over your bundle of nerves again you’re close, embarrassingly close. You feel your body tensing, winding tighter and tighter.

“Please, I’m so close, please let me come.”

You’re pushing hard against the grip he has on your wrists, to no avail.

He smiles against your skin, nipping at your neck before bringing his mouth to your ear.

“No.”

Tears immediately spring to your eyes as he pulls away the hand that was on your clit, slowing his pace to an unbearable speed and you feel your peak slipping farther and farther away.

“Please, Roos—" you start, trying to pull him closer with your legs.

“You know my name, princess,” he growls, pulling back.

“Bradley,” you moan, the hard edges in his words sending another wave of heat through you. “Sir—plea—I need—harder, faster. Ohmy god, please.”

You’re barely coherent and the evil part of him wants to push further, to see how long he can keep you like this, if he can make you lose your words completely.

He completely ignores your pleas, releasing your wrists so he can run both his hands down your body, stopping again to rub circles around the bruises on your hipbones.

“You think they’d believe me? If I told everyone how needy you are for me?”

You don’t answer, can’t answer because all you can think is please, harder, more. Instead, you’re gripping his biceps for dear life, mind still reeling from how infuriatingly slow he’s fucking into you.

“The team would never expect strong, hard-headed Clutch could act like this. Putty in my hands, whining and begging for me like a depraved slut.”

A loud moan leaves your mouth at that and he rewards you by picking up the pace, putting his weight behind his thrusts again. You’re staring up at him with glazed eyes, mouth parted and breathy mewls coming out in a constant stream as he continues.

“Seresin definitely wouldn’t. Can you imagine if I told him how pretty you look fucked out and dumb for my cock? He’d probably think I was lying, thinks you dominate the hell outta me. If only he knew the truth.”

You clench around him involuntarily and he smirks when he sees the blush rising on your cheeks.

“God, I do love having you all to myself, but it seems selfish not to share someone as perfect as you, darlin’.”

You tuck your face in his neck, unable to meet those playful dark eyes. He pulls out and flips you over, pulling your ass into the air and sliding back into you in one smooth motion.

He’s hitting that spot deep inside you, and you shove your face into the pillows to muffle your moans. You feel fingers tangle in your hair, tugging and arching your back as he pulls you up towards his chest, pace unrelenting. Bradley slides that big hand up around to your neck again, finally getting to pound you from behind like he wanted to outside of his Bronco. That seems like days ago, now. His other hand is circling your clit, quickly bringing you right to the brink once more.

“Come for me, baby, come all over my cock like the little slut you are.”

You feel like a rubber band, pushed to its limits and snapped. White-hot pleasure courses through you, finally releasing all the tension in your body.

“Fuck, you’re such a good girl for me,” Bradley’s breath is hot in your ear. You barely register his praise, still shaking. “Wanna come inside your tight pussy and fill you up.”

You can’t help the obscene noises spilling out of your mouth, even louder than before as he continues to fuck you, relentless, while you try to come down from your high. It’s overwhelming, his thick length pounding your trembling, slick walls. His grip impossibly tight on your hip as he empties in you. The warmth is spreading inside, your walls spasming weakly at the feeling of fullness. He keeps his hands on you as he softens, fingers starting their dance in maddening circles on your overstimulated bundle of nerves.

“S’too much,” you slur, head falling back on his shoulder.

If you weren’t in such a daze you might be impressed on how he’s managed to make it his mission to continue ruining you only moments after his own climax. He’s completely supporting your weight, any sense of self-preservation having left you long ago.

He shifts, pulling out and you try not to whine too loudly at the empty feeling. You momentarily think he’s done with his torture, but then he lays you down on your back and puts his lips right to your center, fingers pushing his cum back inside you as it tries to drip out.

“No,” he lifts his head to say again, and you hate how that always sends a wave of heat right to your core. “You begged and begged to come. I’m just giving you what you wanted baby."

“Dunno,” you shudder, “if I can take anym—Bradley pleas—”

“You can.”

There’s no room for disagreement in his tone.

“You’ve been such a good girl. I know you can come again. Just one more and I’ll give you a break.”

He’s making lazy circles with his tongue, his pace the only indication there exists a fiber of mercy in his being.

Your skin feels tight as his praise washes over you. He’s fucking you with his fingers now, curling them while slowly increasing his onslaught on every nerve in your body through his touch to your core. You can’t help but grab his wrist, trying to pull him away from you as he blurs the line between pleasure and pain. You’re shaking uncontrollably and shouting his name, as you come again, sure you’re going to black out.

“Shh, baby, I got you,” he whispers as you clench around his fingers. He’s kissing your jaw, lips, forehead.

He gently pulls his hand away and wraps his arms around you, holding you through the aftershocks.

“You’re perfect, baby. Did so well for me.”

You smile up at him a few minutes later as he gently puts a water bottle to your lips. Ever the gentleman, you think, even after he’s absolutely wrecked you.

“We have to wash the sheets and comforter,” Rooster complains jokingly, when he’s pretty sure your mind is mostly functioning again. “There’s sand everywhere.”

“Yeah, you should get right on that, Lieutenant,” you mumble, planting your face in his chest.

He reaches out to tickle your sides lightly, “Maybe this Lieutenant will order you to do it for him.”

“It’s so cute you think you’re in charge,” you yawn, rolling over and settling in, clearly not making a move to get up.

Rooster rolls his eyes, forcing himself not to take the bait this time, instead pulling you tighter.

#rooster top gun #rooster smut #rooster x you #rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #Bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #Bradley Bradshaw x you #rooster fic #bradley bradshaw smut #top gun fanfiction #top gun x reader #rooster imagine #top gun #rooster fanfic #Bradley bradshaw fanfic #top gun maverick fanfic

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7seas-of-ryy · 2 years

Text

Yes Ma’am

Author’s Note: I feel like Rooster would definitely say yes ma’am all the time in a sweet way! Also italics are flashbacks

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: Rooster makes you flustered and he knows it ;)

Warnings: None!! A lot of fluff and implied smut

...

You don’t know why it makes you so hot and bothered, but it does. And of course he noticed. The one and only Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw. Damn him. It had happened randomly one day, and your reaction was engraved in his brain.

You were cleaning up at the bar and couldn’t reach some cleaning supplies. The whole group stayed behind and helped you clean up despite you telling them it was fine.

“Hey Bradshaw, can you come help me reach this?” You asked, struggling to reach.

“Yes ma’am” He replied simply and grabbed the supplies down.

You immediately went red. Something about those two words made you suddenly forget how to breath. Especially those two words directed at you, coming from that man.

Rooster noticed how you reacted. He didn’t mean it in a flirty way but he took note of how flustered it made you.

Since that day, Rooster has made sure to say that to you as often as he could. You reacted the same every time. He loved it. He would even try to get you to ask something so he could respond with it.

“Hey y/n, do you like my new shirt?” He had asked you one day

“It looks just like your other Hawaiian shirts. That’s new?” You asked confused

“Yes ma’am, it is” He smirked at you

“Oh- uh- well its’s very- uh nice yeah..” You stuttered and started walking away fast.

He laughed and watched as you practically ran away.

A few days later everyone was having drinks together and you were sat next to Rooster.

“Is that the new beer we just got in?” You asked him, wondering because you wanted to try it too.

“Yes ma’am”, he let out a small laugh and looked you right in the eyes, “Wanna try it?”

“Oh uh it’s ok, I don’t wanna take any of your drink” You said as heat spread through your body. You were sure you looked just like a tomato.

“Don’t worry darlin’, here, try it” He held the cup up to you and you took a sip. He watched you the entire time.

“That’s really good!” You stated

“Yes ma’am, very good” Rooster was wanting to see how flustered he could get you.

You couldn’t take it. Your body felt like it was on fire. This man was killing you.

“Alright I think I’m gonna head out guys” You said quickly and left. Before you got to your car you felt Rooster grabbing your hand. You turned around to look at him and he kept walking forward til your back hit the car. He put his arms on either side of you, trapping you.

You were looking up at him through your eyelashes, unsure of what was happening.

“Bradley?” You said

“Yes ma’am?” He replied

“Can you kiss me?” You asked as you ran your hands up his chest and around his neck

“Yes ma’am” He groaned and started to kiss you. You two made out for a while just like that. His hands roamed your body and yours stayed put on his neck. Eventually he pulled away

“So, “Yes ma’am” does it for ya?” He joked with you.

“Ughhh I don’t even know, when you say it it’s my weakness for some reason” You looked down embarrassed. That comment went straight to his ego.

“Oh so it’s only when I say it?” He laughed “I’ll say it all day long if it means I get to kiss you”

Your heart fluttered and you smiled at him.

“So, can I have another kiss?” He asked you

“Yes, sir” You replied cheekily.

He groaned and put his head on your shoulder.

“I get it now because if you say that again, I’ll have to take you back to my place” He said in a low strained voice. You leaned into him.

“Yes sir” You whispered in his ear. Oh yeah, you were in for a long night.

...

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mrsbbradshaw · 2 years

Text

What Have You Done ?

Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x fem! Mitchell reader

Warnings : Top Gun Maverick Spoilers, angst, fluff

Synopsis : Pete's daughter is as wild as him, she's also as passionate as him. However, an incident during high school drove them apart until they were called back to Top Gun. The uranium mission too, took them from each other, leaving her helpless as she couldn't do anything to make the situation better and save the people she loves.

Reader's call sign : Lynx ( a bright person and the life of the party until you piss her off / get on her bad side ) << Thanks @ashewontcare >>

Present day.

"You should apologise to her" Maverick told his RIO's son.

"What ? who ?" he answered, passing him the telescope to observe enemy territory after their plane was shot down.

"Come on Bradley, you know she did nothing wrong, it was entirely my fault that I took your papers, she knew nothing of it and-"

Bradley's head has never turned so quickly to face someone

"What do you mean by 'she knew nothing' ?"

"She didn't know I pulled your papers, here's the thing-"

"She didn't know ?" Rooster blurted out

"She didn't know it was you who pulled out my papers ?" He repeated, earning a nod from his instructor

"Yeah, she didn't know your papers were pulled either, she was angry at me for sometime, demanding an answer why your application was gone. Hell, she even went to iceman, angry at him for not being able to put you up into the navy"

He closed his eyes, frowning, the heat that was running into his heart was a pain that he had never felt in so long.

"Shit"

"Shit shit shit shit" he cursed repeatedly

"What ?" Maverick questioned, before tilting his head, connecting the dots

"Rooster, what did you do ?"

"Shit" he repeated again, realising that he may have lost her for good this time.

"Bradshaw, what have you done to her ?"

------ Flashback -------

She was always fond of Bradley Bradshaw ever since they met. He was like her knight in shining armour when he came Into her life, protecting each other from time to time and being the best of friends.

A particular event she remembered during high school was when he stepped in front of her after she was pushed into the pile of mud while Bradley took a punch from her bully, Jessica Bowen.

Y/n Mitchell was drenched in mud, hands and legs covered with the brown slimey substance that she fell in, a few parts of her face caught the mud.

Her eyes shot open the moment she saw Bradley took the hit on his stomach.

She could spot the pain on his expression when he fell down into the mud beside her.

Rage fuelled her next actions, clenching her jaw while quickly getting up, she used her left hand to wipe the mud away from her face hastily.

She hated the fact that he was hurt. She hated it.

"Hey Jessica !" She called.

The blonde haired girl and her two other friends turned around, facing the figure who was covered with mud who was wearing a snarky smile on her face.

Y/n used her other hand, containing a fistful of mud, forcefully sending the thick gluey onto their face. This caused the brunette boy to widen his eyes, laughing at the girls' embarrassment.

The three girls whose clothes were stained brown were now yelling, running away as Y/n threw more mud at them angrily.

"Mitchell, You're such a freak !"

"What ? I thought you weren't scared of anything, you bitch !" She spat

"Y/N" He called out her name. One word that was enough to make her turn around and face him. She eyed him from head to toe, his whole body was covered in brown.

"are you okay ?" she stepped closer to him, wiping his shoulders off from the grey substance.

"I should be asking you that" He rubbed the bits of mud that were left on her forehead, paying attention to her features, especially her concerned eyes.

"I'm sorry, Brad" She held his shoulders

"For what ?"

"You got punched because of me, your mom's gonna be so mad at us"

"Yeah but your dad'll get us out of trouble....right ?" He tilted his head

"Uh- I hope so, w-we should get out of here," she took her bag along with his from the bench nearby.

The two friends walked away from the garden near their school towards her home. Bradley made it a habit for him to walk her home since their house wasn't too far away.

"I should be thanking you, y/n"

"Huh ?"

"It was fun seeing them get what they deserve, not everyone has the balls to take them on to a... mud fight" Bradley chuckled, looking at his best friend who replied with a laugh.

"Well, what can I say ? Pushing someone to the mud at high school is really childish" Y/n raised her brows, unknowingly arriving to her house, Bradley helped her take the keys from her bag, unlocking the door for her. She insisted that she could but she was too covered in mud for her to stain anything else.

As she waved him goodbye, she smiled to herself after a day of spending time with Bradley, her crush.

She was always imagining that the two of them would end up together and sign up to the navy hand in hand. She thought that he would like her back eventually, she just needed more time to spend with him.

Unfortunately, her dreams were crushed when she entered school the next day, seeing Jessica apologised only to Bradley. To her surprise, he accepted the apology.

Jessica looked so different in front of Bradley, it was almost as if she likes him. They were paired up together for a project that made Jessica manipulate him in God knows what way, but Y/n could feel like their time together was slowly robbed by Jessica.

She held her pride high, expecting Bradley to take her as his date to the high school prom with him, there was no way he was going to the prom with someone else.

She knew he wouldn't do it to her, they've been so close for years, so what would make him pick Jessica over her ?

Yet her worst nightmares came true, there was one day she would never forget what he said to her.

"She seems like a nice person, I think we misunderstood her" Bradley came up to y/n with a smile on his face. She could sense her blood boiling, knitting her brows together, she scoffed.

"Misunderstood ?"

"Y-yeah, and I think- I like her, Y/n"

"you-"

"All I'm saying is that I'm taking her to the prom with me"

Everything else that came into her ears were inedible after his last words to her, she could hear her heart drop to the ground. Her face lost colours almost immediately, it looked like that she had her life sucked out of her.

"Y/n ?" He called her after noticing that she had zoned out completely

"You're taking Jessica Bowen to prom ?"

He nudged his head with a weak smile,

"What do you think ? I think she's a nice person, you should really apologise and make amends-"

Apologise ?

She had enough.

"You want me to apologise ?"

Her eyes shot cold glares at him as she stared at Bradley. She couldn't believe what he just said.

"You want me to apologise to the girl who sabotaged my entire high school life ?"

"You want me to apologise to the girl who called me motherless for years ? who punched YOU ?"

"It was an accident, the punch was meant for you-" Y/n's mouth fell wide open in disbelief. He was taking her side ?

Pete Mitchell's daughter let out a scoff

"an accident - So you're saying that it's fine for her to punch me ?" Raising her voice, she ragingly eyed him as her nostrils flare up, it was sickening.

Everything made her sick. Bradley taking up her bully's side.

"Y/n, listen to me-"

"Hell no, Bradshaw, you listen to me." She pointed at him, eyes hardening and narrowing them into slits.

