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desert-fern · 7 months

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Ring Around My Rosie - Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw X Fem!Nurse Reader (WWII European Theatre AU)

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw X Fem!Reader

Summary: The year is 1944 and the Second World War rages on. You have been a nurse in Belgium for nearly three years, having seen the effects of the worst things human beings can do to one another. One day, like always, an injured man is brought in. An American sailor too far from the ocean he came out of on D-Day and you both are entranced.

Warnings: blood, bullet removal, mentions of Nazis (it is a WWII AU so…), probably inaccurate depictions of wartime nursing, most likely factually incorrect WWII history, fluff so fluffy I gave myself a cavity just writing this, 1940s Bradley Bradshaw (yes, he is a warning)

Word Count: 6.1k

A/N: If you can’t guess, this oneshot is a WWII AU inspired by a cover of Ed Sheeran’s Nancy Mulligan that I have linked here! I’m 90% I fucked up my Spotify Wrapped for this fic so I hope you enjoy!

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Well, I met him at Guy's in the second world war

And I was working on a soldier's ward

The scent of blood was thick in your nostrils as you dragged yourself out of the field hospital in Les Annais, Belgium. The Germans had been menacing your location for weeks, baiting your troops and sending fractions limping back into your capable hands.

You knew nothing of the tactics being used, very few did. You were here as a nurse, not as a tactician, not as anyone of note, save for being the longest serving nurse at the 51st Field Hospital. The others had bailed out as soon as they could, doing their duty but the gruesome fighting months earlier at the Battle of the Bulge had sent many fleeing.

It wasn’t like you could blame them.

You were still new, having joined up as soon as you could convince your father and while you were a month shy of 23, you had never experienced anything like this. Your grandmother had told your father off, reminding him that it was his own stubborn streak that raced through you.

But you were unprepared for everything you would have to do out here, hundreds of kilometers away from home, with the least amount of training that they could spare. At the beginning, you could only offer comfort to some of these men, being unable to save them from their wounds, as they cried for their mothers, wives, children, begging for the pain to end.

Sometimes - well, most times - these men were boys your age or younger. Lives that had only just begun were snuffed out in the most violent of ways and you were left to piece together your shattered heart day after day.

So you closed yourself off, choosing to help as many as you could. The conditions were brutal, the wounds you saw even more so. A year and a half ago, you didn’t know how it felt to hold down a screaming man so a doctor could try and save a septic leg. You were a shoulder to cry on, a smiling face despite the bleakness, and more often than not, an object of flirtation and admiration.

The sky was a miserable gray, like it always was. It seemed like the sky was trying to match the color of the tents scattered around the outside of the main camp, doing its best to hide you from the prying eyes of the German aerial patrols.

The Luftwaffe were always around. Luckily for you, they couldn’t aim for shit, but you couldn’t deny that the German movements had been far more frequent. Sometimes a young man crawled through the borders surrendering to the English and American forces and begging for help.

No one else would treat him, refusing to even get close to him.

You had chastised them all, reminding them of their promises to help those in need, and slowly you had gained some help in the care of these young men, though they were few and far between.

Shouts caught your attention, sending you racing through the muddy field back to the hospital. A group of soldiers, Americans by the sound of them, were calling for help and you would be a hypocrite if you didn’t help.

Hurrying through the door ahead of them, you saw a small group, maybe seven or so men approach. They were muddy, beaten and bruised, but your eyes fell upon the man being held up by his compatriots. “What happened?” You asked, quickly replacing a red headed man and half-carried the brunette towards the only open bed in the corner.

“A bunch of Krauts caught us by surprise, caught Rooster here with a few shots and some ass- pardon me ma’am, idiot jumped out of a tree and landed on top of him,” the man explained, helping you lay this Rooster on the bed.

You focused on the brunette’s bloody uniform, eyeballing the few bullet wounds in his arms, but you were the most concerned about the broken leg. It only took one infected wound and that limb would be gone. Not today, you thought. “Dot, I need the suture kit and a basin. You,” you stated, standing up to face the man standing next to you.

“Mulligan, ma’am,” he told you, standing up straighter. “Lewis Mulligan, US Navy.”

“Lewis, can you help me hold him down? I can’t stitch him up and hold him down at the same time.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Dot hurried over with the makeshift kit, placing it on the bed along with a basin of water. Unbuttoning his shirt, you found that two of the three bullet wounds still had the bullet in them and that the third had begun to clot against his shirt. Pulling the scissors from the pants pocket of your uniform and cutting the shirt away, you finally had a better view at what you were working with. “Fucking Krauts. Guess they must be really desperate to keep using shitty ammunition,” you remarked dryly, dipping a set of tweezers in a basin of cheap spirits.

Lewis didn’t say a word, clearly stunned by your foul language. “Ma’am?”

Sighing, you turned to face him. “Lewis, I need your help holding him down. The longer this takes, the bigger the risk of infection. I can’t do that if you are going to be shocked when I cuss and swear. Can you help me or not?”

He nodded, coming to stand on the other side of the unconscious man. Hands placed on his friend’s shoulder and hip, Lewis gave you a nod and you began.

The bullets were soft and slippery. They slid out of your tweezers more times than you could count, but you made it work, finally prying the two out of his shoulder and side. Lewis wasn’t looking at you, his face green by the time the last bullet clinked into the porcelain tray. “I can take it from here, Mulligan. Go back to your group, tell them…”

“His name is Bradley.”

You gave him a smile. “Tell them Bradley should be okay unless he does something stupid.”

He left you alone, perched on the side of Bradley’s bed, stitching him up. You saw his eyelashes flutter as you finished the last stitch and quickly stood up. If he lunged at you, you had to be standing. Enough men had grabbed at you when they woke up and you had quickly learned not to make that mistake again.

Too many bruises, too many sprains, too many punches thrown.

To your surprise, Bradley let out a groan and his eyes slowly blinked open. That groan turned into a hiss of pain as he tried to sit up. “Stay down,” you said gently, approaching slowly with your hands up. “You’re in a field hospital in Belgium.”

His eyes flicked to you, taking in your bloody uniform and trailing over your face. “The others?” He said in a panicked voice. “Where are the others?”

“Lewis and the redhead are outside, they carried you here. Seven of you came up to us, that’s all I know Bradley.”

A nod. “Thank you Ma’am.” Relief was written all over his face, in the way his eyes fell closed for a moment and his shoulders dropped.

“I just finished stitching up your chest, but I need to look at your leg. Can I do that?”

“Anything for you doll,” Bradley replied with a wink as he tried to lay down. But he winced and you were there, your bloodstained hands firmly holding his shoulders and neck while you guided him back down.

Never had I seen such beauty before

The moment that I saw ya

You moved quickly to treat his leg, finding that thankfully it was just a broken ankle and not somewhere further up. The number of men that had come in with a broken leg and left with one and a half was a number that you didn’t like to think about. It was far too high.

But Bradley wouldn’t be one of them and you couldn’t help but send up a prayer of thanks. The minute he’d opened his eyes, you’d been transfixed by the deep amber of them. A deep brown like the whiskey that was saved for special occasions and sparkled like a polished gun barrel or belt buckle. It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen handsome men. Quite the opposite. You saw all kinds of men at their worst. Lots of them lookers, but you hadn’t felt a connection to one until him.

His gaze made it hard to focus as you fumbled with his boot lace, finally undoing it after what felt like hours. The smell still made you recoil a little, even after nearly a year in the nursing corps. Regardless, you still had to do your job. So you worked quickly, removing both boots and socks and compared both sides to assess where the break was.

A soft touch to his foot had him chuckle and you glanced up at him curiously. “Sorry, just ticklish, is all,” Bradley said sheepishly, hand coming up to rub at his mustache.

You gave him a smile before returning to work, splinting his ankle and cleaning the blood, sweat, and mud from his skin. “Better now?” You asked him, tucking a blanket over his body and helping him into a clean-ish shirt.

His eyes met yours and despite being in pain, Bradley shot you a small smile. “Better now that I can see my guardian angel.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Do you know how many times I’ve heard that one, sailor? More times than you’ve used that line on anyone in stockings.”

Bradley just grinned at your retreating form and let his eyes slip shut. The pain in his body was getting to be too much, but as he dozed off, he found himself listening to your voice as you reprimanded a soldier barely older than yourself for getting out of bed. You intrigued him, that’s all.

He said I was his yellow rose

And we got married wearing borrowed clothes

Weeks had passed since that first interaction and both you and Bradley had been writing to one another as often as you could spare. While in the hospital, you learned that he and his friends had been separated from their landing crew as they made their way inland from the coast. He’d been on Omaha Beach during what had become known as the “D-Day” landing in Normandy.

Not that he’d been allowed to tell you that, but he had anyways, trusting you implicitly. He’d had to leave after nearly a month under your care, but made a promise to come back.

You hoped he would, but neither of you knew what would take place.

The fighting had drawn closer to your hospital as the Allies fought for Belgium, liberating it in 14 days and wrestling it from German hands. There had been some celebration amongst your ranks, but your heart ached for Bradley, praying every night that he came back to you.

For now though, you had to settle for letters. Bradley’s smooth voice seemed to read every letter aloud to you, each word wrapped in that gentle, flirtatious tone he had used every day you had looked after him.

Doll. My darling Rosie, the most recent letter began. They usually started out with some endearment, God knows he had used enough of them as he tried to win you over despite your colleagues warning him that you wouldn’t fall.

You remember Lew? Well he told me that writing to you was a waste because I wouldn’t get any letters back, but I know you. You wrote me back like you always do. Means I’m going to have a nice big stack of letters waiting for me the minute the post catches up with us.

We’re still marching. It’s been hell on my ankle, but you patched me up nice and neat so I’m not too worried. At least the view is nice. I think you would like it where we camped tonight, crickets are chirping now as I write this and it’s peaceful. Kinda like those nights you spent sitting with me when we’d talk about everything and I would always get worried that you would get sick of me jawing and talking your ear off, but you never did. Spoiled me for a good listener. The boys here don’t talk much. Battle fatigue is crawling all over them and it is always quiet around these times cause no one says a word.

