#Bradley Terminal

[jinn-exe]

yk I'd like to think that after the events of that whole mission, rooster and hangman occasionally text each other every day basically like how iceman and mav do, except it's hangman always reminding rooster that he owes him one, and then instead of the aggressive arguing it's playful banter in between text messages, which shifts into casual conversations and then sometimes late at night when they can't sleep, they talk about deep discussions something like shower thoughts and it gets so bad, to the point that Phoenix and Bob sigh simultaneously when they see Rooster and Hangman sending memes in the hard deck even though they're sitting shoulder to shoulder. And if one of them gets deployed out for a mission,,, it's a constant ritual for hangman to send "give 'em hell." to rooster, which, as time passes, it sounds more and more like "come back to me."

#don't look at me right now #the brainrot is terminal #hangster #rooster x hangman #jake seresin #bradley bradshaw #top gun maverick #the urge to make a 5k+ fic on this #im going insane #someone talk to me about them

[pollyna]

Tom's cancer goes:

0.

1.

2.

His breath is short and his throat hurts like he forgot do drink for days. His hands feel clammy and it's only when Ron's arm catch him that he realises he's falling. Every single person in the room is looking at him with the expression of who just saw a titan falling from the sky. But his feet are steady, more or less, on the ground. His best friend doesn't let him go until he's sure Tom isn't going to collapse again. He blames it all on exhaustion.

(It's not a total lie because when his parter isn't around he tends to work two to three times more than usual. Most of the time Charles, the Vice Admiral who has office a coupe of doors from his, finds him still working in the middle of the night and already working when he comes in at eight. All his concernes go blind on him.)

3.

4.

The house is silent when he comes back from the visit and Ron is still walking just a couple of steps behind him. Ron who's hands were big and warm while the doctor dictated his sentence and Tom was hoping, the whole time, for smaller hands in his. Pete is far away and he's going to be until the end of the year. By the time he's back Tom is probably going to be dead.

I have to- he starts but Ron is already taking away is computer and cellphone. Not tonight Tom, not tonight.

They don't talk a word until he falls asleep on the couch, Ron's arm around his shoulder and half of the dinner still on the coffee table.

5.

Writing to Bradley leaves him without energy for two entire days but it's the first round of chemio that does that, not the long and verbose mail he composes. He starts the white pages for forty minutes and writes seven different drafts. Dear Bradley, Kiddo listen, Lieuten-, Fuckin' christ, Baby Goose I really need y-, I'm dying, It's for Mav and the 8th is the good one because he writes as Admiral Kazansky and not as Uncle Tom. He writes to Bradley's superior and order him to give the boy, a man this days, five days of leave and that he has to report back in DC as soon as he's back in the States. Then he calls a person who will call another person and Bradley is going to arrive in Miramar.

6.

He spends hours learning ASL. The doctor says his voice could be forever damaged. He spends a little more time learning ASL.

7.

It takes almost three months for Bradley to be there because, as the superior officer writes back, right in that moment only some sort of deity would allow the Lieutenant to leave his mission and, contrary of popular belief, you Admiral Kazansky are still not a god. With all the respect, sir. By the time he's at the door step Tom's day is a full cycle of meds to take at what hour and how much morphine he's allowed the think about to take before that dosage got cut in half and then in half again. Bradley says Admiral Kazansky, sir with the whole salute and Tom can barley lift his arm to do the same.

8.

9.

It's not an easy argument to have. Ron makes them tea, kisses Bradley's forehead and he's out of the house for hours. At some point, while Tom is trying to explain papers and his will Bradley leaves the house too. He doesn't scream this time, he's not eighteen anymore, and the silence that follows is more defining than all the words he said the first time. He falls asleep on his armchair and wakes up for dinner, a table ready for three and only two person eating at it. He will come back Ron says. Tom would like to believe him.

10.

Somedays he's better than ever and registers long messages to Pete. Things he's going to listen when Tom is dead and he knows his husband would appreciate. He says I love you as much as he can and reads books and passages of their favourite poems. Once, seven months in to therapy, Tom records an entire hour of Pete's favourite pieces at the piano and sings along for what he can. Bradley is around and lately is always seem on the point of running away, for the third and last time. Tom is greatful he's still here. Ron calls him a romantic at heart and Tom gives him the finger. It's nice, they're laughing, and it almost doesn't feel like the last of his good days.

Tom's remission goes:

10.

9.

8.

He's still half asleep and there's a smaller hands in his, the weight of something, a head?, near is shoulder and his nose is full of the generic shit his husband likes to call his favourite shampoo and that make him cry more than the absence of his voice and the ugly scar that will forever sign his skin. He's alive and Pete is too.

7.

6.

Pete spends a lot of time kissing him, on his lips, on his cheeks and everywhere he can reach without moving away from him. Getting back home from the hospital isn't as smooth as he tought he would be and the road to heal is far from done. Bradley is still there, Ron is still there and Pete wants to say something, probably scream at him, but sometimes he can barley talk at all.

5.

He screams at Ron tho. He picks stupid fights, tries to make Ron angry and goes out on long walks and he almost end up in jail, more than once. Tom pulls some strings and let him fly, because flying is the only way Pete knows how to deal with emotions. He spends hours out there and he's mourning and giving all over again but this time no one is dead, not yet.

4.

3.

Speech therapy is a mountain Tom doesn't feel like he's never going to finish climbing in. But it helps more than he could ever think. And gives Pete the out to scream at him now, even if all he can do is answer with his fingers. It's ugly, how could it not be when he spent a year dying without having the possibility to tell it to his husband?, and it ends in tears from both sides but is a starting point. Another one.

2.

Pete takes on experimental programs that let him be at home at 5 and give him, them, free weekends. He learns ASL and he learns how to talk with Bradley again. Ron goes back on his boat, I missed this old gal he writes him in the first postcard he received, but everytime he has leave is sleeping in their spare room or on the couch.

1.

Bradley starts calling them Uncles again and then dad and pops. If Tom still had tears he would have cried over his icecream. He hugs him as strong as he can against his chest. He isn't as strong has he used to be but he's starting getting back a little muscle, he hopes the hug is warm as the warmth he feels inside.

0.

He says his second first word looking straight in his husband, now legally so, and says Pete and then I love you.

Polished version: here.

#pain and numbers have a strange correlation in my mind they almost walk hand by hand #tom iceman kazansky #ron slider kerner #pete maverick mitchell #icemav #bradley rooster bradshaw #he gets sick and mav is on a year long super secret mission so ron sticks around a little more #iceman & slider friendship #bradley gets back and tries to stay (it's not easy. tom doesn't really blame him) #technically mav&ice aren't married but they call each other husbands #pre top gun: maverick #angst #terminal illness (almost) #anger #maverick's copy mechanism isn't always the best #otp: i heard from the heavens that clouds have been grey

[donmariomex]

#Guadalajara international airport #la international airport #Tom Bradley terminal

[images-mcm-mexico-california]

LAX Bradley Terminal, 2023

AirFrance 777

Image by your curator

#LAX #Bradley Terminal #airfrance

[cinemaquiles]

Copia mas não faz igual: Cyborg Cop (1993) mistura de Terminator com Robocop

#cyborg cop #trash movies #terminator #robocop #90's movies #Sam Firstenberg #David Bradley #Alonna Shaw #John Rhys-Davies #john rhys davies #Ron Smerczak #Youtube

[adamwatchesmovies]

Cyborg Cop (1993)

Nevermind Sharknado and its cynical brethren. The bad movies you want to see are like Cyborg Cop: shameless knockoffs of better films made with only a fraction of a fraction of the budget and none of the talent required to make the pictures it’s desperately trying to imitate. Assembled with complete earnesty - which means it’s full of unintentional laughs - I won't call it a must-see, but on a Friday night with some friends, it’s a blast.

Following a shoot-out gone wrong, DEA officer Jack Ryan (David Bradley) quits his job. When his brother (also a DEA agent) disappears while on a mission in the Caribbean, Jack goes to investigate. He has no idea the maniacal Professor Joachim Kessel (John Rhys-Davies, sporting a weird accent) has transformer Phillip (Todd Jensen) into a cyborg; a member of his growing army of death machines.

Don’t let the title fool you. In terms of visuals, this steals primarily from The Terminator, which is even funnier when you realize this violent, cliché-ridden action flick was made in 1993 - two years after Terminator 2: Judgment Day. After Kessel captures Phillip, he instructs his surgeons to lose the arm and replace it with a familiar-looking mechanical limb. It's almost like they want you to think it's the severed appendage from the end of The Terminator. Strange then, that when the cyborgs get their skins blown off (got to rip off that iconic mirror scene with Schwarzenegger somehow) the actors are obviously wearing a sleeve with lines, rivets and wires painted on.

What limited budget this film did have wasn’t spent on special effects and makeup; it was awarded to the pyrotechnics department. Once Phillip and his DEA crew storm Kessel’s base, every barrel is filled with dynamite, every warehouse packed with gasoline. Stuff blows up way too easily, which means the sound editor had to resort to every single stock gunshot, explosion and scream sound effect. It even uses, my favourite stock scream, that “Ehh Eyaaaah!!!” one - way better than the Wilhelm.

John Rhys-Davis is hamming it up like his life depends on it. Everyone else is either mediocre enough for their performance to be forgettable or so awful you’ll wonder if the film is pranking you. The worst offenders are Alonna Shaw and young Steven Leader. At least she plays a reporter who has a semblance of a role to play in this story. You know, the “I hate you until I love you” romantic interest and future hostage. Leader is just a little kid introduced at the beginning of the film and then brought back at the end to… make us sympathize with our hero?

Between the mechanical menaces busting out Freddy Krueger-like claws to lob off limbs, editing so bad it’ll make you confused, absurd twists, WWE-like fight choreography, villains with no peripheral vision or sense of self-preservation, dialogue that sounds as though a robot wrote it, a robot vs. Motorcycle fight and general incompetence, Cyborg Cop has plenty to offer. It’s as bad a movie as it sounds and I had a great time watching. (February 29, 2020)

#Cyborg Cop #movies #films #movie reviews #film reviews #Sam Firstenberg #Greg Latter #David Bradley #John Rhys-Davies #Todd Jensen #Alonna Shaw #Ron Smerczak #1993 movies #1993 films #Robocop #Terminator

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Can you do some Christmas fluff with rooster? 💕

Sure! Thank you for the request <3 Hope you like it :D

Christmas On Deck

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x F!Reader

Summary: You're stuck at the airport on Christmas Eve and, naturally, you meet a pilot. What's his name, again?

CW: Fluffity fluff with a smidge of angst

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, are you kidding me?” you groan in response to the latest flight delay announcement over the airport intercom. The gate is packed with equally irritable travellers whose flights have been postponed on account of the blizzard. You let out a weary sigh and plop down into the only available seat in your vicinity, which happens to be right next to some dude with a pornstache who’s wearing a Hawaiian shirt – even though your destination is Vermont – and Ray Bans – even though you’re indoors.

“What a nightmare,” you hear him mutter under his breath, his lip curling sideways underneath his bizarre facial hair. He’s got several scars running down the side of his face.

You eye him inconspicuously as he pulls a book out of his backpack, partly because he smells nice but mostly because you’ve got nothing better to do. When he leans back into his seat, his shoulder brushes against yours accidentally. He looks up at you apologetically.

“Sorry about that,” he says.

You give him a tight smile, wondering if he’s going to keep his sunglasses on while he reads. “It’s cool,” you respond. “It’s not your fault we’re all cramped in here.”

He chuckles, trying to squeeze his broad shoulders inward, but his arms still manage to extend beyond both sides of his seat. Finally, he leans forward, resting his elbows on his legs, and opens his book.

For some reason, the low rasp of his voice and the way he seems greatly unfazed by the prospect of being stuck at an airport on Christmas Eve makes you weirdly interested in striking up a conversation with him. “Is it a little bright for you?” you say cheekily, noting that he hasn’t removed his shades.

The man turns his head slowly to look at you over his shoulder. He straightens his back slightly, a small smile forming underneath his ridiculous mustache that, you hate to admit, is becoming increasingly attractive with every passing minute. He lifts his hand to tap on the frame, letting the glasses slide a touch down his nose as he squints at you, studying your face. Instead of answering your question, he poses his own: “You going somewhere special for the holidays?”

“Home,” you say. If you ever get there. “You?”

He takes off his sunglasses and hooks them into the collar of his white undershirt. “Some friends are going skiing,” he says, shrugging.

You nod, not really sure where to take the conversation next, when there’s another announcement indicating that all flights have been cancelled for the rest of the night. You close your eyes in disappointment as the rest of the terminal groans in response to the news. “Great,” you say. “Christmas Eve and Christmas morning at the damn airport.”

The man watches you sympathetically for a few moments before saying, “Yeah, bummer.” His eyes scan your face for another several seconds and then he shoves his book back into his backpack and stands up. “Come on,” he says, motioning with his head for you to follow.

You furrow your eyebrows at him suspiciously, not at all eager to accompany a strange man to an unknown destination, regardless of how good-looking he may be.

He senses your hesitation and extends his hand. “It’s not far,” he says. “Promise.”

You swallow uneasily, putting your hand in his. His warm fingers curl around yours and he gently pulls you out of your seat. He doesn’t let go of your hand once you’re up, holding onto you instead while he navigates the crowd of angry passengers at the gate. He draws you out of the horde and down one of the largely empty corridors of the airport. “Where are we going?” you ask cautiously.

“Here,” he says, turning a corner into a dimly lit room with large windows exposing the flurrying snow outside.

“Wow,” you breathe, taking a step forward when he finally lets go of your hand. You walk toward the window spanning the entire wall from the floor up, watching the storm blanket the terminal, snowing in several parked planes.

Mustache walks up behind you. “It’s the observation deck,” he says, looking out onto the apron with a smile.

You glance up at him, admiring the shape of his jaw, and his neck, and his broad shoulders, and his mustache, goddamnit, and wonder if he’ll ever tell you his name because, at this point, it feels awkward to ask. You grin to yourself and then sit right down onto the carpeted floor, crossing your legs. “In that case,” you say. “Let’s observe.”

The man chuckles lightly and takes a seat next to you on the floor. He unzips his backpack and pulls out a bag of chips. “Salt and vinegar?” he offers, ripping the bag open and holding it out to you.

You laugh. “This is dinner, isn’t it?”

“This,” he says, and then pulls out a box of Ritz crackers. “And this.”

“Yes!” you exclaim, grabbing the box out of his hands.

“And, for dessert…” he adds, digging his hand back into the bag and pulling out another box.

Your jaw drops in your excitement. “Oreos!”

He nods. “I’ve got a lot of Oreos,” he says, pulling out several packages of the cookies.

“Amazing!” you say. “I hit the jackpot sitting next to you, didn’t I?”

He grins, his teeth grazing over his lip as he curls it in. “I was thinking the same thing about you,” he says.

You glance up to meet his gaze, blushing slightly.

He reaches out to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. “You’re really fucking pretty,” he says.

You smile at him, deciding that being stuck in an airport on Christmas Eve isn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened to you.

You spend the next couple of hours eating and chatting. You find out that he’s a pilot in the Navy, that his father died when he was just a boy, and that his mother passed away when he was a teenager. He tells you about Top Gun, about his squad, about how he’s indifferent when it comes to Christmas because he doesn’t really have anybody to spend it with. He even tells you what his favorite food is. What he doesn’t tell you is his name. And he doesn’t ask for yours.

You don’t bother either; what the point? After tonight, you’ll never see him again, so there’s no sense in getting attached. It wouldn’t be the first time you spent the night with a stranger without so much as exchanging numbers. Unfortunately, besides being exceptionally cute, the guy is actually boyfriend material. He’s genuine, and funny, and considerate, and you’re finding him especially easy to talk to. Perhaps it’s because both of you know that, by this time tomorrow, the stranger you’ve shared all your secrets with will be out of your life for good.

This is great. This is therapeutic. This sort of transient camaraderie is what travelling is all about. You don’t build lasting relationships with random people you meet at the bus stop, or at a train station. Why should an airport be any different?

There’s a chiming in the distance and you look down at your phone. Midnight.

“Merry Christmas,” he says.

You look up at him with a small smile. “Hopefully Santa knows where to find us.”

He chuckles while you rub your hands together. “Cold?” he asks, pulling a blanket out of his backpack.

“Is there anything you don’t have in there?” you ask.

He shrugs. “I like to be prepared.” He hands you the blanket.

You unfold it and move closer to him, trying to wrap it around both your shoulders and his.

“Here,” he says, shifting to lean his back against one of the seats and spreading his feet so you could sit between his legs.

You stand up to walk around him, and then lower yourself in front of his body. His hands are on your legs the moment your knees bend, helping you down. His touch sends a shockwave through you, and you glance back to see him looking up at you lustfully. You gulp as you sit down, his hands sliding slowly up the sides of your thighs. You lick your lips, sliding backward until you feel your hips align with his, and then you slowly lean your back against his chest and pull the blanket over both of you. His arms close around yours under the fleece and he lets out a sigh. You rest your head on his shoulder and he lowers his face to press his cheek against your hair.

“This is nice,” you mutter, already warming up as his large hand closes around your arm. His thumb begins to brush your skin as he makes a soft humming sound in agreement.

…

You wake up to the hot sun radiating through the giant windows of the room. You’re lying on the ground with the man you met last night beside you under the twisted blanket, his extremely heavy arm crushing your shoulder. You don’t mind it, though; his sculpted arms kept you warm all night.

You rotate onto your back and he stirs, lifting his hand to rest it over your abdomen as he nuzzles his face against the side of your head.

“Good morning,” he whispers, his fingers gently stroking your stomach.

You smile at the ceiling, your eyes still adjusting to the brightness of the room. “Merry Christmas,” you say.

He sighs and his hot breath bathes your neck. “It is,” he murmurs, his hand tangling in the blanket as he grips your waist to pull you closer.

You shut your eyes, enjoying the very best Christmas present you’ve ever received. But, just when you’re about to turn your head and finally give your companion a kiss, a loud beep followed by an announcement indicating that flights have resumed interrupts the moment.

You exhale slowly, not bothering to conceal your disappointment, and Mustache chuckles into your ear, tickling the side of your face. “I wonder if Santa found us,” he says quietly.

You glance over at his mischievous smirk and sit up. There’s a Christmas tree in the corner of the room that you hadn’t noticed the previous night because it was too dark. Under the tree, there are an assortment of snacks – including more Oreos – that he must’ve gotten from the vending machine overnight. You giggle as you make your way toward it. There’s also a small package of travel socks, a neck pillow, and an airplane keychain. You pick it up, observing that the plane doesn’t resemble any commercial airline.

“It’s a Rhino,” he says, and you look up at him in confusion.

“It’s an airplane,” you respond with a smile, dangling the ring from your index finger.

He chuckles. “F-18,” he clarifies. “It’s the jet I fly.”

“They sell these here?” you ask, although you already know the answer.

He shakes his head and then shrugs. “Just something to remember me by,” he says, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his pants.

You blink at him without responding, thinking that his name might also help. But you’ve already decided that it’s best not to know. “Thanks,” you say finally, closing your hand around the tiny plane. “I, uh, didn’t get you anything.”

He grins. “Yes, you did,” he says. “You gave me the best Christmas Eve and morning I’ve had in a very long time.”

You smile back at him. “We should do it again some time.”

He chuckles but his face falls slightly, as though he’s not optimistic about the likelihood of an encore. “Same time next year?”

You hold his gaze for a moment before the intercom blares, declaring that you have ten minutes to get to your plane. You gather the snacks, dispersing them between your carry-on bag and his, and make your way back to the gate.

The attendant calls on the back rows to start boarding and you give Mustache one last look. He squeezes your hand, and you don’t want him to let go, but he does anyway.

“I bet you have a really pretty name,” he says. It must have occurred to him also that there would be no point in knowing it.

“Have a safe flight,” you say.

He nods. “You too.”

Your mouth is taut when you give him a final smile and turn away, but before you make it past the checkpoint, you turn back to look at him again. He waves at you but you step out of the line anyway, going against the stream of bodies desperate to get onto the aircraft. He gives you a questioning look when you arrive before him. “Uh,” you start, unsure how to express what you mean to say. “Not just this flight.”

“What?” he asks.

“You’re a pilot,” you clarify. He narrows his eyes. “So, I just wanted to say, may all your flights be safe.”

He watches you solemnly as you chew on your lip. Then, you throw your hands around his neck just as he wraps his arms around your waist, lifting you off the ground in a passionate embrace. He kisses your neck as you sink your head into his shoulder. When he puts you down, his mouth is still trailing up the side of your face, leaving in its wake a string of delicate kisses. He brings his hands up to take you by the shoulders, resting his forehead on yours. “Hi,” he says. “I’m Bradley. It’s nice to meet you.”

You smile, watching the lower half of his face transform when you respond. “Hi, Bradley. I’m Y/N.”

“Y/N,” he whispers, his lips hovering over yours. “I knew you had a pretty name.”

You chuckle briefly, but then his hand starts gliding along your shoulder and up your neck and, suddenly, you’re not in a laughing mood. “How long are you going to be in Vermont?” you ask, closing your eyes.

“How long are you going to be in Vermont?” he responds.

You smile as his mouth connects with yours, as his fingers trace swirls into your cheek, as his tongue drifts along your bottom lip before he catches it gently between his teeth.

“You taste like Oreos and Coke,” he murmurs.

“That’s what you gave me for breakfast,” you respond against his lips.

“I’ll have to do better next time.”

You look up at him after pulling away. “I thought it was perfect.”

He nods, his eyes perusing your face as his hand slips down to grasp yours. “What are you doing tomorrow?” he asks.