"Are you hearing all this came out of you ? Are you even hearing yourself right now ? Did Jessica put a love potion on your drink ? You're crazy to think that I would make amends with the girl who ruined my reputation in high school, who ruined my chance into having a normal life in school just because my mother is absent from my life."

There was a pause

"She never brought up your father's death did she ?"

"Y/N-" he warned

"Don't you y/n me, answer." Her voice was harsh, demanding for him to answer her question, although it sounded weak on the last few words that she uttered.

He could see the brim of her eyes, collecting the tears that were trying so hard not to trickle down. He had never expected that he would be the cause of her tears.

"No" He whispered

"Exactly..." Y/n stepped back from her crush, heartbroken, angry, sad.

"There are hundreds of girls here,"

"and you had to pick her....out of all people ? Her ? The person that took my life away ?" She shouted, her breathing was faster than normal as a tears escaped her reddened eyes.

Bradley's heart ached seeing the tears that raced down her cheeks, his heart beaten faster, he didn't want to lose his best friend for a girl he likes.

But that's all that he'll ever see her as.

A friend.

He needed her to see that Jessica was a great person but she wasn't having any of it.

"We've been friends for more than ten years, Bradshaw"

The usage of his last name shot pain to him.

"I think that time is enough."

Her last few words felt like a house had been dropped in front of him, was she ending their friendship like this ? In bad terms ?

Y/n turned around to walk away from him, with her head hung low, her cried only became heavier but silently while walking away from him, she couldn't describe the feelings she was experiencing.

All mixed up into one, she hated it so much.

Bradshaw and Mitchell never spoke again after Y/n' s big meltdown in front of him, she was always seen alone, eating lunch alone. His heart would send him a pang whenever he glanced at her.

Her bright smile was gone, she was alone.

He never did approach her after what happened too, he thought that she hated him for what he did. He continued his relationship with Jessica, climbing up the social stairs, getting known for the "guy who had a well respected navy as a father before he died" person.

Until prom, where Y/n surprisingly became Jake Seresin's date.

Bradley Bradshaw's blood boiled, seeing her with Jake. He got her to go with him. While she was dressed so beautiful that made her unrecognisable to the public. The black glittery dress that touched the ground, wrapping her curves at the right places, the slit of her dress gave her beautiful thighs a beautiful sight for people to see.

Jake's hand were around her waist, his joke made her smile. It was a long time since she had not given out a smile like that. He was angry and jealous at how Jake was able to be so close to her, to make her smile.

It was supposed to be him.

But again he remembered, he chose Jessica Bowen over Y/N Mitchell.

'Dumbass' he murmured below his breath.

Jessica was nothing compared to Y/n. He might've lost her forever.

"He's looking again..."

"Is he now ?" Y/n took a sip from he cocktail as Jake whispered into her ears

"Tell me why we agreed on this again..."

"You want to piss off Bradshaw," He spoke while giving her another glass of drink

"and you- want to piss off Bowen"

"On a scale of one to ten, how cliche do you think this is ?" she asked

"Oh, this is a 'every high school prom' movie cliche" he answered, making her laugh that didn't go unnoticed by Bradley

"look, he's looking again, I think our plan is working"

"Dude, I think she's pissed off too." She eyed an angry Jessica who was glaring at her boyfriend for keeping his eyes on y/n.

"So, I heard you're applying for the navy huh ?" She changed the topic

"Yes ma'am I am." Jake gave her a wink, sipping his cocktail.

"That makes the two of us then"

"Three, actually" Jake Seresin corrected her

"Three ?"

"Heard Bradshaw's applying as well"

Right, she forgot about that. She was going to meet him again in the navy.

She wanted to escape from this feeling that she hated so much.

Y/n wanted to escape from love. She couldn't give anyone a good reason on why she still likes him. She felt pathetic, doing this for getting back at him.

It was an obvious success, but again, they didn't have any contact even after graduation. It was only during the navy application that she expected them to meet again and start over.

The news that he broke up with Jessica had spread over like wildfire, everyone had seen it coming, they were even taken by surprise to see that Bradley could stand to be around with someone like her.

Y/n expected him to talk to her during the application, but as Mitchell sat beside Jake, only a few greetings were exchanged. She shrugged it off, thinking that it's not gonna hurt waiting for him to interact with her during the navy training.

However that moment never came.

He went forward to her, stepping with so much rage that his face was boiling red.

"I know you hate me but you didn't have to go this far" He spat at her

"Bradley- what are you-" she was immediately taken aback by his actions.

"Don't you play dumb with me, Y/n. You know I've always wanted to join the navy. I didn't know you were this cruel" He squinted his eyes at her.

"What the hell are you talking about Bradley ?"

He tilted his head, anger increasing on his veins

"You're always like this, it suits you really, with your dumb personality, no wonder people didn't want to be with you during high school. No wonder Jessica ruined your life, it was the right thing to do."

She blinked twice, not believing the words that had just came out from his mouth. She wasn't aware that Bradley had summed up so many grudges against her. She had thought that it was her who was mad, she was confused why he was like this.

There was no reason at all for him to spew out those words to her. She didn't know he could be that harsh to her.

She could feel her heart getting torn, by mentioning Jessica again and high school.

Jake Seresin heard the whole conversation and immediately went in between them.

"That's enough, Bradshaw."

"Yeah, go run along with your little boyfriend, you Mitchells are always the same, using your significant others to solve problems, I guess the apple doesn't fall far away from the tree"

The next thing Bradshaw knew was a stinging pain on his left cheek, a hand mark slowly forming there, a result from her slap.

"I don't know what the hell is going on with you, but for you to bring my father's name into this is far out of the line, Bradshaw"

He was recollecting the words that he had just said to her. He felt like he was being too harsh but it was probably her who convinced Pete Mitchell to pull out his papers from the naval academy.

That was the last time Y/n and Bradley had seen each other before Top Gun, little did he knew that she had gone crazy at her father and Iceman because of Bradley's application.

When they met again, they didn't speak to each other during their basic manueuvre flight training. Even when she made all the efforts, he would avoid her like a virus.

"Lynx" and "Rooster" were never known to be friends in Top Gun. Hangman was always protective of her, he didn't want her friend to get hurt again. That was the reason why he despised Rooster so much.

Y/n and Jake had been friends ever since they went to the navy together, nothing romantic, they were each other's person.

But there was something in her that triggered a surge of emotion hearing the radio from her standby plane on the carrier.

"Dagger 1 and 2 has been hit, I repeat, dagger 1 and 2 is hit" Phoenix voice got to her ears.

Her heart pounded like a drum in her chest, fast and hot, her breathing quickened. She felt like she was on fire and she might spontaneously combust at any moment, like someone had set a slow and steady match beneath her center, deep in the pit of her stomach.

She can't lose her father and him at the same time ?

She can't.

The 30 minutes of the no contact between her dad and Rooster made the blood rushes to the tips of her fingers, the pulse coming in hot waves that cause everything else to pulse.

She was helpless, she couldn't do anything. Hangman and her weren't given any permission to fly and engage with the enemy. She looked at her surroundings before looking at her own reflection on the cockpit of her plane.

"Lynx"

The callsign she earned for her wild spirit.

What does that mean to be in the navy if there wasn't someone left to fight for ?

What if her dad was indeed dead ? What if Rooster died without reconciling with her ?

Her hands gripped on the yoke of the jet. Are they really dead ?

No.

They received a signal from Rooster indicating his location and that they're supersonic in an F-14. There wasn't anyone else who could fly the plane, other than the legend himself.

Pete "Maverick" Mitchell

Relief.

The feeling of relief washed her like waves.

"Dagger standby requesting to back up dagger one and two" Hangman immediately said

"Affirmative, Dagger standby one and two request to backup granted, prepare for immediate take off"

"Let's get them home, Lynx"

"Let's get them home, Hangman"

They arrived there in time, with the enemy's jet successfully avoiding Hangman's missile lock, she gave the enemy a surprise, missile locking them while speeding in front of the jet, immediately blowing up the plane.

Hangman teased them, giving them a message that was similar to a commercial plane announcement during landing. The three planes flew side by side, Y/n refusing to glance at the two men, being afraid that it'll affect her emotionally.

After landing the plane, it wasn't her that searched for him. It was him.

He spotted her with her helmet off, calling her name amidst the crowd.

"Lynx !" He yelled

"Lynx !" Rooster repeated

"Lieutenant Mitchell !" He attempted in calling her, yet her back is facing him, refusing to look at him, even when she knew that he was back safely.

She didn't want to embarrass her in front of him, even after he saw her crying a few times.

"Y/n !" He finally said, making her face look at him.

Her eyes red, a single tear that trickled down her face was enough to explain how she felt. She halted her steps, he looked at her from afar, softening his eyes once he saw how puffy her eyes were.

She gave him no smile, no frowns, no laughs. It was just her eyes that spoke every word that needed to be said.

"Y/n" He said again

There was this thing that he felt every time he saw her cry, it made him feel things he had never felt before and he doesn't like the feeling.

The guilt all these years, the words that he had said to her, she still remembered it all.

So he started running, before she disappeared from his sight, probably forever. He started to run, chasing the woman he had buried his feelings for so long. He started to run towards her, immediately taking her into a hug

"I'm sorry-"

There were no words spoken by her.

"I'm so sorry, Y/n"

"I'm sorry too, Bradley..." a tear fell, staining his fighter pilot suit, burying her head into his neck, her arms squeezed around his back, the feeling of safe and comfort greeting her.

His hug took her by surprise,

"No, I was being a dick, I said those words to you without knowing anything. You should never have heard those words from anyone"

He tightened his hug around her

"I thought I lost you, Rooster"

"I thought I lost you too, Lynx"

Being hugged by Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw felt as though the world didn't matter anymore, it was like a warm blanket where the two were welded as one entity.

Being hugged by Bradley is being hugged strong. Not strong enough to destroy her, but strong enough to let her know that nobody else will ever hurt her if I am around either. It was a promise that he will never break her again.

Bradley squeezes, not strong enough to physically break her, just strong enough so that every ounce of her is aware that every ounce of his body and emotion is dedicated to the task at hand. Strong enough for her to feel invincible and strong enough to make her feel grounded and loved by the universe for a few seconds of her life.

After everything she has been through, the hug was like everything they needed in life.

"I love you"

The words he let out was so out of the blue that she replied it with the same words,

"Rooster-"

"I love you, Lynx" He repeated

"I can't imagine my world without you in it."

"I love you, Rooster"

She said what she had been keeping to herself for years. She glances at his lips, before he tenderly cupped her cheeks, fondling it tenderly, the eye contact exchanged was as if there were only the two of them in the world.

So they closed the space between them. His lips warm and soft, he could taste the saltiness from her tears that cascaded her cheeks. He could feel the soft tickle of her breath beneath his nose, fingers carding through his hair as they breathed each other in.

Sparks igniting as their lips brushed together, tentatively, for the first time. The smell of her perfume, lingering, butterflies dancing in her stomach. But warmth consumed her as she leaned into the kiss, her lips impossibly soft against her own.

They pulled away, cheeks burning, relief that they got the chance to tell each other how they felt,

"I don't know what'd I'd do if I lost you," She pecked his lips again, this went noticed by her father

"This isn't what I mean of apologising to her you know"

"You hurt her again, I'll kill you in your sleep, Bradshaw"

She immediately went into her father's arms, his arms were welcoming, squeezing and caressing her back gently.

"I thought you were dead..."

"You didn't" He spoke while they were still hugging.

"Uncle Goose would've been so proud of you, dad."

"Uncle Goose would've been so proud of the two of you"

A/N : Hello @sadpetalsstuff and anonymous ! Thanks for the request, I hope you like this one <3

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greatbigshiningstar · 2 years

Text

everyone say "summer's pregnant!" [bradley bradshaw x oc!summer bradshaw]

summary: Bradley and Summer find out they're having a baby! Along with the excitement comes some fears and anxieties, but those are quickly set aside when the two get to the exciting part - telling their friends, family, and Summer's students about their next adventure!

warnings: Nothing too crazy. A brief mention of miscarriage. A couple of curse words.

author's note: My baby fever has skyrocketed these past few weeks, so what better way to cure it (besides actually having a baby) than to just write about it? shoutout to my favorite gal, ozzie (@flashyourgreeneyesatme) for giving me the best ideas for this piece. let’s just say that Baby Bradshaw would not be named after a Taylor Swift song if it weren’t for her ;)

Also, I have yet to have an actual child (definitely not happening for a while), but I do have a million little cousins that I’ve practically raised, so everything that I'm writing is just based on what I have witnessed and experienced with other family members.

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YES+

| |

pregnant

“Penny! Oh my god,” my honorary aunt hurries into my bathroom with a smile on her face as I hold the four positive tests up for her to see. “I’m pregnant!”

“Oh, Summer! This is so great. You’re gonna be a mom!”

I’m going to be a mom. I let the words sink in as Penny comes in for a hug. I don’t even know what to feel. I mean, Bradley and I weren’t necessarily trying to get pregnant right now, but we weren’t preventing it. And now, I’m actually pregnant. I have a baby inside me. I just can’t believe it. What is Bradley going to think?

“What are you thinking, sweet pea? Are you alright?”

I know Penny can tell that I’m a little shaken, so I’m completely honest with her.

“I don’t know, Pen. I mean, I’m just in shock. I didn’t even think that I could be pregnant until you brought it up earlier, and I don’t even know what to do now. I just, I don’t know,” I lean back against the counter and take a deep breath before continuing. “I mean, Bradley is gone so much, and he’s up for the Top Gun instructor position next month, and we’re looking for a new house, and I’m just barely getting into the routine of a new school year. And what if I’m not a good mom? What if Bradley is upset? We haven’t even been married for that long. But, Penny, oh my gosh, a baby! I’ve wanted to be a mom my whole life. We’ve talked about having kids, just further down the line, but we’re actually going to have a baby now. What do I do?”

At this point, I’m just rambling, unsure of what to do. And Penny, being the seasoned professional that she is, knows exactly what to do and say.

“Sweet pea, it’s going to be okay. I know it’s scary, but I promise that it will all work out. You’re going to be fine. You’ll find a house. Bradley will be there, every step of the way, and so will I. And if Pete and I have to pull some strings to get him that instructor job, we will, but from what I’ve heard, he’s already got it in the bag. Your students and classroom will be fine, too,” she rubs my arms sympathetically, and I’m already starting to calm down. “You guys are going to be the best parents and this baby is going to be SO loved, by you guys, me, Mav, Amelia, and the rest of the crew. I believe that with my whole heart. You can do this.”

“I can do this,” I repeat, more for my peace of mind than anything. “We can do this.”

“Exactly. Now, let’s go figure out how you’re going to tell Bradley. This is where the real fun begins!” I laugh at Penny’s antics, and follow her downstairs, after hiding the positive tests in one of my makeup bags.

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A few hours later, Bradley gets home from work, and my nerves skyrocket, however, I try my best to hide them as we go about our normal evening routine. We eat dinner and catch up as usual, and as soon as we sit down to do some house hunting, just as we have for the past few nights, I know that it’s time to tell him. I can’t hold it in any longer, so I pull up the house that I was looking at earlier.