It’s awful lonely though, sweetheart. I miss your laugh, especially how you would have to cover it when it was the middle of the night. Closest thing to home I had in a while. I hope you can hear my voice in this letter because I know I hear yours every time. And I mean every word, Doll, I hope you know that.

When I come back, I want to take you somewhere nice. Get you all dressed up in something pretty but you would still be the most beautiful dame I ever saw if you came out in your uniform that I know you are wearing now. Maybe I’ll take you dancing like you talked about, holding you close for song after song and if I’m lucky we would be going steady after that. That kiss on the cheek you gave me before I left is just haunting me because I had a taste of the future, if you feel the same of course.

Call me a flirt, doll, but I’m just sweet on you. I’m doing everything in my power not to go AWOL and come all the way back to find you, but I hope this letter finds you well instead.

Thinking about you, my English rose.

Yours always,

Bradley.

Wiping a tear from your cheek, you carefully folded the letter back up and placed it with the others. They were all like that, yearning to be back here instead of wherever he was, thoughts of the future and he always, always, signed it off with “Thinking of you,” or lately “Yours always.” Every letter gave you hope and while you knew some of yours had likely been delayed, you always jumped up like you’d sat on a tack whenever the post arrived.

Dot had started teasing you the second that Bradley left, but one reminder of Lewis and she too was blushing. The two of you sat in your quiet fear, praying that neither one of you would get a letter from one of their unit mates saying that one or both was gone.

Your next letter went out the same day.

Hopefully, it would all be alright. So for now, you let yourself dream of dancing in Bradley’s arms, Glen Miller playing softly in the background as he held you close, whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

Hundreds of miles away, huddled under a thin blanket, Bradley pulled a creased letter from his pocket, finally having the chance to read it. As the letter slid out of the envelope, a sweet smell burst free and filled his nostrils. He recognized your perfume, the scent having filled him with joy every moment he spent by your side as he recovered.

Shifting a little and adjusting the blanket, he opened it up, catching a second page that tried to escape in the sudden breeze. Bradley moved his lantern over and began reading your tight script that had his heart skipping a beat each time he saw it fill a page.

Bradley,

I received another letter from you today and I thought I had best get writing so I don’t miss the post truck. I do remember Lewis. Hopefully he remembers Dot because she is patiently waiting for a response to her letter. I don’t think it matters, the sentiment is still the same and I would rather see you at the end of this harrowing ordeal than have you replay thoughts on paper.

I had been meaning to ask about your ankle. If it ever gives way, splint it like I showed you. I don’t want you to break it again, even if that would mean you have to come back to me. But for the moment, I am glad for your letters. They make me feel closer to you. Describe the view for me, please. I see nothing but muddy fields, canvas walls, and wounded men. Is it raining a lot on your march? I know your boots were ruined when you were brought here. Did you ever find new ones? He had, but the source of them sent his stomach twisting in knots. Pulling boots off a man killed in battle felt savage, like they didn’t matter as a person.

I miss our talks as well. I learned so much about you so quickly and I feel like I know everything about you. I miss the snort you make when you laugh, especially when I told you that the other nurses called me Rosie because I was the only English nurse here. I was worried you would stop breathing some nights the way you clutched your chest as you laughed like you had never heard anything so funny. But I would give anything to see your smile, the one where it reaches your eyes and it seems you swell up with joy. I know there isn’t much time for smiles now but if I could just give you one of mine, I would.

Send my love to the boys with you. War is hard enough without having to deal with loneliness at the same time and you all are in my thoughts and prayers. I miss you terribly and find myself daydreaming of you every spare moment I have, which is not often anymore, but I drift off to sleep with your past letters in my hands and your words in my mind.

Your confessions for after this war sound like heaven. I hadn’t let myself dream too long about what will become of us. We have both heard the stories of wartime romances often enough to know how precarious they can be, but if you have hope, dearest, then so do I. I’ll wear my best dress and you in your uniform, we will be the best dressed pair at the dance hall. Nothing sounds better than dancing close with you. I don’t care how presumptuous it is, the way my heart yearns for your nearness, I can give my answer to your most secret hopes without hesitation.

If you asked, dearest, I would be yours in a heartbeat. So long as you are mine as well. Bradley breathed out a laugh, trying not to wake his comrades. He had been kicking himself ever since he had sent that letter, hoping you felt the same and by the grace of God, you did. I may be English but we aren’t always prim and proper when angered. I could and would write a million pages with barely any thought, but the truck is waiting for me, so I must end this letter here. I hope my words keep you warm in this autumn weather and please, if you can, come back to me.

Stay safe, dearest.

Your Rose

The letter crinkled in his grip as Bradley bit back a wide grin. You were okay. You wanted to go steady. You cared for him. Fuck the war, he though. His doll was waiting for him back in Belgium and not for the first time, he hoped that the war would end for purely selfish reasons. You were waiting and his mama had raised a good boy who never left a woman waiting, he wasn’t going to start now.

The radio in the small hospital crackled as the BBC broadcast announced Germany’s surrender as Russian troops poured into Berlin. Cheers went up amongst the nurses and the men they were caring for, but you knew that the casualties were high on both sides. The United States still fought with Japan in the Pacific, chasing them back towards their island, and you knew that the fighting would go on for a long time.

The only thing? You hadn’t heard from Bradley in months, not since March of this year; 1945. It was now May.

The worry in you grew every day, trying and failing to hide it from Dot and the others around you. It hadn’t affected your work, but it affected nearly everything else. You were hardly sleeping, rereading his letters so often you had them memorized. “Thinking of you�� was written in his neat handwriting against the back of your eyelids, and everytime you blinked, you thought of him.

A few days went by since that monumental announcement of the war’s end and some fighting was still happening but Germany’s surrender had a lot of Nazi sympathizers fleeing like rats. But world leaders were acting quickly and you knew that while it would be some time before you would return home to England, it would also not be enough time for Bradley to come back to you here in Les Annais.

So, like always, you went to work. The soldiers around you were still flirtatious, some even outright admitting that they were sweet on you, but you politely told them that you were waiting for your man to come back to you, and that while you were flattered, you just couldn’t.

Sweet smile after sweet smile. Bed bath after bed bath. Infected wound after infected wound. And still, no Bradley.

Then you heard your name shouted from outside. You had been packing your things, having received your letter to head back home, when Dot yelled so loudly you thought a hoard of Nazis were marching toward you. Racing outside dressed in your one non-uniform dress, you saw a Jeep full of men pull up. They too were yelling, and when you ran up, you saw a familiar face not half a meter away.

He was covered in dirt and grime, his hair longer than you had seen and his cheeks were covered in stubble like he hadn’t shaved in a few days, but it was still your Bradley in every way that mattered. “Bradley…” you breathed, coming to a stand-still with your hands over your mouth. You stood stock still, your heart nearly beating out of your chest as you took him in disbelief. “You’re safe…”

“Hey doll,” the rasp in his tone gave you shivers as you met his eyes. They were still the same color as the whiskey you all had drank the night the war was declared over, the same sparkle twinkling like the stars as he took you in. “Look at you. You look beautiful.” Bradley clambered over Simon, nearly elbowing him in the face in his haste to get out of the Jeep. “Prettiest picture I ever saw.

You blushed, ducking your head a little at his compliment. Bradley’s heart soared as he took you in, marveling at how his imagination had been unable to capture the picture perfect moment of you in that dress. You had lived in his thoughts for months, each letter sending pangs of loneliness through him as each moment without you passed. Now, standing in front of you, your hair curled and dressed like a million bucks, Bradley felt his love for you grow infinitely larger.

“You…” you began, looking up at him, your eyes wide in shock. “You came back, sailor.”

“‘Course I did. What kinda man would I be if I left my best girl waiting.”

Dot and the others were still watching intently, keen on seeing what happened when you both finally let your resolve snap. “Come on Rosie! Give your man a kiss!” Lewis hollered from where he stood with Dot in his arms. “He’s only been dreamin’ about this since forever!”

“Mulligan, I swear to God, shut your fucking yap for one minute,” Bradley yelled back, shifting his focus from you to his friend. “Sorry doll, Dot, shouldn’t have said those words with you around. Can you forgive me?”

Shooting Dot a wink, you caught his hand. “If you kiss me hard enough, sailor, I just might forget the whole thing.” You weren’t sure where the boldness came from, but it was worth it when Bradley’s face lit up.

“Is that right?” He said in a low voice. “Just one kiss?”

You shrugged as your gaze fell from his amber eyes to his lips and back again. “I don’t know, why don’t you tell me?”

That was all it took because next you knew, Bradley had picked you up in his arms and let his lips fall against yours, kissing you so soundly your breath left you in a rush. His hands around your waist held you so securely you didn’t fear falling. Your own hands cradled his face, subconsciously brushing away the tears that fell from his eyes.

He set you back on your feet, but his hands didn’t leave your hips. “So, did you forget about it yet?”

Smiling cheekily back at him, you replied “Forget what?” He chuckled and you let your palms slide down his neck to rest on his chest over his heart. “All that being said, dearest, I leave today. And I know you aren’t down yet.”

“We got separated from the Navy landing crew, doll. Kramer sent a telegram to the high ups and they are sending us on leave for a little while. Especially since we weren’t supposed to be in Berlin,” Bradley told you, a big hand running up and down your back. “So as long as I get to port at a reasonable time, I’m still doing my duty.”

“And when is that, Bradley?” Toying with his jacket, you found yourself chewing on your lip in thought.

“Hey.” His gentle tone had you looking up at his face that was filled with compassion. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it. I’ve got it in writing and up here,” Bradley told you, tapping his temple. “My mama always said I had a mind like a steel trap.”