You grin. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

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#bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw fluff #top gun #rooster #miles teller #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x female reader #rooster imagine #bradley bradshaw imagine #rooster x reader #rooster x y/n #bradley bradshaw x y/n #bradley bradshaw x you #rooster x you #top gun rooster #top gun fanfiction #rooster fluff #bradley bradshaw fanfiction

[justabigassnerd]

Secret's Out

Pairing - Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x daughter!reader

Word count - 2,204

Warnings - a couple of swear words, brief mention of abortion

Summary - Dagger Squad (plus Mav) discover the secret that Bradley had been keeping from them

A/N - I'm back y'all!! Happy new year! This was a request sent in to me (along with a couple of others I will write in due time) and it had me fangirling bc I love the idea so much. I hope I did the anon's idea justice. As per y'all, please send in requests, feedback and enjoy!

Bradley Bradshaw drew a definitive line in the sand to separate his work life and his home life. He only told his teammates the most basic information and kept most of his life close to his chest, wanting to keep a sense of privacy. The biggest secret that he was keeping from his team was his four-year-old daughter.

Bradley had been a single parent all your life. Your mother was someone Rooster had had a drunken one-night stand with and when he discovered she was pregnant he was willing to do what he could to provide for her and the baby. Your mother hadn’t been someone who wanted kids but couldn’t find the heart to terminate the pregnancy when she had the chance so when you were born, she handed you to Bradley and never looked back. Leaving the two of you alone.

Rooster had put his whole heart and soul into raising you. Finding himself loving you more and more every day. It was you and him against the world. Rooster had been meaning to introduce you to his team, especially Maverick after the uranium mission but he knew you were pretty shy, and his team could be pretty overwhelming sometimes. He never brought the idea up to the Daggers because he wanted to make sure you were okay with it first. You were and always would be Rooster’s top priority. However, on a day it wasn’t expected. Dagger Squad met you for the first time.

The squad had decided to head to the beach one weekend. They’d planned this all together, even making sure Maverick came but they all accepted that Rooster wouldn’t be coming. He never came on any weekend trips with the team, and they’d all started betting on why he never came. Bob just assumed that Rooster wanted time away from the team because he knew they could be a lot. Whereas Hangman and Coyote betted that Rooster had a secret girlfriend he wasn’t telling anyone about.

When the team arrived at the beach, they started setting up their chairs and placing their coolers of food and drink down in the sand before Payback grabbed his football from his car and proposed a game of dogfight football. As they were sorting out teams and getting ready to play Coyote gathered everyone’s attention.

“Is that Rooster?” He asks, pointing out the familiar figure further down the beach. Everyone stood by Coyote, leaving Maverick stood behind them and followed his gaze to where Rooster was chasing a young girl, scooping her up in his arms and tickling her as she laughed.

“Bradshaw has a kid?” Hangman asked, eyebrow raised as he glances over at the rest of his team, hoping someone has an answer.

“He could be babysitting?” Payback said, glancing around to see if anyone else was with the two. The team then looked back at Maverick, staring at the pair with a stunned expression. Just as Phoenix was about to propose that the team leave the two of you be and just get on with playing dogfight football Fanboy chose to open his mouth and call out to Rooster.

“Hey, Rooster!” He yelled, waving over at his teammate as Rooster turned in the direction of the team, waving over at them quickly before turning his attention down to you and crouching down to be at your level. The team watched as Rooster spoke to you before straightening up, taking your small hand in his and leading you over to the team.

“Hey guys.” Rooster greets with a smile as you reach his teammates. It was obvious to everyone that Rooster hadn’t expected to see them at the beach, but he couldn’t be mad about it since it was just a coincidence. Every member of the team wasn’t looking at Rooster however, they all had their focus on you where you were hiding behind your dad’s legs, peeking out occasionally at all the adults in front of you.

“This is y/n. She’s, my daughter.” Rooster says, noticing everyone looking at you as he reached down to take your hand once more.

“You have a kid?” Payback asks with raised eyebrows, shock written all over his face as Rooster rolls his eyes and scoffs jokingly.

“Yes, Payback. I have a kid. y/n, sweetheart, do you want to say hi?” Rooster replies to Payback before turning his attention to you as you shake your head and hide further behind Rooster’s legs.

“Sorry, she’s quite shy.” Rooster apologises, looking over at his friends as they smile knowingly.

“It’s okay. Must be intimidating for her to see a large group of people, huh?” Phoenix says, sending you a soft smile when she catches you peeking out from behind Rooster’s legs. Before Rooster has the chance to reply, you hold your arms up, indicating that you want to be picked up and when he obliges, setting you on his hip you lean close to your father’s ear and whisper something that makes a large smile appear on his face.

“Can I tell Phoenix what you said?” Rooster asks, his smile widening when you nod before squirming to be put down again, this time standing alongside him rather than behind him.

“Phoenix, y/n just told me that she thinks you’re very pretty.” Rooster says with a grin as you cling onto his hand like your life depends on it. Phoenix felt her heart melt at his words and crouched down so she could be at your level.

“I think you’re very pretty too y/n.” Phoenix says, a smile on her face as you give her a shy smile of your own. While Phoenix makes conversation with you, the guys of Dagger Squad start talking to Rooster, wanting to know more about you and telling him that they want to be part of your life, proposing that they become the cool uncles.

“Look, I’d love for you guys to be a part of her life, but I need y/n to be okay with it too. She’ll warm up to you guys with time, but it’s always just been me and her since she was born so I need you guys to go at her pace.” Rooster says, glancing at his friends who nod seriously, understanding every word he’s saying.

“I got an idea. We’ll introduce ourselves, say hi and then we can leave you guys be. Let you explain that we work with you and that we’re friends and we could go from there?” Hangman suggests and every head turned to face him. No one had expected him to come up with such an idea, but everyone found his idea good and agreed.

“Okay, that’s a good start.” Rooster agrees and he turns to explain to you that his friends are going to say hi and to his joy, you smile and nod, seemingly more confident after talking to Phoenix. Each member of Dagger Squad takes it in turns introducing themselves to you, using their real name as opposed to their callsigns. You offer each of them a wave and a smile. After the last of them introduced themselves they bid you and Rooster goodbye and move to a different area of the beach, finally revealing Maverick who’d found himself unable to move once Rooster crossed to the team.

“Didn’t realise you were here, Mav.” Rooster attempts to joke before noticing the hurt in Maverick’s eyes. You were born while Rooster had cut Maverick out of his life, so he never told Maverick about your birth or even your existence. Rooster felt guilt beginning to gnaw at his stomach as he saw Maverick attempting to blink away his tears.

“Hey y/n/n. This is Maverick. He was grandpa’s best friend.” Rooster says, introducing you to Maverick. He knew the entirety of Dagger Squad had just introduced themselves to you using their real names instead of their callsigns but growing up he’d always known Maverick as Maverick and not Pete. No one called him Pete other than Penny.

“Grandpa Goose?” You ask innocently, looking up at your dad as he nods with a gentle smile.

“That’s right, sweetheart. He was grandpa Goose’s best friend.” Rooster confirms, looking back at Maverick who smiles lightly at the exchange. Rooster then offers to sit with Maverick on the beach wall and chat while you entertain yourself by making sandcastles.

“She’s adorable, Bradley.” Maverick says, watching as you start piling sand into your bucket with your spade.

“You’re not wrong there, Mav. She’s perfect.” Rooster says with a smile, glancing over at Maverick.

“You said it’s just been you and her since she was born. That must’ve been hard.” Maverick says quietly. He remembers when Goose and Carole first had Rooster and how they’d often have Maverick come around to help. He remembered when Penny’s husband left and how she was left to care for Amelia by herself and how he’d step in and help when he was in town.

“There have been moments where it’s been tough but the good outweighs the bad. The hardest part was when she was a newborn. I didn’t know what I was doing but I found a parent group and it helped a lot. Made some friends too who help look after y/n sometimes.” Rooster explains, glancing back over at Maverick who nods slowly, listening carefully.

“I’m glad it’s not been too hard on you and you’ve had support along the way. I’m just sorry I fucked everything up by pulling your papers.” Maverick apologises, head hanging in shame as he pictures what could’ve been if he hadn’t pulled Rooster’s papers. He would’ve helped bring you up, and helped to provide support to Rooster with the knowledge he picked up helping Goose and Carole when Rooster was born. He could’ve been the father Rooster lost all those years ago.

“Don’t be like that Mav. I was the dumbass who couldn’t understand why you did it and let my anger get the best of me. When I took y/n home for the first time I knew I couldn’t get my parent's help… so I almost called you.” Rooster admits, eyes shifting from Maverick to you, watching you add shells to your newly formed sandcastle.

“I’m just glad I’ve been able to put it behind me. y/n needs more people in her life. I’m doing what I can I just want her to have everything she deserves. I love her so much, Mav.” Rooster continues, smiling slightly when you find a small stick and plunge it into the top of your castle, acting as if it were a flagpole.

“I’m here now, kid. And so’s the rest of Dagger Squad. If anything she’s going to end up spoiled rotten.” Maverick says with a chuckle, wiping away his unfallen tears as Rooster laughs slightly.

“Not too spoiled, Mav. I need my kid to be raised right.” Rooster replies as you call over to him, showing him your completed sandcastle excitedly before running up to him demanding you be lifted so you could sit on his lap, curling into him instantly.

“Did you like my sandcastle, daddy?” You ask excitedly, your grin widening when he nods.

“It’s the best sandcastle I’ve seen in my entire life. I think Mav agrees too.” Rooster says, hugging you tight as you look over at Maverick with hopeful eyes.

“Your dad’s right y/n. It’s the best sandcastle ever.” He says, making your smile overtake your face before you cuddle into Rooster’s arms, content to sit there as the two men continue their conversation. The two converse a little longer, their conversation only stopping when Rooster hears the soft snores coming from where you had buried your face in his neck.

“I think it’s a certain someone’s naptime.” Rooster says with an amused tone to his voice as he carefully stands up, tightening his grip on you as you cuddle closer to him. Maverick follows Rooster to the Bronco, helping to open the door while Rooster carefully navigates putting you into your car seat, doing his best not to rouse you. Once you’re secured in your seat, Rooster turned to Maverick with a smile on his face.

“If you want to come over tomorrow, I’m sure y/n would love it. You definitely won her over by complimenting her sandcastle. I think she’d love to hear some stories about dad. There’s only so much I can tell her.” Rooster says, a pang of sadness hitting his chest at thought of his dad and how much he misses him and wishes he was around.

“I’ll come over tomorrow. You won’t be able to get rid of me now.” Maverick laughs as Rooster opens the front door of the Bronco.

“Bradley, before you go, I have to say. You’re doing great. She’s a good kid.” Maverick then says, stopping Rooster in his tracks as he turns to face his father figure, quickly moving to trap him in a tight hug.

“Thank you, Mav.” Rooster mumbles into Maverick’s shoulder before releasing him from the hug and getting into the car. He bids Maverick one last goodbye before driving away, leaving Maverick alone as he smiled to himself.

He was a goner for the youngest Bradshaw already.

#justabigassnerd #justabigassnerd writes #top gun #top gun maverick #top gun fic #top gun maverick fic #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley 'rooster' bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster #rooster top gun #rooster x reader #rooster x daughter!reader #bradley bradshaw x daughter!reader #bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x daughter!reader #x daughter!reader

[callsignspark]

change your ticket home

a top gun maverick AU

pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x Sherrie McHone (fem!OC)

summary: After a successful business trip on the West Coast, two Wells Corporation engineers have problems getting back home. Thank god for Bradley Bradshaw, a man who is determined to make their hours waiting in the terminal as enjoyable as possible. And if he and his pretty travel companion (and colleague) get closer along the way? Well that’s just a bonus.

warnings: difficulties of being a woman in a male-dominated field, minor misogyny from coworkers, yearning, pining, Bradley being an absolute sweetheart, it's vaguely alluded to but Sherrie is named after the Steve Perry song, American Airlines bashing bc this fic is based on a real and horrible experience I had a few years ago. and yes, the title is from the one direction song.

word count: 9.8k | masterlist

note: happy saturday! this has been in the works for almost a year and I'm so thrilled to finally be sharing it! this is dedicated to @gretagerwigsmuse, who gave so many wonderful ideas and has continually been a cheerleader for this fic. happy birthday!

Friday, July 15, 2016 | 06:36 AM PST | San Diego, CA

“If I fake a heart attack, we can get out of this meeting, right?”

She looks over at Bradley sprawled in the uncomfortable café chair in his navy suit, his arm slung over the back of her chair. He’s down to just his crisp, white button-up, jacket, and tie abandoned within the first ten minutes of the call.

“Suck it up, we’re almost done.” She rolls her eyes. “And Martin knows you’re a supremely healthy thirty-two-year-old, so no, I don’t think that will work.”

“Sherrie…” His whine is cut off by her hand covering his mouth as she unmutes her microphone and mentally praises his decision to sit so close to her. Not having to pull out both laptops was just an additional perk on top of her ability to silence him.

“That’s correct, Sean. We got them to agree to a small batch trail run for the connectors. We’ll be working together on running them through environmental testing before committing to a full contract.”

“And why are they agreeing to that? Because frankly, it makes no sense to me why they would want to do that.”

Bradley straightens up, his eyes narrowing at the Teams box showing the older man’s initials. “Well, Sean, as Sherrie explained before. Harris hasn’t produced connectors like this before, and they’re interested in the test results, specifically the shock data. So they agreed to take on half the burden so they can use the information for their own use. If this works how we think it will, this will be a huge boost for their business, even if the patent is shared.”

She looks at him, half admonishment and half appreciation, always a little bit amazed when he had her back, no matter how many times he had done it. “The contracts team is drawing up the final agreements and negotiating with their team next week, so best case scenario is we have reports with usable data by the end of the summer. Worst case, it’ll drift into the middle of Q1.”

“That’s great work you guys did out there, thank you. Alright, I think that covers everything we had to talk about today. McHone, Bradshaw - have a safe flight back, and everyone have a good weekend!” Martin ends the call before anyone can add anything.

Bradley laughs. “God, he’s just as sick of Sean as I am. I can’t wait until he retires.”

“He’s not that bad; you’re just grumpy because you had to dress up for the staff meeting, and then Martin said cameras off today.”

“I am upset about that! I will be logging yet another suggestion that we should have casual Fridays and casual travel policy. But I’m more upset because he talks down to you all the time! Like you haven’t been carrying this department on your back since we started ten years ago!”

“Carrying is an exaggeration, Bradley.” She looks up from where she’s putting her laptop away. “I think you have time to change into something comfy before we board.”

“American Airlines Flight 2307 from San Diego to Charlotte, Boarding Group A can now board.”

“Or not.” She giggles as he groans, reaching over to pull her other air pod out of his ear. “Come on, it’s a long flight; you can sleep on the plane. Just be thankful you’re not wearing an underwire bra and heels.”

“I don’t know how you do that.” He mutters, shooing her away when she tries to pick up her carry-on, throwing it over his shoulder alongside his own.

“I don’t either. I’m going to get a massage when we get back to Boston.”

“Ohhh, a massage sounds nice.” He subtly sticks his elbow out for her grab, which she gratefully does, letting his tall frame guide her to their gate. “You know you didn’t have to wear heels, right?”

“You should shut up while I’m still thankful you yelled at Sean for me.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Sherrie leans her head on his arm as they wait in the priority boarding line, one of the perks of traveling on the company’s dime. Normally, she would worry about being more professional while carrying her work bag that had the Wells Corporation logo embroidered on it, but she can’t bring herself to care. Yesterday’s meetings ran late, and the following client dinner had kept them out until almost midnight. After packing, going to bed late, and having to get up at 3:30AM to get to the airport, she was exhausted.

She takes her bag before they scan their tickets, not fighting when he grabs it again on their walk down the jet bridge.

“Where are you sitting again?”

“I’m in 16C.” She snorts at Bradley’s pout. “What? You knew we weren’t going to be sitting together.”

“But I’m going to be bored all the way back in 21D by myself.”

“Bud, you’re going to fall asleep in the first 30 minutes like you always do, and then I would be stuck for the next four hours with you leaning and drooling on me.”

Bradley whips his head around, “That is a baseless accusation. I do not drool!”

“You 100% definitely do drool, I’ve seen it.” Her smirk widens when his attempt to fight back is cut off by the flight attendants greeting them.

He ushers Sherrie on first, politely nodding to the flight crew before following her down the aisle, ducking down to whisper. “I do not drool.”

“You absolutely do drool. You also snore.”

She can feel eyes on them as they shuffle down the aisle, making eye contact with an older woman who raises her eyebrows in appreciation at the hunk of a man behind her.

This happens everywhere they go.

Bradley is such a gentleman, always opening doors and carrying her bags, that people never believe the two are just friends and coworkers. She’s had complete strangers fight with her when she says there’s nothing between them. Unable to accept that it’s just platonic.

As much as she wishes it could be more.

After years of learning all the little details of each other, she knows they would be good together. Their decade-long friendship allowing her to thoroughly analyze how well their personalities would mesh. They share the same beliefs and have the same interests; they even have overlapping friend groups. They’re made for each other.

On paper.

In reality, it will never happen.

She won’t let it.

“Is this good here?” Bradley’s question interrupts her weekly internal spiral; his big brown eyes blink at her over his shoulder as he puts her bag into the overhead compartment.

“That’s fine. Can you grab my water bottle out of the side pocket?

“Here ya go, ma’am. I’ll meet you by the water foundation when we land, okay?”

She nods, smiling as he hustles back to his seat to avoid a family almost flattening him in their haste to get to their assigned seats.

Her seat neighbors haven’t arrived yet, so Sherrie sits down without bothering to buckle, tucking her work bag under the row in front of her after pulling out her plane kit. Her pencil case from college that she’s repurposed to hold her headphones, phone charger, gum, hand sanitizer, and a few other small necessities.

Her phone buzzes as she’s storing her water bottle and the little bag away in the pocket of the seat in front of her.

Bradley is woken up by his seat neighbor hitting his arm as he reaches to grab a drink, nodding at the guy’s apologetic face before trying to get comfortable again. Alan talked way too much at dinner last night, and it was a struggle to stay awake during the project manager’s third round of gushing over how brilliant and profitable Sherrie’s proposal would be for both companies.

“Sir? This is for you, do you want it?” The muffled question is accompanied by someone shaking his shoulder. He peels open his eyes to see the flight attendant holding out two packets of Biscoff cookies.

His face must be confused enough for the short woman to take pity on him. “Your friend up there said these are your favorite and asked me to give hers to you.”

His heart warms up, taking the treats and saying thank you. He enjoys the cookies, washing them down with the ginger ale he also got, thinking about how well Sherrie knows him. He forces himself to wait for them to finish snack service before he gets up to use the restroom.

“Thank you.” Bradley revels in the way Sherrie jumps when he pops her headphone out, purposefully brushing his lips against her ear. “Hmmm, you were right, your seatmate is cute.”

She glares up at him, a smile threatening to break through. “Isn’t he? He fell asleep five minutes after take off, just like you.”

“Yet, another baseless accusation!”

“I heard you snoring.”

“You shouldn’t lie in front of small children.”

“His mom said he’s seven months old; I don’t think we have to be concerned about teaching him to lie while he’s still in a car seat.”

“Probably shouldn’t chance it, though. Say I don’t snore.”

“You just said I shouldn’t lie. Should probably go to the bathroom before you start holding up traffic.” She puts her headphone back in, wiggling her fingers at him before going back to reading on her phone.

It gives him the strangest sense of déjà vu.

Tuesday, March 25, 2005 | 10:43 AM EST | Charlottesville, VA

“…and he said you had already-” Bradley cuts himself off, realizing she can’t hear him. He chuckles; he should have known better than to just walk up and start talking.

He doesn’t know Sherrie McHone very well. They had taken all the freshman intro to engineering requirements together, and this year their classes had split into their chosen disciplines. His mechanical, hers electrical. But he knows her well enough to know that she can pretty much only be found without her headphones during class.

He remembers the first time they spoke last semester after he accidentally walked right into her. He had told Danny it’s because she’s so much shorter than him, but it’s really because he wasn't paying attention.

Sherrie had only taken one earpiece out to make sure he was okay before continuing onto her class, seamlessly weaving between upperclassmen as she shoved her headphone back in.

“Sherrie?” No response.

He lets out a tiny huff and checks his watch. Normally, he wouldn’t care that she’s clueless to his existence even as he’s right beside her, but he’s got a class soon, and he’s still two buildings away. So he does the only thing he can.

He pops her headphones out and steps back for fear of getting smacked.

Her head whips up, narrowing in on him freakishly fast. “What the fuck, Bradshaw?”

He’s surprised to learn that she knows his name.

“Sorry, Sherrie! I’ve been trying to talk to you for like five minutes, and you somehow haven’t noticed, but I’ve got class in 15 minutes, so I needed to get your attention.”

“Oh…” Her green eyes widen in surprise, the apples of her cheeks turning a light pink. “Sorry about that. What did you need? Wait. How did you find me?”

A fair question.

“Khondker told me where you sit.” He partially fibs.

All semester he had been watching her disappear after EE221, the one class they shared. It had taken him a while, but he was pretty sure he had found her secret study nook in the electrical engineering wing of the building. Their TA had only confirmed Bradley’s theory of where he could find his fellow sophomore.

“I don’t understand this last section we’ve been learning, and Khondker said you had already finished the homework and could help me. So could you?”

“He didn’t help you?” Sherrie raises an eyebrow in disbelief.

“He tried.” Bradley scratches the back of his head, remembering how frustrated the patient man had been after his third attempt at explaining. “I just really don’t understand circuit loops. And he thought having a classmate explain it to me would make it stick. That or he was just so sick of me, he’s pawning me off.”

He watches her think, her pencil rapidly tapping against her notebook, making him nervous.