“Look at this one I found earlier, B. I love it. I really think it would be perfect,” I say, passing him my iPad with the gorgeous home pulled up on Zillow. He swipes through the pictures, as I continue. “It’s got plenty of bedrooms, a big yard, and it’ll be ready for move-in within two months, which will give us plenty of time to get our nursery ready before July.”

He looks up at me, a confused look on his face as he pieces together what I just said.

“Nursery? Why do we need to get a nursery ready by July? Oh my god. Sunshine, are you, are you serious? Are you pregnant?” He sits up from his relaxed position on the couch.

“Surprise,” I responded tentatively, holding up the two pregnancy tests I had hidden in my sweatshirt pocket, as I’m still unsure of how he’ll react.

Bradley grabs them from my hand, staring at them in disbelief. He looks up at me, and as soon as our eyes meet, I know we’ll be okay. He leans over to me, pulling me onto his lap.

“Oh my gosh, Sunshine. We’re gonna have a baby. I’m going to be a dad. You’re going to be a mom.”

I look up at him and nod, tears threatening to spill out of my eyes. He’s looking off into the distance, a little hesitant, I might add, and I can tell something is wrong.

“Penny for your thoughts, B?”

“I’m so happy, Sunshine, but god, I’m so scared,” there are tears in his eyes now, too.

“I know, honey. I am too.”

“I just, with my job and everything. I can’t let the same thing that happened to me happen to our baby. I can’t just leave you two alone. I won’t put you through that. And what if I��m not a good dad? What if I mess up-”

I cut him off before his rambling can turn into something worse, knowing that this is exactly the same thought process that I went through with Penny earlier today.

“Honey, stop. It’s going to be okay. You are going to be an amazing dad. I know it. And your job is not going to stop you from that. I’m scared too, but we’ll get through it. We’re going to be okay.”

He just pulls me closer and kisses me, effectively silencing every worry and negative thought that was racing through our minds beforehand.

“How did this happen anyway?” he inquires as he leans away from the kiss.

“Bradley, you’re 28 years old. If you don’t know how babies are made, we’ve got some serious problems on our hands,” I laugh, thankful for the chance to lighten the mood a little bit.

“Oh shush, I definitely know how this happened. Trust me, I can’t forget that. I just meant, when did this happen? Do you know?”

“I’m thinking,” I pause to give him a quick peck on the lips before continuing. “It happened that weekend we went up to the cabin. I guess we just had impeccable timing.”

We both smiled, thinking back to my surprise weekend getaway that Bradley took me on.

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As the weeks went on, our little secret became hard to hide. We knew that we didn’t want to announce it until I was at least 12 weeks, but between morning sickness, food aversions, and me coincidentally being named DD every time we went out, I knew it was only a matter of time until some nosy friend found out. It’s exactly why we decided that tonight was the night. Everyone we loved - including Maverick, Penny, Amelia, Phoenix, Hangman, and the rest of the Dagger Squad - was supposed to be gathering at our house for a night of celebrations. The past few weeks have been filled with exciting news, from Bradley getting the instructor job, us getting ready to move into our new house, and Phoenix and Hangman getting engaged, so we knew that it was the perfect time to add a pregnancy announcement into the mix.

The night went off without a single hitch, and soon enough it was time for me and Bradley to execute our plan before everyone began to head home for the night.

“Hey, guys!” Bradley yelled at the group of people gathered inside our living room, all immersed in various different conversations. “Summer wants everyone to get together and take a picture together before you leave and we move out.”

Thankfully, my forcing everyone to take a group picture wasn’t completely out of the norm, so the group all stood up without any questions. They gathered into one big group as I propped up my phone against a vase, praying that no one would question why I was recording a video instead of using a self-timer. As soon as I hopped in the frame next to Bradley, I gave him a smile and a nod, and he then announced our little secret to our friends.

“Everyone say ‘Summer’s pregnant!”

A chorus of “Summer’s pregnant” began to ring out around us. It was clear that nobody (besides Penny) fully processed what they were saying until Phoenix screamed “Oh my god! Wait! What?”

Everyone turned to face me and Bradley, and shocked expressions were splayed across their faces. I just smiled back at them and nodded. Amelia was the first to break the silence.

“You’re having a baby?! I’m gonna be an aunt??”

Bradley gave her an affirmative nod, and she ran over to me, almost knocking me off my feet as she enveloped me in a tight squeeze, while the rest of the crew let out some cheers and shouts of congratulations. Penny and Maverick came over to join our hug and I felt positively wrapped in love, both physically and emotionally.

From my position of being surrounded by my honorary family members, I could see Hangman and Bob giving Rooster some rendition of an alpha male hug mixed with congratulatory high fives. They seemed excited, and I know that those two are going to be great uncles.

“I can’t believe Baby Goose is going to have an actual baby,” Maverick says, tears glistening in his eyes as we step away from the tightest group hug I have ever experienced. “I still remember the night Carole and Goose told me they were pregnant. It was about this time of year too, 29 years ago. Wow, I just can’t believe it.”

“I know, Mav, I’m still processing it myself! Ask Penny, I’m still freaking out every time we talk about it,” I nod my head toward Penny, who is laughing at the whole conversation.

“Wait, you knew already?!” Amelia chimes in, clearly upset that her mom didn’t spill the beans to her until now.

“Knew? I was the one who told her she was probably pregnant, and I bought the tests for her. It’s gonna be okay, Mills, don’t-”

I take this opportunity to step away from the group and walk over to where Phoenix is sitting on the couch. I’m just excited that my best friend finally knows the secret I’ve been keeping for a while.

“How far along are you? Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Are you finding out the gender?” she asks quickly, barely giving me a chance to comprehend each question before she spits out the next one.

“I’ll be 14 weeks on Sunday, I’m due in the beginning of July. Trust me, I wanted to tell you right away, but Bradley and I decided to keep it to ourselves for a little bit, just to make sure that I was in the clear, because my family has a history of miscarriages and complications. Of course we’re finding out the gender! I have an appointment in a couple weeks for an ultrasound, and we’ll probably find out then,” I explain to her, all with a smile on my face. She pulls me into a hug, which I gladly return.

“Oh, Summer. I’m so happy for you guys. You really are going to be the best parents.”

“And you are going to be the best aunt to this little bean ever. Although, I might have to get a bigger size in those bridesmaid dresses we talked about. I have a feeling I won’t be fitting in my usual size by the time April rolls around,” I reply with a laugh, which was quickly interrupted by Bradley and Jake.

The two men had decided that right then would be the perfect time to sit down on the couch beside us girls and wrap their arms around us, rendering ourselves useless and forcing us to stay put on the couch while they discussed all the things they’re planning on teaching our baby. I shot Phoenix a look. From that look, we both came to the agreement that there’s no way we were going to get out of this conversation anytime soon, meaning that the only way to beat them is to join them.

“All I’m saying is that if it’s a boy, I’m gonna teach him how to play football. I wasn’t the #1 quarterback in my entire county for nothing!”

“Jake, all I’m saying is that my kid is not going to play football. We know how all those concussions seriously jacked up your brain, and I am not putting my child through that. Besides, we’re a baseball family through and through, so no matter the gender, this kid’s gonna learn to throw a ball before they can even walk.”

Bradley fistpumped at my response to Hangman and kissed my temple. “That’s my girl.”

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Two months later, we were over halfway there to meeting our sweet baby girl, and my bump was getting harder and harder to hide by the day, which meant that it was time to tell my students the news. I knew that I needed to share the news with my girls, Emmie, Stella, and Julie first, or else I would never hear the end of it from them.

“Girls! Come over here, I’ve got something to tell you. Wait, actually before I tell you, you guys are some of the only people on campus besides admin who get to know this. I’m not announcing this to my classes until tomorrow, so keep it on the DL, alright?”

They all nod as Julie says, “Of course, Mrs. B, your secret is safe with us.”

“Okay good, are you ready?”

They nod, anticipating the news, even though all three of them already had a knowing smile across their faces.

“I’m pregnant!”

Thinking that they’d respond with some cheers or some other positive reaction, I'm a little surprised to just see them smile, as if this was some old gossip they’ve already heard.

“Oh, we know! We figured this out a while ago. We’re very excited for you, but we definitely knew already. ” Stella replied very matter of factly.

I breathe a sigh of relief, thankful that they finally know, while simultaneously looking at them confused as to how they’ve already known this. “Wait, what? How?”

Emmie jumps in. “Um, for one, you’re glowing. Two, you’ve been wearing baggier clothes lately and haven’t worn any of your usual dresses. Oh, and three, we may or may not have seen you looking at a Pinterest board that was so perfectly titled ‘Baby B’s Nursery’. You’re not as good at keeping secrets as you think you are, Mrs. Bradshaw, especially from us girls.”

“Well, dang. I guess I gotta work on hiding these things better. I applaud your great detective skills, ladies,” I reply with a laugh.

“It was all Emmie, that girl is good,” Julie replied, giving a smile to the girl on her left.

“You can thank Taylor Swift for that. It’s her fault I spend all my time deciphering her little easter eggs. Maybe I should become a detective.” We all laugh at her comment.

“Speaking of Taylor, if it’s a girl, can you please name her after our lord and savior?.”

“Okay, so, I actually am having a girl! We haven't fully decided on her name and want to wait until she’s born to officially name her, but I think we’re leaning towards naming her Caroline. Bradley’s mother was named Carole, and mine was named Catherine, so it’s a good combination of both. BUT here’s the thing, I may or may not have suggested two middle names that may or may not have some sort of relation to Taylor.”

These girls crack me up with their love for the singer, but I’d be damned if they doubted my love for her as well. I mean, I did go home and blast Enchanted for three days straight after I met Bradley, and I did find at least three different ways to incorporate Taylor Swift into my wedding day.

“Ha!”

“Shut up, did you really?! What are they? What does Lieutenant Bradshaw think of them?”

“I had suggested James or Drew, because I love the idea of using traditional boys' names for a girl, and because James was my dad's name. Bradley actually loves them, and I think we’ll probably use James as a middle name for sure.”

“Wait; I know how James relates, but what about Drew?” Emmie inquired, looking a little confused.

“Um, Drew looks at me, I fake a smile so he can’t see? Teardrops on my Guitar? Maybe you shouldn’t be a detective, Em. you should be ashamed of yourself,” Stella answered her friend with a very “Duh!” tone, which I couldn’t help but laugh at.

The rest of lunch was spent chatting about all the baby details, including how I found out, how I shared the news with everyone else, as well as other potential baby names (“I’m just saying, Emmie is a really great name for the baby!”).

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The last on my list of people to share the news with was the rest of my students, and I knew I needed to tell them, especially as the end of the school year and the start of my maternity leave neared. Since my girls and the majority of the staff at Westview found out the news today, I decided to just tell them the next day.

My 11th grade history classes were excited when I told them the news, but the real fun began when it came time to tell my 4th period government class. I’ve taught the majority of these students before, back when they were in my other history classes, and I even knew some of them from when I did my student teaching at the middle school they attended. I knew that they would have a little bigger of a reaction than my other classes, so my anticipation as killing me. As soon as they walked into class, I had a couple students notice that I was smiling more than usual, but I just kept my response simple and told them I had something to share with them.

As the bell rang and my class settled down, I walked to the front of them room, and greeted them as I normally do.

“Good morning, good morning! How are we doing today?” The majority of the class groaned, gave me a thumbs down, or said something along the lines of “I’m dying” or “I am physically unwell” and to that, I just nodded understandably. “Well, okay then. Sorry to hear that you all are dying. Should I call an ambulance? Maybe LifeAlert?” This got a couple laughs from my students.

“Okay, so, before we get started on today’s lecture, I have some news to share with you and a couple things to talk about pertaining the rest of the school year.”

“Are finals cancelled? Are we done learning things for the year? Please tell me it’s something good!” one of the boys, AJ, called out from his seat in the back of the room.

“Um, no. Unfortunately, you guys still have to take your final, but the announcement does have a little something to do with when you’ll be taking it. So, since you guys are seniors, you’ll be taking the rest of your finals two weeks earlier than the rest of the school, but for my class, I’m going to be having you take your final a week before that,” I explained, looking around my students before continuing. “This is because I won’t be here during the last two weeks of school, as I’ll be leaving-”

I’m cut off before I can continue. “Wait, are you leaving us? You’re really gonna ditch us?”

“No, no. I’m not ditching you guys. Well, actually, I kind of am. I will be starting my maternity leave then.”

“Hold up, Mrs. B. You’re pregnant?” Jeremiah called out.

The rest of the class erupted into a cacophony of noises, ranging from gasps to shouts of excitement to even one student yelling out “You’re growing a whole ass child inside you?”, all of which I couldn’t help but laugh at.

“Hey, watch your language, buddy. But, yes. I am growing a ‘whole child inside of me’, one that will be arriving in the beginning of July.” I instinctively reach for my ever-growing belly, as I continue to explain the situation to my students. “So, because of this whole child inside of me, I have to use a little bit of my maternity leave before school ends, which means you have to take your final for this class early, just so I can have it all graded and finalized before I leave. As much as I hate to make you do that, and for me to have to miss out on all the end of the year activities, I’m required to take at least a little bit of my maternity leave or else I can get in some trouble,” I explain with a laugh.

Even though I shared the news with the girls yesterday, I can tell that they didn’t really think it through, as evident by Stella asking nervously, “Does this mean that you won’t be at graduation?” She seemed hesitant to ask, and I could tell that her worries were rising.

“I might be on maternity leave but that doesn’t mean I’m banned from attending. I will be there, I promise. I would not miss your graduation for the life of me,” I explain, hoping to ease her nerves. The rest of the class sighed in relief.

“Alrighty, now that you all know the news, does anyone have any questions before we move onto today’s lecture?” I ask, hoping to change the subject. When no one raised their hands or shouted out, I took that as my opportunity to move on with class. “Okay, if you guys have any questions about your final or anything, you know where to find me. For now, let’s get started. We’re going to continue taking a look at some of the landmark Supreme Court decisions, so pull out your guided notes from yesterday.”

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That night, after Bradley and I got home and ate some dinner, we sat down on the couch to continue our nightly tradition of watching a couple episodes of our latest tv show.

Snuggling into his side, I looked up him and whispered, “I can’t wait until she’s here.”

He rubbed his hand over my stomach as he kissed the top of my head. “I just can’t wait until I can sit and snuggle with both of my girls. I love you both, so much.”

“We love you too, B.”

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my sweet tag list. thanks for your support, friends!

@flashyourgreeneyesatme @destinywyatt @admin-in-residence @lizzieann143 @herladyshipxx @straightforwardly @lunamoonbby @honey-dew-woo @ratcatcher2world @edgypickles @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @mads-weasley

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sometimesanalice · 1 year

Text

Give Me Your Hand {Here Is My Heart}

Summary: You’ve spent a lot of time thinking about what it would be like to be in Bradley Bradshaw’s bed, and now you finally get to find out. (Spoiler: It’s even better than you could have ever imagined.)

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Length: 8K+

Warnings: so much smut with a side of fluff (Minors DNI)

(This is a 2-Part series for the “Like I Can” Universe. However, it can be read on its own!) Read Part 1 here!

“Well, are you coming?”

You are two lace trimmed bits of cotton away from being naked, and you can feel his heated gaze traveling over your body as you walk towards his stairs with a teasing sway of your hips.