You leaned up onto your tiptoes, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “I’m still going to worry, Bradley. I don’t know how not to. But I trust you. If you say you have it, then you do.”

Bradley leaned down to kiss you again, this time the fierceness of the gesture had you gasping against his mouth. “God I love you.”

The world stood still as you looked up at him. “Do you mean that?”

“Of course, Rosie. Unless you have some other beau running around London that I don’t know about.” He paused, looking down at you. “Wait, you don’t have a beau waiting on you, do you?”

Looking shocked, you shook your head. “No. No, I don’t. My sister was the looker of the two of us.”

By now, Lewis and Dot had run off somewhere and the other men traveling with Bradley had scattered throughout the camp offering help to the pretty young nurses still there.

The two of you were alone.

“Come on,” you said, tugging him towards your tent. “I have something to show you.”

“You could lead me off a cliff, Rosie and I’d follow you happily,” Bradley chirped, relishing in the pretty blush that dusted itself across your face. His body hurt from sleeping sitting up, he hadn’t had a shower and probably smelled terrible, yet even just being near him flustered you to no end.

And he loved it. Maybe not as much as he loved you, but how could he deny you? Your grip on his hand tightened as you pulled him to you, your other hand coming to rest on his jaw. “I didn’t want to do this in public, but I’ve been daydreaming about you kissing me like I’m all you have ever wanted, Bradley.”

The words raced through him, excitement building as he let you guide his face to yours. The first gentle touch of your lips to his had him smiling broadly, and he knew that you were smiling just as hard by the way you pulled back just a little. The next attempt went similarly; the two of you too giddy in the other’s nearness to kiss the other properly.

But he made it work, catching your chin and kissing you soundly. The gasp that fell past your lips gave him an opening and he took it, slipping his tongue past your lips.

Bradley had anticipated some kind of resistance, the feeling probably new to you, but he found none as he continued to kiss you like you were the oxygen he needed to breathe. If anything, you brought in your own fierceness to the gesture, your tongue tangling with his.

When you finally pulled back, cursing your need to breathe real air and not just Bradley’s closeness, you found that his eyes were still screwed shut. “Pinch me,” he breathed out. “This has to be a dream.”

“This is real, dearest,” you replied with a giggle. “Would I lie to you?”

“You promise?” The tone of his voice seemed so young to your ears, reminding you that for all your 25 years, and his 27, he was still too young to have seen everything he likely had seen.

“Of course.”

His eyes fluttered open, shining brightly with unshed tears. “Thank God. I don’t know what I would do if I had imagined you.”

“I’d say that you have a very vivid imagination then, dearest,” you replied softly, turning his face back to yours. When he’d looked away, you didn’t know, but you loved the sight of those warm eyes looking down on you and you would do anything to keep them in your life. “Besides, where would I go then? If I weren’t real, as you say.” Your fingers ran along the back of his neck, gently playing with the short curls. That was something else you hadn’t noticed until now; the natural curls that had emerged once his hair had a little length.

“Marry me.”

You froze, shock filling you from head to toe. “I beg your pardon?”

“Marry me, Rosie. I don’t have a ring, hell, I don’t even know if I’m going to have a home when I get back stateside.” The words poured out in a rush, but the emotion in his tone was palpable. This wasn’t just a wartime distraction to him. “All I know is that if I don’t tie you to me, if I don’t make every effort to keep you near, I’ll regret it forever doll.” Bradley’s eyes held nothing but sincerity, truth seeping from every pore as he held you, his big hands pressing you to him.

A deep sigh left your lips, the silence thundering in Bradley’s ears as he waited. You glanced up at him, your eyes misty with tears. “If I say yes,” you began, swallowing thickly. “If I say yes Bradley, you don’t get to leave because this is hard. I would be your wife, and you my husband. We do this together or not at all.” Tears had begun falling and you didn’t know if this was an accumulation of emotion from finally having him close or if it was fear. Fear of being wed and left in a heartbeat.

“Rosie, I would find the Chaplain now if it meant that I could spend the rest of my life with you. I would march to the Pacific now to end this war if it meant I could marry you faster. I fought for us just as much as I fought for my country and my mama would come down from Heaven like a shot if I even so much as thought about leaving you behind.” Bradley had ducked his head down, holding your teary eyes with his own. In the growing darkness, you could barely make out the ring of his honey-coloured iris, but you knew that he meant what he said.

How could he not?

“So, doll. What do ya say, hmm? Feel like being Mrs. Rosie Bradshaw?” The usual humor in his tone returned when he saw the meaning behind his words sink in. You understood him and trusted him deeply, after all he’d come back, hadn’t he? In what world would he do all of this and not mean it, not swear by it? Bradley had taken a step to close the distance between you both for the rest of time, pulled his heart out of his chest and held it out to you.

You met him halfway. “I’ve certainly been called worse, Mr. Bradshaw,” you teased gently, as you toyed with the collar of his jacket. “What makes you think I’ll come running when you call that name?”

“Because I’ll come running if you promise to call me that everyday, Rosie doll.” A giggle broke loose from your chest and the matching smile seemed to split your face in two as you watched Bradley’s face light up once he heard your reaction to yet another sweet name he could drop. “You never did answer my question, doll. Are you gonna leave me standing out in the cold like some sort o’ schmuck or are you gonna let me in to get all the good lovin’ my weary bones need?”

You slapped his chest, cheeks burning under his attention. “My mother raised me to never let a man starve nor grow cold, therefore I believe I ought to marry you, dearest. How else am I to go on living when I have a very handsome sailor practically begging for my hand?” You were still smiling broadly and as you watched your words get processed.

“Yeah?”

“Of course.”

Bradley let out a whoop of joy, grabbing you suddenly before picking you up and twirling you around the yard. “Well dammit all! Rosie said yes!”

Cheers broke out from around the hospital. Nurses and the G.I.s were clapping and whistling in celebration that only got louder when you brought your hands to his face and kissed him so hard you could feel your lips bruise from trying to pour every ounce of feeling into it. “God, I love you,” you mumbled against his lips.

Setting you back on your feet, Bradley dipped you over a strong arm, bringing you into another sweet kiss that had you wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing yourself as close as you could to his chest. “So,” Bradley mumbled. “When I find my mama’s ring, it’s yours. She would have loved you, Rosie. My pop too.”

You leaned up, pressing a soft kiss to his nose. “I’m certain that they’re very proud of you, Bradley.” The softness of your tone combined with the sincerity filling every word was a shot straight to his heart. Tears sprouted in his eyes and Bradley brought you back up, hugging you tightly.

“I really lucked out, didn’t I? Meeting the most perfect girl this side of the Atlantic.”

A week later, you married Bradley William Edward Bradshaw in a simple ceremony at a small chapel outside London. His mother’s simple diamond and gold ring had slipped into your finger on the voyage across the English Channel while you had been staring out at the ocean around you.

You had scarcely noticed it at first, but when your eyes fell upon it for the first time, you swore that your heart had nearly fallen into your shoes at the sight. Bradley had laughed at your reaction, pulling you close and wrapping you in his arms for the remainder of the journey, all the while watching you trail your eyes over your hand time and time again.

It was all he could do not to press a kiss to your left hand every time he saw the ring catch the light, which was often, especially by lantern and lamp light.

Needless to say, the pair of you were very happy, and while Bradley had been tapped for deployment into the Pacific theater, his ship had only just made port somewhere in Spain before the US detonation of their super weapons in Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The Japanese emperor had surrendered almost at once and from your position in London, you couldn’t blame them. You had always hated the unnecessary violence, the casualties just because and this was no different. The innocent civilians hadn’t needed to die in such a way as they had, though you couldn’t see a way of changing the course of the war.

But Bradley was safe and on his way home to you. In the end, you couldn’t help those affected by the tragedy any more than you had during the war in Europe. You would be trying to wrap a wound made by a cannonball with a tiny sliver of fabric, so you set about waiting for him to come back to you.

Now though, you needn’t worry as much. You were Mrs. Bradley Bradshaw and he had made many a promise yet never broken a single one. So the mere sight of his form on the dock eased it all.

Today started the rest of your life.

We got eight children now growing old

Five sons and three daughters

She and I went on the run

Don't care about religion

I'm gonna marry the woman I love

Down by the Wexford border

She was Nancy Mulligan

And I was William Sheeran

She took my name and then we were one

Down by the Wexford border

===

A/N: So, I hope your heart has a big ass cavity in it and that you enjoyed the cotton candy level of fluff that I just threw at you! Big thank you to @startrekfangirl2233 for being the best beta reader ever and @sarahsmi13s, I’m sorry for making you sob when I was sharing snippets

Read Roo and Rosie’s Christmas fic here!

Tagging: @startrekfangirl2233 @sarahsmi13s @horseshoegirl @roosterforme @@eli2447 @nobody7102 @gigisimsonmars @dcyllom @bobgasm @multifandomlover4life @mak-32 @beyondthesefourwalls

#fern writes #Ring Around My Rosie #wwii au #bradley bradsaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fic #top gun maverick #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #American Sailor Bradley X English Nurse reader #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader

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wearerandomlyyours · 10 months

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I had the goddamned strangest dream which led to a weird story idea but I have no clue if I'll ever get around to writing it:

TimeTravel!AU where post Layton IceMav end up back in time in WWII, and after convincing the US that they're not spies (Ice: I'm a goddamned Polish Jew you think I'd willingly spy for the Axis? Interrogator: That's fair) they convince the Navy to let them fly for them.

It's a little rocky at first, having to get used to much slower aircraft, but once Ice and Mav settle in, they're deadly. Their kill counts quickly soar past Ace to Ace-of-Aces, with whoever is in the top spot swapping dogfight to dogfight.

It takes three years for the Luftwaffe to finally take out the two deadliest pilots to ever fly, sacrificing 20 of their brand new jet fighters to bring them down, losing over half in the process.