“I don’t want to be rude, but if you don’t understand current loops, I’m not sure how much help I can be. I understand the material, but I’m not a miracle worker.”

Her bluntness makes him smile. “I’m not expecting miracles, just help with the homework. If you have time.”

“Okay, just as long as you don’t get your hopes up too much.” She grabs a bright pink notebook and opens it up. “So, I’m usually free-”

“I don't want to interrupt, but I do have to get to class, so could we figure out a time later today?”

“Sure, I’ll be here until my class at four. Feel free to sit down if I’m not here; it just means I’m grabbing food.” He nods, backing away. “Wait! Bradley! Go down this hall and out the side door. You’ll be like halfway there already.”

“Awesome, thanks!” He starts to jog down the hallway, looking back to see her putting her headphones back in. Waving back when she smiles and wiggles her fingers at him before going back to her homework.

Friday, July 15, 2016 | 3:16 PM EST | Charlotte, NC

“Our flight got delayed, and I’m hungry.”

Sherrie jumps, not expecting Bradley to get that close to her face three seconds after she exited the bathroom.

“Okay, I could eat. Where do you wan-”

“Auntie Anne’s.”

He’s walking away before she can even process what he said. She allows herself one second to appreciate the way he looks, walking through the concourse - navy slacks fitting his legs perfectly and all their bags thrown over his broad shoulders - before she’s clicking along after him.

“Bradshaw!” He freezes and turns, almost taking a lanky teenager out with her backpack. “Oh my god, Bradley! Be careful! You almost took that kid’s head off.”

His smile is sheepish as she shuffles them over to the wall. “I did not do that on purpose.”

She giggles and takes her backpack from his shoulder. “Yeah, I kinda figured. But you should have seen his face. His life flashed before his eyes. All sixteen years.”

“I can carry that Sherrie.”

“That’s okay, I got it. No! Bradley!”

He ignores her, smiling at her frustrated little stomp when he hands over her tan, cross-body purse out of her work bag. “You just carry that and make sure I don’t take out any toddlers or old ladies.”

“How am I supposed to do that if I’m ahead of you?” She snarks as he steers them toward the food stands.

“You’re smart; I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” Bradley laughs when she mocks him under her breath. “I can hear you, smartass.”

“You were meant to, Bradley.”

His heart flutters at the teasing wink she sends over her shoulder. It’s been twelve years since they became friends, and he still feels like that 20-year-old kid who was nervous to talk to the pretty red-headed girl he had a crush on.

He can feel eyes on them as her heels catch people’s attention, and he finds himself glaring at men who are shamelessly staring. Her shoes aren’t loud as they click along on the tile floor, but it’s hard to ignore the beautiful woman striding along in business casual.

It happens everywhere they go.

Sherrie has always been beautiful and painfully unaware of her effect on men. It never matters where they are - at work, the rare baseball game he forces her to attend, happy hour with their friends from school - she always catches attention. It doesn’t bother him because she never reciprocates, and he’s always the one to give her a ride back to her apartment.

Even if he wishes it was their apartment they were going to.

He’s watched her change over the last decade, seen her grow as a person. He’s risen through the ranks with her professionally, the two of them matching each other step for step with each promotion and raise. He’s publicly assured her that her hair still looks good as it’s deepened color with age, now less red and more auburn. He’s privately appreciated the way her body has changed, softer and curvier than when they were kids. Her wide hips are a frequent star in his daydreams.

It's the only place where they’ll ever be in a relationship.

He knows they’d be perfect together. Old friends who know each other so well they don’t even have to talk to communicate sometimes. Whose attitudes fit together like puzzle pieces, perfectly in sync with each other. He knows it won’t happen. Can’t happen.

“Grab us a table, and I’ll get the food.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t fight her about paying, knowing this will be covered under their per diem. “Don’t forget my-”

“You’re frozen lemonade, I know!”

Bradley rolls his eyes at the hand that waves over her shoulder, settling their bags at a table and keeping an eye on Sherrie while sending an update to Mav.

His thumbs hover over the keyboard. He wants to tell his uncle the whole situation - that he’s not afraid to flirt with Sherrie.

“Everything okay?”

Bradley looks up to find her eyebrows furrowed as she sets a tray down.

“All good. Just sending my family an update that we’re delayed.”

She nods, sitting in the chair across from him. “Here’s your mini pretzel dogs, with mustard and a frozen lemonade. This is my pretzel nuggets, cheese sauce, and Diet Coke. Oh! And I got us these cinnamon sugar pretzels to share!”

“Thank you for remembering the mustard.”

“Bradley, when have I ever forgotten the mustard? Here, take some napkins.”

He shoves an entire mini pretzel dog in his mouth in lieu of answering her question, which they both know the answer to. Never. She has never forgotten his love for pretzels with mustard.

They eat in comfortable silence, the way only two friends can, occasionally dunking into each other's sauces as they scroll through their phones.

“Hey, how is your da- oh Bradley! You got mustard on your shirt!” His head snaps down to his shirt, groaning when he sees the yellow blob on his white button-up.

“Fuck! This is new, too!”

Sherrie dives into her bag, muttering about a stain stick, a triumphant noise escaping when she comes up successful. Scooting closer to him, she’s hit with a wave of nostalgia as she helps him clean his shirt.

Friday, April 6, 2007 | 10:12 PM EST | Charlottesville, VA

“You should’ve been gone, knowing how I made you feel!”

Sherrie’s head pops up from the lab reports she’s grading.

“And I should've been gone, after all your words of steel!”

She knows that voice.

“Oh, I must've been a dreamer! And I must've been someone else!”

She knows that voice very well.

“And we should've been over!”

She rushes for the front door, hoping and praying that the idiot she’s become close friends with this year isn’t actually outside her townhouse.

“Oh! Sherrie, our love holds on! Holds on!”

She whips the door open and, sure enough, drunkenly singing to her neighbor's house is Bradley Bradshaw.

“Bradley!” She hisses at him, ignoring the flutters in her stomach when he points his big, goofy grin towards her and not the tulips the soccer girls next door planted in front of their bay window. “What are you doing? It’s 10 PM!”

“You didn’t come.”

“First man to ever care about that.” She mutters, snorting at her joke.

“What’s funny?”

“Nothing. What are you doing here?”

His puppy dog eyes are vicious, and she has the urge to slap her hand over her eyes so she doesn’t succumb to their power. “You didn’t come to the party!”

Sherrie sighs, she thought he might be disappointed she didn’t come to the annual Sigma Chi Easter Bash, but she never thought he would actually notice her absence. Or that it would result in a drunken serenade.

“Bradley, I told you I had a lot of grading and might not make it tonight.” She gently reminds him, stifling a laugh when he trips over his own feet while standing still. “You okay?”

“I have to pee. Can I come in?”

She’s pretty sure he’s just making excuses but lets him in any way; she doesn’t need to deal with him getting a public indecency charge on top of everything else. “Shoes off, Bradshaw. Bathroom is right here; I’ll be in the dining room.”

“Yes, ma’am!” He sloppily salutes her, losing his balance and thunking against the wall, one shoe still on.

Sherrie just blinks at him before returning to her spot at the dining room table, holding in the laugh threatening to escape. She settles in her chair, focusing on the mediocre reports her students had turned in.

“I washed my hands!” Bradley’s abrupt entrance startles her. “Can we have a snack? I’m hungry?

She watches in amusement as he shuffles to her fridge, riffling through the shelves before opening the freezer and gasping.

“I love pretzels. Can we make these? Please?”

The box of pretzels belongs to her roommate, but she’s not strong enough to deny Bradley’s big brown eyes two times in a row so she makes a mental note to buy Amna a new box the next time she goes to the store. “Yeah, we can. But no touching the oven when you’re drunk. Go sit down.”

“I’m not drunk!” He argues even as he follows her directions, plopping himself at the table and nosily leafing through her done pile. “Wow, lots of red here.”

“Bradley! Don’t look at those!”

“Why not?”

“Would you want some random student looking through your homework?”

His rebuttal gets cut off by the oven beeping, announcing it’s up to temp. After she pops the tray in the oven, she turns and catches him appreciating the pj shorts riding up her shapely legs.

“What?” Her head cocks in confusion.

“Nothin'… cute shorts.”

“Thank you.” He watches in fascination as she snips at him even while her cheeks turn pink. “It’s almost like I was dressed for comfort and not planning on being interrupted.”

“But you’re glad I’m here, right?”

“I’ve had worse company on a Friday night.” She nudges him out of her chair. “While those are baking, go find something to watch, and I’m going to finish grading this report.”

“Such a responsible TA.”

Pride fills his chest as Sherrie snorts at his joke and goes back to work. They’ve officially been friends since last year, but he still tries his hardest to make her laugh. She's always so busy and stressed, and she does the cutest little snort-laugh when he catches her off guard.

He puts on a random movie, just grabbing a VHS case with the Disney logo on the side, before plopping on the couch. “Is there a reason you have so many kids movies?��

“Those are Jayla’s, she collects them.” Sherrie answers, never looking up from the table. “What did you choose?”

“It’s a surprise!”

“You don’t remember, huh?”

“Nope! I’ll be quiet now.”

She hums a thank you in his direction, and Bradley keeps his promise, watching her work and staying quiet until the timer goes off. His chin hooked on the back of the couch; he follows her movement through the kitchen as she pulls the pretzels out and transfers them to a plate.

“Can I have mustard, please?”

“Sure can.” Sherrie smiles at his dopey smile as she makes her way to the couch. “Here, take these, then we can eat.”

He gulps down the painkillers she drops in his hand, chugging the rest of the apple juice after they’re gone, smiling when she absentmindedly praises him for listening. He shoves a bite of pretzel in his mouth and mashes the play button, and is pleasantly surprised to find A Bug’s Life was the mystery choice.

“I love this movie,” he garbles through a pretzel. “I love how Flick wins over the princess just by getting a chance to show off his true self.”

“That was shockingly wise for the drunk man sprawled on my couch.”

Bradley thanks her, already a bit more sober but not enough to pick up on her teasing. “So, why didn’t you come? Grading really couldn’t wait?”

“It probably could have, but I’m not a partier, Bradley. You know that.” She dips a piece of pretzel in the mustard. “Besides, I really didn’t think you would notice I wasn’t there, Mr. Popular.”

“You’re the only person I invited; of course, I noticed when you didn’t show up.”

“Really? No one else? Why?”

“I know it’s almost finals, but I wanted to hang out without any books in front of us; that’s all we do lately. Study. Plus, you’ve been extra stressed about something that you don’t want to talk about, and I just wanted you to relax since you won’t talk to me about whatever is bothering you.”

“That’s sweet of you, Bradley. It’s not that I don’t want to tell you; it’s just that my family has been…” She waves a hand through the air, a deep sigh escaping. “It’s complicated. I’m trying not to think about it too much.”

“Well, I’m here if you do want to talk.”

“Thanks bud. How about you? How’re your parents?” She takes one last chunk before nudging the plate in his direction and settling back into the corner.

“Mom is good; she’s close to being considered cancer-free. I think we’re gonna throw a party when she gets there.”

“That’s awesome, Bradley! I’m glad she’s doing so well. How’s your dad?”

“Mav isn’t my dad.”

A record scratch plays in Sherrie’s head as she freezes. She knows she’s heard Bradley talk about his dad, and she’d seen photos of his parents the one time she had visited his frat house last year. He had specifically pointed the photo out, telling her it was his parents. She had even been next to him when he was on the phone when he said “dad” to the person on the other end.

“My dad died when I was three. Mav is- was his best friend. I call him dad sometimes because he’s the closest thing I’ve got.”

Sherrie feels her heart break as Bradley sniffles and sadly shoves a mustard-covered pretzel in his mouth, unshed tears clumping his eyelashes. She’s never seen her friend like this before; she’s experienced many other emotions - frustration, joy, confusion - but the pain creasing his brow is new.

Comforting crying people has never been her forte, but instinctively - almost like they moved without her permission - Sherrie’s fingers run over his hair. Gently stroking the sun-streaked waves as a few tears escape down his cheeks and she scoots closer, letting her body press into his side and hoping the proximity helps.

“I’m sorry for crying on you.” He quietly apologizes after a few minutes of tears.

“S’okay. Family can be hard sometimes.”

“Complicated.”

“That too.” She hums, not moving as he swipes at his eyes and leans against her more, his head resting on her shoulder in a slouched position that can’t be comfortable.

“I love Mav; he’s my dad in all the ways it matters. It just sucks that my actual dad won’t be here for graduation. Like, I know he’s missed so much of my life already, but something about him missing college graduation is worse than everything else. It’s just so unfair; I barely remember him, but I just- I just miss him so much, Sherrie.”

Her heart cracks in half at the whispered confession. She can’t even imagine the pain of losing a parent at such a young age. The inability to remember one of the people responsible for giving you life, all memories fuzzy and most built from second-hand recollections of those who can remember. So she says the one thing she would want to hear.

“Tell me about him.”

Sherrie knows she said the right thing when his red-rimmed eyes brighten, and he immediately launches into a beloved story detailing his father’s love of pranks. She listens dutifully — laughing at the right moments and asking questions when Bradley gets carried away, forgetting that she doesn’t know all the people in his story — and feels her heart warm more and more. She’s always liked Bradley, probably more than she should, but it’s hard not to like him. He’s considerate, smart, and funny, not to mention handsome.

Thankfully, before she gets lost in thoughts of broad shoulders and strong jawlines, a big glob of mustard drops on Bradley’s t-shirt, abruptly cutting him off. The two stare in silence at the yellow condiment sitting on the black cotton shirt, somehow surprised at its appearance, before breaking down into giggles.

“C’mon Bradshaw,” Sherrie grabs his hand, pulling him off the couch. “I have a Tide pen we can use on that mess.”

Bradley follows her up the stairs and into the bathroom, teasing Sherrie about the way her tongue pokes out when she focuses. She takes the gentle taunts, grateful he’s focusing on that and not on her pink cheeks or the way her eyes keep darting to his toned stomach. She’s not sure it was completely necessary for him to strip his shirt off, but she won’t be complaining.

“Well,” A few minutes later, she interrupts his rambling story about a slip and slide. Or she thinks that’s what it’s about; she missed the first part. “I think this is as good as I can get it.”

“That’s okay; it’s not like it’s new or anything. Thanks, Sherrie.”

She steadfastly ignores the pounding heart in her chest as miles of golden skin gets covered back up, trying to not feel too disappointed by its disappearance.

Friday, July 15, 2016 | 3:56 PM EST | Charlotte, NC

“Oh, this is ridiculous!” Bradley complains a bit too loudly, ears going hot when several pairs of eyes curiously dart toward him, but his focus doesn’t stay on that for very long when he catches the face Sherrie makes. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!”

He squints suspiciously as she avoids eye contact. He usually takes her at her word and doesn’t push, but the frown pulling down the corners of her pink lips sets off bells in his head. “Sherrie, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, Bradley. I’m fine.”

He grumbles at her lack of response but settles again in the spot they had claimed after finishing their snack. The gate was still packed, but they had found a prime location with outlets; the only downside was having to sit on the floor, something that is getting harder the older they get.

Bradley scans the area, trying to scout out some open chairs for them to grab, while Sherrie goes back to the movie they’ve been watching on his phone. His eyes drop away from the chairs in surprise when she scoots closer and leans on his shoulder. It’s not uncommon for them to sit close like this at home in Boston, sides pressed together, but she makes a point to be professional when they’re on travel.

“Hey,” he gently nudges her side, concern rising when she doesn’t lift her head, choosing to tilt her neck back, looking up at him with tired eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Panic grips his chest when tears start forming, clouding her green eyes. “Sherrie?! What’s wrong?”

“We were supposed to be halfway home by now, and I’m so uncomfortable. I’m sorry, Bradley, I’m just so tired.” She whimpers, hiding against his bicep.

It hits him like a glass of cold water. Of course, she’s uncomfortable. She’s been walking around in heels and her pantsuit since 4AM California time after getting maybe three hours of sleep. His suit and shoes are comfortable and easily wearable for twelve-plus hours, not to mention the jacket and tie that were ditched sometime after the mustard incident.

“Oh, Sherrie, it’s okay. Let’s go change, yeah? Then we’ll find a quieter place so you can close your eyes and maybe get some sleep.”

“But the policy…”

Bradley resists the urge to roll his eyes at her insistence on rule-following. “In the nicest way possible, Sher, fuck the policy. You’re uncomfortable, and I care about that way more than I could ever care about a stupid, archaic policy.”

He stands, unplugging their phones and gathering their bags on his shoulder before turning to his best friend, who is still on the floor. “C’mon, we’re putting comfy clothes on.”

“But Bradley-”

“No arguing.” He interrupts, helping her off the ground and directing them back towards the restrooms. “We’re not going to sit in our suits for god knows how much longer.”

“But Bradley, I don’t have anything to change into. We had such a packed schedule I didn’t bother to bring normal clothes.” He ignores the thumping of his heart when her hand grabs his forearm, warm fingers slipping under the edge of the rolled-up sleeve as she tugs to slow his pace. At that information, he slides them out of the flow of traffic and over to the wall, Bradley pressing her against one of the columns lining the concourse atrium.

“You don’t have any regular clothes? What about your pajamas?”

“I have a pair of leggings because I was going to do a training run in the gym last night, but that’s it. I can’t wear my pjs because… well, they’re not appropriate for public.”

“Your leggings are clean, though, right?” He asks, ignoring the thoughts of what non-public appropriate pajamas might look like.

“Well, yeah, dinner went so late I barely had time to sleep before we had to be up. I guess I could buy a shirt at one of the SmartShop- what are you doing?”

Bradley peers up from his knees, where he had started digging in his bag. “I’m grabbing one of my shirts for you. Would you prefer a t-shirt or a sweatshirt? Actually, you’re definitely gonna get cold, sweatshirt for you.”

He pulls the worn, gray crew neck out, shaking it out before handing it over.

“You still have this?” The disbelief in her voice makes him laugh.

“Of course, I still have that! Relay was always my favorite event of the year. And that year was my favorite one.”

As the philanthropy chair of Sigma Chi, part of his job was to sign the brothers up for volunteer events and fundraisers. With his mom’s diagnosis, he ensured their schedule included the campus’ annual Relay for Life event, pouring as many resources as he could into the fundraiser that directly helped advance cancer research.

“Wait, but why was junior year your favorite?” She asks, brushing her fingers over the cracked, screen-printed logo.

“Because that’s the reason we became friends, Sher.”

Surprised green eyes meet sincere brown eyes, a thousand words said in the silence of their stares, both remembering the lead-up to that day in April so many years ago.

Bradley’s eyes widen in panic as everyone at the gate starts moving as a herd. They had finally found seats to relax in after changing, the group of passengers waiting with them shrinking as time went on. And now, with only ten minutes until boarding, their gate has changed again.

“Sherrie, wake up!” He feels bad shaking the snoozing woman off, but they have to move with the group to make it to the new part of Terminal A in time for their flight. “C’mon, honey, they changed the gate again — we gotta go!”

“What are you- again?! Shit!” She wipes the bleariness from her eyes, slinging her bags over her shoulder and grabbing the hand he holds out.

The two coworkers, along with fifty of their fellow passengers who have stuck this out, speed walk down the first branch of the terminal. The entire group picking up the pace when turning the corner towards the second branch where the new gate lives. By the time they hit the second branch, everyone is practically running — time ticking down to boarding — no one wanting to miss this flight.

As if the blob of Flight 1121 passengers racing toward the end of the terminal didn’t garner attention from other gates, the entire terminal is staring by the time they reach gate A28, and several people start yelling in frustration.

“This is unbelievable!” An older gentleman’s unhappiness is interrupted by three simultaneous updates pinging everyone’s phones.

Bradley’s head drops back in disbelief, wrapping his arm around Sherrie when her head thunks against his chest. He doesn’t even get a chance to comfort her before the gate agents are making announcements about getting people on other flights, providing hotel rooms, and the vouchers that will be shared.

“Again, we apologize, but if you have flexible travel plans, we ask that you please go to the end of the line so those with time constraints can be taken care of first. Thank you for your cooperation, folks!”

“Well, that’s us, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Sherrie blows air out of her lips, a mischievous smile taking over her face. “Hey, at least this means extra per diem money.”

Bradley laughs as they move to the back of the squiggly line that’s forming, letting her take the bags so he can step away to call to update their supervisor and then his pet sitter. It only takes a few rings for his boss to pick up. “Bradshaw! What’s up? You okay?”

“Hey Martin, all good. Just wanted to let you know that our flight has gotten supremely delayed. We won’t be home until tomorrow morning sometime.”

“Jesus, do you guys need anything?”

“Nah, we’re good. The airline is putting us up in a hotel for the night and giving vouchers for a bunch of stuff. Just called to let you know and for a heads up on the expense report.”

“Well, that is the most important part!” Martin’s honking laugh makes Bradley chuckle as he glances to check on Sherrie’s progress in line. “How’s Sherrie? She good?”

“Yeah, she’s good. She’s holding our spot in line for getting new tickets and stuff.” And it looks like she’s made friends already, he silently adds, smiling at her interacting with the elderly couple in front of her.

“Good. Alright then, I’ll see you on Monday, but let me know if you guys need anything. And hey! If you two end up in the same hotel room — remember what I said on your first day!”

The line goes dead, and so does Bradley’s smile, his stomach churning like it does every time he remembers his first day at the Wells Corporation.

Tuesday, July 10, 2007 | 11:15 AM EST | Boston, MA

“Will you calm down?”

“I can’t, Bradley. What if no one likes me? What if I fuck up?!” She hisses, working to appear calm as they wait for their supervisor to show up, but failing.

“First of all, we’re starting together, so you have at least one person that likes you. And you’re great, everyone will like you. Second, there will be mistakes, but we just graduated — they’re not going to let us do anything alone because we don’t know anything yet.”