If you had known you were going to end your night shimmying down your little red dress in front of Bradley, you might have tried to wear something a bit more underneath it, just for him.

But there was no missing the intensity and the desire that was in his eyes as he had watched you strip before him. It was more than clear that liked what he saw.

The appreciative way Bradley was looking at you made your everyday underwear feel sexier than La Perla ever could.

You don’t get very far before your whole world tilts as you’re lifted off the ground and tossed over his broad shoulder.

“Oh my god, Bradley! Warn a girl.” The sound coming out of you part gasp, part laugh.

“Heads up, kid.” There is no missing the smug smile in his voice, as he grips you a little tighter.

You’re dangling behind him trying to support yourself on his lower back, a useless endeavor since every step he takes up the stairs only serves to make you lose your grasp.

“Are you sure you got a strong enough hold on my ass there, Bradshaw?” you complain flippantly.

You wiggle a little trying to alleviate some of the pressure on your stomach.

“Stop trying to distract me,” he grunts, digging his fingertips further into the fleshy muscle in a way you didn’t mind at all. “I’m carrying some precious cargo.”

He tops off the end of his sentence with a light swat of his hand on your other cheek like he would a cherry on a sundae. And you have to bite your lip to keep from making the noise that was trying to crawl it’s way out of your throat, one that would give away just how much you liked his strong hands on your ass.

Bradley stops at the first door on the left and bends a little as he eases you off his shoulder. You lean back against the wall watching self-indulgently as he straightens up in front of you.

There is nothing subtle about Bradley Bradshaw. Not the commanding way he enters a room. Not the force of his energetic smile. Not the powerful build of his body. And definitely not the way he is checking you out.

It’s your first time being up here, there’s never been a reason to come upstairs before. You can’t help but wonder if the spaces here have the same sense of functional practicality as his downstairs does. Everything has a purpose, but nothing has much of a personality.

And Bradley has the best personality.

Maybe if you ask nicely he will let you help him pick out some things to make his place feel more like a home. More like him.

Reaching out you thread a finger through one of his belt loops and tug him closer to you. Bradley grins as he comes to crowd you against the wall before leaning in to kiss you, his warm hands coming up to frame your face.

For the other men you’ve dated in the past, kissing was a means to an end. A mandatory part of foreplay to perform in order to speed things along. But with Bradley, he kisses you with a type of single-minded determinedness that always sends your heart racing.

He has never been the type to do anything half-heartedly. Kissing is the agenda. It is the main course. He is happy to take his time to savor the taste and feel of you. He’s not thinking about how quickly he can move on to the next thing. He kisses you like he couldn’t dream of doing anything else.

You have never felt so entirely treasured in your life as you do right now outside of his bedroom in his arms.

It’s hard to fight back the smile that makes it impossible for him to keep his lips on yours, and when he pulls back the look on his face is nothing short than pure fondness.

“I’m excited to have you like this,” you admit to him, soft and sure.

It would be a new first, a new moment, a new memory. His and yours alone.

“Yeah?” he asks with a gentle smile quirked to one side. “I am too.” He settles his hands on your hips, his thumbs skimming over the skin at right above the waistband of your panties. “We go at your speed, sweet girl. As much or as little as you want. Whatever you want is what I want too.”

“And if I want everything?”

“Then I’ll give you everything,” he promises, pulling you close to get his mouth on yours again. You could taste the unspoken always in his kiss.

There was still a small part of you that was nervous about what feelings could come up in the after, the worry that bittersweet what-ifs could color all of your perfect memories with him. But you were done with not letting yourself have everything you want with him.

And with one more indulgent kiss to his lips, you take his hand and lead the way into his bedroom.

Bradley lingers near the door as he watches you take in his bedroom. One could call it snooping, but he knew you’d have some other smart-assed term for it.

He had been able to tell that something was on your mind for a while. And the last thing he wanted to do was put pressure on this new thing between the two of you by making you talk about it before you were ready.

You had always been in his life, but when you moved to San Diego after living separate lives for over fifteen years, he couldn’t deny that it felt different being around you again. In a good way, in the best way.

And those terrible dates you went on had made him come to terms with his feelings much earlier than you. Bradley knew exactly what he wanted with you, and he would give you all the time you needed to get there too.

He is amused, but not surprised, when the first thing you do is go to investigate is his bookshelf. Your fingers skimming the spines as you read over the titles.

It’s mainly a collection of NATOPS manuals he’s memorized inside and out from the aircrafts he’s been trained to use and other technical handbooks, along with his old collection of the Hardy Boys, a few political biographies and mystery novels he hasn’t had the chance to read yet.

He had felt like such an idiot when he made that joke about sleeping with the enemy in your car on the way to the surprise movie date you had planned for him. He hadn’t missed the way your body had tensed up. Or how you would always pull back and stumble over some flimsy reason why you had to call it a night when things would get on the exciting side of too heated or too physical.

He knew that you would come around to telling him what was holding you back on your own time, he just didn’t expect it to be after you had come in his lap from rubbing yourself on him in that sinful dress of yours.

The one that taunted and tempted him from the second he had opened his door that night. The one now a heap somewhere on the floor of his living room.

“So why do men love bitches, Bradley?” The question shakes him from his musings.

You turn to him with a mischievous smile painted on your pretty face as you gleefully show off the book that he had completely forgotten about like you have hit the jackpot.

“How do I still have that?” He huffs a laugh crossing towards you, leaning on hip on his desk to get a closer look. “Nat give it to me after I broke up with my ex a few years ago, they never got along. She even drew some red flags on the paper she wrapped it in when she gave it to me.”

“Ah, that explains the inscription. ‘Know the playbook, so you don’t get played again.’” you read with a snort. “For what it’s worth, I never liked Paige either. She was always seemed like such a shit-stirrer. Good thing you came to your senses. He’s pretty and smart, folks.” You send him a playful little wink before you go back to your investigation of his room.

It’s not even a contest, you are his absolute favorite person in this world.

And you look so perfect, so real in your nude bra and white panties in his bedroom. He likes that this wasn’t planned, that he gets to have you so authentically. He wants you just as you are.

Rubbing the back of his neck, he can’t help but wonder a little self-consciously what his space must look like to you through your eyes as you wander around.

His room is a mismatched collection of furniture that people have passed along to him over the years. Stuff that others didn’t need or that they upgraded from to something newer and better. Everything else that wasn’t donated to him were easily assembled things from IKEA.

He didn’t mind it in here, but he’s also never particularly liked it. It’s always just been a place to sleep.

He has his sturdy wood bed frame against one wall, it creaks sometimes when he turns over but he that’s what he got for putting it together after a few of beers. There is large print hung above it so the wall wasn’t totally bare. Next to his bookcase was a desk and small filing cabinet. He has a spare room in his condo that he has been meaning to turn into an office, but this set up was familiar to him after so many years of living in the barracks.

But if you were going to be here with him, Bradley wanted you to be comfortable in his home. Maybe he could find a few new things for the room to make it nicer, cozier for you with stuff that wasn’t other peoples’ cast offs.

There was only one nightstand for fuck’s sake, which is where he watches you linger in front of now.

“Wait, Bradley. Is this…” you trail off, picking up the framed sheet music from his nightstand. Your finger traces over the upper righthand corner in the exact spot where he knows three vibrant blazing fireballs decorate the page.

Hand-drawn by a ten-year-old you.

They were overly cartoonish in the way that most kids’ drawings were at that age. But it was obvious you had spent time on it for him by the way the reds, oranges, and yellows of your colored penciled artwork had been perfectly blended.

“Yeah.” He has to clear his throat, “Yeah, it is.”

“I can’t believe you still have this,” you say quietly.

You had given him the book of sheet music that included his favorite crowd-pleasing song to play on the piano for his twelfth birthday. He had had the notes memorized for almost a decade before he had put it in a frame, he had wanted to have this reminder of home with him instead of sitting in a box somewhere.

Other than the mounted toy fighter jet his mom had given him, it was the only thing that he had always taken with him as he moved around the world from base to base.

He thought he had seen every expression that’s ever crossed your face, but you have never looked at him like quite like this before. Your face is filled with such tenderness and something he can’t quite put his finger on.

“Well, you know what Marie Kondo says about things that sparks joy,” he jokes light-heartedly, trying to find his footing again.

“Is there anything else in here that sparks joy in here?” You put the frame back down, observing him with your head tilted to the side as you sat on his bed and leaned back on your hands. It did amazing things to your chest.

“I can think of one or two things,” he says, playing along. You look so perfect in his bed, it was going to feel too big without you in it now.

“Are you going to come join me? Or do you just want to keep on checking out my breasts from over there?” you ask teasingly, pushing yourself back further on top of his bed. Your feet are resting on the edge, knees knocked together swaying enticingly from side to side.

You are easily the prettiest thing in his room.

Bradley takes his time as he saunters over to come join you at the bed. But when he comes to stand at the edge of the mattress, you stop him with a dainty foot to his chest.

“That’s bold of you to assume you this is a clothing permitted establishment,” you say popping up onto your elbows, applying a bit more force to where you’re pressing into him.

“Is that so?” he hums. Wrapping his hand around your ankle, he lets his thumb circle over the rounded joint there. “You know you’re in my room, in my bed, right?”

“Mm-hmm. I’m very aware. I like how it smells like you in here.” He watches as your hand makes indistinguishable shapes on the top of his linen duvet, “I’ve got to say, I’m pretty sure I’ve the best view in the house right now.”

He rakes his eyes over your figure, “Hm, think we’ll have to agree to disagree on that one.”

“You might be right,” you tell him cheekily, “My view could be so much better if you’d take some clothes off.”

“You sayin’ you want a show, kid?”

“I wouldn’t say no to one, if you are offering,” you say stretching like a satisfied cat. And there are those dimples of yours. If only you knew how just how gone he was for them.

“I can give you a show.” His voice is whiskey smooth as he squeezes your ankle.

Bradley holds your hot, greedy gaze as he removes his watch and sets it down on the nightstand. The way he undoes the buttons on his shirt could almost be called lazy if it weren’t for the purposeful way he watched your every shallow breath, as he listened to your unsteady exhales.

He has to tap on your foot to remind you to lift it off of his chest so that he can take his shirt off. You rest that foot high on his thigh instead, dangerously close to his quickly hardening cock. And then he is tugging his shirt off and tossing it somewhere behind him.

The fabric of his comforter is clenched tight beneath your fists.

Reaching behind his neck he grasps the collar of his tank, pulling it over his head in one smooth motion making sure that his biceps and abs are flexed for your benefit. If you wanted something to look at, he was going to give you an eyeful.

He lets out a satisfied sound as lets his hand indulgently, leisurely trail down his chest, down his abdomen as he watches you steadily. There is no reason for him to hold back his proud smirk when sees the way your lips part as he reaches the top of his jeans.

“How am I doing?” he drawls knowingly.

Your eyes are glued to his hand as he languidly unbuckles his belt.

“Good. Yeah, very good.” He sees the way you swallow hard as he begins to pull it out from his belt loops. The thick tension building between the two of you has his pulse pounding.

He likes the desire he sees reflected in your eyes as you take him in, “I’d leave you at least four-stars on Yelp.”

Bradley lets his belt fall to the floor, it lands with a satisfying clunk. Your eyes fly to his at the sound.

“Mm, only four-stars? Such a tough critic,” he muses lightly as he casually runs his finger up and down your calf. “What’s a guy gotta do to get five?”

You’re devouring him with your eyes and he wants to take over the way you’re nibbling on your lower lip with his teeth. “Drop the denim, Bradshaw.”

“You’re right, it’s only fair,” he concedes, admiring the way your nipples are raised against the cups of your bra. He teases a finger under the black elastic band that is peeking out from over the top of his favorite jeans, “I’m telling you now that what’s under these isn’t anywhere as pretty as what you’ve got on.”

“I think I’ll be the judge of that, thank you very much,” you say as primly as possible given how affected you are, pressing your foot harder into the muscle of his thigh. “Plus, I think you’re plenty pretty.”

God, he loves that he gets to have you like this.

That even when you’re both half naked and riled up you can still banter with each other. That he can still make you smile and you can still make him laugh all while the undercurrent of need pulses around you.

“Bradley, come on.” The hint of whine that accompanies the way you say his name goes straight to his cock. He wouldn’t mind hearing you beg sweetly for him sometime, but not tonight.

He was going to give you whatever you wanted.

“Patience, sweet girl. I’m putting on a show here, remember?” he tells you with a playful grin as he bends over your body to kiss you deeply. Your legs part for him and come up to hug his hips. When he pulls away after a few moments you move to sit up, chasing the feeling of his mouth on yours. But he puts a hand to your sternum pressing you back down onto his bed with his fingertips before standing up to his full height above you.

The silence in the room is deafening as he unbuttons the top of his jeans. And then he is slowly pulling his zipper down for you.

Your heart is hammering as Bradley peels off those form-fitting jeans of his strong legs.

His body is a work of art. You could stare for hours and still find something new to admire. From the rounded definition of his shoulders, the smattering of chest hair between his full pectorals, the ridges and valleys of his abs, to the v-shaped muscles that lead your eyes directly to the outline of his hard, thick cock that you’re getting an up-close look at for the first time.

It looks as good as the rest of him does.

“Good god,” you groan, covering your eyes. “Honestly, Bradley?” The sound of his deep, warm chuckle has you pulling your hands away from your face, he is clearly amused by your reaction. “Be serious with me right now, that is totally how you got your callsign, isn’t it?” Gesturing to his sizable cock with a wave of your hand.

“I’ve told you that story before,” he tells you as he climbs on the bed and settles next to you.

“You’ve told me a story, but I’ve never believed it.” You turn on your side to fully face him, throwing one of your legs over him as nonchalantly as possible, as if it was totally normal to be half-naked in his bed with him. “‘I was just the only morning person on my squad’,” you say lowering your voice mimic his, “I don’t buy it. Not to mention, Natasha always made a face whenever you told that version to someone who was flirting with you.”

“Fine, you really wanna know?” he asks as he squeezes your hip. His cheeks are already lightly flushed, and now you’re downright giddy about this new development. It’s not often you get to see him so bashful around you.

“I knew you were withholding important information from me, Rooster,” you trill.

He grunts something unintelligible before he has you gasping when he grips your thigh and rolls over, pinning you underneath him.

And oh. You like the feel of him pressed against you.

There is something comforting about the weight of his hard, sunkissed body as he relaxes more fully on you. It wasn’t like you didn’t know he was built but the sheer sturdiness of him and how he fits with you like this is so good it’s dizzying.

He really is so handsome. With his face this close to yours, you can see every shade of brown in his pretty eyes. You bring a hand up to his face, letting your fingers brush over the coarse hairs of his mustache.

“Don’t think that just because you manhandled me, that you’re off the hook here. I’m not so easily distracted.” It’s a lie, but you think you pull it off well.

“Ok, ok,” he relents, kissing your fingertips then guiding your hand around to the base of his neck. “There are usually two versions of the story that pilots will tell, the one that makes them look good and the one that actually happened. But most pilots get their callsign from doing something stupid or screwing something up.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” you say with a teasing grin. “Which category do you fall in?”

“Believe it or not, both,” he admits ruefully. A small boyish smile on his face.