Iceman and Maverick wake back up in the future and finally understand why everyone had always compared them to the legendary WWII pilots 'Blizzard' and 'Wild Thing'.

#top gun #top gun maverick #pete maverick mitchell #tom iceman kazansky #icemav #fic ideas #fics i'll never write #but i wanna #time travel #wwii au

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bradshawsbaby · 4 months

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Letters to My Love // Part X

Rosie the Riveter

Series Masterlist

JOIN THE TAGLIST!

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Female Reader

Summary: When you signed up to volunteer with the USO, you never anticipated that you would meet a man like Ensign Robert Floyd. Fate brings you together one balmy spring evening in Charleston—the night before Bob is set to ship off across the Atlantic. Pen and paper become your only means of sharing your heart with the naval aviator who’s captivated it, igniting a correspondence that spans the distance between you. Can love blossom even as war rages and thousands of miles keep you apart?

Word Count: 2.9k

Author’s Note: I'm so sorry for how long it's taken me to update this story! One of my goals for 2024 is to get this series completed. Although it's taken me so long to update, Bobby and Peach are never far from my mind and are always in my heart. I hope you enjoy this latest installment of their story!

Set the Mood: If you’re looking for some 1940s vibes, check out the playlist I made to pair with the story.

The title of this chapter is obviously a tribute to the iconic figure of Rosie the Riveter. But it was also inspired by the song of the same name by The Four Vagabonds, which you can listen to here!

Dedication: As always, this story is dedicated to my dear friend, Clara (@luminousnotmatter). She was the first person to listen to all my endless ramblings about this universe, and she has never stopped supporting me or believing that I can get it finished. Thank you, Clara!

Warnings: Alternating POV, references to casualties of war and grief, slight angst, lots and lots of fluff.

July 8, 1943

My Dearest Peach,

I want to start by saying that I’m terribly sorry it’s taken me so long to respond to your last letter. I think I’ve worn down the paper to nearly nothing with how many times I’ve read it, but it’s been hard to get a free moment to sit and write you the response you deserve. Things are really heating up over here, and we have to be ready to move at a moment’s notice. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve sat down to start a new letter, only for us to be called up just as I set my pen to the paper.

To set your mind at ease, I want you to know that I’m alright. I’m not sure how much information they’re sharing with you all back home, but I know one of the fellas got a letter from his wife recently and she told him that three different families on their street got notified that their boys had been killed in action in just one week. It made her real scared that she was going to be the next one getting a knock on the door. I won’t lie to you, Peach, because I don’t think that’s fair—we’re losing a lot of men over here. It’s scary to think that any day now, it could be me they’re sending a flag home for.

I hate to start this letter off so morbidly, but there’s been something weighing on my mind lately, especially since my buddy got that letter from his wife. If anything happens to me over here, you won’t know. They’ll tell my family, sure, but not you. And I can’t stand the thought of you waiting for another letter that isn’t going to come. So I’ve spoken to Paul, Tommy Boy, and Benny about it. If anything happens to me over here, Peach, they’re going to write to you and let you know. It gives me some comfort to think that their words will be a little softer and kinder than the formality of Uncle Sam.

I hope this doesn’t make you sad, Peach, although I admit it makes me a bit sad to write. The truth is, I’m quite alright right now, like I said, and I don’t plan on letting anything happen to me over here. We have to take that drive to Folly Beach and get ice cream on the pier, after all. I tell you, that thought alone is enough to get me through even the hardest days over here.

Alright, enough of all this. Time to get back to your lovely letter. They’re calling us for dinner right now, but as soon as I’m finished, I’m coming right back to continue this letter. Nothing’s going to stop me from getting it to you.

I’m back, Peach. All the fellas were teasing me in the galley because of how quickly I scarfed down my dinner, but I didn’t care because I knew I was getting back to you and your sweet words, and that means a whole lot more than the crummy food they’re serving over here. Boy, I tell you, I sure do miss home-cooked meals. They even had—I’m not lying, I promise—they even had peach cobbler for dessert tonight. It made me think of you, but I’m sure it’s nowhere near as good as the cobbler your family makes, so I didn’t even bother giving it a taste.

Now I do have to say that you’re right, of course. I hate hearing you call yourself shy and mousey. If that’s the way you feel when I call myself boring, then I certainly promise I won’t ever do it again. It’s a deal—neither of us will talk about ourselves like that anymore.

Nothing you say could ever sound silly to me, Peach. Even though we only got to spend a few hours in each other’s company, your letters have made me feel like we’ve known each other for years and years. I’m honored that I’ve been able to make you feel seen. I do see you, Peach. You’re the most beautiful, interesting, intelligent girl I’ve ever known, and I hope you can see that in yourself. For what it’s worth, you’ve helped me to come out of my shell, too. Paul was just saying the other day that I look like a new man—that I’m standing taller and seem more confident than he’s ever seen in all the years he’s known me. I had just finished reading one of your letters when he said that. I don’t think that’s a coincidence. You’re turning me into a new man, Peach, and I like it. I like it a lot.

I’m glad that you passed along my well wishes to Emily. Even though part of me still thinks her fiancé is a dunce, I do wish them all the best. Has she heard from Eddie? I don’t know where he’s stationed, but if you’d like to find out and send the information to me, I can try to keep an ear out. How has the wedding planning been going? I’m still confident you’re going to make the prettiest bridesmaid.

I did pass along your invitation in my last letter home to my family, and my mother said she would certainly inquire after the Sheridan residence should she ever happen to find herself in Charleston. I think she’s happy that you and I are still writing to each other. She’s even happier about the thought of swapping recipes with you. Watch out—if the two of you ever do meet, I think she’ll hold you hostage in the kitchen all day.

Now I am very proud to hear about all the fine work you and Dottie have been doing with your Victory Garden. I’m sure there must have been a lot of progress since you last wrote to me! I eagerly await news about the beans, carrots, cucumbers, and tomatoes. I’m sure you’ve been able to make lots of hearty soups and healthy salads. My mouth is watering at the notion. Like I said, the food in the galley has been pretty crummy lately.

I’m sorry to hear there’s been some trouble back home. I’m sure it can’t be easy for anyone, with all the rationing and the fear and the worry. I promise that we’re doing our best over here to bring this war to an end quickly so that life can return to normal for all of you over there. For us, too. We really can’t wait to be home again.

Peach, I want you to know that it is our duty, our honor, and, quite frankly, our privilege to be fighting for you over here. I know the other fellas would agree with me saying so. So I don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything at home to “earn” us fighting for you. That said, I think it’s incredible that you want to contribute to the war effort in that way. I’m sure you haven’t been waiting for my response or my approval—which you shouldn’t, by the way—but I give a wholehearted yes to you applying for that position at the air station. We just recently saw Mr. Norman Rockwell’s illustration of Rosie the Riveter on the cover of the Post, and I have to say that I think you’d wear those coveralls a hundred times better.

I’m so proud of you, Peach. I want you to know that.

Speaking of the war effort, we have a couple big campaigns coming up very soon. I can’t say much more than that, but your well wishes and prayers for success would be very much appreciated. I’m always thankful for them.

Until next time, Peach! I’m already counting down the days until your next letter arrives.

Most Truly Yours,

Bobby

P.S. I almost forgot! I told Paul how much you loved the fact that he sends drawings home to Clara and Paul, Jr.—by the way, that reminds me, how is little Frankie doing?—and he was more than happy to create a few illustrations for you. He did a couple portraits—one of me and one of you, based off your beautiful photograph. He said to apologize that he’s too much of an amateur to capture all of your beauty. He did say that he thought he did a fine enough job capturing my likeness—I’m telling you, Peach, I think my friends officially like you better than they like me. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

July 31, 1943

My Dearest Bobby,

Please don’t ever feel like you need to apologize for how long it takes you to write back to me. I can only imagine how difficult it is to find the time to write with everything that must be happening over there, and yet you always find the time to pen the most thoughtful and wonderful letters. I cherish each and every one of them, and I promise that I’m more than content to read your old letters as I await the new ones.

I’m so sorry to hear about how many of our boys we’re losing. Just last week, our neighbors, the Pattersons—you remember I mentioned Mrs. Patterson had helped me and Dottie with our Victory Garden?—received news that their son, Clarence was killed in action in France. It was devastating. Dottie and I had just been coming home from the grocery store when we saw the officer standing on their front steps with a telegram in hand. We knew what that meant. Mrs. Patterson has been inconsolable since. Mr. Patterson is equally devastated, but I think he’s trying to be strong for her. Dottie and I have been taking turns cooking meals for them and spending some time over at their house. We just want them to know that they’re not alone.

I admit, Bobby, that every time I hear news of someone else being lost in this war, I immediately think of you. It feels selfish, but I’m always so relieved when the news is about someone else and not you. I don’t know how I would bear it. I pray every day that I never have to receive that letter from Paul or Tommy Boy or Benny, but I am touched that you’ve thought about how I could be notified. Oh, Bobby, I hope more than anything that your parents never have to experience what the Pattersons are going through.

But you’re right—you’re going to come home safely. We have too many plans for you to do otherwise!

I’m sorry to hear that the food aboard your carrier has been so crummy lately. I wish that I could whip up a home-cooked feast and send it in the mail with my letters. Every time I sit down to dinner now, I think of all of you, and I count my blessings. Things aren’t perfect on the homefront, but I know that we certainly have no room to complain with all you boys are going through. I promise to have a peach cobbler waiting for you when you come home—and a pumpkin pie, for good measure.

If I’m turning you into a new man, Bobby, then you simply must know that you’re turning me into a new woman as well. I hardly remember the girl that I was before I met you. Can you believe that it’s been over a year now since our paths first crossed? I feel like my life is totally different now. The way that I see myself, the way I interact with others, the way that I’m not so terrified to step out of my comfort zone anymore—so much of that is thanks to you, Bobby. I’m still me, of course. But I feel like I’m a stronger, braver version of myself now. I like it, too.