Sherrie nods, tucking her hands under her legs and trying to breathe. Bradley’s words are encouraging, but he doesn’t know how difficult her internship was last summer. The older engineers she shadowed treated her like a glorified coffee girl and secretary. Even when she had pointed out a mistake they all had missed, there was no change — just the addition of making her type their reports to see if she could catch something the non-engineer tech writers would miss.

This is a brand new company, but misogyny wasn’t unique to Waite Green Construction. Every woman has to work twice as hard to prove her worth and intellect, no matter her age or experience. She’s just hoping her onboarding mentor will be the only other woman in the department; it would be the perfect way to gain a professional mentor once she’s out of the probation period.

“Good morning, kids! How was orientation?” Mr. Teresi walks into the conference room.

Bradley shakes his hand first, “It was good, sir. Nice to see you again.”

“Good to hear! Learn lots of new things.”

“Yes, I think we can be considered experts on trade secrets now.” Sherrie jokes, focusing on making sure her handshake is firm but not too firm.

“Wonderful. So, I’m guessing you two have been introduced, but just in case you haven’t. Bradley, this is Sherrie McHone; she’s an electrical engineer. And Sherrie, this is Bradley Bradshaw, a mechanical engineer.”

“We actually went to school together, sir.”

“We’re friends,” Bradley adds, the two of them exchanging small smiles.

“Oh, great! Well, that makes things easier getting started. Now let’s go over my plan for the two of you, and then we’ll get lunch, my treat for your first day.”

Their supervisor talks for half an hour, going over things they’ll need to be trained in and their first assignments. By the time he’s done, several notebook pages have been filled and highlighted with things that need to be looked up.

“Alright!” The older engineer claps, rubbing his hands together. “I’m sure your brains are overloaded with information, so go drop your things at your desks, and we’ll head to lunch.”

The recent graduates gather their notes and head for the door, quietly talking about a training they’ll be attending next week when he stops them. “One more thing, guys. They never mention it during R&D orientation, but I feel it’s necessary to mention it to new people. Here at Wells, there isn’t a fraternization policy among non-management coworkers or between any employees in different divisions. But we are a fairly small department, so keep in mind who you interact with and what impacts that may have at work.”

Sherrie feels the blood drain from her already pale face as her brand new supervisor stares at her the entire time he speaks, ignoring Bradley completely. She’s going to be sick. Less than four hours into the first professional role of her career, and it’s already happening.

This is the moment it starts, she thinks, her heart pounding in her throat as she robotically nods. It’s never the men that get these warnings. It’s always the women. Always us. Always me.

“I don’t care about that. But there are some people who will, even though they shouldn’t. And I want you guys to have the best experience here you possibly can. You’re both extremely bright, and I’m excited about your futures. I don’t want you to get bogged down by the opinions of others. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.” They answer in unison before filing out of the conference room.

“Sherrie, don’t worry about that. He’s just-”

“Trust me, Bradley. I know exactly what he was saying. I’m going to use the restroom, and then I’ll meet you guys at the elevator.”

“Sherrie…”

But she ignores her friend, shrugging her purse over her shoulder and keeping her face neutral as she heads for the single-stall ladies’ room. Fighting to hold the tears back until she’s inside for fear of being perceived as emotional. A quality no woman can afford to have in a professional setting.

Friday, July 15, 2016 | 8:05 PM EST | Charlotte, NC

“Hey, everything? Martin says hi.”

“We’re good! This is Mr. and Mrs. Ludden; they’re going to visit their newest granddaughter. How’re Sophie and Louis?” Bradley smiles at the excited way she introduces them, putting a steadying hand on her back when she bounces up on her toes.

“Oh, congrats! They’re good; Marie can watch’em one more day, problem.”

“Good, we’ll have to get her a thank you present for the short notice.”

“You didn’t tell us you guys had kids!”

Bradley and Sherrie freeze in place, eyes widening in surprise at the older woman’s words.

“Oh- uh- we-” Sherrie giggles awkwardly. “Sophie and Louis are our cats; we don’t have kids.”

“I’m so sorry!” Mrs. Ludden gasps, hand covering her mouth in shock while her husband groans her name.

“Louise, how many times do we have to do this before you stop making assumptions?”

“It’s okay, innocent mistake,” Bradley assures them.

“Well, they’re such a cute couple. I just thought they would have adorable children, too!”

“Actually… we’re not…”

“Oh, lord. Let me guess. You’re not dating. You’re just friends.”

“Coworkers too, but we were friends first.” Sherrie suppresses a laugh when the older gentleman rubs a hand over his eyes in exasperation.

“Don’t even start, Clayton!”

“I wasn’t going to, dear.”

Bradley can’t help the laugh that escapes at the comfortable ribbing they give each other; it reminds him of his friendship with Sherrie. The easy way they tease, never going too far.

“Would you two like to join us after we get rebooked?” Bradley asks. “We’re going to use our food vouchers tonight to grab dinner before we head to whatever hotel they put us up in.”

The four adults move through the line, chatting about small things and comparing pictures of grandkids and cats. It’s a nice way to spend the time, especially when they get to share judging looks when a woman throws a tantrum and yells at the gate agent. But soon enough, they’re walking back to the main concourse and deciding what food to get.

“No, stop. You just sit here with the bags, and I’ll grab the food.” Bradley gently pushes Sherrie back into her chair, rolling his eyes as he talks over her protests. “I know. You want mac and cheese, Diet Coke, and whatever pulled pork flavor looks best.”

“He’s sweet,” Louise says, watching the two men make their way over to the BBQ place.

“He’s annoying.” Which makes her companion laugh. “Yes, he’s very sweet. I’m lucky to be such good friends with him.”

“Can I ask why the two of you aren’t together? He even knows what food to bring you.”

“It’s just never been like that between us. We’ve always just been friends. And he’s annoyingly smart, so he always remembers what I order.” Sherrie half smiles, pushing down the pain in her chest at the harmless curiosity, watching Bradley laugh at something Clayton says as she remembers the first time he remembered one of her favorites.

Saturday, March 4, 2006 | 1:34 PM EST | Charlottesville, VA

“Thanks for meeting me on a Saturday, Bradshaw. It’s just such a busy semester.”

“No problem. You know you can call me Bradley, right?”

“Oh, sorry. Do you not like being called Bradshaw?” Sherrie blinks when a bottle of Diet Coke and a small bag of Skittles is set on the table in front of her. “What’s this?”

“Your favorite snack.”

“Right… but why?”

“Because you have that about 50% of the time when we meet up to work on this project. Now, I finished transcribing the interview with Commander Buck last night. Did you want to- Sherrie?”

She shifts her focus from the food to the boy across from her in the study nook they’ve claimed as theirs for the semester. “Why do you remember my favorite snack?”

“Because we’re friends?” Brown eyes look into hers, equally confused.

“We’re friends?”

“I hope so; otherwise, this is gonna get awkward when you hug me in a minute.”

“Why am I going to hug you?!”

Bradley laughs at her flabbergasted expression, but it doesn’t hurt her feelings like it does when other people laugh at her. Something about the tone of the laugh makes it feel like he’s laughing at her, but rather with her, and she just doesn’t know the joke yet.

“Because as team captain, I am happy to announce to the Relay Chair that Sigma Chi has officially raised $5,000 thanks to your idea.”

“Bradley, that’s incredible!” She doesn’t feel silly when she bounces around the table to hug his neck, rocking them back and forth in excitement.

“Well, if you think that’s good - let me show you what we’re anticipating to raise this month…”

Friday, July 15, 2016 | 10:12 PM EST | Charlotte, NC

“I just don’t understand how we’re having such bad luck!”

Sherrie rolls her eyes as he unlocks the door. “Bradley, breathe. You’re being very dramatic right now.”

“How is “we’re out of rooms” a legitimate reason for the hotel to give? Not that I mind sharing with you, but like how is that possible? The airline specifically works with them to book rooms for things like this! And the airline! That gate agent who wanted to book us to fly into Hartford and then drive the rest of the way to Boston! That's insane!”

“I don’t know, the Bradley flying into Bradley joke was pretty funny.” She mutters, clicking the lights on as she checks the cleanliness of the room.

“It wasn’t.” Bradley pouts, flopping onto the bed closest to the door. “Do you want to shower first?”

“No, go ahead, but I’m going to wash my face first so I can do a face mask. I’m so dry from the airport air.” He listens to the sounds of water running and the quiet humming as she carefully applies the drenched sheet to her skin. “All yours!”

“Thanks, Sher. I won’t be long.”

He showers quickly but takes extra time cleaning his teeth, his mouth feeling gross after the long travel day. When he comes out, he’s surprised at how cozy the room feels. With only one lamp on, the air conditioning set low to keep the fan running, and an old movie on the TV, it almost feels like they could be at home in his living room. They silently move around each other, Sherrie heading to the bathroom with a pile of things while Bradley organizes his things for the morning, wanting to get as much rest as possible before their early alarm.

He scrolls through emails and texts while he waits for her to shower, turning the television off since he knows there’s a small chance of either of them making it five minutes after they kill the lights. He's updating Mav on tomorrow’s travel plans when Sherrie comes out of the bathroom, her hair wrapped in a towel. Bradley sees her packing things out of the corner of his eye, not fully paying attention until he plugs his phone in.

“That’s what you wear to bed?”

“Bradley!” He laughs at how she jumps, her hands coming down to cover her shorts.

“What? They’re cute! Very pink.”

Her face goes as pink as the pajama set she’s wearing. “Stop making fun of me!”

“I’m not! You know, I love strawberries.” He can’t help the way his eyes roam up and down her body, admiring from the spaghetti straps on her smooth shoulders to the scalloped edge of her shorts. “I see why you didn’t want to change into those at the airport.”

“Oh my god…” She huffs, climbing into her own queen bed and stuffing herself under the sheets. “You set an alarm, right?”

“Yes, ma’am. Want me to turn the light off?”

“Please. God, this day cannot be over soon enough.”

He chuckles and turns the lamp off, listening to her shuffle around in the sheets as she gets comfortable. It’s quiet for a few minutes, and he can hear her breathing leveling out, but he can’t keep quiet; the conversation at the airport running through his mind.

“Sher?” It takes a second, but she quietly hums in response. “We have to talk about it again.”

“No, we don’t.”

“Sherrie-”

“No, Bradley. We talked about this two weeks ago. Nothing has changed since then.”

“Yes, things have changed since then. You interviewed for that principal engineer position. Which if you get-”

“I’m not going to get it. They’re going to pick Trevor.”

“They’re going to pick you. You’re the best person for the job!”

“That’s not how it works, and you know it.”

He’s silent, the crushing weight on his chest feeling heavier when he hears her sniffle.

“Oh, Sherrie…” He slips out of his bed and into hers, wrapping the woman he loves in his arms. He lets her cry, knowing she’s frustrated and exhausted, only speaking up again when she’s calmed down. “I’m sorry, honey.”

“No, I’m sorry, Bradley. It’s not fair that we’ve been dancing around this for so many years, and I keep saying no. You deserve someone who isn’t afraid to be with you. Not a coward like me.”

“You’re not a coward; you’re one of the bravest people I know, Sherrie Anne McHone. I know how critical people are of women, in this field especially. And I love you, so I don’t mind waiting until we’re in a position that you’re confident won’t jeopardize your career. So, we’ll wait to hear about the job, and once you hear that you’ve gotten it, I’m treating you to the nicest dinner in Boston.”

“Bradley, we don’t know-”

“I know we don’t know. But think about how it would be if it does. Wouldn’t that be amazing?”

“But what about-”

“Doesn’t matter, honey.”

“You don’t even know what I was gonna say.” Sherrie mumbles, cuddling further into his side, making it clear that he wasn’t allowed to leave.

“I know, but it doesn’t matter, whatever it is — we’ll figure it out.”

Saturday, July 16, 2016 | 10:32 AM EST | Somewhere over Virginia

“She’ll take a ginger ale; thank you so much.” Bradley balances his apple juice, the two packets of Biscoff cookies, and the bubbling soda he got for Sherrie. The smiling flight attendant moves past their row as he turns to his row companion.

They’re finally on their way home after waking up to more delay announcements. The additional time meant there was time to get coffee and some fruit from the hotel before their taxi back to the airport arrived, and the Luddens had even stopped to chat for a second at the gate, excited that they had gotten bumped up to first class since the flight was nearly empty.

All things considered, it had been a good morning even though Sherrie was insisting on working during the flight. Bradley is sure it’s an attempt to ignore their talk from last night, not wanting to dwell on the emotional moment when things are still so up in the air.

He looks over at the woman he’s known since he was eighteen, overwhelmed for a moment by how little things have changed since the first time he ever noticed her. Bradley fondly watches as she furiously types, hunched over her laptop with headphones, playing what he knows is eighties hair bands.

Her nose wrinkles in frustration, and suddenly it’s 2003 again, and he’s trying to get the attention of the red-haired girl whose table has the only empty chair left, something he desperately needs since this book can’t leave the library. He’s unable to get her attention and resorts to knocking on the table, heart skipping a beat when the prettiest green eyes he’s ever seen blink up at him. Bradley gestures at the empty chair, silently asking if he can sit, and is grateful when she nods because her smile is making his knees wobble. For the next hour, he tries to take notes for his paper, but he keeps getting distracted by the beautiful girl across from him. Bradley isn’t sure if he’s upset or happy when she packs up her stuff and leaves, giving him a little wave when she notices him watching her.

That had been thirteen years ago, and her intense focus still distracts him, but he’s not afraid to interrupt her this time. Fingers rub her arm that is covered in his sweatshirt again, but this time, he knows it smells like her shampoo instead of his cologne. Her smile still sends his heart skipping when she looks up at him, her pretty eyes widening in joy when she catches sight of the red snack packaging and the plastic cup holding her second favorite soda.

“Thank you!” She whispers, leaning across the empty middle seat in their row to kiss his cheek. “Oh, and we should go out to lunch when we get back! I want to try that new noodle place that opened in Southie.”

He just smiles when she immediately gets back to work; cheek puffed out from the cookie she stuffed in her mouth.

Maybe she’s not avoiding our talk from last night.

Thursday, August 11, 2017 | 2:15 PM EST | Boston, MA

“You got a minute?” Bradley knocks on the edge of her cubicle. It may be a different floor of their building, but all of the office space is the same dated stuff from decades ago.

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“First of all…” He ducks down and presses a swift kiss to her plush mouth, still trying to make up for all those years he couldn’t. “And don’t say anything because I already checked before I did because I wanted to kiss my girl.”

He chuckles at the pink spots that shine on her cheeks. It’s been a year since Sherrie snagged the promotion, and they officially became an item, but she still turns a little red whenever he says something sweet.

“Second, you are all packed, right?”

“Yes, why?”

“I was gonna swing by the apartment and get our bags so we can head straight to the airport after work.”

“You took the afternoon off? Why?”

Bradley was expecting this question and smoothly fibs. “I worked the hours out with Martin for this week so I could run a few last-minute errands. Do you want me to grab snacks?”

“Okay, Mr. Secrets. When you’re at home, could you water the ivy? I forgot this morning, and I don’t want it to die while we’re gone.”

“Of course! Need me to do anything else?”

Sherrie hums, staring at the ceiling as she thinks. “One more kiss?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Bradley happily complies with her request.

“Okay, now you have to go. I have to finish prepping for this meeting where I get to yell at Sean.”

“That’s my girl. I’ll pick you up later. I love you.”

“I love you, too. Have fun with your mysterious errands.” Sherrie teases, and Bradley smirks back, knowing how much she would be freaking out if he knew what he would be doing while she professionally reamed out their least favorite colleague.

“Thanks, honey. Text me if you think of something.” Sherrie waves over her shoulder, already zoned back into her work.

Bradley doesn’t dare look at his buzzing phone until he’s safely on the elevator, pleased to see confirmation texts from their hotel and the airline. Would it be cheesy to quietly propose in the airport that was a catalyst in their relationship? Maybe, but he knew Sherrie would love it. He’s just hoping the TSA didn’t call out the ring that would be hiding in his carry-on.

#deltasupremacy I also want to give a special thanks to @sometimesanalice, who gave so much encouragement through the texts despite having no idea what I was writing - you're the best! tagged some friends and most those who interacted with the original announcement post for this fic all those months ago!

tagging: @gretagerwigsmuse @sometimesanalice @laracrofted @theharddeck @hangmanbrainrot @hangmanssunnies @thesewordsareallihavetogive @princessphilly @katieshook02 @atarmychick007 @kmc1989 @a-court-of-roscoe-and-baby @misfitpeach @luckyladycreator2 @scarlettwidow19 @mini-bee-bee @midnightstarqueen @shamelessghostwagonwobbler

divider credit

#top gun maverick fic #top gun fic #bradley bradshaw fic #rooster fic #top gun maverick au #top gun maverick imagine #top gun au #top gun imagine #bradley rooster bradshaw fic #bradley rooster bradshaw x oc #bradley bradshaw x oc #bradley bradshaw imagine #rooster imagine #elle writes

[blue-aconite]

you said you’d grow old with me || b.b

Summary: Bradley Bradshaw had been in her life since she was 16 years old. Her rock, anchor in a bad storm, shoulder to cry on. Her best friend. It felt like they had known each other forever, two pieces of a puzzle. She could talk to him about everything.

Warnings: Terminal illness, angst, no happy ending

Word Count: 3.3k

Pairings: Bradley Bradshaw x f!reader

Authors Note: This is all thanks to @imjess-themess. Blame her. Thank you @imjess-themess @writercole for reading it over for me. I wrote this in less than three hours and I spent most of them crying.

Song; you said you’d grow old with me

She gets the call three weeks after her appointment. They’re quiet on the phone, asking her if this is a bad time, if she could come into the office to discuss the test results. A strange feeling settles in her gut but she cancels the coffee date she has with Bradley, telling him an emergency at work has come up. He texts her a sad emoji at first, and it brings a smile to her face. 

Bradley had this stupid habit of answering most texts he got in emoji, forgoing the English language like a normal person. The rest of the squad found it annoying but she couldn’t help but to like it. It was just one of the many things she loved about him. 

She’s in the car when her phone pings with another message. It’s Bradley again, asking if she wants to grab dinner instead. She doesn’t open the message, focusing on the traffic lights. The route to the hospital takes 30 minutes of her time, there’s little to no traffic at this time of the day. 

The strange feeling from before has now turned to nausea, swirling in the pits of her stomach. She leans against the car, taking a deep breath. Adjusting her bag, she heads through the doors and signs in at the reception. Taking a seat in the waiting area, she unlocks the phone and swipes to look at her messages. Bradley has sent another text, asking if she rather wants takeout. Shooting a white lie, she tells him the situation at work is going to take a while and asks if they can postpone the whole thing altogether. His answer is blue heart and a rooster emoji. Stupid man.

Bradley Bradshaw had been in her life since she was 16 years old. Her rock, anchor in a bad storm, shoulder to cry on. Her best friend. It felt like they had known each other forever, two pieces of a puzzle. She could talk to him about everything. 

She had supported him through it all, his dream to follow in his fathers footsteps, held his hand as he said goodbye to Carole, listened when he raged on and on about Maverick and their problems. Hugged him before every deployment, telling him to stay safe, to come back home. Back to her. 

When he got called back to Top Gun, she was right by his side, pulling strings to relocate from her job, to be able to follow him back to San Diego. She had soothed him when he returned each evening, upset and angry and told him he was a great pilot and he wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t. She had cried silently into his chest before they had left, praying to whatever higher power there was out there that Pete would pick someone else to be his wingman. 

But he had been picked and she had been a wreck for the days he’d been gone. Radio silence for three days. She had paced, cried and gone through most emotions she was capable of. Bradley was gone, going into a mission with low survival chances and she had let him go without telling him that she loved him. 

She never really knew when it had happened. Somewhere along being Bradley’s best friend, she had fallen in love with him. But telling him was out of the question. He had never shown any interest in her like that and she didn’t want her feelings to be the source of her losing her best friend. So she kept quiet. 

Her name echoes through the waiting room and she's met with a kind smile, a nurse showing her the way to an office. When she steps inside she immediately notices the number of people in the room. Dr. Miller is there, a tight smile on his face, along with a man and woman she doesn’t recognise. The woman stands and extends her hand, introducing herself as Dr. Anne Thompson, resident psychologist. The hair on her neck stands, and she forces down the nausea once again. The man takes her hand in both of his, telling her he’s Father Simmons. 

She knows what this means. If there was good news, they would have told her over the phone that everything was fine. But here she was. Called into the office, sitting across three people wearing the same sad, tight smile. Dr. Miller starts off, showing her the journal, explaining the test results. Thompson takes over when the medical part is done, asking if there is someone they should call, would she want to book an appointment and so on. It’s mostly white noise.

6 months. 

Hands shaking, she asks if coming sooner would have made a difference and they shake their heads. There is nothing they can do. She makes an appointment with Thompson. She thanks them quietly and leaves the office. She doesn’t let the tears fall until she’s in the car. 

Bradley. Her first thought is to call Bradley. To hear his voice, being wrapped in his arms, breathing him in. But she can’t. How can she tell him this? She hasn't even told him that she has been sick. Bradley had been busy a lot lately, with new trainees and new training schedules, making him and the rest of the Dagger Squad work longer hours. 

When her symptoms had first started, she had hidden them away from him, and from herself. It wasn’t until she was retching over the toilet seat that she had called the hospital. And Bradley had been none the wiser. 

She couldn’t tell him. How could she look him in the eye and tell him she was another person he was about to lose. She couldn’t hurt him like that. Had it been anyone else, it would have been different. But this was Bradley. Her best friend. The love of her life. No. He didn’t need to know. 