“Oh, I believe it,” you beamed.

“So,” he continues, with a fond shake of his head, “There was a girl I used to hook up with in my squadron. We had a friends with benefits type thing for a while when we were first deployed.” That made you scrunch you nose, he chuckles leaning in to kiss your cheek. “But she was always, uh, loud. Especially when I would go down on her.” He says that last part in a rush, almost like he is trying to gloss over it.

It wasn’t a secret to you that Bradley had gotten around, you had heard the whispers when you visited him at UVA and in the bathroom at the Hard Deck when you had first moved here. And it wasn’t like you had been sitting on your couch knitting like some Jane Austen spinster, you have had your fun too.

“Mmm-hmm.” You stroke his leg with your foot encouraging him to continue.

He is entirely adorable in the way he full-blown blushing now as he tries so hard not to fidget, even as his fingers idly play with the strap of your bra.

“We were fooling around early one morning after she has stayed over. Which I am sure you can guess, that kind of socializing was very much frowned upon,” he allows with a sheepish dip of his head. “As it turned out, one of the Petty Officers decided to do a surprise barracks inspection that morning. And, uh, well, we didn’t hear his arrival and the announcement or any of the noise in the hallway-”

“Because you’re good with your mouth,” you gleefully interject.

“You said it not me, kid,” he says nudging your cheek with his nose. You are grinning so wide now because he is getting so flustered as his story goes on. “So fast forward to us getting caught in the act. They let her run back to her own barrack, but I had to stand there at attention for the whole inspection in my boxer briefs with a hard-on.

The mental image of that was equal parts amusing and appealing, especially after the show he just gave you.

“And since my clothes were still on the ground from the night before, I got an auto-fail for having gear adrift. They even called in some of the guys from my unit to double check the inspection results and make an example out of my, um, indiscretion. After that, well, Rooster stuck.”

“I knew it!” you hoot before bursting into a fit of laughter. “I knew there had to be an X-rated reason, you dirty bird. Oh my god, Bradley! No wonder why Nat can’t keep a straight face.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he chuckles good-naturedly, his eyes crinkling in the corner. “There you have it, that’s the whole story. And just so you know, it is literally on the record that I was an early riser when I got written up for it. So technically that part is true.”

“In more ways than one,” you titter with a lewd wiggle of your eyebrows.

He looks up to the ceiling and groans, “How long are you going to tease me about this, kid?”

You make a big show about doing the math in your head until he nips at your collarbone.

“Probably for as long as you’ve had your callsign, I’ve got a few years to catch up on. It’s only fair since you lied to me, your best friend, for so long. I’m wounded,” you lament unconvincingly.

“I had an image as a responsible adult to maintain.” That makes you snort as you wrap both of your arms around his neck pulling him closer to you.

You half-heartedly roll your eyes, “I’m only two years younger than you.”

“Mm, that makes you the baby here,” he hums against your neck. “Wasn’t gonna give you the full version back then, not when you had such impressionable ears.”

His body is so warm, so solid against yours. And his thigh is pressing into the center of you. You’re surprised how quickly he can go from making you laugh to making you squirm.

“You know what I don’t get?” you muse tugging on his curls.

He runs mustache along your neck, “Enlighten me.”

“Why would they punish you when they could have just made you pose for the cover of a Navy pamphlet? Seems a little shortsighted, if you ask me,” you quip, a bit breathlessly. “I mean, they’d be turning down new recruits left and right. Everyone would be so inspired to serve their country. Propaganda with a side of eye candy.”

Bradley pinches your waist, making you yelp and rock against him. He sucks in a sharp breath at the contact. The mood shifting instantly from playful into something else entirely.

“You like what you see, huh?” He shifts his weight into his arms, lifting up a bit. Not only do you have a stellar view of his abs now, but also of his defined biceps by your head.

“Are you fishing for compliments, Rooster?” You glide your fingers along the crests of his ribs.

“I don’t mind getting my ego stroked every now and then.”

“What about other things?” you murmur, sliding your hand in between your bodies to grasp him through his boxer briefs.

He groans your name before claiming your mouth for a hot kiss.

“Come on, Bradley. I want the full experience,” you pant against his lips, “I heard how the girls talked about you.”

“I’ve learned a few more things since then,” he rasps, grinding himself more fully against you.

“Good, I’d hope so. Now, show me.”

Show me. Show me. Show me.

He can’t keep his mouth or hands in one place for too long. He wants to taste you everywhere. He wants to touch you everywhere.

You are looking at him with such open want. Your pupils blown wide, your lips kiss-swollen. He was unprepared for just how perfect your body would feel under his. You’re so beautiful spread out before him on his bed. Green might be his favorite color on you, he was biased, but you looked stunning pillowed against his navy duvet.

He had told you he’d give you anything you wanted and he meant it. If you wanted the full experience then he was going to give you the best damn time of your life.

Bradley licks his lips before lowering his head back down for a kiss, moaning at the slide of your wet, soft lips against his. He loves the sound your needy whine as you cant your hips against him.

You tilt your neck to the side giving him more room to get his mouth on the delicate column of your throat. The smell of your perfume and shampoo makes his blood thrum in his veins. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this desperate for someone in his life as he is for you.

He slips his hand around your ribcage and under you, groaning when your breasts rub against his chest as you arch into him. He runs his fingers along the band of your bra feeling for the little clasps that are preventing you from being bared before him.

After the third pass he makes, you pull away from his mouth with a little grin, “Bradley, it’s a front clasp”. Taking pity on him you guide his hand to the shiny little closure resting in the valley between your breasts.

He chuckles self-deprecatingly toying with it for a second before asking, “You mean to tell me this is both pretty and functional?”

Your giggle turns into a whimper when he flicks it open and pulls it off of you. Tossing it somewhere to be discovered later.

And then his is finally, finally getting to see you in the way he’s spent many nights with his hand wrapped around his cock imagining.

“How are you so soft everywhere?” he murmurs tracing a finger down your bare sternum. He rubs his mustache over the sensitive tips of your pebbled nipples before claiming one with his mouth.

Your hands fly to his hair as he sucks and teases this newly uncovered part of you. He moans as you start grinding against him in earnest before switching over to the other, his hand coming up to cup and squeeze the taut bud that was wet and shiny from his mouth.

The sounds you are making are nothing like he has ever heard from you before. And he can’t wait to spend hours with your body learning all the things that make you whimper and whine and sigh.

With one more flick of his tongue against your nipple, he trails hungry kisses down your neck. He stops once to admire the little freckle high on your right ribcage before continuing his way down your body. He likes how easily your legs fall open for him as he settles himself at the center of you. At how much trust you are handing over to him.

“You still doing good, sweet girl?” he asks into the crease of your thigh.

“So, so good,” you exhale roughly. One of your hands is skimming along the skin of his shoulders, your delicate finger stroking over the scar there. “Five-stars, Bradley. Easily.”

“Mm, you sure I deserve that? Haven’t done anything to earn it,” he hums, teasing kisses along the lace edge of your white panties. “Haven’t even made you come yet.”

“Bradley.”

“Can I take these off and make you come with my mouth?” He slides a finger under the elastic band. “Can I earn that five-stars?”

“Yes, yes,” you nod rapidly, “I want that.”

Bradley slides his thumbs under the sides of your perfectly practical panties and starts to pull the last of your clothing off. He’s dreamt about you naked and on display for him, he is eager to discover every freckle, every mole, every scar on you.

You are almost revealed to him when he stops. His eyes snag on a spot on the inside of your right hipbone. A tattoo.

The tattoo.

He remembers the night at the Hard Deck when he had learned about its existence with picture perfect clarity.

Fanboy had been showing off the fresh ink on his forearm for the full sleeve he was in the process of getting, which had then turned into display of skin as his friends pulled up and rolled up their clothes to share their own. It was probably for the best that he had an aversion to needles or else he probably could have ended up with some misspelled Latin phrase like Payback had along his forearm.

Just as Hangman had finished tugging his shirt back down, he had turned towards you at the tall stool you were sitting on and asked, “What about you, darlin’? Anything to share with the class?”

There was gleam in his eye that Bradley had not appreciated in the slightest. Especially since he had made it perfectly clear that his best friend was off limits to the group of cocky aviators.

You had only relocated to San Diego a couple of months ago, and he hadn’t realized how much he had missed living in the same area as you. And you were already fitting in with everyone like you’d been there for years.

“Yeah, I’ve got one,” you shrugged taking a sip of your drink while he nearly choked on his.

“What? No, you don’t,” he asserted as he elbowed Hangman out of the spot he was leaning on next to you.

“Uh, yeah, I definitely do.”

He didn’t get why you were looking at him like he had a second head. You were his best friend, that’s something that definitely would have come up in conversation at some point if you did have one. Right?

“I’ve never seen one on you,” he’d said adamantly.

He eyes quickly traveled over your body, you were in some laidback loose-fitting jeans with rips in them and a creamy colored knit tank top, as he looked for any hint of ink on your skin.

“Well, you wouldn’t,” you said like the reason should be completely obvious to him.

You kicked out at him in annoyance. He caught your foot easily with his hand, and gave it a quick, sharp tug in warning. Smirking at you when you gasped and scrambled to hold onto the stool, “What does that mean?”

“It means it’s not for the viewing public, Rooster,” you huffed at him.

“Sounds like there’s a story here,” Nat interrupted, looking on with keen eyes.

Yanking your leg out of his hand, you went on to tell the story about how you had gotten it done one drunken night at a house party your junior year of college. A “silly, girly thing” was all you’d had to say about it.

“Sounds like you’re lucky you didn’t get hepatitis or a staph infection,” he grumbled. You took the beer out of his hand in retribution and claimed it as your own, while throwing him the middle finger as you took a swig. And he’d let you.

“If it makes you feel better, bird boy, the guy who gave it to me now works at a pretty popular tattoo shop in New York.”

It hadn’t and he never forgot about it.

There had been more than one occasion where he had caught himself looking at you a bit too closely in a swimsuit from behind his aviators at the beach trying to get a glimpse of it.

And now he finally knew.

His fingertips are drawn to the fine, dainty lines of the ink on your skin. The pair of delicate butterflies were placed discreetly on your lower pelvis. One looked like it was in mid-flight with its wings spread wide, while the other was waiting to take off and join it.

“These are pretty, they suit you,” he murmurs leaning in to touch his lips to them. “Definitely not for the viewing public.”

“Just you, Bradley,” you agreed, setting your hands on top of his where on your hips. And together you both work off that last bit of fabric off your body.

“God, you’re so beautiful. I don’t know how I got so lucky, sweet girl.” He kisses your pretty tattoo once more, then the spot below your bellybutton, the top of your pubic bone.

“You said you’d give me your mouth,” you whisper eagerly, your fingers carding through his hair. He loves the way your nails felt against his scalp.

“Whatever you want.” A reminder of the promise he had made to you in the hallway, before he even had you in his bed.

He inches himself even closer to your body, getting one of your legs over his shoulder, opening you to his hungry eyes. This part of you, just like your butterflies, was for his eyes and fingers and mouth alone.

He parts you with his tongue enjoying your little whimper and gives you a couple slow licks as he gets acquainted with your taste. He wants to savor you like a fine wine, to identify all the individual notes that made up the essence of you.

You’re already so wet for him.

And then he is exploring your pretty pussy with unrestrained enthusiasm. Using his tongue and lips to get you squirming before introducing his fingers. Your moans are better than any kind of music as he starts rubbing your clit with gentle precision.

His chest fills with smoky coils of masculine satisfaction as you prop yourself onto your elbows to get a better look at him as he works you with mouth. He holds your intense gaze when he slips one of his fingers inside the silky center of you.

Bradley can feel his heart beating in his throat as he watches your jaw drops in pleasure as you start to lose yourself to his mouth, “Tell me what you like.”

You’re so responsive to his touch. Your knee is trembling on his shoulder as he tries out long, smooth strokes and short, curling thrusts of his fingers determined to learn what makes your toes curl.

“I’ve never—,” you start before stopping, shaking your head.

“Never what, sweet girl?” he repeats, patiently looking up at you from between your legs. He is still circling your clit with his thumb as you work to find your words.

“I’ve never been able to come this way,” you confess like it’s something you’re embarrassed about. “But it feels really good. I just don’t want you to think I’m not enjoying this with you when I can’t get there.”

The burst of red-hot irritation that hits him like truck for all the men who have failed you in the past makes his jaw clench. Men who would prioritize their pleasure over yours.

He knows he is capable of getting you there. He wants to show you, to prove to you just exactly how capable he is about giving you the pleasure you deserve. It’s what he would give you every single time.

“Can I try?” Bradley waits until you nod your head yes, still propped up watching him. He places a kiss to your inner thigh in thanks for trusting him with this. “Tell me what makes you feel good,” he coaxes, “Tell me what you need from me.”

He’s tempted to suck hard enough to leave an indelible mark at the delicate skin of your perfect thigh. He wants you think about being back in his bed with him, when you’re at your apartment in your own bed. He just nips at the spot instead, before kissing it again.

“Can I give you another finger?” he asks.

“Please.” You whimper when runs his thumbnail across your clit before he gives you another one of his fingers.

“So polite,” he teases as he gets his mouth back on you. “I’ll give it to you right.” You clench against his fingers as they sweep against your front wall.

He is so hard, but all he can think about is how good you feel under his hands, under his mouth.

He is watching your face for every expression. He wants to know which motion of his fingers makes your breath catch in your throat. He wants to know what kind of touch makes your eyebrow pinch together and gasp.

Yes. There. More. Just like that.

It doesn’t take him long to get you writhing and keening for him as explores your body as you tell him exactly what you like.

“That, Bradley, that. Don’t stop, please.”

Your pupils are blown wide as you watch him tease his tongue against your clit with a pressure so gentle it makes your whole body shiver. He moans his contentment against your slick-shined center when you reach out to cup his jaw and stroke his cheek with your hand when he finds that spongey spot inside of you.

Your head falls back and you convulse spectacularly as you come with his tongue on you and his fingers in you.

“That’s it, that’s my girl,” he praises low and rough, “So fucking pretty when you come.”

Bradley hopes you can feel his grin against the soft skin of your thigh.

He lets you bask in the warm glow of your orgasm, all while his thumb keeps making the softest of circles against you, “Think you can do it again?”

Your heart is still beating erratically in your chest as you attempt to come down from your orgasm. You still can’t believe he made you come with his mouth in the first place, let alone that he thinks he can get you there again.

And when he puts his hot mouth back on you, your arms give out and you fall back against his soft duvet, “Fuck, Bradley, oh my god.” The feel of his mustache against that sensitive part of you was overwhelming.

Bradley works you like he is trying to erase the memory of any man before him.

The only other sound in the room besides your breathy panting was the wet sounds your body was making as his fingers curled and thrust in and out of you. You’d be embarrassed by it if was anyone else other than Bradley.

Because he is the one making you feel this good.

The coiling sensation in your stomach was tightening with every lick and suck and flick of the tongue he used to bring you closer to the edge. You savored the burn in your hip flexors as his thick forearms held you open for his talented mouth.

“Sorry,” you gasp, unable to control the way your hips roll against his mouth.

“Don’t be. Do it again,” he rasps, gripping your thigh harder, “Use my mouth.”