It’s so kind of you to offer to keep an ear out for Eddie’s infantry! Emily received a letter from him around the same time that I received my letter from you, and he seems to be doing well, same as you, thank goodness. Eddie is part of the 1st Infantry Division. Emily said that last she knew, he was stationed somewhere near the Rhineland. The wedding planning has been going very well. Pretty much everything is set now—all we need is the groom. Emily can’t wait for Eddie to come home for good. Once he does, they’ll be able to officially set the date. Us bridesmaids are going to be wearing lilac-colored dresses. Dottie says she already knows how she’s going to style my hair. I hope that you’re home, too, when the wedding finally happens. Emily said that I could invite you to be my date. Only if you’d like that, of course.

I would be very happy to be kept hostage in the kitchen with your mother! I’m sure there’s so much I could learn from her, and it sounds like a splendid way to spend the day. I look forward to meeting her one of these days!

Oh, the Victory Garden, Bobby! You wouldn’t believe how it’s grown! Trust me, no one is more shocked than me and Dottie. Well, maybe Paddy. He knows firsthand what brown thumbs my sister and I normally have. At first, we weren’t so sure what was going to happen—the cucumbers seemed a bit small and some of the tomatoes didn’t really take. But by the end of June, everything was thriving! It’s been such a joy to watch, and I have to admit, both Dottie and I are feeling extremely accomplished. Frankie loves to spend time in the garden with us, although he spends a bit more time digging in the dirt than helping us pick vegetables, I’m afraid. Now that we’re in the middle of summer, we’re experimenting with zucchini and eggplant. We might also try radishes and turnips. We’re turning into quite the farmers! If your mother has any recipes to share, we’d be more than grateful and happy to try them out!

Now I admit that I’ve saved the most exciting news for last. At the beginning of June, I decided to go for it and I applied for the position at the air station in Goose Creek, the one Paddy told me about. I’m sure being his sister-in-law gave me a bit of an advantage, but it only took a couple days for me to hear back from them. I got the job! I’ve officially been working on the assembly line since the middle of June. It’s hard work, and I’ve never been so tired in all my life, but I have to say that I’m really proud of the work we’re doing. It’s funny that you mention Rosie the Riveter—my job these past few weeks has actually been to fasten pieces of the planes we’re assembling with rivets! So I guess you could call me Peach the Riveter. Doesn’t have quite the same ring though, does it?

I know that the chances are small that anything I’m helping to build is going to reach you specifically, Bobby, but I can’t help but smile every time we finish a new part, or get a new plane put together. I imagine you and Paul, or Tommy Boy or Benny hopping inside and it brings me more pleasure and pride than I could possibly explain. I feel like I’m doing something important, something meaningful and special. If spending hours riveting until my fingers turn numb brings you home even a day faster, then it will all have been worth it. And it gives me a real sense of purpose, driving to work each day with Paddy. I feel proud of myself.

I’ve made some new friends at work, too! Florence and Virginia—we call them Florie and Ginny—are the loveliest, kindest girls. They had already been working on the assembly line for a few months before I got the job, so they’ve been showing me the ropes and teaching me everything they know. They’ve made me feel so welcome, so a part of things. I have to admit that I was terrified my first week or so, terrified that I was going to mess something up or make a fool of myself. But I’ve settled in quite well, thankfully.

It means a lot to me to know that I have your support, Bobby. Truly, it does. Thinking of you and all that you’re doing to protect us is what really motivated me to take this job, so thank you.

Of course I’m sending all my best wishes for the campaigns you have coming up! Wherever you are right now, I pray that you’re safe and that your missions are successful.

You’re so brave, Bobby. Have I told you that lately? Even if I have, you deserve to hear it again. I’m so, so proud of you. You’re my hero.

I hope this letter gets to you soon. I wish it could grow wings and fly to you. I know time is going to pass so slowly until I’m holding a new letter from you in my hands. But until then, Bobby, I’m thinking of you and holding you in my heart.

Most Truly and Affectionately Yours,

Peach

P.S. Paul is quite the artist!!! I now have his portraits hanging right beside the photographs you sent me. Please tell him how talented I think he is, and how much I love the drawings he made for me! I was especially touched by the little note he wrote me on the back of your portrait. I hope he’s doing well. Send my best to him and Tommy Boy and Benny!

TAGLIST: @teacupsandtopgun @saturnsbabe69 @gigisimsonmars @marchingicenotes7 @high-speed-r @cadencebeat2662 @up-thereinthesky @lostinthefandoms11 @strangerparks @sweetwhispersofchaos @callsign-magnolia @the-wayward-daughter @becks-things @jostyriggslover96 @solo-pitstop-vibes @wretchedmo @muddwheelz123 @ryebecca @lewmagoo @withahappyrefrain @rhettabbotts

#robert bob floyd #bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #x reader #x female reader #top gun #top gun: maverick #WWII AU #1940s AU #lewis pullman

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wintereyed · 4 months

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Oh, dear diary, I met a boy

He made my doll heart light up with joy

#winterbaron #bucky barnes #helmut zemo #tfatws #the winter soldier #sebastian stan #daniel bruhl #bucky x zemo #peggy carter #wwii au #spy zemo #i love them your honor #i will never tire of this au #young n flirty bucky #im a baron james

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dodounchained · 7 months

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#ai generated #bradley bradshaw #pete maverick mitchell #roosmav #wwii au #1940s #last Hollywood superstar™️#tom cruise #miles teller

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newtonsheffield · 1 year

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Miss Kate Sharma and Flight Lieutenant Anthony Bridgerton in till forever falls apart by newtonsheffield (Moomin_94)

The minute Kate a entered the dancehall, she knew she never should have come. She was exhausted, for one, another long day spent with the convalescing airmen, their screams cutting the air around them as they begged her to end it for them. And here they were, those men lucky enough to still be standing, lining the walls with their uniforms proudly on and cigarettes between their teeth as they laughed and chased after girls with stupid smiles on their faces, as though nothing could ever touch them the way it touched others. But Edwina had begged her, and so had Daphne. Both of them proud of the event they’d organised, Edwina desperate to dance with an American bombardier who’d been winking at her as he walked past every day for weeks, Daphne pretending she didn’t have the ulterior motive of her brother having just transferred to Duxford.

“I’m not looking for a husband, Daph.” Kate had sighed, rolling her eyes.

“Well that’s perfect because I doubt Anthony’s looking for a wife.” Her husband Simon had rolled his eyes at his wife’s antics.

And now here she was, sitting awkwardly at a table, wondering how long it would be before she could leave.

“Excuse me, Miss, I couldn’t help but notice you over here.”

Kate turned towards the voice, ignoring the tiny flutter in her stomach as he smiled charmingly down at her. He had his forage cap perched on his head, as though he’d only just come from duty, silver wings shining proudly on his chest, his eyes sparkling. F Lt BRIDGERTON stamped proudly on the name badge. She cleared her throat. “Lucky me.”

He chuckled, sitting beside her. “Might I enquire after your name?”

“Kate. Kate Sharma.”

He grinned at her, inclining his head with a cocky smile, winking at a man who walked past, clapping him on the shoulder Oof Bridgerton’s at it again. “How do you do Miss Sharma?”

“Very well, Lieutenant Bridgerton.”

He clicked his tongue, something smug in his expression, “Oh pretty girls get to call me Anthony.”

Kate leaned backwards, “I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”

Anthony’s brow furrowed, “Are you always this prickly?”

“Are you always this arrogant?”

“Now! Take a look at the person you’re talking to and say hello to your new Dance partner!“ Daphne’s voice boomed over the microphone and Kate could have cursed her.

Anthony grinned at her, holding out his hand, “come on then.”

Kate shook her head, her eyebrows shooting upwards, irritation flickering in her chest “I’m not going to dance with you. Not if it would end this war.”

Anthony’s laughter boomed, taking her hand, “I know you know my sister, so I know you know all of her orders are to be expressly obeyed.”

Kate let herself be tugged onto the dance floor, trying to ignore the burn in her cheeks as he grinned at her, placing his hand in her waist, so handsome and smug, as though he never worried about anything.

“Are you enjoying yourself tonight?”

“Honestly no.”

Anthony chuckled again, “Well, that’s not the attitude. Aren’t you ladies supposed to be keeping your spirits up and your skirts short to keep the boys at the front entertained?”

And she has no idea what made her do it, didn’t!t even realised she was going to until her hand slapped him across the face and the entire Air Force it seemed like erupted into laughter. Even him, damn it.

And she could have gone her whole life without wanting to see him again, until a pilot was brought in, suspected paralysis from the waist down, with no one any the wiser as to how he survived at all. And she looked at his sleeping face, hollow and gaunt and still so handsome, and her heart stuttered. Anthony Bridgerton.

#till forever falls apart au #wwii au #kathony #anthony x kate #kate sharma #kate sheffield #anthony bridgerton #kathony fic #bridgerton fic #moodboards #bridgerton season 2 #the viscount who loved me

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sciencefantasy93 · 1 month

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As London Burns epilogue for whoever is reading: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51012385/chapters/137835874

#lockwood and co #save lockwood and co #lockwood & co #lucy carlyle #anthony lockwood #lockwood netflix #locklyle #renew lockwood and co #l&co #wwii #wwii era #wwii au

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emonydeborah · 6 months

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trektober day 14: historical AU/recruitment

Pikeuna wwii AU for historical AU day

———

"Take him to Number One." Chris swallowed. The tone in which the resistance fighter- Neera, one of the others had called her- spoke of their leader made him feel underdressed for the occasion. He could hardly be blamed for his appearance; it hadn’t been his choice to crash in the French countryside. Still, he surreptitiously tried to smooth his hair and wipe the mud off his face and he was led the through the dilapidated, bombed out apartment building. The ropes around his wrists didn’t help.

People cut off their conversations as he passed, pressing themselves against the wall and staring like they had never seen a man in uniform.