6 months. She had six months to make sure he wouldn’t be alone when she was gone. It was the least she could do. She could make sure that he would be happy. 

Bradley’s POV

5 months later

“Is Nat single?” The question catches him off guard. She’s seated next to him, sipping on lemon soda. He’s nursing a beer, left arm resting behind her on the back of the seat. Spluttering, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, turning to her. 

“What? Why, uh, I don’t know. I think so, why?” She shrugs, eyes trailing after Natasha as she challenges Jake to another round of pool. Bob is seated at the side with Mickey, the two WSO’s heads close together, whispering to each other. 

“You two would make a cute couple.” That catches him even more off guard. 

“Me and Nat? Why would you even think about that? We’re friends. There’s nothing there.” He’s scrambling for words, his brain trying to figure out what the hell is going on. Why would you try and set him up with Nat of all people? 

“It was just a thought. Don’t freak out.” She is smiling now, nuding him with her shoulder. Coughing, he slides closer to her, wrapping his arm around her. 

“What is going on? Last week you tried to set me up with that barista.” And that’s not the only time. In the last months, you had made an effort to point out people you apparently thought would be dating material. He never took the bait, claiming he was happy as it was now, not being tied down and being able to focus on being an instructor at Top Gun. 

“Is there a problem with me wanting to see my best friend find love?” There it is. Best friend. A title he has since the two of you were teenagers. Your best friend. How could he tell you that he didn’t want to date anyone but you? How could he say that he has been in love with you since he was eighteen years old, watching you dance under the fairy lights at prom. The words were always at the tip of his tongue, so close to slipping out. But there was always something holding him back. He didn’t want to ruin what you two already had. He could settle for being your best friend, as long as that meant he could keep you in his life. 

She leans against him, eyes closed. He turns his head to press a kiss to the top of her head, breathing in her scent. Strawberries and vanilla. It smells like coming home. Maybe he should take a leap and tell her. Tell her about it all. How he’d give her the moon and the stars if she wanted him too. How he would turn in his wings if it meant that she would be his. How nothing really mattered if she wasn’t there by the end of the day when he came home. She was the one thing he always wanted to come home to. 

“How about we go? You seem tired.” He speaks softly, lips still pressed against her hair. She nods slightly and he untangles his arm from around her, standing up. She gets up only to stumble, caching herself on the edge of the table. Moving around, he’s quick to grab her, concern written all over his face. 

“Are you okay?” He searches her eyes and notices the bags under them. They’re darker than usual. 

“I’m fine. I just got up too quickly.” She smiles, but it’s strained and it looks more like it’s something to reassure him, not genuine enough. He doesn’t want to argue, so he simply nods and guides her toward the exit. Keeping a hand on her, he waves at his squad, telling them he’ll see them tomorrow. 

The ride home is quiet. Bradley keeps his eyes on the road, occasionally drifting over her, resting against the window, eyes closed. Something isn’t right. He can’t say what it is but it’s there. Thinking back, she’s been off for a while now. He had chalked it down to being stressed about work. He’d been pretty busy himself and hadn’t thought to ask. Now he wishes he had. She is hiding something from him. 

By the time he reaches their shared place, she is fast asleep. Not wanting to wake her up, he gently lifts her from the seat, carrying her inside. She barely stirs, only shifts to press her face against his neck. He’s glad that she isn’t awake to feel the way his heart races. 

Taking the stairs two steps at the time, he kicks the door open to her bedroom and places her on the bed. A soft whine leaves her as he lets her go and his breath gets caught in his throat. He spots a blanket thrown over the chair in the corner and makes sure she’s properly tucked in before removing her shoes. Leaning down, he presses a kiss to her forehead before leaving the room, closing the door quietly behind him. 

He lets his mind wander as he gets ready for bed. He knows something is wrong and it hurts that she hasn’t told him. They tell each other everything. When had it changed? 

Thinking back, he had noticed she had been awfully tired lately. She had often turned down going out with the rest of them, opting to stay home. She had cancelled more of their plans. 

Tomorrow. Then he would sit her down, ask her what was wrong. And then he’d tell her. He would lay his heart out for her to handle. Give her every piece of him. All or nothing. Full throttle. 

She’s on his mind as he drifts off to sleep, as always. She’s his first thought in the morning, his last before he falls asleep. 

A loud noise wakes him from his slumber. It’s coming from down the hall. Another crash echoes through the house and he’s quick on his feet, rushing towards her bathroom. 

Bradley has seen a lot. He has seen his mother collapsing to her knees, sobs wracking her body as Maverick told her Nick was gone. He had seen his dad’s coffin lowered into the ground, flag folded and Maverick punching his golden wings into the shiny casket. 

He has seen the haunted look in Jake’s eyes when he finally broke down after the mission. How the man had cried and cried about the lives he had taken, how it haunted him everyday. 

Nothing prepares him for the sight of her on the bathroom floor. Products clattered across the tile, hair spilling over her face. He calls her name once, twice. She doesn’t respond. He kneels on shaky legs, reaching for her pulse point with two fingers. His heart is beating so hard, trying to claw its way out of his rib cage. Everything is spinning and he tries to focus on finding a pulse. 

After what feels like forever he finds it, but it’s weak. Too weak. Standing up, he rushes back into his bedroom to fumble for his phone. 

He doesn’t know how long it takes for the ambulance to arrive. All he knows is how limp she is in his arms, how weak she looks. 

He’s downstairs with her in his arms as the ambulance crew arrive, standing back as they load her into the van. He doesn’t go with them. He watches them leave before leaning over and emptying his stomach on the driveway. He’s on his knees, a ringing in his ears. He heaves until there is nothing left. 

He gotta call someone. He can’t drive like this. He doesn’t know what time it is, but it doesn’t matter. The dials Pete’s number, managing to tell him between sobs what’s happened. Pete tells him to stay put and that he’s on his way. He’ll call the rest of the squad. 

Bradley numbly manages to get back inside. He’s in his boxers, feet aching from the cold. He throws on the first article of clothing he can find before heading back downstairs. Pete is in the driveway, panic dancing in his eyes as he takes in Bradley’s state. 

The ride to the hospital goes by in a blur. Pete helps him from the car, keeping a tight grip on arm as they navigate the hallways. It’s oddly comforting. They end up in a waiting area, settling down in the uncomfortable plastic chairs. Someone says a doctor will speak with them soon. 

Pete tries to talk to him but Bradley can’t say anything. How could this happen? How had he missed whatever this was? His mind is racing and the room spins. He can hear someone telling him the breath, a hand on his neck, squeezing gently. He tries to draw in a breath but his lungs burn. 

He looks up and Penny is there, eyes red and hair frazzled. Pete is gripping his neck, telling him to match his breathing. He does his best. 

Eventually he calms down. The doctor rounds the corner and asks if they’re family. Pete nods and the doctor gestures down the hall. Bradley follows numbly along. They settle in an office. Panic claws at his chest as he listens to the man in the white coat. 

Terminal. Unfortunately nothing that could be done. She’s known for a while. 

The last part breaks him. She’s known for a while. She’s been sick for months and hasn’t bothered to tell him. Everything makes sense now. He wish that it didn’t. He wish he’s gonna wake up any minute now and it’s all a terrible dream. But he doesn’t. 

Instead he’s led to a room. He knows she’s inside. He hovers, hands shoved in the pockets of his sweatpants. What is he even going to say? He’s angry, he’s heartbroken and he’s running out of time. 

She’s awake when he steps into the room. He takes a look at her, a real look. She looks sick. Tired. She doesn’t acknowledge him as he moves closer to the bed, his anger melting away when he sees the tears on her face. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice breaks as he sits down. He reaches for her hand. 

“I didn’t know how. How could I tell you? I didn’t want to cause you pain.” 

“Pain? What do you think I’m feeling right now? Do you think I’m happy? Huh?” He isn’t angry, he’s just tired. 

“Bradley, I’m sorry. I just.. I don't know what I thought.” She’s crying and he can feel the tears on his face. Reaching over, he grabs her hand, holding on tightly. 

“Is this why you’ve been trying to set me up?” The question burns on his tongue.

“Partly. I didn’t want you to be lonely when I was gone. I thought that if I found someone for you, it would be easier. You’ve already lost so much.” His breaks all over again, for her, for him. 

“I don’t want someone. I want you. I’ve always wanted you.” He’s speaking before he realises what he’s saying. It falls from his lips before he can’t process it. But there’s no turning back now. 

“I love you. I’ve been in love with you since we were eighteen years old. Since I saw you at prom, dancing under the lights. When you held my hand and said that we’d always be together and that we would grow old together. There hasn’t been a moment since then that I haven’t loved you.” He tries but his voice breaks at the end. But he keeps eye contact, refusing to let her hide away. He needed her to understand that he was serious. 

“Brad.. I don’t know what to say. Why haven’t you said anything?” 

“You’ve never shown that you might feel the same. You’re my best friend and I didn’t want to lose that.” His gut is clenching, heart beating against his rib cage. 

“I wish you would have told me. Because then I could have said it back.” His head whips up so fast he’s about to get a whiplash, eyes wide. 

“Are you saying what I think you are?”

“I love you Bradley. I don’t know when it happened but I do.” He should be smiling. So should she. It should be a happy moment, after years of waiting. But it’s not. It’s sad, broken and the guilt is threatening to swallow him whole. 

“We could have had months. Years even. I could have had you.” He’s speaking mostly to himself at this point, tears streaming down his face. Had he been braver, had he told her sooner, they could have been together. They could have had time. Now they’ve got anything but time. 

She’s crying as well, apologies falling from her lips, like a silent prayer. Pressing his forehead against hers, Bradley squeezes her hand. 

“Don’t apologise. We have right now. We’ll start there.” He presses his lips against her before she can say anything else. 

Kissing her has been a dream of his for a long time. He had imagined it in a hundred different ways. But never the way it was happening right now. 

They had this moment, they had right now. But it wasn’t enough and it would never be enough. Time was running out. 

He breathes her in, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. He doesn’t let go of her hand as he settles back in the chair. 

“Rest. I’m right here. And I’ll be here when you wake up. We’ll be okay.” It’s a lie and he knows it as well as she knows it. But for now it brings a comfort he so desperately needs. 

He holds her hand as he watches her fall asleep. He plays with her fingers gently as the rain smatters against the window. The events of the night are catching up with him and Bradley leans back to get more comfortable. Never letting go of her hand. Watching the slow rise of her chest as she breathes shallowly. He thinks of her, as usual, when sleep claims him. 

When Bradley wakes, the room is bathed in a soft yellow. It’s soothing, relaxing. 

But her hand is cold in his and the only sound in the room is his own breathing.

Tagging; @writercole @wildbornsiren @ratcatcher2world​ @callsign-phoenix​ @anniesocsandgeneralstore @yanna-banana @hollandorks let me know if you want to be added/removed

#rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #top gun maverick fic #bradley rooster bradshaw #top gun maverick #top gun: maverick #fe writes

[foxilayde]

Collisions in Entropy [Peter Roiter x Fem!Reader]

Summary: You were drawn to him like gravity. Like the only two bodies of mass on a lattice field, dipping in the center like marbles, stretching the fabric of time with the weight of yourselves and converging at the center into a singular point.

Length: 5.5k

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Romantic smut. Oral: f receiving. PiV.

Author’s Note: I couldn’t stop thinking about Peter making it to Rome and then confining himself to wait out his remaining days like an invisible stranger, careful not to disturb this timeline. I like to think his curiosity couldn’t keep him away from a special event he never got to see firsthand. Enjoy!

The wedding of Callum Roiter to Rebecca Bradley took place at Creeksea Place in the Essex countryside on Saturday September 30th 2023. Is taking place, rather. Currently taking place. Peter Roiter arrives in a rented grey suit and gate crashes his own parent’s wedding, 13 months before his birth.

They’re taking the photographs now, the photographs that will adorn the walls of his childhood home. The same photograph he will accidentally shatter In 2032 while playing cricket in the house. He recognizes the angle of the pink jaunty bouquets up in the air, the collection of color in a joyous line on the red brick footbridge beside the white gazebo, a bridal party draped in lavender taffeta posed in what looks like “a silly one” where they lovingly encircle the blushing bride—Rebecca Roiter née Bradley.

The camera flashes weakly against the midday light and at the same instant a bridesmaid looks in Peter’s direction and smiles.

He’d cut his palm on that picture frame—the shattered one—the bridal party laid in fragments in that parallel future time. He looks down at his hand and the thick scar is still there. He wonders if the Peter Roiter who will be born 13 months from tomorrow will get the same cut. If he will hit the cricket ball in the same exact angle, turning his head to the same exact call of his mother’s voice from the other room. “Peter!” Crash. A vortex.

That’s what had ruined the photo in the end. Not the shattered glass, but the blood. Will this timeline’s Peter Roiter grow up and do what he’s done? Do it exactly the same? Blood and shattered glass in the parlor. Blood and shattered glass in the terminal 4 bathroom.

He’s never been to a wedding like this before. Never even heard of one with so many people, unrestrained smiles, photographs, laughter, dancing… nowhere outside of a movie, that is. His own wedding to Helen was private, as most weddings in 2050 were. Out of necessity. Sweet and civil. She held peonies and they danced to Marvin Berry in the backyard, underneath the stars and the patio lights. He has an insane urge to make a toast to the people of 2023 and tell them, “eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die.”

They’re so unaware. Unbothered. It’s beautiful to see. Like the carefree cheers-ing that must’ve been happening on the Titanic cruiseliner 10 minutes before they collided with an iceberg.

He doesn’t feel sorry for them. He is jealous. They’re feting in the last roaring moments of civilization, right before the interminable lockdowns will begin. He conservatively guesses that half of them will be dead within the next ten years.

He stays as invisible as he can, observing his parent’s tender happy moments from afar. They’re so young. He’s nearly old enough to be their father.

During the ceremony he sees both sets of grandparents for the first time in his life in person. Maybe that should be his alibi instead of “cousin of the bride”, he’s much more believable as “colleague of the father of the groom”. If only he could remember what Grandfather Roiter did for a living… insurance, maybe?

He won’t stick around long enough for anyone to ask just how he knows the lovely couple anyway. He’ll stay invisible for now, just another speck in this world that doesn’t belong to him.

This timeline might be defunct anyway, he may very well be cautiously tip-toeing around what he only assumes is a sleeping beast, but may in fact be nothing more than a carcass. Peter errs on the side of caution anyway and sips champagne from the further-most table.

Callum Roiter, looking everything like the father of his childhood, stands from the center of the high table and clinks his crystal glass. His cheeks look hurt and shiny from smiling, he holds his new wife’s hand and makes his toast, he thanks the guests for coming and makes a joke about how more guests might’ve showed up had they hosted the ceremony on the Boleyn Ground. He’s so young. So untroubled. The trip to Essex was worth every potential risk to the balance to see the joy in his parent’s eyes in real time. He feels supremely lucky to be a product of such an astounding love.

And then Callum raises his glass higher, winks to Rebecca and announces, “and lastly, a great big thank you to American psychologist Doctor Eliza Knight,” There is a knowing laugh amongst the wedding party who are privy to the story of the bizarre phone call from a Dr. Knight. “Without whom, I would have never met my beautiful bride. Wherever you are, love, cheers.”

“Cheers” the crowd responds. Peter downs the rest of his glass, “to Beatrix,” he mutters.

“You know what that’s about, don’t you?”

It’s the first time anyone has addressed him all day. He hadn’t seen her approach. The young woman from the bridal party. The one who smiled at him as the flashbulb went off. Pink roses, purple gown, shards of glass, blood, and a cricket ball.

“What’s about?” His voice slips into the Essex dialect like it’s nothing. He wonders how much of that is the chip and how much of it is his real voice— the one his mother and father taught him to use. He looks down at his lap when the woman sits beside him.

“The American doctor story.”

Oh he knows. He’s heard the tale his whole life, moreover he’s overturned timelines and sold out the souls of billions for the American doctor in question. “No,” he says to the pretty bridesmaid. “Would you let me in on it?”

*******

“Can’t believe you haven’t heard it before,” you smile, “would have thought Cal and Bex told damn near everyone in England by now.”

“Must be a good one.” He says with almost no defensiveness. Almost.

He’s cute. Older than you. A little scruffy, but in a very pleasing way—slightly overgrown at the nape of his neck and shadowed in the roughness of his sharp jaw. His eyes are kind though. So hopeful, sweet, and terribly familiar.

“Come outside with me and I’ll tell you, it’s getting warm in here.”

He glances to the high table, there’s a line forming of folks offering their congratulations along with envelopes of money to the young couple. He nods to you, leaving his grey rented coat on the back of the chair. He offers you his arm and you take it with a “thank you”, leading him to the French doors and stepping out onto the grounds.

The air is late summer. Warm and green. A million twinkle lights glow along the pathway to the pond, the place where you’d first laid eyes on him this afternoon.

“What’s your name?” You ask, trodding slowly towards the gazebo, your arm still in his. His forearm is warm under the white cotton dress shirt.

“Oliver.”

“Hmm.” You smile.

“What?” Defensive.

“Could have sworn it was something else.” You goad.

You can feel his pulse pick up from your fingertips on the crook of his elbow.

“What’s your name?” He counters.

You ignore him. “I didn’t bring you out here to tell you my name, I brought you out here to tell you a story, remember? Do you want to hear it or not?”

Peter breathes deep as if he’s winding up to tell you something but all he does with the breath is exhale and nod, “Please.”

“Last year, November the 23rd, 2022, to be exact, both Callum and Rebecca got a mysterious phone call from a Doctor Eliza Knight, a psychoanalyst from America, telling them that she knew their son. That he was a 39 year old time traveler sent from the year 2062 named Peter Roiter and he claimed to be on a mission to save the world. What do you think of that, Oliver?”

His grin is tight, dismissive, “sounds like a nut job.”

“The odd thing is, Callum and Rebecca had never met each other before. Doctor Knight gave each the other’s information and told them it was crucial that they meet and fall in love and have this child. Peter.”

Peter says nothing.

“So they do get together. Because of the absurdity. They go out for a drink, out of curiosity, to laugh about the madwoman who told them they were going to raise the messiah of the twenty first century.”

Peter leans against the railing of the gazebo and glances back to the house where the party is winding down. “And the rest is history.” He nods toward the red bricked abode.

“That’s not all,” you smile conspiratorially.

“No?”

“No. See, I looked into it, just to check to see if there was a Doctor Eliza Knight, and there is… or there was.”

He remains silent and surreptitiously fingers the raised scar on the inside of his hand while you talk. Nervous habit.

“See, the very next day after she made the phone calls, Doctor Knight walked into an airport bathroom in New York City and disappeared… disappeared! They checked all the security footage. She walks into the restroom and never walked out. They did find her clothes, and a shattered syringe full of blood that wasn’t her own, a tape recorder in a trash can. But her? Nowhere to be found. Can you believe it? The very next day after calling Bex and Cal. That’s insane, right?”

He nods, lost in thought across the lake.

“It’s funny, most people get a real kick out of that anecdote. I was excited to tell you. Brought you out to the dim ambiance and everything.”

“It’s a great story. Really. I’m just tired is all.” He folds his arms across his chest and looks at you with a believable amount of sleepiness.

“You’ve heard it before, haven’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

“That would be one explanation for your boredom— you know the story by heart… How do you know the bride and groom, Oliver?” You nearly whisper, stepping closer to him.

“Who are you?” He backs away a step, bumping into the rim of the gazebo and catching himself on a polished beam.

“Peter, you’re about to upset a very fragile ecosystem that we’ve been curating. I had to get you out of that party, I hope you understand.”

“We?”

“Peter, if you care about the future, you need to kiss me right now, in the next five seconds, it’s our only chance.”

Peter doesn’t hesitate. With a look of solid determination he takes two steps towards you, cradles your head in his hands and presses his lips to yours, kissing you with reserved lips that didn’t match the committed blaze in his eyes. You break the kiss in near disbelief and regret.

“That was mean, I’m sorry.”

Peter’s face scrunches and he takes half a step back, letting you fall out of his grasp.

“What? Wait, tell me who you are, what’s going on? Did the W.H.O send you? Do you have a message for me? Did the project work? Any word on Beatrix?”

You press your fingertips to your lips and your eyes widen.

“Are you fucking with me?” You accuse.

His face drops from hopeful to incredulous and the two of you stare at each other with mutual suspicion for a beat.

He licks his bottom lip. “Why did I need to kiss you? Who are you?”

“I’m… I’m a friend of Rebecca’s. I… hang on, are you— is your name really Peter? I just called you that because… because of what the doctor told Bex…” you can hear your heart hammering in your ears.

Peter’s eyes narrow, “you were teasing me?”

“Holy shit. The… the doctor? The story? Peter Roiter?”

Peter remains stock still, his back rigid, gritting his teeth.

You clap your hand over your mouth and laugh. “Oh my god! Bex is going to murder me if she finds out I snogged her son. This is so weird.”

“How did you know?”

“I didn’t! I mean, god, no one actually believes that story about the doctor, do they? it’s insane! something straight out of a movie! I figured they met each other on tinder and wanted a cuter “how’d you meet?” Story and made this one up for clout or something, but… then we were taking photos today and you were lurking in the back of the setting up, lurking the back of the ceremony, sitting all by yourself in the back of the reception— not talking to anybody… which is exactly what someone who isn’t trying to alter a timeline might do. What am I saying? And god you do really look like half Bex and half Cal… it’s uncanny.”

“You can’t tell anyone about this, you understand?”

“Tell anyone? No one would believe me if I did! I don’t even know if I believe me! Besides, I’m not joking about the whole ‘Bex would kill me’ thing, I’m kind of skeeving myself out right now. I mean they’re both fit and well obviously,” You gesture to Peter up and down before slapping your forehead, “oh my god, I need—I need to shut up.”