He hums in satisfaction when you do it again, this time on purpose at his command. The vibrations against your clit reverberate through your whole body as you rock against his mouth and ride his fingers.

The woodsy smell of his bed, the sound of his voice and dirty praise, the feel of his body on yours was building you up much quicker than before. Your hands were fluttering everywhere. In his hair. On your breasts. Tangling in his sheets.

You are hyperaware of his every touch and it has you feeling high strung. You’re there teetering having been built up so stunningly. Your body is pulled taut like piano wires with unreleased pleasure that you just can’t seem to reach.

One of his warm, comforting hands soothes up and down the side of your waist as you twitch and writhe beneath him.

“C’mon, kid. You’re there, I can feel it,” he says pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your tattoo before sealing his mouth over you again. “Want you to come for me.”

For him. For Bradley. You want to come for Bradley.

It is almost instinctual how your body responds when he laces the fingers of his free hand together with yours. You have been feeling so untethered in your own skin by the promise of another deliciously devastating orgasm. The squeeze of his hand is your gravity, anchoring you back in the moment with him

And he is holding more than your hand in his as you fly apart for him. He has your heart.

You can hear his gentle murmurs, but your brain can’t process anything other than a few choice words as he peppers kisses back up your body.

He leans over reaching for the forgotten half-full water glass on his nightstand, probably some misguided attempt to be courteous, but you need his mouth on yours right now. He makes a noise of surprise as you pull him to you, your mouth is already parted and ready to chase the taste of yourself off of his tongue.

It’s slow and languid and just what you need.

“I’ve never come so hard before,” you laugh pulling away from him after a few minutes, the endorphins hitting you hard. “You should lead with that. Bradley-Gives-Great-Head-Rooster-Bradshaw.”

His eyes glimmer with amusement, “I don’t think that would fit on a helmet, but you can introduce me that way if you want.” His voice is smug, but it’s his satisfied smirk that thrills you the most.

“Oh my god, you’re preening! You’re so pleased with yourself right now,” you giggle, your thumbs stroking over his mustache at the wetness still there.

“Damn right I am,” he rasps leaning in for another lingering kiss.

Bradley kisses you like a wildfire, all unrestrained heat. And you will happily burn for him. Under his touch you are regenerated, reenergized, revived.

“I want you,” you breathe into his neck, tugging on the band of his black boxer briefs. His body was already a visual treat and his heart even better, but you want to feel him against the center of you with nothing standing between your body and his.

You don’t want to want anymore, you want to know.

With your help, he pulls them down his strong thighs and off completely. You’re treated to the reminder of just how big he is, it would almost be intimidating if you weren’t so desperate for him.

You run your hand up and down the length of him. He was right that night on the phone, you’d need to use both hands next time.

Savoring the way he drops his head down and pants into your clavicle, the coarse hairs of his mustache rough on your skin in the best way. With your other hand, you play with the short hairs at the nape of his neck. His biceps quaking from where they’re rooted on his mattress next to your head.

You want to make him feel as good as you do.

“Can I go down on you?”

Your mouth would be the end of him.

“Next time,” he grunts out. He’s barely able to think with the way your hand is stroking his cock, let alone speak.

“Haven’t you thought about my mouth on you? Come on, Bradley,” you purr temptingly. You both know you’re not playing fair when you tighten your grip on him.

“Shit.” He’s breathing hard now. “Of course, I have. I thought about it this morning when I got myself off in the shower, sweet girl.”

He’s treated to both the sight of your dimples and the clever twist of your wrist at his confession. He knows you think you’re going to get your way, like you usually do, so he changes tactics, “I promise, the next round you can do whatever you want to me.”

“Already planning for round two, huh?”

“Yeah, kid,” he says hoarsely, “Did you think this was just going to be one and done?”

You collect some of the precum from the tip of his cock with your thumb and lick it off as you look up at him doe-eyed and innocent, “Well then, I hope you can keep up, Lieutenant.”

A feral groan rips from him and he drops his head down to yours feeding you his tongue. He dominates your mouth as he slides and swirls his against yours. You whimper prettily as both flavors melt across your tongue.

“Do you like the way we taste?” he rumbles, his voice like gravel.

Bradley doesn’t know how to interpret the sound you make or the way you choke out oh my god.

“Sorry, too much?” he asks raggedly, checking in. The last thing he wants to do is make you feel uncomfortable because he can’t stop from running his mouth.

“God, no. I’ve never been so turned on, Bradley,” you pant, as you rock your warm, wet pussy against him. “Don’t want you to hold back with me.”

You’re both naked and it’s no secret how this night is going to end. He loses himself to the feel of you as you roll your hips against him, whining every time the head of his cock connects with your swollen clit.

“Hold on, hold on,” he doesn’t know why he feels nervous bringing it up, but he needs too while he still has the brain function to talk about it. “I’ve got condoms. It’s been awhile for me, but I got a new box in my bathroom. I just need to go grab them.”

He moves to get up, but you tighten your hold on him.

“I’m on the pill. I, um, got back on it after our first date,” you say almost bashfully. “So if you wanted to go, ah, without it would be ok. I would be fine with it if you didn’t wear one. More than fine, actually.”

There’s something about your endearing self-conscious babbling that helps him get out of his head, “Can I tell you something?”

“Anything, always. You know that,” you tell him, nudging your nose against his.

“I haven’t done this without one before,” he admits.

And it’s clear from the way your eyebrows spring up that this surprises you, “Wait, never?”

“Never,” Bradley confirms. He brings your hand up to his chest so you can feel how fast his heart is beating.

While he’s had a couple serious girlfriends in the past, one didn’t like the way the pill made her feel and the other didn’t like the mess. It was never a big deal to him as long as everyone felt good. He liked that extra layer of protection, he never liked the idea of potentially getting someone pregnant and leaving them to care for his child when his job was so unpredictable.

And with one-night stands, the use of a condom was never even a question.

“So, I get to be your first?” A delighted grin overtakes your face, as you affectionately run you hand through his hair.

“If you want,” he offers softly.

“I want it to be me,” you say with such sincerity it makes his chest ache.

You pull him back down to you and wrap your legs around his hips, pulling him even closer to you. The two of you are a frenzy of wandering hands and teasing tongues and needy noises.

“How do you want me?” he asks, low and velvety.

“I’ve imagined everything,” you whisper, your thumb caressing the long scar from where your hands are cupped around the side of his neck. “But I want you like this, just like this.”

He has always been wrapped around your finger, but with your hand on his cock guiding him to the center of you, he is at your mercy.

You trusted Bradley to be gentle not only with your body, but also with your heart. You were safe in his stupidly big and unfairly perfect hands.

There’s no holding back the sharp inhale as his thick, flared tip enters you for the first time. He’s barely inside of you and the way he is filling you is nothing like you’ve ever experienced before.

The low whine he makes as he slides into you without anything in-between your bodies is the most erotic thing you’ve ever heard. You are impossibly wetter at the knowledge that you are the one to make him feel this good, that it’s your body he’s experiencing this with for the first time.

Your eyes flutter close at the sheer stretch of him as he presses further into you.

Slowly, gently, deliberately.

“No,” he roughly rasps, pausing half-way inside of you, “Look at me.”

His desperate tone sets off more goosebumps over your body. With no small effort on your part, you do as he wants.

He looks just as overwhelmed as you feel. The flush from his cheeks and neck has worked its way down his broad chest, there’s a sheen of sweat collecting in the hollow of his throat and you want to lick him there.

“Want you to keep your eyes on me.”

You fight the urge to squirm as he slowly serves you the rest of his cock. He’s intensely watching your reaction to every ridge, every vein, every thick inch of him as he makes encouraging circles with his thumbs over your hipbones.

If you were to close your eyes again, you know you’d be seeing stars. But how could you when he was looking at you with such wonder.

You are nearly undone by the sensation of being so entirely wanted and cherished and lo—

“Bradley,” you whimper, unguarded under his gaze.

Every emotion is pounding away inside of you, eager for its turn in the spotlight.

“I know, I know.” His voice is rough and wrecked.

You can feel what he really means. We’re right on time.

Your heart stumbles over itself when he tenderly kisses the damp skin of your temple when his hips finally, finally press against yours.

And for a moment you two just hold each other’s eyes as you get used to being connected with each other in the most intimate of ways.

Your mind was taking snapshots of everything, you didn’t want to forget a single moment of this. All these little details of him that belonged to you. The length of his eyelashes. The flush of his cheeks. The state of his pretty wavy hair made messy by your hands. The pinch of his brow. The exact shade of his whiskey brown eyes as he stared into your eyes.

It is almost too intimate the way he is looking at you when he starts moving above you. As he took in your every dewy blink, every hitch of your breath, every little sound you made. As he slowly, purposefully rolled his hips against yours.

That untethered feeling was settling over you again. “Bradley, need you to kiss me.” You feel his hands tighten on your waist. He was inside of you, but you needed him closer. “Please, please.”

His lips are on yours like a flash. “Anything,” he murmurs in between deep, thorough kisses. “Anything you want.” You take his tongue just like you take the rest of him.

You’re on the right side of too full and he is hot and heavy inside of you. It is dizzying being this stretched around him, this surrounded by him. You can feel everything. The orgasm that sneaks up on you is a silvery, shimmery thing that coasts over you like stardust.

“Fuck,” he groans as your pussy lightly flutters around him, slowing down his thrusts to draw it out for you.

You recover quickly, the sensation that swept over you was not nearly as intense as the ones that he gave you with his mouth and fingers, but no less satisfying.

“Of course, you’re good at this too,” you laugh breathily.

He huffs one of his own in response, his mouth pulling crookedly to the side, “I told you we’d be good together.” He props himself up higher with his forearms from where they were lovingly, protectively caged around your head, “You feelin’ good, sweet girl?”

“So good, it’s so good, Bradley.”

You can feel his grin when he makes your back arch from hitting you just right. Grasping onto his thick biceps, your fingers dig into the corded muscle there. All you can do is let the rhythm take the lead as he picks up the pace again.

It’s hard to draw a full breath. Whether from being so filled by him or from the pressure building in your chest you couldn’t say.

He is everywhere, but it still isn’t enough. You don’t know if you want more or you need less. If you need him to go slower or if it’s not fast enough. You’re so overwhelmed, it’s just so overwhelming how good he is making you feel.

“Bradley, I need, I need-” you can’t even finish your sentence before you’re making a noise of frustration.

“Shh, it’s ok. I got you, kid.” He tosses your legs over his shoulders and raises up to his knees. Lifting your hips up as he reaches over to grab a pillow and slides it underneath you.

Next powerful thrust of his hips has you feeling like you are going to vibrate out of your skin.

Bradley has always been a big fan of mutually assured orgasms, but he had no idea sex could be this good. He has never felt so in sync or connected like this with anyone else ever.

And the way you feel around him with nothing separating his body from yours was indescribable. Only you had the ability make him feel this good.

He wanted your heartbeat to syncopate to the syllables of his name like his did with yours.

“Fuck, fuck. That feels so good,” you stutter out. The new change of angle has you even tighter for him as the sounds of your bodies coming together fill the room. “B-bradley.” a thrust “Your pillow.” a grind “The mess.”

“Fuck the pillow, I’ll get a new one,” he grunts. He clearly isn’t doing his job if you’re concerned about something as inconsequential as some feathers surrounded by cotton.

And then his loses himself in your whimpers and whines and the feel of your perfect-for-him body. In the silky warmth of you. Of his hands on your waist, on your hips, on your ass.

He has to remind himself this is the first time of many. He’s been dying to have you in every way possible for weeks. He wants to know if you sound the same as you do right now beneath him or if your sweet noises changed whether you were above him or on your hands and knees in front of him.

He couldn’t wait to find out.

“You’re taking me so well,” he praises. You clench around him and his hips nearly falter in the slow, steady rhythm he has set, “Mm, of course you like a compliment.”

Bradley leans down to kiss you and you cry out at the change of position. Good girl. He teases his mustache down your neck, licking along the straining tendon of your neck. Pretty girl. And then he has he mouth on your breast again. Sweet girl.

The position is perfect for him to grind against your clit. The sounds of your soft sighs, of your breathy moans, and your shaky exhales as he hits that spot inside of you just right has him fighting the urge to chase his own release. And he can’t hold back his own sounds of satisfaction when your hot mouth trails along his collarbone, your tongue laving over that scar on his shoulder.

“I can feel you’re holding back,” you urge. “More, give me more.” One of your hands goes to his ass encouraging him to go faster.

“I’m trying to be romantic here,” he only partly teases, as he rolls his hips in that way he now knows makes you gasp.

“You are, you are,” you promise as you pet the side of his face. “But Bradley, I need you to romantically fuck me harder.”

Only you could make him laugh and make his cock stiffer all at the same time.

He’s never been one to deny you. He sits up on his knees again and flings one of your legs over the crook of his elbow, opening you up and giving him more room to give you just what you want.

“Look at you, I can’t believe you’re mine,” he groans. He can’t tear his eyes away from the way your tits bounce as he gives it to you harder, faster, deeper. “Touch yourself for me.” The only thing he can think about was getting you over the edge, so that he could follow you.

He nearly comes at the pretty sight of your fingers making rapid circles on your clit. His hips are rocking into yours roughly, and the way you are whimpering his name is ratcheting his need for you even higher.

Your mouth feels too far away, he wants to taste his name on your lips. He drops back down caging you in his arms. The two of you groan together, he’s much deeper this way. Your hands are fisted in his hair, pulling tightly at his curls as you sweep your tongue against his.

There’s no way he’s going to last with you gripping him like this. He can already feel the tension building in his spine. He knocks your hand out of the way as he takes over the ministrations on your clit, rubbing you there with tight circles.

“Bradley,” you gasp and writhe desperately against him. The way you chant his name sounds so breathy and perfect in his ear as he speeds up the motion of his fingers needing you to come undone.

And then he feels as you spasm and arch and come apart for him with his name on your lips.

bradleybradleybradley

The blood is buzzing in his veins and his breathing has gone entirely ragged as he continues to move in you until you go soft in his arms with a full-bodied sigh.

And then he gives into the desperate way his body needs yours as he chases his own climax.

He presses his face into the curve of your neck, mouthing at whatever skin he can reach as he comes. Nothing has ever felt so good to him as it does emptying himself inside of you, as he thrusts deeper into you as your body convulses around his.

It’s an earth-shattering orgasm that takes and takes and takes.

You don’t know how long you and Bradley lay there tangled up in each other, all heated skin and rapid heartbeats. It’s the most you can do to run your hand through his damp hair from where his head is still tucked against your neck and up and down his muscular back.

He’s long since pulled out of you and you can feel him dripping out of you. But if Bradley isn’t worried about the mess, then neither are you.

You’re still getting use to the weight of him. Still getting use to the shape of your bodies pressed against each other in this way. But it’s better than you could have ever hoped for.

He’s better than you could have hoped for. In every way that mattered.

“So, same time, same place tomorrow?” you ask finding your voice first. You can feel his chuckle as he kisses your neck once, then twice before he pulls away to look at you.

His brown eyes are rimmed with hazel and crinkled around the edges. All the affection and happiness and familiarity evident on his flushed face.

And then he smiles at you. And you know you’re wearing a matching one.

And then you giggle. And he lets out a laugh as he reaches up to softly brush the sweaty strands of hair away from your face.