Probably not his uniform, Chris thought with regret. The Allies weren’t even close to liberating this area.

“In here.” Neera opened an apartment door and nodded for him to enter. Shabby wallpaper and cracked plaster flickered in lantern light, splashing monstrous shadows on the wall. Chris squinted in the low light.

Two women were hunched over a table, pointing at a map and speaking in tense voices. The shorter woman was facing the door, and when Chris entered she straightened.

“Commander.” She nodded towards Chris. The other woman straightened to her considerable height and turned.

Chris’s jaw dropped. “Una?”

She was paler and gaunter than when he had known her. Dressed all in black rather than the bright colors she used to favor, she looked more like a prison camp survivor than the leader of a resistance cell.

It occurred to Chris that she could be both.

“Chris?” Her face lit up, and it was the most beautiful sight Chris had seen in some time.

She took a step forward, arms half raised, but glanced around and stopped in her tracks. She cleared her throat.

“Give us a minute,” she said. The other woman at the table bristled, watching Chris with open suspicion.

“Commander, for your safety-”

“Now, La’an.” Una nodded to the guards still restraining Chris, and they let go with some reluctant mumbling. Neera dragged them out of the room, and with a click of her tongue La’an followed them out. She gave Chris a warning look, and held eye contact until she shut the door. Chris tried not to gulp.

Cold fingers on his wrist made him jump, and Una smirked. She pulled the rope off his wrists, and Chris didn’t even wait for feeling to return to his hands before he pulled her into his arms.

She was slower to hug him back than she used to be, but she held him just as tightly as she always did.

The kiss was natural and desperate, anything to convince him she was alive. She wasn’t as substantial as before, and he felt like no matter how tight he held her, she was seconds from slipping away through the cracks in the walls.

She broke the kiss and just held him, trembling.

“I can’t believe you’re alive,” Chris murmured into her hair.

“You thought I was dead?” Una pulled back just enough to look him in the face. She absentmindedly ran her fingers through his hair, and Chris took her hand and kissed it.

“I didn’t hear from you for months, and no one would give me any answers,” Chris said. “I didn’t know what to think.” Una stroked his cheek with her thumb.

“You didn’t think I just got bored of you?” she teased.

“Nope.” Chris couldn’t find it in him to make it a joke, but Una still smiled. She didn’t offer any answers, just leaned her forehead onto his with a sigh. “Una.”

“Hm.”

She didn’t want to talk about it. He hadn’t seen her in eighteen months and he knew she didn’t want questions. But his last thought before hitting the ground had been of her, and how he was going to see her soon.

Not like this, though he much preferred it this way.

“How did you end up here? What happened?”

Una sighed again. “I couldn’t stand by any more, Chris.”

“The Women’s Auxiliary-”

“I know, it was important work, but I felt so useless.” Despite his resistance, she peeled herself away and led him to the map. “Did you know I was born here?” She pointed to an obscure town a few miles from what Chris guessed was their position. “My parents moved us to America when I was seven, made me a proper American girl.” Chris wrapped an arm around her waist, unwilling to let her get too far. “I enlisted to fight for America, but the more I heard the rumors out of France the more I wanted to help.”

“You were helping,” Chris insisted. “You and the other auxiliary pilots-”

“It wasn’t enough!” Una burst. She broke away and rounded the table. “People are fighting and dying everyday here. Not soldiers, civilians, young and old, women and children- I had to do something.” She gripped the edges of the table, face reddening in her fervor. “I dropped off my plane but I didn’t go back to the states. I hitched a ride across the channel and made my way here and I didn’t look back.”

Not once did she look up into his eyes. Her gaze was locked on the little town, barely more than a dot on the map. Chris slowly made his way around the table and laid his hand over hers.

“That was really brave,” he said quietly. She let out a breath.

“I’ll try to arrange for you to get back to your men,” she said, businesslike. Chris’s eyebrows jumped up.

“Through that?” He gestured to the enemy strongholds, a thick barrier between him and any allies.

“We’ll get it done,” Una said firmly. “There’s a path, most of us know it.”

“Una.” Chris squeezed her hand. “Let me rephrase: I’m not leaving you.” He nodded at the map. “It’s not worth risking anyone to get me through there.”

“Chris-”

“I’m not losing you again.” Una knew better than to argue with that stubborn tone. Chris grinned. “You need a pilot?”

“Nope,” Una answered. “But I’m sure I could find a job for Captain Christopher Pike.”

#snw #una chin riley #chris pike #strange new worlds #star trek #pikeuna #pikeone #tw: wwii #wwii au #tw: prison camp mention #I am not claiming historical accuracy here #just vibes #it’s more of a voy:killing game AU than anything else #I do know the WASPs were cool ladies though #trektober 2023 #trektober prompt

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gerardwaygirlmoments · 1 year

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AU where the members of MCR were born around the 1920s and become a blues band in the 1940s after Gerard witnesses the Bombing of Pearl Harbor

#I came up with this concept as a half-joke a while ago but I think this is actually the backstory of the music video for the Ghost of You #I feel like their lyrics would veer into Screamin’ Jay Hawkins territory in some ways but I imagine it’s common for blues to have #elements of ominous melancholy menace and even the supernatural #I feel like Revenge could be a metaphor for the WWII draft (which they might have been forced into)#Black Parade could have been a reaction to WWII afterwards #I’m not an expert on blues tho tbh #I also have no clue what Gerard would be doing near a military base in Hawaii #mcr #wwii au #I was just gonna type wwii but then the au part was suggested. Okay

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angeletombee · 1 year

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Our Finest Hour

Here we go again, cats.

Submitted for your approval: One WWII and postwar-era GO Human AU fanfic (Rated E) WIP. I was inspired by this piece by mushrooomfield some time ago and started doing research on the war in preparation. I've always wanted to do something from that era, so here was the perfect opportunity! I planned on a short one this time, especially after Just Like Heaven, so, as usual, I swore it would be a quickie -- 10k words max. No really. I'm serious this time!

Weeelllllll...

That is not happening, as I'm sure you can surmise. So, if you're interested in joining me through another historical Good Omens human AU slog, hop in the Jeep and grab my hand...cuz here we go...

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanfic #good omens fanart #good omens human au #good omens 1940s AU #historical au #1940s au #ao3 #ao3 writer #I'm so sorry I keep doing this to both of us #When will I learn?#wwii au #if brevity is the soul of wit then I'm the biggest idiot ever #fanfic wip

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desert-fern · 5 months

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(Holi)Day by Day - 1940s Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Fem!Reader (historical AU)

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x Fem!Reader

Summary: After everything you and Bradley had gone through during the war, you both had scars (both mental and physical) and nothing seemed to remedy them better than each other. When the Christmas season comes around, the tree needs decorating, and maybe even a new tradition for you both.

Warnings: small flashbacks from the war in nightmare form (bombings, blood, death all mentioned but not described), a little self-doubt, lots of love and teasing, and other than that first bit of dark stuff, this is cute and fluffy!

Word Count: 4.8k

Author's Note: Welcome back to Roo and Rosie! This little oneshot was written for @bellaireland1981's Winter RomCom Challenge with the prompt “Home for the Holidays” and while I might not have hit the comedy part of a RomCom, I do hope that you won't be too disappointed in this. Also, this sweet little fic was inspired by Frank Sinatra's Day by Day (which is also the song they are dancing to at the start).

This can be read as a standalone or as a continuation of Ring Around my Rosie.

===

Day by day

I'm falling more in love with you

And day by day

My love seems to grow

There isn't any end to my devotion

Frank Sinatra’s voice crooned quietly from the small radio perched on the windowsill of yours and Bradley’s small apartment in Washington. The street below was noisy, with shopkeepers closing up for the night and night shift workers greeting one another as they met up. White snow blanketed the roofs and windowsills, giving the world an angelic sort of peacefulness as you swayed in your husband’s arms. Boots crunched on the sidewalk below, the sound crisp yet soft under footfalls that left tracks back and forth in the snow.

It hadn’t been easy, these passing months. Bradley was still serving as a Navy officer, choosing to follow this path that he had started on before the U.S. had entered the war. But for all his successes, you were stuck at home. Being married, wearing Bradley’s last name as your own and his mother’s ring on your left hand meant that no one would hire you, despite your skills developed overseas.

Both of you struggled with shell shock, waking up in a cold sweat nearly every other night as your memories replayed the worst moments of both of your short lives. Bombs falling, the screams of men, blood, so much blood everywhere you both turned in these dream states. You had shot awake late the night before, feeling blood on your hands and got up quickly to wash your hands over and over again, trying to free yourself from the stickiness and coppery smell that always lingered no matter how hard you scrubbed.

Bradley had found you in your small kitchen, scrubbing your hands while tears coursed down your cheeks and had gently turned the water off, mumbling a soft “Oh Rosie…” before pulling you into his arms. He held you tightly, letting his sleepy warmth envelop you and pull you from the horrors of your mind. “I’m here sweetheart. Ain’t never letting you go.”

You had said nothing, your eyes staring unseeing out the small kitchen window at the frost clinging to the pane. Snowflakes dancing on the howling wind, but you hadn’t heard it. Not over Bradley’s heartbeat in your ears. He had coaxed you back to bed after a while, clutching your hand like he was afraid you would vanish if he let go while you both walked back to your cozy bedroom. “Dearest…”

“I’m here.” Bradley’s soft voice murmured close to your head as you settled back under the covers. You had drawn a few shaky breaths and curled into his chest, letting a few more tears fall against his chest while Bradley’s strong arms wrapped around you. “I mean every word, Rosie Doll. I’m here.”

And in his sleep-heavy voice, you believed every word. You had married him, knowing your own trauma and quickly realizing his own after the first few nights spent together. Bradley thrived on touch, choosing to curl into you or hold you to him whenever his demons crept up from the darkest parts of his mind. Even when his memories remained just that, he had a hand on you as often as he could.