“Wait, wait, wait, just calm down. Okay. I need to—look, if this isn’t a dead timeline, I can’t have you treating Cal and Bex’s son any differently than you would had you not learned that.. that I’m him. So—“

“Hang on, dead timeline? What the hell does that mean?”

“Is the name not obvious enough for you?” Peter begins to pace around the pergola, the valley between his brows growing deeper by the minute.

Your eyebrows shoot up, “well excuse me for not understanding your sci-fi speak, Mr. Coherence.”

“Dead timeline. It means the statistical likelihood of salvaging the future of this particular timeline is… astronomically low. If this is a dead timeline, then there is a near 100 chance humanity will be destroyed within the next 40 years.”

“Oh god.”

“It might not be. There’s no way of knowing right now.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“It could be a loop timeline, in which case, it’s important for you to—“

“Not treat the forthcoming baby Peter Roiter any differently.”

“Exactly.” He breathes with relief.

“Even though he will apparently grow up to be a man who potentially puts me and everything and everyone I know and love into a dead future or whatever you called it.”

“That’s not—“

“It’s fine, Peter, the less I know the better, right?” You shift in your heels and lean against the polished railing. “Might make it difficult to take him out for ice cream knowing that I snogged him at his mum’s wedding. Bleeding Christ, I really am sorry about that.”

“You’re surprisingly easy to convince. And you’re taking this extremely well. I’m not used to that— people believing me. And it’s fine, its my fault for being here, for following you outside. I promised I wouldn’t interact with anyone and now we’re getting… inextricable.”

“I don’t know why I believe you. I mean I know it’s crazy, it’s the least likely explanation for all of this, but I just feel like, I have to believe you. I just… have to. Now that sounds crazy.”

He shakes his head. “I really thought I was being stealthy coming here today. It was probably a mistake.”

“Well, if we are in a loop timeline, as you called it, I don’t think there can be any mistakes. And if we are in a dead end, then the mistakes don’t matter, right?”

“Who are you?”

You tell him your name. He shakes his head with that same worried valley between his brows.

“I don’t remember you at all from my childhood. Or hearing about you from my mother. I’m not even sure you were in the photo that I broke.”

“The photo that you broke? What photo?”

There’s a sudden cacophony from the French doors where you exited the reception with Peter. A group of groomsmen stagger out, each with a champagne bottle in their hand, singing what you can only assume is a fight song from Cal’s alma mater.

Peter runs his thumb and forefinger over the stubble surrounding his lips. Those lips that you made him kiss you with. God, what is happening?

“C’mon,” he mutters placing a hand at your lower back and guides you to the path by the pond, further away from the celebration. “Just being cautious.”

There’s a bench aglow with twinkle lights near the pond, out of view of the estate house. It feels good to sit and take some pressure off the silk heels you bought special for this evening. You slip them off and let your feet rest on the cool grass.

“What photo were you talking about?” You ask.

“The bridesmaid photos with the bouquets on the bridge. I grew up with that photo in my house. But one day I was playing football— no, it was… it was cricket. I was playing cricket in the house and the photo shattered. I cut my hand trying to hide it from my mum, look.”

You take his hand, inspecting his palm and turning it over. He continues. “But I don’t recognize you. From the photo. I don’t think you were there. You weren’t looking at the camera. You were looking at me.”

“I don’t see a scar.”

“What?”

Peter pulls back his hand.

“It is kind of dark out, so that could be why.”

“Wha…” Peter holds his hands up to the twinkle lights in the willow branches above the bench. He shakes his head. “This doesn’t make sense.”

“Deja vu.” You whisper.

Peter’s hands fall from inspection, he rubs his fingers together at his sides. “What did you say? Did you say Deja vu?”

“Yeah. I’ve— I’ve been here before. This has happened before. With you. What’s happening?”

Peter sits back down next to you on the bench, grabbing your upper arms with insistence. “Are you messing with me again? Are you screwing with my head?” He’s breathing fast. He looks scared.

“No! No, I swear Peter. This just… feels so familiar. Do you feel it? The smell in the air, the champagne bottles popping, you checking your hands in the light, the kiss in the gazebo… what’s happening? What does it mean that I’ve felt this before?”

Peter lets go of your arms and runs his thumbs across the smooth insides of his knuckles. “It means… it means it’s elastic. This timeline is still alive. I’m not in a loop, I’m not in a dead end. Something is happening… or something will happen. Either way, we’re all still breathing…” Peter laughs quietly for a few moments before silencing himself with his own hand. “Somewhere, somehow, in the past 20 minutes or so, a vortex was formed— a shift in the timeline.”

“What does that mean? Is that good or bad?”

Peter shakes his head. “I don’t know. We—us in the future—don’t even fully understand it. It’s a technology we discovered from elsewhere in the universe. I’ve been thinking lately that we don’t have the receptive capacity to understand the dimensionality. Like trying to conceptualize a tesseract.”

“What are you doing here? Still trying to save the world?”

“No. That window closed. Or at least, I thought it had.”

“So your window is closed. You didn’t succeed?”

He stares into your eyes for several beats. He thinks about December 31st in Rome. How he waited on platform 23 at the piazza di Spagna until the last train came it at near midnight. And how he walked around the Villa Borghese alone when security shooed him away from the station, he walked back to the red tiled hotel alone. A doomed mission. He must’ve passed at least a dozen kissing couples that night ringing in the new year.

“No. I didn’t. I’m sorry.” His apology feels personal.

“It’s okay.” You say with a small voice, placing a hand on his knee. “So, now what? Do you go back, to your original time, the future?”

“Can’t go back. Can’t go anywhere. Even if I could, there’s no one to retrieve me.”

“So you just live out the rest of your days here in 2023 onward?”

Peter bites his lip and looks out over the pond. “Yeah.”

“What happens when baby Peter Roiter is born?”

“You’re too quick, you know that?” Peter snorts and shakes his head.

“I watch a lot of sci-fi movies,” you smile, shouldering off your lavender shawl and pointing out your tattoo. “See. It’s a—“

“DeLorean.” He traces his finger over the small line drawing tattoo.

“A 1981 DeLorean DMC-12 to be exact.” You grin proudly.

Peter swallows and traces his finger down your bare arm, making your hairs raise.

“You got it the day of your 18th birthday. You had a fight with your father and you got it on a whim. You were so angry at your father that you cried when you got it and when the tattoo artist asked if you needed a break from the pain you said—“

“How do you know this, Peter, you’re scaring me.”

“You said, I’ve had worse.”

“Peter—“

“I know you. We’ve been here before. This bench. The lights, the way they glow on your skin.” He swipes the side of your face lightly with the back of his unblemished hand.” He gulps. “I kiss you on the gazebo by the pond, I kiss you under a willow tree far away from the house, I—“ he shifts closer, his forehead nearly touching your own. “I carry you like a bride up the stairs and I kiss you in a room with golden leaves on the ceiling.”

You shift closer to him, your noses touching.

“Don’t you remember?” He asks, cupping your cheek. “No matter where I go. There you are. Entanglement.”

“I remember.” You nod. “Tell me, Peter. Tell me what happens when you’re born.”

Peter cradles your face in both of his hands and pulls back a fraction of an inch, eyes flickering between your own before he sighs and shuts them in a near grimace.

“I die.” He kisses you. And its so different from the kiss on the gazebo. Your little lie, your little trick in back there that got him to kiss you the first time. A lie— or so you thought at the time. Something made you say it to him you’re sure of that now. The deception was compulsory. It wasn’t why you led him out at the time. But now it its.

As sure as he knows the date of his own birth, he knows he will die. In almost exactly 13 months. Or sometime before; but never after. They didn’t teach him every facet at The Project, mainly due to their own ignorance; and he wouldn’t have to face his demise if he had only taken himself to the extraction point… but that had been out of the question. And what is he doing now? With you on this bench? 100 yards from his newlywed parents. This is a new dream he is fulfilling, the erasure of his scar, these new-old memories, the fulfillment of a loop.

Your silk shoes abandoned in the grass, he scoops up your knees onto his lap, he holds your face so tenderly and kisses you, and kisses you, and kisses you beneath the willow tree.

He carries you like a bride to your bedroom at the top of the stairs. If any party stragglers notice you, you aren’t aware. You cling to Peter with your face buried in his neck, holding to his broad shoulders, your bare toes make brushing contact with the walls of the stairwell as you ascend. You don’t need to tell him which room is yours, he’s been here before hasn’t he? You certainly have. In a dream. In another life.

He lays you gently on the bed, kissing up your ankles, sliding the satin of your sheath dress up your legs as he goes, crawling up and up and up you, his lips trailing over the rise of your knees with abject devotion. His strong hands splay and scoop under your dress, under your hips, to grab your lace panties. He looks into your eyes from where he kisses the crest of your thigh when he slides the material down your legs and tosses them to the floor.

“How could I have forgotten you?” He whispers with a longing against your skin, pushing your dress up until it pools in a satin puddle at your middle. He kisses the tip of your hipbone before he settles between your thighs, his stubble scratches pleasantly at the sensitive flesh when he runs his nose along the junction of your hip and thigh.

Cradling your hips in his palms, he shrugs your legs over his shoulders. He’s still fully dressed, the only disrobing he did of himself was the grey jacket abandoned on the the back of the far-table chair in the reception hall downstairs, and the blue tie he loosened and discarded somewhere near your panties. His disguise.

He crawls up further onto the bed to fully press his face into your sex. He latches onto your puffy cunt with his kiss-swollen lips and licks you open with messy, savoring swirls of his tongue. His mouth hot and slick, chin and nose pressing into you with a rocking hungry motion. You don’t intend to cry out at the sensation but he’s making love to you with his mouth like it isn’t the first time and you have no choice but to strangle your own keen of pleasure and fully and gracelessly recline on the bed, the prop of your elbows unable to hold you up through the slick furnace of pleasure that is Peter Roiter’s mouth.

You scrunch your eyes closed and bite your bottom lip when his tongue focuses in on your clit, hot mouth still sealed around your pussy, he lathes you with stern and steady lashings to your point of pleasure. Your hands fist in the pool, of silk at your belly. He sighs hotly into you and works his own fingers through yours, loosening your grasping hands from your dress. He laces all his fingers flush with yours, soothing the sides of your palms with his thumbs.

He never stops the hot assault of your spread sex with his tongue. Your grass stained heels rest lightly on the taut warm linen of his dress shirt. You can feel the way the muscles back there flex, your feet sliding every so slightly when his hips buck gently into the mattress. You don’t open your eyes until you’re desperately close to cumming in his mouth and when you look up all you can see are flashes of gold.

Your hips lift off the mattress with the arch of your back and the contraction of your thighs. You let out a long low keen and his face tilts up to follow your clit, sucking you lovingly, his hands gripping more tightly to your own than ever before.

“Peter,” your lips tremble, you slowly open your clamped shut eyes.

There it is. The gold leaf ceiling glinting in warm yellow light. Just as he said. Just as your remember. You stare dazedly at it and you know in less than a moment Peter will crawl up your shaking sweating body and place a kiss on your lips. He does. You grab him by his thick curls and push and pull and twist him in a debauched kiss till he’s flat on his back and you’re on top. His mouth is hot and sticky and so, so giving.

He runs his hands lightly over the open back of your dress. You only unbuckle him enough, and shimmy his trousers midway down his thighs, to get him inside of you. When you sink down on him he holds your forehead against his and gasps in disbelief.

“I—“ He chokes, catching his breath and fighting his eyes rolling back so he can get a good look at you when you take him all the way down.

“What?” You smile, stroking his cheek.

“I— I’ve missed you. Ahh.” He grabs you hard then, sitting up slightly and clawing your dress strap down so he can bite and suck the softest parts of your chest.

You cradle his head there, grinding into his lap slowly, gasping softly at the feel of him inside you.

“You won’t disappear, will you?” You whisper in a daze of pleasure.

No, he chants against your breast.

“No, no, no. I can’t lose you.” He holds you tight to him like he means it.

Peter has pulled the top of your dress down to your waist now and his hands roam freely over your back, plotting the elevated terrain of your shoulders, the valley between your breasts, and the maps of rivers at your wrists.

He lays fully back down and takes you with him. You smile against his kiss.

“Getting tired, old man?”

“Mmm, I’m younger than you—technically— negative one years old next month.” He bites your ear. You laugh. He thrusts up into you. You moan and clutch him by his clothed shoulders.

Peter cups your cheek in his hand. The one with the missing scar. You turn your face to kiss his unblemished palm. You rock on him slowly, his mouth parts in bliss.

“Does this mean anything can change at any time?” You ask, glancing at the inside of his hand.

“Yes but that’s always been a given.” Cheeky.

“No, I don’t mean just anything. I’m not talking about normal changes, I concerned about—“

“Dissolving out of a photograph? Ceasing to exist?” He teases, flicking your tattoo.

“Or Chuck Berry never writing Johnny B. Goode?”

“Who?” Peter delivers in convincing deadpan curiosity before breaking out into a beautiful grin.

You pinch his side. “Rat.” You can feel the intensity of his jerking response to the pinch where he’s buried warmly inside you.

Peter nods, “I don’t know. I hate saying that I don’t know and I hate that worried little look on your face, but I promise that it doesn’t change anything. We are here and like it or not the only thing certain is change.”

“The mortal agreement.”

“There is one thing I do know. No matter what I change, no matter where I go. I find you. Even when I send you away, you bounce back. Right back into my arms. A less scientifically minded man might think that love has it’s own special inter-dimensional set of physics. We just… keep extracting entropy from a closed system. No matter how hard I break the billiards they fly right back to the center of the table in formation. Not always in the same order, but… still… accounted for. I thought it was fragile, like butterfly wings, you know? But I’m learning it’s durable. It’s elastic, alive. And you always bounce back.”

“Sounds less like time travel and more like pattern reconfiguration.”

Peter tucks your hair behind your ear and drinks in your face, nodding thoughtfully. “Everything you say. Everything you’ve said. It’s all like something that’s on the tip of my tongue.”

You grin, bending over him, taking his pretty face in your hands, you kiss him and suck his tongue into your mouth, bobbing your mouth on the tip of it suggestively, “is it?” You smile. He’s still hard in you. You hope he never stops. This is how you should have every conversation about everything from here on out. Joined together, the beast with two backs as Shakespeare would say.

“I don’t want to cum.” He groans into your mouth, “when I cum I’ll have to stop being inside you, and I don’t want that, I want to live inside you.”

Call it the contrarian in you, but the admission only makes you want to force it out of him against his will. To make him fall apart precisely because he said he was trying his best to keep it together.

You clench, ride him, and moan into his ear until he’s nearly tapping out from ecstasy and when he comes he calls your name.

“Oh no.” You gasp, looking around worriedly.

“What? What is it?” Peter halfway sits up, adrenaline opening his eyes fully.

“Do you think your parents heard us?” You grin teasingly.

Peter sighs with relief and shakes his head, kissing your cheek and crushing you against his chest in a hug.

You don’t worry about tonight, the shoes you left outside, the rented jacket in the reception hall, or what will transpire in the next 13 months. Everything will bounce back in the end.

=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=

Tagging everyone who interacted with the post asking who was interested in this Peter Roiter fic:

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#Case 63 #Peter Roiter x you #Peter Roiter x Reader #Oscar Isaac #fanfiction #fan fiction #reader insert #self insert

[ohtobeleah]

Best Worst Christmas // Jake Seresin

Summary: After some life altering news. You confide in Hangman which leads you to ticking off something incredibly important on your bucket list.

Warnings: Terminal illness. Mentions of death. Dark humour. Jake Seresin x Reader. Angst & fluff—Jake being just the best version of himself.

Word Count: 4.8k

Author Note: TRUST ME TO DO THIS. Because we can’t have anything nice here. Even at Christmas time. Got this idea from Bianca’s story line from Shameless. Not your typical happy go lucky Christmas fic.

Slow motion. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. From the way Bob brought the lip of his glass of lemonade up to his mouth to hide his infectious smile to the way Bradley twirled Phoenix under his arm and pulled her into his side. Dancing to whatever song had been blaring from the jukebox. 

Slow. Slow and silent. You couldn't hear a single thing beside the high pitched ringing in your ears that sounded like just the right pitch to break the glass of the windows out front. No laughter, no music, no mundane chatter from other patrons littering the Hard Deck on this oh so average Friday afternoon. 

Except there was nothing average about being told just forty five minutes ago that you were dying. Merry Fucking Chrismas. 

“I'm sorry, Payback.” You shook your head softly as you blinked a few times, the ringing in your ears clearing as everything seemed to come back into real time, sound and all. “What did you say?” 

“I said you don't look so good, Jake mentioned you left early for a doctor appointment off base, you good?” 

“What is Hangman doing with my name in his mouth?” You spat before you took what was left of your beer into your mouth, skulling the burnt amber liquid like there was no tomorrow. For you there really wasn't all that much time left. Paying attention to how your liver processed alcoholic beverages had become an afterthought. “But yeah, I uh– I did.” 

“Something any of us should be worried about?” Payback had always been a kind and gentle soul. You envied his passion for all things Christmas. His ugly Christmas sweater told you everything that you needed to know, his was down bad for the holiday season. “Nut?” 

“Everything’s just peachy keen Fitch, you don't gotta worry about me.” You tried your best to hide the ever mounting pressure you felt in your chest through a pained smile and soft gaze. “But–” You held your empty glass up as you twirled around on the barstool you'd been sitting on. “I'm tapped so I'm gonna grab another beer and then you and I are gonna have a game of pool once shit for brains is finished showboating.” Reuben followed where your eyeline had evidently landed and low and behold there stood none other than Jake Seresin, claiming his title as undefeated pool champion with a grin so prominent on his face it made you feel sick to your stomach. “Be right back.” 

You slid off the stool and fixed the ‘Christmas’ dress that had been sticking to the back of your thighs. It wasn't anything special, just a red mid length dress that fit the Christmas attire that had been mandated but Reuben Fitch himself. Head and only member of the party planning committee. It wasn't anything special, but at least the dress was red, right? 

You'd been excited for the staff Christmas party for months up until the moment your doctor had sat you down and handed you a one way ticket to the afterlife. You thought maybe the reason you'd been feeling so unwell over the last few weeks had been an imbalance in your birth control or a shift in seasons or just something, anything other than what your final prognosis had ended up being. 

“What can I get you Nut?” Penny asked when she saw you leaning against the bar, card in hand, swinging on the barstool. “The usual?” 

“Uh can I get a double Jamison please Pen, on the rocks if you could.” Penny got to work fixing up your order as Jake slipped in beside you. Not turning his head in your direction as he fished his wallet out from the back of his jeans as he sat. The stupid matching Chrismas shirt he wore with Bradley looked ridiculous on him. Only Bradley Bradshaw could pull off a Christmas themed Hawaiian shirt. It wasn't Hangman's usual attire, it looked idiodic on him in the best way possible. 

“Another beer if you can Penny, extra tenner on the bar for you too.” Jake was, if anything, a charmer at heart. But despite his ability to smooth talk his way out of any situation and into anyone that had a hole he could put it in, you couldn't stand him. “You seem even more shrewd than usual this afternoon there Nut, not feeling the Christmas cheer?” and he couldn't stand you either. Or so you both led on. 

“Bit me.” Penny slid you the class, brown bourbon had never tasted so good before as you downed the double shot you ordered before slamming the glass back down. It wasn't the best move you could have made because the second you swallowed? Your stomach churned. “I gotta go.” You were quick for a woman who could barely walk in heels, racing towards the nearest exit without so much as causing a scene. Leaving Jake in your dust as he almost gave himself whiplash trying to crain his head fast enough to keep up.

“Wait, hold on the parties just getting started?” Jake took the beer bottle from Penny, being gentleman enough to say a quick thankyou her way before making a dash after you towards the front door. “Nwet hold on!” Your call sign had you as the Goddess of the sky. The name originating from Egyptian Mythology, but for some reason or another that had been shortened even further. Everyone just called you Nut for short. 

“Not now Hangman, I’m serious I’m not fee–” You didn't get a chance to finish your sentence before you were throwing up the contents of your stomach in the nearest pot plant on the front deck. Down on your knees as your hands gripped at the ceramic. Coughing and splattering as Jake put his beer down on the railing and balled your hair into his first to keep it from falling into the backsplash. 

“Alright, I'm cutting you off killer, how much have you had to drink?” Jake crouched down beside you as you sat back on your heels, whipping your mouth on your forearm. “You good?” 

“Get me another drink and I'll be even better.” You had heard loud and clear what Jake had said but just chose to ignore it. You didn't have much choice anymore. Jake just looked at you like you were on another planet. His eyes wide as his mouth fell slightly open in shock. There weren't many people who could render Jake Seresin speechless–but you always seemed to manage. 

It was the same look he gave you whenever you'd get into a heated argument over training sessions or whenever you’d go head to head in another one of your PTI’s latest workouts. The same look he gave you when you said you were fine when you had to miss the last few days of flight training, the same look he gave you when he found you making your doctor's appointment in the rec room between his runs. He looked at you like you hung the stars in the night sky just for him and once he’d finished admiring them you'd knock them out of the sky just to watch them shatter before him. Unpredictable and oh so beautiful. 

“Uh, no–I'm not gonna get you another drink when you're throwing up in Pennys plants.” 

“It's not the alcoholic, Jake.” You sighed out in response as you pressed your palm to your forehead. 

“It most definitely is I can smell it on yo–” You didn't know why, out of all the people you could have told first. Your Parents, Your Commanding Officers, any of your colleagues that seemed more and more like family every day, you chose Jake fucking Seresin to drop the biggest life ending bomb on. The worst Christmas Present ever. Deep deep down you knew exactly why. But there was no time left to figure it out now. 