“You know what’s not fair?” He lets out a hmm of acknowledgement for you to continue as his thumb traces your cheekbone. “You’ve got all these nicknames for me, but I don’t have one for you. Should we try some on for size?” you croon against his ear. Feeling very pleased with yourself when the heavy hand resting on your hip tenses in response.

You kiss along his jaw. Honey. Over his cheek. Baby. On the corner of his perfect mouth. Sweetheart.

“Bradley,” he murmurs looking at you softly.

“Bradley?” You repeat it back to him. Not questioning, but there’s a curiosity there. You love the way he leans in into your touch as you comb your fingers through his waves.

He nods and you’re hit with a wave of affection for this man in your arms. Your Bradley.

“Ok, Bradley,” you say indulgently as you drop a lingering kiss to his lips. “I can work with that.”

And then you’re whispering his name and alternating kisses to his skin, his stomach tensing and flexing as you work your way down his body.

Not one to break his promises to you, he keeps to his word and lets you whatever you want.

After you’ve gotten your way and after he’s gotten his again, you’re wrapped up in his strong arms tangled in his sheets. You’ve never been more satisfied in your life than you are with him here and now, warm and cared for.

You’re too contented in the blissful after you had been so needlessly worried about to fight sleep as it comes to claim you.

Will you two stay intertwined like this all night? Or will he chase you across the bed like he has been chasing you in your dreams?

Snuggling in closer to Bradley, you think about how excited you are to wake up next to him in the morning. Knowing him, he will probably be up before you, hopefully waiting with a steaming cup of coffee for you.

With his soft breaths in your ear, you let yourself drift off to the sweet potential and possibilities of tomorrow.

There’s so much to look forward to.

More of Bradley, more with Bradley.

The two of you are perfectly and exactly on time.

This was written as the part of a series for characters in the “Like I Can” Universe. If you missed Part 1, you can read it here!

They’re right on time, and boy, was it worth the wait!

If you’re curious about what Bradley’s room looks like, you can check it out here! (I’ve updated it to include some headcanons)

I wrote this little series as a birthday gift to my favorite Taurus Moon twin @gretagerwigsmuse! It only took a couple months, Jordan, but its the gift that keeps on giving!

You can read my other stories here!

Taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @itscheybaby @prettylittlelauraa @startrekfangirl2233 @marantha @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @itsizzythebell @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @boltgirl426 @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @torres-espana @uzumegui @dont-talk-me-down @fandomunite2107 @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pariahsparadise @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @nina-sj @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @misty-inferno @angellwingsss @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @mrsdaamneron @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @melllinaa @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes

#bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw x female reader #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun imagine #top gun maverick imagine #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw x female reader #bradley rooster bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw fic #rooster x reader #rooster x you #rooster x female reader

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oreosmama · 1 year

Text

Look Me in the Eyes (Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Reader)

*GIF not mine*

Summary: During naval training, your jet crashed and burned, taking your memories with it. But the lieutenant who saved you seems to know you better than he lets on. The only issue is that he refuses to tell you his name.

A/N: pfft half yall don’t read this anyway so imma just say rooster’s hot, oreosmama out *drops mic*

Word count: 3345

It’s not the pervading scent of antiseptic and boredom that has carved its way into your skin, nestling deep into the creases of your brow and your sneering upper lip—

It’s his unflinching gaze.

The lieutenant hovering over you, with a spoonful of green, gelatinous “dinner” posed over your lips, mumbles, “Open the hatch, the F-18 needs to land.”

He’s a staunchly built man ornamented in the same naval jacket he’d been wearing when you first came-to in the hospital room, his lofty shoulders embellished in unfamiliar patches. Over the last two days, most of which have consisted of him lording himself over you or sitting back in the chair beside your bed, his five o’clock shadow has thickened, and the wrinkles underneath his teasing eyes darkened a shade.

The F-18 bumps against your sneer, and he chortles to himself.

You know why you’re here.

Well, sort of.

You know that it must’ve hurt. Like a falling-unconscious-due-to-pain kind of hurt. Black and blue splotches paint your temple and upper left cheek, and each time you force a smile, it aches. The rest of your body looks the same. In the first shower you’d been allowed, you twisted and turned as much as your burning abdomen could handle and had come to the conclusion that you were glad you didn’t remember much of what had happened.

The only real issue was that you didn’t remember much of anything.

The story you had been told was haphazardly crafted, not unlike if a toddler had drawn a house with crayons and passed it to you, insisting it looked exactly like the one you lived in.

It goes something like this: you were flying your jet when the engine stalled, and when you ejected, your head smacked against the windshield. You were lucky—you were unconscious when you had crumpled in on yourself, snapping five of your ribs like pencils, and when you’d landed on the ground, face in the dirt—you were so, so lucky.

But the lieutenant says differently.

When he found you, you were awake. You were echoing his name into the stagnant desert air, screaming and sobbing in ways that still keep him up at night.

You know because he sleeps with folded arms on the edge of your mattress, and he rattles the metal skeleton each time he flinches. And the times when he thinks you’re too buried in exhaustion and slumber, his hand finds yours, fingertips light as air against your skin.

These are the only times the lieutenant bares that part of himself to you.

In the mornings, when you can look him in the eyes and see the guilt buried underneath, he winces a smile onto his lips and asks if you remember anything yet.

You don't.

And he winces again. “Back to the drawing board, huh?”

The lieutenant is a nice-enough man when he wants to be. The only issue is that he doesn’t seem to want to be.

“Tell me your name,” you snipe, dangling over the precipice of flinging Jell-O across the room.

This is a game he never wants to play, despite how often he wins. He has the whole naval base’s hospital staff refer to him as Sir or Lieutenant-no-last-name, and each time you ask, he’ll give you the same response.

“You know my name.”

You don't. He’s a complete stranger. He can hold you hand and feed you Jell-O and help you hobble to the bathroom; he can brush the hair from your sweat-crusted face in the mornings and, on some rare occasions where he thinks he’s woken up before you, he’ll graze a feather-soft kiss on your bruised temple.

And you still haven't got a clue.

Because whoever the lieutenant is, the tight grip he has on your heart is completely foreign to you. It’s a grip that says you and him aren’t just something definable—you were a we in this life; the pair of you have formed a way of living in tandem, your own intrinsic tango to which nobody else knows the steps. It’s not just like or a passing fancy. It’s not just hot static running through veins.

This is fully fledged; this is oxygen now. The rise and fall of your chest is the rise and fall of his. The absence of it must be suffocating.

So you don't know why he doesn’t like this game. He makes a question-answer into a back-and-forth, and then he winds and winds you up until you’re ready to snap.

It’s not fair. God, it’s not fair. You deserve to know his name. Doesn’t he know it’s not just a tickle in the back of your mind anymore? If he was the one whose name you were screaming, didn’t you deserve to know what it was?

“Why do you keep doing this?”

You watch his lips purse, the color bleeding out of them and into pink patches on his neck and cheeks. The spoon rattles against the tray, and the glob of green wavers in its curve. He refuses to hold your gaze like always. Self-inflicted torment disguises itself as burnt-sienna irises. The life you’ve forgotten is bowing his shoulders, and your crash, no matter the fact that he saved you, is eating away at him.

Then the lieutenant smiles, in the fractured way—the way someone might laugh at a funeral.

“Because knowing my name wouldn’t help you. You never called me by it, anyway.”

This, oh God—this is the closest you’ve ever gotten, and you’re still wading in the darkness. A name you’d never even call him by, what a wonder that does to your psyche.

A name was a start; it was a first impression. There was a lot in a name.

So you’d never called him by his name… so what?

So what, only lovers knew each other by more than a name? So what, he never called you by yours? So what, you didn’t want to ever call him by his name, never felt the urge, but felt it was rather proper considering you didn’t know what to call him at all?

He keeps you doggy-paddling for it.

The hospital room is polluted with silence for the rest of the night. Slowly, you finish the Jell-O as he sits back in his chair, watching, yet not quite seeing you. You missed when his staring felt like a buzzing fly. Now it’s a thunderstorm hanging over you, foggy and dampened, and you’re struck every few seconds with a shiver.

He doesn’t reach out for your hand when you pretend you’ve fallen asleep. Twenty minutes past lights out, he stands and heads into the bathroom, slowly creaking the door closed and locking it before the shower faucet turns on and stays on for a long, long time.

Where his hand should be is where he laid his jacket, one sewn patch erroneously rough against your palm. With another glance at the light underneath the bathroom door, you haul the leather jacket up into your lap, tracing the ridges and folds. You trails your fingertips along the jacket, searching for… something. Anything.

Cold metal, a zipper slips underneath your fingers, and you sit up straighter despite the outcry of pain in your ribs.

A pocket, and inside is a small plastic card—his ID.

That, and a small, velvet box.

No…

No, you won’t open it.

No, no, because he shouldn’t even have that here.

Why—dear God—why did he have that here?

It’s not for you. That’s for sure. You don’t even want to open it. No.

It’s not yours. It’s not yours to have, especially since he hasn’t offered it to you, and it’s not yours to wear, and it’s not yours to look at, to watch, iridescent, crystal devotion reflecting the moonlight from the room’s lone window.

But when you lift the cover and curse the stars that the man whose name you don’t even know knows you so well, knows how beautiful it is in your eyes, and even worse, how well it fits on your finger, you know it’s yours.

Well, not yours.

It’s hers. The one before the crash’s.

That’s her ring on your finger, and that’s her lieutenant grieving in the bathroom.

This is her life, not yours. All you own anymore is the absence pulsing in your chest.

You own the spasms in your veins, the brief and lasting panic of who am I, really?, the deficiency of life and past and love; the frail hold on this reality, on that man, on this ring.

The rest is not yours, so you should let it go.

Then, ideally, you should be able to float away, free from these junctions to a girl you don’t know. The man who loves her loves your face. He loves your body, and your voice, and each of the words falling from your lips, perhaps in the wrong order, yes, but he’ll rearrange them in his mind so that it matches hers.

Ideally.

Ideally, it’s not this drowning feeling, a weight like a hand pressing hard against your chest, shoving you deeper and deeper under the current. She’s the one who breathes, not you. You don’t need to breathe. You’re an accident in this world.

The I.D. slips from your grasp and falls to the floor.

You’ve read it. You saw the name, the rank, the naval symbol. In the dim moonlight and the single glowing strip underneath the bathroom door, his not-really-a-smile smiles up at you from the vinyl floor.

And now you see it, chrome duct tape peeling off the jagged stitches of a patch, the one over his heart. Another of his games: his missing call sign.

It… fits him. Strangely enough.

Is this what you called him?

The hospital room floods with a subdued yellow light carried out by the steam of the lieutenant’s shower. He emerges with a towel wrapped around his lower body, a sheen of wet on his cheeks you’re not certain was caused by the shower.

Like you, this is his third shower in this room, but unlike him, he’s not wearing a smirk when he exits, bare feet padding along the cold tiles. He doesn’t spare you a glance while he pilfers through his black duffle bag, the one seated on the only other guest chair in the room—the one that never moves.

Maybe it was a good thing he didn’t look, because you hadn’t thought to take off the ring. It was a plan as half-baked as when you’d first decided to put it on. Some barbaric, frenzied part of you, the same one that had slipped it on and hugged it close to your heart, refused to yank it off. It was another you—not her nor you, but a new one that had fallen in love with him, Rooster, without memory or qualms, the one that had no issue with him lingering in every corner of your mind; no, in fact, she preferred it.

You don’t listen to her when the lieutenant pivots back to face you, a fresh pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and the rest sourced from the duffel bag in tow, one fist curled into his towel at his waist. His eyes land on yours, and your fingers slicken with the sweat of your palms, tremble like the thumps beneath your ribcage.

At the worst moment possible, you notice, in the hazy yellow light of 10:07 PM, that Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw’s eyes are achingly akin to whiskey. It’s the dark, thick kind that coats your tongue and hits you five seconds after you sip it like a freight train; heady, terribly intoxicating, and in large doses, coaxes out the worst side of yourself at an even worse moment.

The ring clinks against the bed’s metal framework before shuddering against the tile floor, and his eyes leave yours to watch it rattle. The skin of your left ring finger burns from the swift twisting and tugging you’d employed in a state of tipsy panic—your plan had been to slip the ring unnoticed beneath his leather jacket, the same place you’d stuffed the velvet box.

A breath tears itself out of the lieutenant’s chest. Tan skin rises and falls once, and his grip goes white-knuckle on his towel.

Then he pads back toward the bathroom without a word and disappears behind the slammed door. Somehow, in some terrible way, it is even harder to breathe with him not in the room after that.

But he bursts through the door a second later, completely negligent of the violent pacing of your heart, donned in clothes wrinkled and stretched in odd places from frantic dressing. He covers the distance with three long strides and slackens back into the plastic hospital chair, the heavy creases under his eyes never having looked so deep-seated.

You see it now. The damage this whole experience has done to him. He’s been hollowed out, rigorously gutted to the point that one last revelation might finally crack him in half and let the despair pour out.

You’re afraid to tell him all that you don’t know. That even though you had slid that ring on and off your finger, you still don’t know him. But, God, you want to tell him that you love him, despite knowing it won’t be enough. It’s not even enough to you, and it’s all that you have.

Usually, he wears this sheen layer of tenderness over his face; it slips off every night when you close your eyes, and he smooths it back on in the mornings in the mirror. Some days he layers it on so thick you never even notice the grief hidden underneath.

It must have gotten too heavy to bear.

The silence hangs just as heavy. He runs both hands down his face, pressing hard enough that his skin emerges pink, and folds his hands, knocking them against his lips. Veins in his eyes grow redder by the second, and your heart begins a slow crawl up your throat at the watery levels of his eyelines, waiting to spill. The ring sits on the floor untouched.

“Do you,” he faltered, clearing his throat. “Do you… remember anything?”

He’s looking at you so intensely that your skin is searing. Shame washes over you, grasping your shoulders and burying you deeply into its chest. You want to cry.

“Nothing.”

The lieutenant stares at you a second longer, stretching it out until you’re trembling. Then he looks away, down, before reaching and retrieving the ring from the ground. He observes it for just a second, the way it glimmers in night’s imperfect lighting, and his eyes squeeze shut.

Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw, you’ve learned, will draw things out until the perfect moment has come. He will wait until the ache swells and culminates, with a tolerance so inexhaustible you wonder if, in all your time loving him, you ever bothered to wait up. He’s noticed how the darkness has swallowed both of you wholly, and only now does he offer reprieve.

Bradley tells you your name.

And he tells you that he’s been in love with you since the first second he saw you.

He tells you that he can’t bear the thought of losing all that you’d had, and that his world had been crumbling apart before his own goddamned eyes ever since your jet’s engine had sputtered and died. He tells you that he’s so, so fucking sorry he couldn’t save you, sorry that your life ever got entangled so messily with his in the first place, and even more sorry that he’s so useless to help you find your way back, that you can’t seem to find your way back to him.

And when you began to cry, he bolted up from his seat and held you, whispering apologies into your hair, and you cried a little harder, because you had found your way back to him, but he wouldn’t ever care, because it wasn’t the same path you’d taken before.

You cry because it hurts to hold him, and even more because it hurts him to hold you. You want all of the I-love-yous he’s ever said to be for you, and you want that damned ring too.