But for now, Bradley held you close, running a large hand up and down your back as he watched sleep claim you as snow whirled past the window. If he could take away everything, he would. His father’s words rattled around in his head as your breathing evened out, “When you love a woman, love her with everything you have.”

Sleep snuck up on him, and before you both knew it, the alarm clock trilled and Bradley was slipping out of your bed to get ready for his work day. But he never left without waking you gently to murmur an “I love you” against your temple and kiss you sweetly before slipping out the door and making for the Navy Base nearby.

Now though, now he was here with you, pressing loving kisses to your temple whenever he felt like it. You both were safe, warm, and wrapped up in each other’s embrace as the radio seemed to hum along to your gentle swaying circles around in the dwindling light from the kitchen window.

“You never did answer me,” you said softly. “I asked you how your day went.”

Bradley hummed noncommittedly. “Better now that I’m here, Rosie doll.” Even now, after nearly a year of marriage, he still was as big a flirt as he had been when the two of you had first met. “But, I do have news. Good news.”

Pulling back a little to look up at his face, you had to smile as you took in his closed eyes. Bradley looked so content in this moment, like the neighbour’s cat Spot when he curled up in the sunlight down on the street below. For a minute, you could imagine that the two of you hadn’t met in the midst of a brutal conflict as he swayed your bodies gently to and fro in time with the man crooning over the tinny device. “And? What sort of news?”

“So nosy, my sweet Rosie,” Bradley teased, shooting you a wink as his mouth widened in a boyish grin, the one that quirked his mustache up a little each time. “I ought to make you wait now.”

“Bradley William Edward Bradshaw,” you began, trying for unamused but you knew your tone betrayed you. “Tell me this instant. If I need to bake up your mother’s shortbread for your big news, I need to know.”

He shook his head at you, the grin only growing wider as seconds passed. “And what if I wanted your mother’s awful fruitcake instead?”

You shot him an unimpressed look. “Bradley, dearest, that recipe is older than us both combined. It was my grandmother’s pride and joy during the holidays.”

A quiet chuckle bubbled in his chest. “I know doll, I know. I’m just teasin’. I’ll tell ya the news.” Bradley pulled you back into his arms, smiling as he felt you sigh into his shirt when you relaxed into his arms. “Bossman says that I could be promoted in the next round if I keep performin’ the way I am now.”

You stiffened in his arms, coming to a standstill. “Promoted? Bradley, that’s wonderful!” A quick glance up had you sealing your lips to his and kissing him deeply. “I’m so proud, my dearest.”

“All thanks to your love and cooking, Mrs. Bradshaw.” And God help you if your knees didn’t weaken at his words. The pride in both his whiskey-brown eyes shone down on you and his tone, his tone only served to make you more flustered. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Certain that your cheeks were as red as the flower he called you, you turned away shyly. “Oh come now. A few meals doesn’t equate the hard work you’ve been putting in.”

“Nonsense!” Catching your chin and directing your face back to him, Bradley continued “Without those meals and the incredible woman waiting on me back here in OUR home, I wouldn’t be nearly half as successful. So, Rosie. You were instrumental in this.”

You rolled your eyes fondly. “Alright then, Mr. Bradshaw. Maybe I did help a little.” His thumb traced gently along your cheekbone, and you leaned softly into his touch.

“That’s my girl,” he praised, leaning down to kiss you once more. “I won’t stand to have you go unappreciated, you hear?”

You found your hand creeping around the back of his neck and toying with the fine hairs at the base of it, wondering at how you had gotten so lucky to have this man, this gentle, kind, loving man.

It's deeper dear by far

Than any ocean

I find that day by day

You're making all my dreams come true

Bradley had become everything you were unknowingly looking for. As much as you hated everything that had transpired for the two of you to meet, you had to admit that the stolen moments between the two of you during the war had given you a hope you had both been lacking.

So come what may

I want you to know

I'm yours alone

So as Bradley spun you gently, you hummed in response. “I suppose not.” The music changed, joyfully opening Nat King Cole’s Joy to the World, and trumpets kicked in jovially, startling your husband to the point he grabbed you tightly and pulled you to him like he was trying to protect you from some unseen enemy.

He chuckled awkwardly, letting go of his tight grip on your hip and shoulder. “Sorry Rosie honey, damn trumpets scared the wits out of me.” But despite the smile plastered on his face, you saw the haunted look in his eyes, the same one that crept into your own on occasion. “Didn’t mean to give you a fright.”

Instead of replying, you rose on your tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “No harm done, dearest.” In these moments, all you could do was offer your presence like he did for you. The time spent together during the war had been far removed from the realities the two of you had faced apart and now, standing barefoot on the cool living room floor, you couldn’t have pictured your life now.

“Rosie… I’m not… perfect. I still… ya know. I barely sleep through the night, I can’t hold my wife in my arms and dance to her favorite Christmas song because the trumpets startle me every time. Why…?”

You gave him a firm look, stilling in your movement. “None of that. You hold nothing against me, dearest. Not even my most insane moments. Why on God’s green Earth would I do the same to you?” The words poured from your lips like a fountain, racing free and refusing to let you breathe. They had choked you from the moment Bradley had pulled back, freezing like he expected to find himself curled in a foxhole, fighting for his life. “I married you. I knew you weren’t a perfect man, but you were perfect for me, and that’s all that matters. Do you hear me?”

He nodded, pulling you into a hug and buried his face in your neck. You could feel tears pouring down his cheeks, his shoulders shaking as he cried. Saying nothing, you let your eyes fall closed, running a gentle hand up and down his back, trying to soothe him. “I love you,” you murmured softly. “My handsome sailor, so strong and brave. You saved me.”

You weren’t sure how long you stood like that, only that a few songs had started and ended. Bradley’s neck and back had to be hurting him, but he was content to stay in your arms, hiding from the world. Eventually, he pulled back, wiping his eyes with a shy look. “Thank you,” he muttered, his voice raspy. “I needed that.”

The two of you were a few inches apart, chests nearly touching, yet unlike the last minutes, hours, you weren’t touching. “I know.” The words were soft, like saying them any louder would shatter the bubble around you, like they would let in the darkness. “I married you, Bradley Bradshaw, don’t you dare tell me that I made a mistake taking your name and your mother’s ring.”

He grinned at you, the previous moment’s sorrow seemingly falling to the wayside. “Yes ma’am. Now, do I get my mother’s shortbread or not?”

You swatted his chest, hiding your smile. “If you don’t get out of my kitchen, then you won’t get anything,” you teased, moving out of his grabbing hands and further into the room, hissing as your feet touched the cold floor.

“Is that so, my Rosie?” You could hear the grin in his voice, knowing that it was all over his face without even having to turn around to face your husband. “Your kitchen, your house, anything else you want to label as yours?”

Spinning around, your hands on your hips, you faced him and rolled your eyes at his antics. “I believe I did a year ago when I married you. Isn’t that right, my husband?” The fondness in your voice betrayed the sharp look you were trying and failing to muster up.

Bradley stepped forwards, crowding you. “I will never cease to love hearing you say those words, Mrs. Bradshaw,” he whispered lowly, pecking the side of your mouth before pulling away and meandering into the small living room. “Need any help with the tree, doll?”

Drawing a deep breath, you brushed your hands over your apron, taking a minute to collect yourself. “I think I have it under control, dearest,” you told him, coming around the corner to see him elbow deep in the crate of Christmas decorations that you and he had collected from your families. “Unless you want to get started while I start with the shortbread?”

“Rosie, honey. We just finished dinner and I had to fight you to let me help with the dishes. Take the apron off and let’s decorate the tree, okay?” Bradley wheedled, gently placing the tree angel on the table before making his way to you and taking your hands in his own. “Please doll? Who knows if I’ll be home next Christmas and I don’t want to start without you.”

“Alright, alright, but I’m making tea before I do anything else.” Under his brown-eyed stare, now shining like the colour of good ale, you were helpless to resist.

The smile Bradley gave you was so full of happiness that you couldn’t help but smile too. So, minutes later, when you emerged from the kitchen yet again with two cups of tea and you found your husband tangled up in a garland that had to have been your mother’s given the shade of red, you had to laugh. “Bradley! What in the world…?”

“Sorry Rosie, got a little caught up in the excitement.” The grin he shot you was sheepish and you burst out laughing at the sight. “Okay, come on. Quit your cackling, neighbours are gonna think it’s Halloween not Christmas if you keep that up.”

Setting the teacups down, you pressed a hand to your mouth, shoulders shaking as you stifled your laughter. Bradley had somehow looped the garland around his neck and shoulder, pinning his arms to his sides as he tried to glare in your direction. “How in the…. You really tied yourself up tighter than a Christmas goose, didn’t you dearest?”

Bradley snorted, the sound so undignified and unexpected that it startled a snort of your own to escape through your hands. “Okay, okay. I know, I look ridiculous.”

“Only a little, dearest. Let me help you,” you replied, trying your best to look sympathetic to his obvious plight. You began to unwind the garland from his arms, smiling to yourself as you watched yourself in his brown eyes. A combination of love and embarrassment seeped out of him and you hummed along to the brass band playing from the radio, trying to keep your mind from wandering.

A few minutes passed, the room filled with little more than the faint music and the sound of your’s and Bradley’s gentle breathing. Then you found the loop of the knot and gave it a pull. The garland fluttered to the floor, landing with a soft ‘thump’. “There we are,” you said softly, stooping to pick it up. “Finally free. Now to put it on the tree where it belongs.”

Bradley’s hand on your hip stopped you in your tracks. “Rosie…”

“Yes, my love?”

“Thank you,” he whispered, lips brushing against the skin of your cheek. “For freeing me, for loving me. For everything…”

You turned into his touch, leaning up on your toes to kiss him sweetly. “You needn’t thank me for something so simple, Bradley. Thank me when it becomes a chore to do something so simple, which will never be.” A brush of your fingers against his forehead, moving his hair, had him melting into your touch, sighing softly. “Now, let us decorate the tree.”