“Jake it's not the Alcohol.” You cut him off, shutting your eyes as tight as you could because you couldn't look at him when you told him. “It's cancer.” 

“What?” When you opened your eyes again Jake's expression had softened to something you’d never seen before. “What do you mean it's cancer?” This couldn't really be happening could it? You wouldn't be cruel enough to play such a sick joke on him. But with the way you were looking at him right now? Jake felt his heart collapse into his stomach. The love of his life had cancer? “What do you mean by cancer Y/n?” Jake repeated as he brushed your hair away from your shoulder. “You aren’t being serious right now are you?” You didn’t respond right away because you were stunned at the saddened and stunned look Hangman had been stricken by.

“What I mean by cancer is that I have a shelf life.” You tried to make the moment a little more lighthearted. “A cosmic fuck you when you were just getting started huh.” It was the hardest thing you'd ever done, to sit in front of the man you loved to hate and hated to love and tell him you were dying. You hadn’t even had a chance to see what you could have been. You'd both been too caught up playing the long con that you'd wasted whatever time you had. 

“What's the uh–?” Jake didn't know how to ask as he stood with you and moved over to the nearest table that was clear and free. “What's the prognosis?” 

“Stage three Pancreatic–well basically stage four but—” Silence fell as Jake sat beside you completely stunned. His mind was running a million miles an hour, thinking of all the times you’d smiled at him. Beamed his way whenever he taunted you or teased you for something stupid and meaningless. You took everything like a champ because you could dish it out in return. He’d learnt to expect an elbow to the ribs whenever you had this one particular look in your eye. 

“And what's the going rate for stage three?” Jake wanted to hear you say at least something promising, but that wasn’t the case at all.

“Two Percent, Doc said even that was being generous.” His heart stopped for a moment. This wasn’t happening, not to you. Not to the one woman he had ever loved.

“Okay but what about chemo? What about other treatments that could surely raise that number up right?” 

“Oh, I ah–I don't wanna do any treatment.” That knocked the wind right out of Jake, he felt like he couldn't breathe. Like the entire world had just been knocked out from under his feet. “I saw what it did to my friend's mother Cathy, she spent whatever time she had left being pumped full of poison, because of it she became so weak she couldn't enjoy the things she could have been while she still had time.” 

“You can't not try Y/n.” Jake had moved as close to you as he possibly could. So much so it was easy enough for you to accept your own mortality with your head resting gently on his shoulder. “It's probably really selfish of me to say this but I'm not ready to just let you go.” 

“Please, spare me the hallmark card sympathies Seresin.” Scoffing, you took the beer bottle Jake had been sipping infrequently on. Taking a gulp of the yeasty beverage. “I don't need you treating me any differently now that you know I'm practically worm food.” It was the way Jake looked at you like he couldn't believe what you had just said. Did you expect him not to laugh or something? Strifally back a laugh so pure Jake waited for you to crack first, the symphony of highs and lows that sounded like the most prim and proper orchestra surrounded him as you laughed with him. 

“When did you find out? You seem to be dealing with the inevitability of it all well.” 

“About fifty minutes before I told you.” The smile had been whipped clean from Jake's face once again. The laughter that had just filled the atmosphere around you both now replaced with silence so heavy you were sure you had just been buried alive. “I haven't told anyone, and I wasn't planning to either.” 

Although you and Jake pretended most days to loathe each other's existence, there was no real animosity there. It was simply a childish act. Your mother had told you at an early age that boys who pulled your pony tail on the playground at school must have liked you. So you learnt play rough too, showing your affection by taunting and teasing between lingering eyes and daydreams of what it would be like to be with Jake as more than just whatever the fuck you were. 

“Why did you tell me? I mean I thought I would have been the last person on earth you would have spilled your darkest secrets to.” Jake felt nothing but content when you let your head fall back to his shoulder. He decided this time though to wrap a comforting arm around you—drawing you further into his side. 

“Believe it or not you were the first person who came to mind when I was told.” You'd thought about what Jake would say. If he’d even say anything at all when he found out, if he’d change the way he treated you or if there would be a small part of him that would be relieved that you wouldn't be around to annoy him anymore or challenge him whenever he thought he was better than you. “I thought maybe you’d be a good person to tell because you wouldnt look at me like I was weak.” 

“If there’s one thing you are, it's not weak.” Jake shook his head as he finished the remains of his beer. Standing as he offered you a hand. “Come on, we’re getting out of here.” 

“What? Where are we going?” You didn’t protest all that much—knowing what Jake had in mind was probably better than wallowing in self pity. You took his hand gracefully as he guided you to stand, meeting his gaze yet again. 

“We’re gonna go back to your place—“ 

“Oh, as if you would.” You cracked a smile as Jake looked at you a little confused. “I’m dying Hangman, don’t get that confused with desperate.” It wasn’t that you wouldn’t, you would in a heartbeat—but the feeling you got from your back and forth taunting just made the prize all the more worth it. Jake just stood in front of you, eyes trailing from your gaze to your lips then back to

Your eyes. Committing every last detail of your face to his long term memory. 

“I didn’t mean it like that, but we’re going back to yours.” 

“I told Payback I’d play a game of pool with him.” You explained as you tried to push past Jake, all he did was grip your wrist, stopping you from getting any further away from him. “Jesus Christ Jake what has gotten into you?” You stood there questioning his sudden need to be overbearing. 

“You just told me you have terminal cancer and you’re asking me what’s gotten into me! Jesus Y/n.” Jake let go of your wrist as he ran his hands through his hair, extinguishing a frustrated sigh as he looked anywhere but directly at you when he let his guard down. Nothing good ever came with Jake Seresin let his guard down, so he didn’t do it all that often. “I was just told the woman I’ve been obsessed with for the last year is dying and there’s literally not a single thing that I can do to stop it!” You let your walls down almost instantly at the confirmation, softening your shoulders and letting yourself just enjoy the satisfaction of the moment you thought would never come. Jake knew you were thinking—he could practically see the cogs turning in your head as you stood before him smirking a bashful smile. Suddenly doe eyed and willing to step a little closer. “What?” Jake scoffed as his lips curled into a smile that matched yours. “Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“So you’re obsessed with me huh?” 

“That’s your take on this whole situation?” 

“Oh yeah—“ Wrapping your arms around the back of Jake's neck you drew him all the more closer as his hands instinctively went to your hips. “Because I didn’t have to admit that I’m obsessed with you first.” You really didn’t give him a second to respond with some witty remark on how he was just saying it because he felt sorry for you—instead you let your lips press against Jakes softly. Testing the waters before diving into the deep end. Pulling back as you slowly opened your eyes. “It’s not fair of me to ask you to love me, especially knowing what you know—“ It was Jake's turn to cut you off before you could try and talk him out of spending whatever time you had left right by your side. His lips connected with yours as his hands came up to cup your cheeks as your tongue danced with his. Savoring every second because you’d always wondered what type of kisser Jake Seresin was. The answer? He knew what he was doing. 

“Doesn’t mean I won’t.” Pulling away momentarily Jake tan the pads of his thumbs across your flushed cheeks. “How long?” Jake didn’t really want to know the answer but he knew deep down it wouldn’t be long. 

“Anywhere between six months to a year.” It broke your heart the way Jake dropped his chin slightly at the realisation. “Depends on my lifestyle.” 

“Then I’m gonna be by your side for the next six to twelve months.” Jake promised as he held his hand up to wrap his pinky with yours. “Till the end of the line.” 

***~***~***~***~***~

Not a single person had seen you or Jake leave the Hard Deck unannounced. Payback had texted you a few times before you decided enough was enough and sent him a quick message saying you were with Jake before placing your phone on do not disturb. 

“Okay so you’re sure this one has the built in lighting?” Jake asked just one more time as you both stood back and looked at the piles of broken down Christmas tree that you’d sectioned into piles on your living room floor. 

“For the millionth time, yes—“ You’d leant Jake a pair of your ex’s old sweatpants that you’d forgotten you had until he was long gone. They fit snug, but well. In true Hangman style though? He was parading around your house, shirtless. Sweats hanging low leaving very little to the imagination. 

“Okay well, let’s start by fanning these prongs out before we attach anything to the trunk.” You’d changed into your Christmas pajamas—a cartoon version of the grinch saying it’s about to get naughty right across your chest. Jake had thought your house would be full of Christmas decorations by now—always the life of every holiday season. But when he stepped through the threshold and saw you hadn’t been bothered he knew that had to change. 

Especially if there was a possibility this could be your last Christmas. 

“You got your tree up yet?” You asked as soft melodies of Christmas songs played from your speaker, filling the living room as you and Jake sat on the ground amongst a sea of fake Christmas tree. Jake nodded softly as he worked to fluff out the prongs. 

“Yep, had it delivered the first of November—got a real one this year.” 

“Yeah you would be the type of person to have a real tree wouldn’t you.” It’s not that you had anything against it, it’s just that a real tree always seemed like so much work. “But if I get the chance to see next Christmas, I’ll get a real one.” 

“We can go Christmas tree shopping, new ornaments and all.” Jake offered as his pile grew a little faster then yours. “How come you hadn’t put your tree up yet?” He asked, perplexed. “You’re always drowning on about how the holidays are your favourite time of year.” You didn’t answer right away, you were going to make up some lame excuse but then you remembered Jake Seresin was the o my other person besides you general practitioner that knew you were dying. You could tell him. 

“I just haven’t really had the energy to.” 

“The cancers the reason you haven’t been flying as much isn’t it?” 

“Yep.” You popped your lips at the P. “Probably won’t be too long now before I’m stuck behind some desk in the admin building doing some mundane Johnny pencil pusher projects.” Sighing, you reached for another set of prongs. “Even a swivel chair will eventually make me gag—I don't know how much longer I’ll be able to withstand G’s and barrel roll.” 

“Well damn Nut, who’s gonna keep the top of my head from popping off?” Jake teased as he came to sit beside you, leaning back on the couch as he legs fell either side of you. Your back to his chest as he took the prongs you were working on from your hands and finished it himself. “You’ve always kept my ego from inflating.” 

“God help the crew when I’m dead and gone.” You chuckled softly as you left your sink into Jake's embrace. “You’ll just have to remember who’s the goddess of the sky, I’ll still be around to kick your ass.” 

“Oh yeah? How are you gonna manage that killer?” 

“I’ll wiggle your ear whenever you do something stupid.” You grinned, reaching up and around to wiggle Jake's earlobe. “Like that, whoever you get a little too hot headed, you’ll feel me.” 

“Deal.” Jake smiled softly as he kissed your shoulder from behind. “Now, while I’ll sit here fanning these things out, why don’t you make a list of all the things you wanna do between the next six to twelve months?” 

“Like a bucket list?” You asked softly as you lulled your head back to catch the glint in Jake's eyes. 

“Exactly, whatever you wanna do, I’ll help you do it.” You really couldn’t stop yourself from smiling. Settling back against Jake you started listing off things in your notes app. 

“I wanna get a tattoo, something stupid but meaningful—maybe even just something funny.” You’d end up getting a matching tattoo with Jake a few weeks later. Both in the same spot, on your tricep just above your elbow. Two hands pinky promising—till the end of the line written in calligraphy.

“Solid plan, I approve, what else Nut?” Jake reached for another pile to fluff up, almost having made his way through all the pieces. 

“I wanna skinny dip at the beach, at night, or even when the suns just starting to set.” Jake takes you. You both strip down and race towards the waters edge. You wrestle and fight until you're hooking your legs around his waist and your arms around his shoulders. Kissing him like you’ve got nothing to lose and everything to gain. His hands hold you up by your ass—and you squeal when a rogue wave knocks you both down. “I’ve always wanted to do that.” 

“Shameless Y/l/n, but deal—what’s next.” You add about six different things onto your list, telling Jake every single one as you both stand to place all the pieces of your tree together. Deciding that you were both committing to the entire project together. Making a trip into your garage for the ornaments. 

“Maybe I should have a threesome?” You held the ladder at the bottom of your manhole Jake had climbed up into to fetch the seasonal box. “Yeah, never had one of those before but maybe it’s worth checking out.” 

“Two guys or one guy and one girl?” Jake handed you the box before he jumped down with a soft thud. “Or you and two girls?” You just raised a brow in response. “Hey—“ Jake was quick to hold his hands up in surrender. “I dunno what your sexual preferences are! I’m just being inclusive.” He sent you his signature shit eating grin. “But uh, pencil me down for whatever you decide.” 

“You wouldn’t be included in the girl on girl fantasy.” You gained back as Jake took the box back from you, walking side by side down the hall back to your living room. 

“But you’re saying there’s a chance I’d be included in the other two choices.” You never do end up having a threesome, it never actually makes the list. “Can’t say I haven’t dreamed of that a few times.” 

“Really? Funny that, I had a dream that I dropped you down a well just the other night.” You didn’t even look Jake's way as you fished out a few ornaments and started hanging them on the tree. Jake followed curiously. “And get here you are dreaming of having sex with me?” 

“I definitely like my dream a lot better—“ You couldn’t hold back your laugh as you shook your head, turning on your heels to fetch more ornaments. 

“I’m not having sex with you Hungman.” Jake raised his eyebrows in response to what you’d called him over your shoulder. “Isn't that what they all call you?” 

“Seems a little rude, and also short sighted.” He was quick to wrap his arms around your waist from behind, kissing your neck as you tried to pull away. Secretly enjoying the affection you could have been experiencing for a whole year before now. “Add it to your list.” 

“I’ll reluctantly add it to my list.” It didn’t take you and Jake all that much time to finish decorating your Christmas tree. Stepping back to admire your work, you turned on the lights and dimmed down your overheads. Jake held his fist out for your to fist bump before he drew you into his side. You had told Jake you’d add to fuck him onto you bucket list—he even watch your write something down into your notes. But it wasn’t that. No—it was something much better. 

“Best worst Christmas ever, don’t you think Nut?”

“Best worst Christmas ever Hangman.” Turning into Jake you kissed him once again, only for a fleeting moment. “Thankyou for this, just being here—I felt like I was drowning at the bar.”

“Like I said, till the end of the line.” Kissing the top of your head, you asked Jake to say the night, it was the first time Jake Seresin had slept in the same bed as a woman and he didn’t fuck her. All he did was hold you till you fell sleep—and that’s when for only a few brief moments he let himself cry. He loved you, truly. 

***~***~***~***~***~***

Eighteen Months Later //

“Are you thick or are you fucking stupid Rooster!?” Jake barked as he walked down the tarmac towards his wingman. “I said break right and follow back and under—talley two at five o’clock low means exactly that!” Jake was seeing red. “Do you wanna get yourself killed in a real fight?” 

“Ease up, we’re alive and we still have the fastest time on the leaderboard—Coyote, Payback and Fanboy are nowhere near us.”

“That’s not the point, Bradshaw! You just didn’t fucking think!” Jake was seething, his face was red and if Bradley looked close enough? He swore he could see steam coming out of Jake's ears. “Something’s gotta be in there—it can’t just be air in that thick—“ Before Jake could finish, he felt a tugging sensation on his left earlobe. Shutting up instantly as he reached up to tug at the phantom sensation. 

“Nut got your ear?” Bradley asked as he tapped Hangman on the shoulder, Bradley had been the one Jake confided in when you finally passed on. He didn’t believe in the afterlife until he couldn’t let you go. “Mum used to say dad would whistle around the house, she’d smell his cologne too.” Bradley caught the sun catching on Jake's wedding band. You’d both decided fuck it one night and high tailed it to a Vagas to get hitched. “She’s probably trying to tell you to stop yelling at me!” 

Christmas had long passed and Jake still had his dead tree up. Something about taking it down meant saying goodbye and he wasn’t ready to do that. You’d only just managed to make it to new years before deciding you just couldn’t do it anymore. But you were wrapped to have two best worst Christmas’s under your belt. 

Jake held you close till you took your last breath, you weren’t in some hospital somewhere hooked up to all sorts of machines. No. You were down by the ocean, in Jake's arms. Talking about how you were so thankful to have completed everything on your lift. The final one being the most important. 

“Here—“ Jake remembers you saying softly as you handed him a letter. “I wrote them down so you’ll never forget everything you did for me.” 

Jake scanned the page of about fifteen different things you had done together, the last one though he never knew you wrote. He couldn’t help himself as he held you a little tighter, a little closer. He framed the letter and placed it on his bedside table—The tick next to number fifteen his favourite thing of all. 

Number 15: Know what it’s like to fall in love on the worst, best Christmas ever.

#jake seresin x y/n #jake hangman x reader #jake seresin fic #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin angst #jake seresin fan fic #top gun hangman

[pollyna]

After the first round of chemio Tom builds himself a garden. It's a small thing, just under ten plants but it makes him happy and he always says to Sarah that the day he'll pass the garden will be part of his inheritance to the world. He says Mav always wanted a garden because a garden meant permanence and now that he's going to see him again maybe they could try to built one together. Sarah and Bradley sit with him, the first one silently crying and the second hugging his old man. Yeah pops, dad is going to love building a garden with you he whispers.

Almost a year later, in front of the same garden, Bradley puts a target: in lovely memory of Thomas and Pete Mitchell-Kazansky and their dream garden.

#au: mav doesn't have any more miracles in his sleeves #tom iceman kazansky #pete maverick mitchell #bradley rooster bradshaw #sarah kazansky #tom iceman kazansky & pete maverick mitchell are bradley rooster bradshaw's parents #terminal illness #cancer #MCD #bittersweet ending #top gun (1986) #top gun: maverick #otp: i heard from the heaven that clouds have been grey

[mynameismckenziemae]

She’s a Fire-Epilogue

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x OFC/Reader (no use of y/n)

The End

(previous chapter here)

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, mentions of smut, throwing up mentioned, pregnancy mentioned, lmk if I missed anything.

You officially became Mrs. Bradley Bradshaw 3 months later.

You had looked breathtaking in an ivory long-sleeved, lace gown. It was an intimate affair with both your closest friends and family on a snowy day in Colorado the day after Christmas. You’re not sure who cried more.

The evening after the wedding you departed for your honeymoon at an all-inclusive in the Bahamas.

You couldn’t contain your laughter at Bradley’s flush when his bag was opened and searched by customs, revealing all the sex toys you’d stuffed in there. He was equally aroused as he was humiliated as they rummaged through the items before zipping it closed and handing it back. His eyes were dark as he stalked over, dragging you to a quiet corner of the terminal to tell you exactly how you were going to pay for embarrassing him when you got to the resort. Good thing it rained the following day-your ass had paid for it dearly and you could hardly sit without wincing. Totally worth it though.

It was a perfect, relaxing week. Equal amount of time was spent in the sun as it was in your room, wringing pleasure out of each other in every way possible.

Like every good thing, it came to an end too quickly, but you were happy to get back home to Lola.

Bradley was called out to deploy only a few days later and even though you understood it’s his job, it was disappointing.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

It’s been a rough deployment too; 5 weeks in and you only got one short phone call. Not to mention you’ve been nauseous on and off for over a week.

You woke up in a sour mood one Sunday morning; your boobs hurt and were cramping so much that even Lola couldn’t cheer you up.

Must be getting my period, you think as you feed Lola. But you freeze when you look at the calendar. You were late.

You’d gotten your birth control implant removed shortly before the wedding. But there was no way you were pregnant yet. It took some time for your body to regulate when going off birth control, right?

30 minutes and a quick run to Target later, you’re shaking as you force yourself to not peek before the 3 minutes are up.

You startle when your phone signals that time up. Taking a deep breath, you open your eyes. Happy tears immediately fill your eyes at the two pink lines. It’s positive.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

You’re still sitting on the floor in disbelief a few minutes later when Sunny texts you and Nat. Nat didn’t deploy with the rest of the squad this time for some reason, but you hadn’t seen her as she went to visit family for a few weeks.

Sunny: Wanna have brunch with me?

Nat: Yes! I just got home last night from Dani’s. I’ve missed you guys.

Rowan: Missed you too, Nat. Brunch sounds great.

Sunny: Yay! Meet at the place on Park Street in an hour?

Rowan: Perfect, see you soon!

Nat: Works for me.

You get there early and snag a table, waving them over when they arrive.

“What can I start you off with to drink?” The waitress asks right as she sits down.

“Just water is fine,” you answer, pointedly looking at your menu while you avoid their eyes.

“I’ll do the same, thanks.” Sunny replies.

“Me too,” Nat smiles.

The waitress leaves and you finally look up.

They look between each other and you, looking like they’re ready to burst.

“I’m pregnant,” you all say at the same time.

Your eyes widen. “Oh my God! No way!”

“What?! You are too?!” Sunny says, choking on a sob as you both wrap her in a hug.

“Yeah, I just found out. Literally right before you texted. I’m still in shock, like…it doesn’t feel real yet. I wish Bradley was here,” you sniff, wiping your own tears as you pull away.

Nat smiles, eyes watery as well. “I found out at the pre-deployment screening. I hadn’t even missed my period yet. I told Jake and he was…ecstatic. My body hadn’t even changed yet but he was insatiable, didn’t even let me get out of bed the day before he left,” she laughs. “I’m a little over 7 weeks now. Does Bob know? How far along are you?”

Sunny shakes her head and dabs her eyes with her napkin. “No, and it’s the worst. I found out Thursday. I almost threw up at work when I was debriding a wound. I thought it was weird because it’s never bothered me before. I got home and took a test when I realized my period was a day late. I’m about 6 weeks. I wanted to tell you both in person.”

“I’m almost 6 weeks too, if my calculations are right. Wow,” you smile and squeeze their hands, “We’re all having babies, due at the same time. What are the odds?”

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Just as you finish eating your phones go off simultaneously.

Bradley: Just hit dry land. I’ll see you in an hour, Mrs. Bradshaw. 😘

Rowan: Can’t wait, Mr. Bradshaw. 😏

Natasha and Sunny are looking at their phones and you assume they both received the same type of message based on their smiles.