You want that goddamn ring on your finger right now because he’d promised you that it would be yours. That first moment he’d ever seen you, stumbling drunk in a crowded Hard Deck and spilling his beer half on his Hawaiian shirt, half on yours, that he’d make up for it by putting a spendy ring on your little finger right there, despite not actually knowing where right there was. The only one I’ll ever buy, he’d hiccuped, it’ll be yours, darlin’.

“Rooster,” you croaked into his chest. “Roo.”

A provoked sob tore from your throat, your arms and ribs aching from how tightly you clung to him, even after he froze. You surfaced from the curve of his shoulder, hands sliding past his sides, over his thrumming chest, and up to cradle his damp jawline before drawing his face down to yours. He mumbled your name, whiskey eyes potent as ever, and you smothered the rest of his question against your lips.

You couldn’t tell who was crying anymore. Your cheeks’ dampness was his, just the same as his lips pressed against yours so harshly, so numbingly you couldn’t quite tell where yours ended and his began. It must have been somewhere close to where his tongue met yours, making up for lost time as he fought hard and fiercely for everything he’d been starved of for three, going on four, unbearable days. His hands left their leverage against the bed and latched onto your hips, rough fingertips familiarly caressing the soft slopes of your sides, and when you offered an airy moan to him, he accepted eagerly with a tightening grip.

You separated from him with a small cry, ribs twinging. Bradley pulled away in horror, and his dilated pupils struggled to sober up to join. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, larger hands now grappling at yours and trying to remove your grasp. “You need—ice, I’ll go get you some ice–”

“Roo, no,” you mumbled, refusing to let go of him.

He paused, and his body shivered under your touch. The familiarity of his name from your mouth seemed as comforting to him as it was to you. His lips twitched and curled, and he breathed a small sigh. The hard lines of his face grew tender as he slid his hands down to your wrists, turning and pressing a kiss to each palm.

His heart jumped and throbbed against your fingertips, and you had no doubt he could feel the same from yours. The heat of his damp cheeks had grown infinitely warmer under your touch, and for all the nights you’d spent with just a grasp on his hand, the change was more and more welcome.

“Don’t leave me again,” he pleaded against the skin of your palm, voice thick and bittersweet, like honey seeping through your ears. “I don’t think I can handle that again.”

He steeled himself against your mattress with one hand when you tugged his forehead down against yours, lips just whispering against one another. You smiled.

“Was it all the Jell-O that did you in, or…?”

“Yeah, actually,” he nodded, tongue pressed against his cheek. “It was. I hope you know we’re never having Jell-O in our house ever again.”

“Not even lime?”

“Especially lime.”

You huffed, “Fine.” You pulled away, despite how desperate Bradley was to follow you. He let you fall back against the pillows with your hand still in his grasp, and he settled onto the edge of the mattress, letting his spare hand find home in the pliant skin of your thigh. Your eyes rose to the ceiling. “But it’ll cost you.”

Soft lips brushed the back of your left hand before cold metal slipped around your finger. “One of these?”

“Exactly.”

Bradley hummed. “Gladly.”

#top gun x reader #rooster x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster #bradley bradshaw #top gun: maverick x reader #tgm x reader #tgm #tgm rooster #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader

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qvid-pro-qvo · 2 years

Text

school in session

pairing: bradley bradshaw x jake seresin x natasha trace

word count: 2221

rating: general, for nicky being his own form of energizer bunny and the trio's love for their son. cw for food mentions!

the power of this family. they have fully possessed me. i am overwhelmed with their love. i hope you all enjoy these pieces, because there are more to come!

link to ao3.

Ever since they’d announced Field Day, Nicky hasn’t been able to stop talking about it. Never once have they seen their kiddo so excited about something, including when they’d gone to the Paw Patrol movie in theaters. He chatters and runs around and tells them every event, until the whole family has the schedule memorized.

This evening is no different. Nicky’s so excited Bradley’s sure he’s not going to sleep a wink, and much to their chagrin he hasn’t eaten much, either.

“And then there’s gonna be a bouncy castle and Bobby said we could jump together and then we’re gonna run so fast on the track we’ll be just like the Flash and then we’re gonna throw the big sticks and —”

“Nick. Breathe. Eat,” Natasha says lightly, a firm hand on his shoulder as she hands him his fork. “You won’t be able to do much of anything if you don’t get some fuel in your body.” She shoots a look toward Bradley, who simply grins at her as he lowers to his knees to plug something into the wall.

“Can we get pizza tomorrow? Lily’s getting pizza. She invited us,” Nicky says instead of eating, fork immediately down as he spins to face Bradley.

“We’ll talk with Lily’s parents,” his dad tells him, eyes narrowed as he sets up the webcam.

“Is Grandpa coming?”

“He said at the very least he’d meet us after,” Bradley tells them. “He’s been pretty busy this week.”

“For pizza?”

Natasha chuckles. “Maybe pizza.”

All of a sudden Nicky’s eyes go wide. He looks at Nat, who raises a brow, then at Bradley who curses under his breath when the connection doesn’t go through.

“When did Papa say he’d call? Are we gonna be here?” Nicky always knows when there’s a call coming. Perhaps the thing he’s always the most excited for, even over Field Day.

“Fifteen minutes,” Natasha relays. “It’ll be okay.” She sits with Nicky, her own dinner in front of her as the both of them finally eat. “Whatever you don’t eat now we can put in the microwave so it stays warm.”

The next fifteen minutes is a gentle reminder to chew with mouth closed, but the prospect of Papa calling gets Nicky devouring his food so he can sit front and center. Luckily Bradley figures out the plug-ins, and when the screen pops up he smiles.

“There. All big on the TV for us.”

As if on cue, the Skype call starts beeping, and Nicky leaps from his chair and does something like a roll on the floor.

“Oh, Jesus, careful!” Bradley laughs, moving to pull Nicky into his lap on the ground. “C’mon, don’t want to hurt yourself.”

“Answer, answer, answer!”

Nat comes over. Presses the big green button. And there, for all of them to marvel and smile at, is Jake.

Immediately Nat and Bradley reach over to hold onto each other, once Nat makes it to their side and takes her seat next to them. Jake looks tired, if the dark circles are anything to go by, but he still grins at the sight of them and immediately brightens when he sees Nicky. They can’t see much behind him, and both his partners blame it on the time zone difference as he sits up and leans close so they can hear him.

“There’s my boy,” he says fondly, before looking at Bradley and Nat. “Hey, sweethearts. How’s my family doin’?”

“Papa!” Nicky shouts, shooting from Bradley’s lap and getting close to the webcam. “Papa, tomorrow is Field Day!”

To say Jake’s disappointed once the details are given over is putting it mildly. After being on assignment in the Atlantic since the beginning of the year, it always hurts to hear what’s going to be missed, and when he hears how delighted Nicky is, the pain is that much more potent. But he makes sure to keep a smile on, especially once they tell him how big his face is in their living room.

“They always have cornhole,” he allows himself to complain. “How am I supposed to prove myself to the other parents?”

“I think they already know you’re from Texas, baby,” Natasha laughs. “You don’t have to prove much else.”

“Papa, I’m gonna win the biggest and best trophy!” Nicky promises. “All of the trophies!”

“Well, that’s a mighty big deal. I can’t wait to see what you bring home,” he says warmly, and then kisses his fingers to push them toward the screen. “But no matter what, win or lose, I want you to have a good time, okay? Promise me that.”

“I promise, Papa,” Nicky says, gazing up at awe before catching the kiss and smacking it against his chest. “Are you flying all the big planes?”

The call ends too soon, as they all do, but it ends with goodbyes, and love, and see you laters before he hangs up. Bradley and Nat make sure Nicky finishes a good chunk of dinner before he brushes his teeth, and then they both kiss him goodnight and tuck him in before making their way to bed.

“Mav might not come?” Natasha says to him. Her frown is distinct, and she pulls out a big shirt to sleep in. One of Jake’s, like she always does when he calls and missing him feels that much stronger. “That’s not like him.”

“He’s just been hard to get a hold of,” Bradley clarifies, stripping down, grabbing a shirt for himself. “I’m sure he’ll come at some point, but him and Ice have been working on something that’s kept them both busy.”

“Personal project?”

“I don’t know. They’ve been really tight-lipped.”

Natasha finally cracks a smile, moves to her side of the too-big-for-two bed and crawls under the covers. “I thought they said retirement would mean slowing down.”

Bradley chuckles, shaking his head. “When has Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell or Tom ‘Iceman’ Kazansky ever slowed down?”

“What did we sign up for again?” Natasha asks, eyes narrowing at the other pairs lined up along the track. Nicky bounces in front of them, almost on Nat’s toes, jumping out of his skin as they wait for the referee.

“I don’t remember signing up for anything,” Bradley murmurs back, looking at the Brooks family at the other end of the track. They wave. He waves back. “I think we were coerced.”

“Coerced. Tricked. Bamboozled,” Natasha agrees. Her lip quirks up. “And now I have a seven-year-old with me in a burlap sack.”

Bradley laughs. Reaches down to ruffle Nicky’s hair, who grins up at him so wide he shows off newly missing teeth. “Well. You did say you wanted to win something.”

“All right, everyone! Places!”

The voice of the principal through the megaphone goes off. Nicky starts bouncing with renewed vigor, and Bradley realizes he’s practicing.

“Do not show this to Jake,” Natasha threatens, pulling the sack up and around them.

Bradley kisses her cheek, immediately pulling out his phone to video. “You got it.”

“On your marks!”

“Bradley, I will fall!” Natasha yells, and Bradley takes three steps back before giving a thumbs up.

“Get set!”

“You got it, baby!” he shouts, pushing the record button.

“Go!”

The air horn blares.

Suddenly, Bradley’s yelling and screaming and cheering with the rest of them. He’s possessed by the spirit of Field Day, of seeing his partner and son move with purpose toward the other finish line.

Everyone else fades to the background. Nothing else matters. All he cares about is Natasha and Nicky, and the sight of them heaving themselves forward in leaps and bounds.

“Go!” he shouts. “Go, go, go, go, go —”

They hop as one unit, and it looks so ridiculous he starts laughing, too. Nat’s eyes are wide as dinner plates as she does her best not to fall onto Nicky, and Nicky’s so focused his nose is scrunched up. Until they cross the finish line, and Nicky collapses forward in a little heap, chest heaving as he dramatically sprawls on the grass.

“And our winners, Team Nicky!”

First.

Oh, god. They got first.

“YES!” Bradley shouts, fist pumping. “WOO!” The camera in his hand turns off as he drops his hand and rushes toward his family, scooping Nicky up to kiss his cheek and then laughing as Nat leans against him.

Natasha’s panting a little, too, but she looks up at Bradley, eyes sparkling. “Next time, you’re doing the hopping,” she complains, but her cheeks are flushed with pride as she glances toward the stage.

“C’mon, Nicky,” their principal says, gesturing toward the stage. “You wanna come get your prize?” Nicky immediately squirms out of Bradley’s grip, and then he’s marching up the too-big steps, clambering up to stand next to a couple of teachers.

“Now, some of you may not know, but there was a special prize for the sack races,” their principal remarks. “Something special for a special family.” Her arm goes around Nicky’s shoulders, who looks up at her with confusion.

Nat and Bradley glance at each other, tension immediately washing over them. Special family?

“After all, Nicky’s family is very proud to serve our country – often one or all of them go off to fly fighter planes for the U.S. Navy.”

“Like Papa!” Nicky pipes up. The principal smiles, something delighted in her look.

“Exactly. So for our special winner of today’s sack race, we have a very, very special prize.”

Suddenly, there’s a familiar sound, one that earlier had been lost in the cheers and Bradley’s own screaming. A familiar engine rattling as it rides up alongside the stage, Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell and Tom ‘Iceman’ Kazansky in the front seat of Jake’s old truck.

“What the hell?” Bradley mumbles. His eyes go wide as he sees them step out, barely registering Nicky’s excited shout of “Grandpa!” when he sees Mav and Ice. “What’re they –”

“I don’t know,” Natasha whispers back, and her voice is tight. “With Jake’s truck…”

“All the way back from his post in Pensacola, thanks to the help of Captain Mitchell and Admiral Kazansky, let’s give a big round of applause for Lieutenant Commander Jake Seresin!”

The truck door opens. The cheers of the crowd are uproarious. And there, in perfect dress uniform, Jake steps out, as he looks up at his son on the big, big stage.

Nat’s knees almost give out. She falls against Bradley, who does his best to hold her up, shocked into stillness and tears springing immediately to his eyes.

But it’s Nicky’s delight that takes the cake, as he screams out what must be Papa and leaps off of the stage, landing with an oof and then sprinting full speed toward Jake. When they collide, Jake’s hat gets knocked off, and he does not hesitate to wrap his arms around his son, squeezing him so tight as the boy sobs into his shoulder.

“Oh, my god,” Natasha whispers. “Oh, my god, oh, my god.”

“Go,” Bradley mumbles, “we have to, holy fuck –”

And then they’re both running, too. Natasha at a full sprint, Bradley in a dazed jog. The cheers are muffled in their ears, blood rushing through them instead as the two of them collide with their partner, wrapping him up and surrounding Nicky in a tight, tight embrace.

When they pull back, the commotion has died down a little bit, the principal gesturing for the next event to start and to give them some space. But Bradley still can’t believe his eyes, and Natasha looks livid and ecstatic in the same breath.

“You bastard!” Nat says, tears choking her voice. “All of you are bastards.” She turns to glare at Mav and Ice, who simply smile at her with their arms around each other’s waists. “Why didn’t you say you were coming home?”

“What, you think I’d miss Field Day?” Jake laughs, hugging her tight against him again, kissing her temple and her cheek and every place he can reach. “I was told there would be cornhole.”

Nicky’s tears have subsided at this point, and he clings to Jake’s body and neck like a vice. Jake doesn’t seem to mind one bit, in the same motion kissing Nicky’s forehead right after he leans to kiss Nat’s, and then leans over to kiss Bradley’s, who finally crushes Jake in a hug once Nat manages to step away.

“What d’you think, Nicky?” Pete suddenly pipes up. They all glance over as he grins. “Do you like your Field Day surprise?”

The boy in question simply blinks, head on Jake's shoulder, eyes big and wide and owlish as he looks over at Bradley and Nat. “Does this mean we can get pizza?” he finally asks. “Lily said everyone can come.”

There’s a smattering of laughter, and then the tidal wave of children hit. Ones who have heard about Nicky’s parents from Nicky himself, about the three bravest people in the world who fly the big, big planes. The rest of the day, Nicky’s hand doesn’t leave Jake’s, even for cornhole, and Bradley and Nat get to watch as their partner showers Nicky in the love he hasn’t gotten to from miles and miles away. And to end a great day, they do end up with pizza, all of Nicky’s family with all of everyone else’s to celebrate a Naval aviator coming home.

#sereshace #pilot trio #bradley bradshaw x jake seresin x natasha trace #bradley bradshaw #jake seresin #natasha trace #rooster #hangman #phoenix #nicky (the kiddo) has my whole heart and soul #bradley rooster bradshaw #jake hangman seresin #natasha phoenix trace #my fic #my writing #top gun: maverick #tgm #qvo ships tgm

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