Bradley nodded, smiling down at you. You had so easily become the best part of his life, then again, you two had met in the middle of one of the biggest conflicts the world had ever seen. But beyond that, you gave him a reason to smile, filled his heart and your home with light even when it felt like the dark was closing in. He appreciated you more than you could ever realize and he had known the minute he proposed that you were the very balm to his jagged soul.

The softness in your touch despite horrors unseen stunned him at every opportunity and if he had the chance, he would marry you all over again, if only to see the love in his own eyes mirrored in your once more.

“But,” Bradley said to himself. “All I have to do is meet her eyes now. She loves me for me, not in spite of my demons.”

“Bradley?”

“Hmm?”

“Can you help me?” He snapped out of his head, finding you on your tiptoes, trying to string the rest of the garland through the tree branches, but failing because you couldn’t reach. “You bought another damn tree that is too tall for me to do it on my own.”

“Maybe I want you to ask me for help,” he replied, smiling at you. “Maybe I should start putting things on the higher shelves if only so you would ask.”

You dropped the garland in your hands, glaring at him in the most mocking way. “Bradley Bradshaw. You wouldn’t.”

“Would too,” he replied with a wide grin. “I know you can do it, but I always want to help.”

“Here.” You handed him the end of the red ribbon. “Work your magic on those upper branches and I will start on the bows.” You had intentionally ignored his last statement, doing your best to maintain a straight face, but his words had turned your spine to liquid and you fought the urge to swoon.

“As you wish, Rosie,” Bradley said with a wink in your direction, beginning to effortlessly weave the garland through the top boughs all while you stood ramrod straight like a doctor was chewing you out. The only difference was the warmth in your cheeks was from the flirtatious nature of your husband rather than shame at a perceived error in care.

Red bows in hand, you began to tie them to the green boughs, smirking when an idea popped into your head. As gently as you could manage, you brought a bow up, tying it to the belt loop of his pants as quickly as you could. You continued in this pattern, one for the tree branches, another added to the now impressive collection of red bows around Bradley’s hips.

You were being as quiet as you could, but giggles still escaped you when you went back to the crate full of decorations. What you didn’t know however, was that Bradley had noticed your little prank almost immediately.

His focus on your soft humming to Glen Miller had been broken when you stopped suddenly. One look down and he saw a bright red bow tied to his trousers, all the while, your shoulders were shaking with silent giggles. Bradley had elected to ignore it, trying to see if you would give yourself away, but you never did.

“Rosie…” he began, turning to face your back as you grabbed the last of the bows. “Why do I have bows all over me?”

A giggle broke free as you faced him. “I don’t know, dearest.”

He raised an eyebrow at you, humor glinting in his eyes. “Is that so? You have no idea?”

“Not the foggiest, my love. Perhaps some elves snuck in and decided that you were worthy of being under the tree.” You shrugged, a grin playing on your lips as you approached him. “I can’t say I blame them either.”

Bradley reached out, grabbing you by the hips. “That’s my line, Rosie doll,” he chided in a teasing tone. “If you wanted me that badly, all you had to do was ask.”

Heat spread from your face down your neck and up to your ears under his cocky smile. “The tree is half-done, Bradley. Let’s finish that first before we get distracted by… other things,” you tried to compromise.

“Sure thing, doll. But first,” Bradley leaned down, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss. You gasped against his mouth, hands balling up his shirt as he pulled you closer. His tongue mingled with yours and you seemed to fall into him, surrendering the kiss to him and letting him take control.

When he did pull away, he was pleased by the haziness of your eyes and the redness of your lips. You stammered a little before snatching one of the bows from his waistband and set it atop his head. “There. Now you are ready,” you said with a wide smile. “The only gift I need.”

Bradley laughed, shaking his head at your antics. “You call me a flirt and a tease nearly every day, Rosie… are you trying to take that from me?”

You shook your head, still smiling widely. “No. I just… I can’t help it. Maybe the Christmas spirit is infectious and I caught it from the Hilsmans and their obnoxious lights display?” The smile only grew when he bent down to kiss you sweetly, your eyes fluttering in the softness of the gesture.

“Come now. As you said, the tree is only half done. It won’t match the goddamn Hilsmans and those lights so bright they would blind the damn Air Force if they flew over the block, but it’s just us,” he hummed, pulling a bow from his trousers and tying it to the boughs overhead.

The two of you worked quickly, the gentle silence broken only by the crooning of Bing Crosby as he sang about a winter wonderland and snowmen. It added to the warmth in your heart and your eyes as they were drawn over and over again to your husband, who was fixing a small bell to the highest branch he could.

Side by side in the warmth of your apartment, you both finished the tree shortly. As you stepped back from the tree to admire your handiwork, you felt Bradley’s hand on the small of your back, the heat from his palm warming through the fabric of your shirt. “Rosie,” he began, smiling down at the little angel in his other hand. “My folks had this tradition of sorts…”

“Oh? And what was it?” You ask softly, turning into his side. The heat from his body sunk into your skin, wrapping you in an embrace. “Why didn’t we do it last year?”

Bradley swallowed and you could tell that he was fighting tears as he looked at the small tree topper. “My pop used to… he used to lift my mama up every Christmas while they were putting the tree together, joking about how she was the real angel and should be on top of the tree, not this little thing,” he chuckled wetly as he looked at you. “Figured we could keep that tradition going if you wanted, Rosie.”

“Oh Bradley…” You soothed, squeezing his arm gently. “That sounds like the sweetest tradition.”

He sniffed, nodding as he met your eyes. “It really was. I always told myself that if I were ever lucky enough to find someone I loved as much as they loved each other, that I… well, ya know…”

“You wanted to keep their love alive,” you finished softly. “I’d be happy to continue that tradition, Bradley. It sounds just lovely.” And you meant it. From everything you had heard about Nicholas Bradshaw, or as he had been known to friends, Nick, it sounded exactly like something he would do. “Come on, let’s get that angel on the tree and then I’ll make us some tea that isn’t cold.”

Bradley handed you the cloth small angel, no bigger than six or seven inches tall, dressed in white with hair made of yellow thread. You cradled it gently, tracing over the dress with a soft touch. “Pops always said that it looked like my mama, it was the reason he started the joke in the first place. I asked him about putting the angel on the tree and he lifted up my mama like she weighed nothing. He asked me if I wanted to help put her on top of the tree. I laughed and laughed, I had never heard anything so funny…” He trailed off, looking wistfully at the tree before you both. “I remember telling him that that was mama not the angel and he just got this look on his face… told me to grab the angel and give it to her so that our angel could stay with us and the tree had the fake one. It never failed to make her smile…”

“That’s beautiful, dearest,” you hummed, glancing up at him. “Your parents sounded like they had so much love to give, Bradley. Just like you do. And while I might not necessarily look like this angel here, why don’t we fool Heaven a few days longer, hmm?”

The look Bradley gave you was so full of gratitude that you swore he nearly fell over. “Yeah?” He asked, scarcely able to believe what he heard. This was something so unique, so personal, something that he was convinced that he would never be able to find outside his parents. The tradition had been something he had only ever heard of from his parents and here you were, so open to accepting this tradition as one of your own without hesitation.

“Of course. It means this much to you, I would be a horrid, evil little troll if I said no. Not that I ever would, because it is such a beautiful idea and something that is a part of the Bradshaw name,” you replied, a small smile adorning your features. “And this ring on my finger made me one of your small, but very loving, kind, and gentle clan. I would be honored to continue this with you.”

Fingers brushed against your cheek, gently tipping your head up to face your husband. His whiskey eyes shimmered with unshed tears, a furrow had seemed to take over his brow, one that you quickly smoothed over with a gentle touch. He leaned into your hand, his eyes falling shut while he tried to rein in his grief. “Bradley… shall we?”

“Hmm?” he answered in a broken voice. “Yeah Rosie, let’s put my angel on the tree.” His hands found your hips, spinning you around and lifting you up high enough to jokingly put you on the tree.

A giggle fell from your lips before you could stop it and Bradley lowered you back down, the angel still in your hands, while you shook in his arms. “I’m sorry,” you breathed. “I couldn’t help it.”

Bradley smiled at you, the tears in his eyes receding a little. “I know, but my mama always laughed too, so it’s perfect. One more time?”

You nodded and up you went once more, but this time, you stretched your arm out, gingerly placing the angel on top of the tree. A tap to his arm had him lowering you back to the ground, and when your feet touched the floor, you surged forward, wrapping in your arms with a soft “thank you.”

“What’re you thanking me for, Rosie doll? I should be thanking you.”

“Thank you for letting me be a part of this, Bradley. Your family is just lovely and I love that I can keep their memories alive,” you whispered.

Bradley didn’t say anything, just let himself be wrapped in your embrace all the while looking up at the angel sitting atop your tree. This wouldn’t be the last time this tradition would be done, all thanks to you. So while Ella Fitzgerald sang about Santa Claus, Bradley held you close and began to sway under the watchful eye of the angel and for a moment, he swore she smiled at the sight.

His love for you grew three sizes that day, and Bradley knew that without a doubt you were the reason his life was as good as it was. You, his Rosie, had brought him back, piece by piece and he never wanted to leave you.

He was yours forever, never once wavering in his devotion to you. The reason his house became a home during the holidays.

And I'm in love to stay

As we go through the years

Day by day

===

A/N: Hey all! Hope you enjoyed this latest instalment of Roo and Rosie. Big thank you to @startrekfangirl2233 for kicking my butt a little and making sure that this wasn’t complete garbage and thank you to @sarahsmi13s for being so incredible when it comes to these two!

Tagging: @horseshoegirl @teacupsandtopgun @footprintsinthesxnd @dakotakazansky @roosterforme @cherrycola27

#WinterRomComChallenge #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #wwii au #(holi)day by day #winter fics #top gun maverick #historical au #bradley bradsaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw fic

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