Hugs and promises to give updates are given before you all rush out.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Your stomach starts to turn halfway home, and your mouth starts filling with saliva as you pull into the drive. You manage to make it to the bathroom before you empty the contents of your stomach, but not without startling Lola in your haste.

She timidly peeks her head in the door as you retch.

“I’m so sorry sweet girl,” you murmur, holding out the hand not gripping the toilet. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Her tail thumps loudly against the wall at your tone before deciding you’re forgiven. She lays at your feet with a huff.

You flush and curl up next to her, not wanting to get too far from the toilet as your stomach gurgles.

“Mama doesn’t feel good because I’ve got a baby in my tummy. You’re gonna be a big sister,” you whisper, rubbing her soft ears.

“Row? Lola? Where are you guys?” Bradley calls.

“In the bathroom,” you reply, sitting up as your heart flutters. Or maybe it’s your stomach because you’re back to throwing up as he enters the bathroom.

“Oh, Row. Are you okay?” He asks, too preoccupied to notice the pregnancy test on the counter, right next to the sink where he’s running a washcloth under cool water.

“I will be, thanks,” you sigh as he presses it to your neck.

“Is it the stomach flu? Something you ate?”

You shake your head, closing the lid and flushing again. He helps you to your feet and rubs your shoulders while you brush your teeth.

“How long have you been sick?”

“I’ve been feeling queasy for the last week or so.”

“Hope it doesn’t last too much longer,” he murmurs, kissing the top of your head.

You pick up the positive pregnancy test and turn to him.

“Won’t be more than 9 months,” you smile weakly.

“You-you’re pregnant?” He whispers, his face pales and is suddenly white as a sheet. “Oh shit, I better sit down.”

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

After he feels less faint, he guides you to bed and brings back a bucket before climbing in behind you.

“How far…when are you-just,…wow,” he laughs. “We’re having a baby, Row!”

“I just found out this morning,” you smile. “I think it happened on our honeymoon, so I’m due in the middle of September.”

“That’s amazing,” he breathes, resting his palm below your naval, “Did Nat tell you?”

“Yeah. We met Sunny for brunch this morning. She’s a little more than a week further along than me and Sunny.”

“Wait-Sunny too?! Holy shit!” He laughs in disbelief. “This is amazing!”

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

You fall asleep in his arms and wake an hour later to his head on your thighs, whispering to the little being inside you.

“…and I can’t wait to meet you. You’re gonna be my little buddy, doesn’t matter if you’re a boy or girl, I don’t mind either way. Tell grandma and grandpa Bradshaw that daddy says hi and I miss them so so much,” he murmurs, voice thick with tears. “And quit making your mama sick, okay? You’re so lucky to have her, she’s the best. Just don’t make her mad. I love you already.”

You haven’t even opened your eyes but tears are already streaming down your face. “You’re going to be an amazing dad, Bradley.”

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

7 ½ months later:

Wade Michael Seresin comes screaming into the world first, followed by Owen Bradley Floyd right on his due date; already a stickler for being on time, unlike his namesake.

5 days overdue, Connor Nicholas Bradshaw finally graces you with his presence, perfect in every way.

The end.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

A/N: Well that’s a wrap! BRB while I go cry.

Anywho, let me know if there’s anything you want me to elaborate on or go into further detail (like the honeymoon—would it even be a chapter I write without at least mentioning a spanking? 🥴).

Next up will be the asks. So far I’ve gotten:

Jake and Natasha breeding/pregnancy smut

Foursome with Jake, Nat, Row and Bradley

Tagging:

@its-the-pilot

@dizzybee03

@sweetwhispersofchaos

@shanimallina87

@blindedbythelightt

@getmyprettynameoutofyourmouth

@lexixstewart

@phoenix-rising-starbird-one

@mrsrobertfloyd5

@charmedkim

@k-k0129

@bellaireland1981

@ingoaliesitrust

@hookslove1592

@amiets2

@nero4te

@eli2447

@atarmychick007

@vixenobrian

#bradley rooster bradshaw #top gun maverick #bradley bradshaw #robert bob floyd #bradley bradshaw x you #top gun smut #jake hangman seresin #bob floyd #bradley bradshaw x reader #jake seresin #natasha phoenix trace #natasha trace #she’s a fire #tw pregnancy #tw emetophobia

[images-mcm-mexico-california]

LAX Bradley Terminal, 2023

ad for Santa Monica Mountains National Recreation Area

Image by your curator

#LAX #Bradley Terminal

[roosterforme]

Have Yourself a Merry Little Rooster | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley joins you when you visit your parents for Christmas. Everything seems to be fitting together perfectly for him. 

Warnings: Fluff and more fluff, swears and adult banter and Smut!

Length: 3800 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You?

Check my masterlist.

"I swear I'm more nervous to be here than you are," you told Bradley as you navigated the airport terminal with your luggage. It was almost Christmas, and you had brought your boyfriend of two and a half months back to your hometown. "You sure you want to meet my friends from high school tomorrow night?"

"Of course, Sweetheart," he replied, slipping his hand into yours. "I thought you'd like to show off your handsome, strapping boyfriend to everyone."

"Oh, I definitely would like that. Half of them are married to guys who gained a lot of weight or lost their hair. Should be fun to rub it in a little."

Bradley barked out a laugh. "Keep feeding me the way you do, and I'll be in the same boat."

"And then I'll have to introduce people to my fat boyfriend?"

Bradley tilted his head back and forth. "Fat boyfriend, fat husband. Could be either one."

"Hmmm," you hummed, but a smile danced around your lips. He said things like that sometimes, and you never knew quite how to handle it. You'd only known him for four months, but you were already living together. He'd bought a freaking dream house for the two of you! He'd mentioned a ring once! Maybe in another year you'd be ready for all of that, but not yet. But still, you did like to think about it.

The airport was decorated for the holidays and everyone was wearing winter coats. "Are we going to regret not buying heavier jackets?" you wondered out loud as Bradley pulled your suitcase from the baggage claim carousel and set it down next to you. 

"I'll keep you warm," he promised, pulling you against him and kissing you. After a few seconds, your fingers ended up in his belt loops, and his lips had moved to your neck. "In fact, I'll make you downright hot, Sweetheart."

"Bradley," you gasped as he nipped at your skin. "Jesus, Roo, I see my dad."

That had Bradley releasing you immediately and putting a foot of space between you both, and you had to laugh at the angelic look on his face as your dad approached. 

"Hi, dad," you said, giving him a big hug and kissing his cheek. You watched as Bradley shook his hand, and your dad looked genuinely happy to see him. If your memory served, he had been pretty indifferent to all of your past boyfriends. 

On the drive to your childhood home, Bradley sat in the front with your dad, and they chatted about seemingly everything while you quietly absorbed their conversation, only interjecting occasionally. Bradley reached his right hand back and grabbed your ankle, squeezing it through your jeans. Your heart was full as you looked at Christmas lights and listened to your dad laugh as Bradley told him about how you had managed to break the ice maker last week. 

"In my defense, I really thought it would just make the ice come out faster," you informed them indignantly over their laughter. 

"You're something else, Sweetheart," Bradley told you as your dad pulled his car into the driveway. 

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

"Did you have a nice evening?" you asked Bradley as he climbed into bed next to you. Your mom did not object when you put all of your luggage into one bedroom upon arrival. She was giving Rooster her full stamp of approval. He probably even went up a notch when he volunteered to clean the kitchen after dinner. Of course you had helped him, but he was the one who was continually charming your parents all on his own.

"I had a great time, Sweetheart. Your parents like me, don't they? I think they do, right?" he asked, wrapping his arms around you and snuggling you down under the blankets. 

You were tired and a little jetlagged, and you wanted to soak up the feeling of being home for a few days, but you could barely keep your eyes open. "Of course they like you. What's not to like?" You yawned while you said, "You're courteous, helpful, funny, and you have a big dick. Oh wait, that's my list of your best qualities." You yawned again.

Bradley chuckled. "Let's get you to sleep," Bradley whispered with a smile. He rubbed your back and told you he loved you, but you were already dozing off.

When you woke up the next morning, you were in bed alone. 

You padded along the hallway in your flannel pajamas and slippers until you arrived in the kitchen to find Bradley baking cookies and pies with your mom. Ingredients and recipes were strewn all over the counters, and Bradley was listening intently to directions.

"Okay, now you need to sift the flour," your mom told him. 

"Is that when I use this thing?" 

"Yep! You're starting to catch on!"

Bradley's face lit up when he saw you in the doorway. "Morning Sweetheart. Check it out, I'm baking!"

Your mom nodded. "He's really doing a good job. You told me he was completely helpless in the kitchen!" 

"Hey!" Bradley complained as he gave you a tight hug. 

Just as you were about to interject, your dad walked in with his toolbox. 

"You ready to get to work on that basement project, Bradley?" he asked your boyfriend. "I don't think it will take too long with your help."

"Absolutely," Bradley responded, washing the flour from his hands before kissing your forehead and following your dad. 

"I'm going to need his help again in about an hour!" your mom called out. "He's making the pie toppings!"

"Okay," Bradley and your dad said in unison as they went downstairs. 

Then she turned her attention toward you. "You're keeping this one around, right?" your mom asked. "Please tell me you're still serious about him."

"Mom, please, I'm sure he can hear you!"

"I don't care if he does. He just got done telling me how much he loves you. He told me he's dreading leaving you when he's deployed next month. He doesn't know how he can go six weeks without you!" your mom gushed, her hands over her heart. 

You groaned. "I haven't even had any coffee yet," you complained. But you weren't annoyed with your mom. You were annoyed that the US Navy thought it was okay to send January's deployment orders out the week before Christmas. When Bradley had read them out loud to you a few days ago, he had a very cautious look on his face, trying to gauge your reaction to his upcoming six weeks of active deployment. 

You had tried so hard to be positive and upbeat, but you had ended up crying into his chest for a few minutes. You didn't know how you were going to do it. Your favorite part of every day was eating dinner with him at home after work, and you'd only just moved in with him earlier this month. 

After taking a few large sips of coffee, you gave your mom a hug. "Yes, I'm serious about this one." 

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

It was Christmas Eve, and Bradley had intentionally only had one drink at the bar. You and he had borrowed your dad's car so you could meet up with some old friends, and he needed to get you home safely.  

"If one more of them told me how hot they think you are, I was about to scream," you whined, running your hands all over his abs. It was pretty late. Bradley noticed you were getting a little handsy and suggested it was time to go. He buckled you in the front seat as he said, "Let 'em look, Baby Girl. I'm all yours." 

Then you moaned as he was about to close the door. You and he hadn't been intimate for a few days with how tired you'd been from having your period, plus the flights to the east coast were exhausting. But that moan really set him off. He closed the door and took a few deep breaths as he walked around the back of the car. He knew you would probably have sex with him in the parking lot if he suggested it. But this was your dad's car, and you were tipsy, and it was freezing cold outside. 

All you had to do was look at him and he was half hard, so he would just have to drive back to your parents' house stiff. He slid into the driver's seat and drove off. 

"Thanks for coming with me," you whispered as you looked out the frosty window at all of the decorated houses. 

"Hey, don't thank me. I had fun meeting your friends." 

"Oh, I meant thanks for coming home with me for a few days. And thanks for helping my mom bake. I am seriously impressed you made cookies by yourself! And thanks for helping my dad with everything too," you said, reaching for his hand. "They really think you hung the moon, Roo."

He took another deep breath to collect his thoughts. The word 'marriage' had come up while he was helping your dad remove the old basement flooring. Bradley hadn't meant to bring it up, but it was hard not to. Your dad had simply said, "Whenever you're both ready for that, you don't need to ask me again. You can just ask her." 

Shit. He knew you weren't ready. It would probably be a while still. But he was ready. And that's why he hadn't been back to the storage unit in Virginia yet. He knew if he had that ring in the house he shared with you, he would make a mistake by trying to give it to you right away. 

So he would wait. He would wait until he had done a few deployments, so you would know what that was like. He would wait until you had been together longer. He would wait until you were definitely ready. However long that took.

When he pulled into the driveway, you were asleep. He scooped you up as gently as he could and managed to get you inside the house. Once he had you in the bedroom, you woke up a little bit and he helped you change into your pajamas. "I love you, Roo," you muttered over and over while giggling, and he realized those Long Island iced teas were hitting you harder than he originally thought. 

"I love you too, Baby Girl. Let's get some sleep so Santa can come tonight."

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

Christmas morning consisted of just the four of you bundled under blankets, listening to the Christmas playlist you had carefully curated the previous week. You were sipping coffee and eating a muffin, listening to Bradley talk to your parents. There was a light snow falling outside, and you couldn't remember a time you had ever felt more relaxed. 

"Help me get dinner ready to go in the oven, and then we can open presents," your mom told your dad. And then you were alone on the couch with Bradley. 

"What time do we need to FaceTime your cousins and Maverick?" you whispered against his neck before kissing him there. 

"Not for another few hours," he replied, wrapping his left arm around you and taking a huge bite of your muffin. 

"Hey," you complained, and then he ate the remaining piece of muffin out of your hand in one bite. 

"I really like this. Are we going to be coming here every year for Christmas? Or will we alternate hosting your parents every other year?"

You tried to bite back the grin that threatened to take over your face as you looked at him. "You're really enjoying this? It's nothing too special, we always just kind of hang out all day."

Bradley searched your face, his lips parting slightly. "Y/N, I haven't celebrated a holiday in nineteen years. Not really. Other than occasionally seeing my cousins, and Phoenix taking me with her to Thanksgiving dinner a few times, I never had anyone to celebrate with." 

You thought you might start crying when he gently kissed your cheek and teased your skin with his mustache. "I love this, I love being here. It's perfect," he told you as your parents came back in and handed out presents. 

"You did not have to get me anything. Just being here has been enough for me," he told your mom as she handed him a wrapped gift. 

"Aww, honey, we've loved having you here, but I think this will be good for you," your mom said with a laugh. Bradley unwrapped a book called  A Beginners Guide to Cooking and Baking. 

He tossed his head back and laughed. "Thank you. I'll use it all the time, I'm sure."

You and Bradley exchanged your gifts to each other, and now you were a little nervous. You'd had a small wooden sign made for the house, and you hoped he would like it. It said "Home Sweet San Diego" and had an F/A-18 carved into the corner. He opened it and examined it with a smile, then set it down on the couch and kissed you. 

"Thank you," he whispered against your lips before kissing you again. You almost had to push him away, because it was becoming a steamy kiss for in front of mom and dad. But he seemed to take the hint and withdrew with a grin. "I love it."

And when you opened the rather poorly wrapped box from him and saw matching Hawaiian shirts, you actually squealed with delight. "No way! My own Hawaiian shirt?" They were a yellow and white floral design, and you instantly loved them.

Jumping off the couch, you held it up in front of your pajamas and tossed the bigger one to Bradley. "Can we wear them to the Hard Deck? Everyone will make fun of us, but I don't care. I love it!"

"Anything you want," Bradley told you with a smile. 

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

After you met some of his cousins over a video chat and then said hi to Maverick, it was time for dinner. It was nice, just the four of you spending time together. And then you ate the pies and cookies that Bradley helped your mom bake. And the amount of love in your heart was ridiculous. 

"It stopped snowing. Want to go for a walk?" you asked Bradley as you looked out the window at the snow on the ground. 

"Sure," Bradley replied, wrapping his arms around you from behind. He was wearing the new flannel shirt your parents got for him, and it was soft and warm. 

You told your parents you'd be out for a long walk, and then you had to borrow their heavy winter coats. Once you were as bundled as you could be, given your San Diego clothing, you made your way outside. 

The neighborhood was soft and snow covered. The couple inches of snow muffled everything and made your footsteps along the sidewalk almost silent. Bradley slipped your glove covered hand into his, and you ambled along with him, occasionally stopping to check out some Christmas lights. Each lit up house made the darkness come alive around you.

"I think I missed the snow," you whispered. Your nose was getting cold now, but the bite of the icy air brought back memories of your childhood.

Bradley hummed in response. "Then it's probably a better idea for us to come here for Christmas every year instead of alternating."

You pulled him down for a quick kiss, your heart suddenly pounding in your chest. "You do that all the time. Talk about the future like you're so sure about it."

"I'm sure about you," he whispered back. "The other stuff will work out around that."

You bit your lip and held his face between your hands. You had to physically force the words out. "It's all the other stuff that scares me. I'm terrified of your deployment next month." 

He pulled you snug against him. "Sweetheart, don't be scared. I'm not going anywhere. I'll come back to you every single time. I'll fight for that if I need to."

You knew he was telling the truth. He'd done it before. He was smart and strong and sure of himself, and he'd do it again if he had to. 

"I love you, Bradley. I love everything about you." 

He kissed you hard, his cold nose gently moving against your nose and cheek. You couldn't get enough of him. "Let's go back," you told him. "I want to touch you without gloves on." 

Bradley took your hand, and the two of you slipped and slid along the snowy sidewalks as you made your way back through the festive neighborhood. 

As he helped you into the darkened house, you were tearing off your gloves and touching his face again. His cheeks were rosy and cold, and his lips were a little rougher from being outside. He was perfect. You took his coat off and hung it up, then you started to unbutton his new flannel shirt. 

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

"Baby Girl, we can't," he muttered, locking the front door and glancing around to check for your parents. 

"Yes we can, we just have to be quiet. Can you be quiet?" you asked him, unzipping his jeans.

Bradley had to admit, the idea of fucking you in your parents' house was kind of appealing. "I can, Sweetheart. Not sure about you though."

"I'm a good girl. I can be quiet," you promised him with a little pout, and his cock was instantly hard. He let you lead, and you took his hand in yours, pulling him into the bedroom you were sharing. You turned on the bedside lamp, illuminating the room in a soft glow. Then you pressed your finger to your lips, and Bradley nodded, reassuring you he'd be quiet as a mouse. 

"Don't forget, their room is right across the hall," you whispered, undressing him completely and leaving him standing naked in front of you. He watched your hand glide over his skin from his neck down to his hip. Your chilly fingers should have been uncomfortable on him, but rather they were getting him hotter and hotter. 

Then you dropped to your knees. You were still fully clothed as you licked the tip of him, a sight that he found extremely arousing. He let his fingers tangle in your hair as you took him further into your mouth. You were good at this, there was no denying that. It felt fucking heavenly every single time you licked and sucked him. And he loved watching you, because you always seemed to want this as much as he did. 

But right now, he wanted to cum in your pussy, not your mouth. So he let himself enjoy another minute of your swirling tongue and hollowed out cheeks before hauling you silently to your feet. He pulled your sweater off followed by your bra, and kissed every inch of you as quietly as he could. When he ran his mustache along your neck, your breathing picked up and you undid your jeans for him. He slid them down and you delicately stepped out of them. He kissed you once through your panties before standing. 

"Such a sweet girl," he whispered, and he had you rubbing yourself all over him. 

He actually loved this, trying to keep quiet at your parents house. He felt like a teenager. And he wanted you to know how much fun this was for him.

"Don't get loud, Baby Girl. Don't want to get caught," he told you before laying you down on the bed. He propped himself on top of you and nipped at your lips softly as he started grinding himself against you through your underwear. Your eyes were squeezed closed as you tipped your head back and rocked up against him. 

He spread your legs a bit and slowly slid your underwear down your legs, and then without warning, he slipped himself inside you. He watched as you bit your lip when he started moving, slowly fucking you. He made sure he was being so quiet as he told you, "I thought you said you were a good girl. Good girls don't fuck like this at their parents' house."

You looked like it was taking everything inside you to stay quiet as he continued to move. "Maybe you got put on the naughty list this year. That would explain a lot. That's probably why you're getting such a nice, big dick for Christmas."  

He listened to you whimper as you smiled up at him in awe. Bradley tested out a harder thrust, making sure the bed stayed quiet. So far so good. He alternated between moving almost painfully slowly and adding in a sharp thrust here and there for good measure. 

Oh, you were so into this. You were grabbing at his shoulders and nodding your head yes as his lips closed gently around your nipple. When you started moving a little too fast for the level of finesse that was required here, Bradley used his hands to pin your hips to the bed. He shook his head solemnly down at you.

"See, that's how you got put on the naughty list. Keep that up, and I'll have to stop."

You went silent and completely still, your expressive eyes pleading with him. His cock twitched inside you, begging for more; it was the only dead giveaway that he'd absolutely die right now before he stopped fucking you to completion. 

"I'll be good now," you promised, licking your lips and begging him. "Please keep going."

He slipped his thumb into your mouth. "That's my insurance policy. No more noise," he scolded as he gently caressed your cheek with his fingers. And then he did as you so sweetly asked, pushing into you one inch at a time until he bottomed out, over and over again. He went so slowly, rubbing his pelvic bone against you when he was close; he knew so well how to get you there with him. 

Your face looked so pretty, still pink from being outside, as you sucked on his thumb when you came. He buried his face against your neck, still fucking you slow and steady, as he came inside you, filling you up.

"I love you," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I love you, Y/N."

You ran your fingers up and down his neck as he draped himself partially across your body. "I love you too, Roo. Merry Christmas."

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

The following evening, on the flight back to San Diego, you asked Bradley if he would go back to see your parents again with you in a few months, as long as he wasn't on deployment. 

"You don't even need to ask, of course I will."

Then you fell asleep on Bradley's shoulder. He held onto your hand, listening to your even breathing while you drooled on his shirt. It took him almost an hour to talk himself out of visiting his storage unit in Virginia. 

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

Thanks for reading! Hopefully we are all okay with Christmas in October (yikes!). I'm trying to keep things for B and BG in order leading up to his January deployment. And thank you to @bradshawsbitch for being lovely and helping me get this one-shot where I wanted it to be!

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