#anyway bronco Good

[sehnsuchts-trunken]

Great Balls Of Fire

Bradley Bradshaw x fem!reader 9k words (ik. i did it again. im sorry)

summary: It’s been four months since you last saw Bradley Bradshaw. Today's the day he finally comes back from his mission and you have more than one ace up your sleeve to surprise him with.

a/n: smut ahead. 18+ im serious theres smut theres a lot of smut. okay. as usual i will now list everything you may have to look out for

fancy ass lingerie, oral sex fem!receiving, unprotected sex (dont be like them, just know theyre in a committed relationship theyve had the talk and all), a lot of begging, hair pulling, good girl's because yes, in general again bradley is a talker, otherwise that's it

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It had been so long. It had been too long.

With the sun beating down hard on the pavement of the parking lot, the sunglasses on your nose doing their hardest to protect your eyes from the worst of the light, the sound of your heels clicking against solid ground as you took a few steps into the shade of the tree next to Bradley's Bronco. You had been waiting for ten minutes now, checking your phone what seemed like every five seconds, too nervous to actually pay attention to it but too nervous to keep calm either.

You had been so scared you would crash into a grandma on the way over here that you had honestly considered taking your own car instead of the Bronco - but Bradley had trusted you with it, had trusted you to keep his lady running, you, even though he never let anyone else as much as touch the steering wheel, and you would be damned if you didn't pick him up in it.

You hadn't seen him in four months. Four months.

You had been by yourself, had been on your own, had been lonely for four fucking months.

But today was the day you would see him again. Today was the day his oh-so-secret mission would finally, truly come to an end, the day that you would finally, truly see him again. Not over some low-quality video call in the middle of the night, with only your kitchen lights on in the background and your mind hazy and tired because he was nine hours ahead of you and seemed to be at the other end of the world - no, today you would finally, finally, finally see him in the flesh.

You'd been anticipating this moment for the past four months.

So this had to be perfect.

This would be perfect.

You had done everything possible to make this the most perfect day of his goddamn life. You had spent the last four months moving things from the old apartment to the new house - those things that you and him hadn't already moved anyway - and the past week, you'd been cleaning, decorating, anticipating.

He had told you so often how much he missed you. How much he wished he had been there for you, to help you pack the things, to help you take them apart and put them back together, to do more than just the paperwork and set up the bed and the couch.

But he couldn't. And now you were bubbling with nervous excitement, with the joy of sharing all of it with him, to show him the desk you'd put up in the bedroom, the pillows you'd bought for the couch, the paintings you'd hung up on the walls, the kitchen table you'd replaced, the kitchen tiles you'd painted. To show him how much better this new home was than the old apartment had been (even though you'd been very happy there for the past four years as well).

And Bradley would love it. You were sure of that.

You just wanted him to see it so desperately.

You looked up as another car approached - it wasn't Bradley, you knew that, Bradley would come out of that door opposite you, not out of a car, but... There was still some tiny little sliver of hope, the same way there had been every single goddamn time someone had rung your doorbell. It had only ever been the postman or your food.

The car stopped next to you. You watched the engine being turned off and the driver get out because, well, what else was there to do except nervously shift your weight from one leg onto the other and go insane?

So you watched the stranger hop out of their car, nodded politely at them and then refocused your attention on the tips of your sandals. At least you weren't the only one waiting here anymore.

You got out your phone again, checked the time (it'd been a minute and a half since you'd last looked at it) and let out a sigh.

It wasn't that Bradley was late. There wasn't really a "late" anyway, he'd only been able to give you a vague time he'd arrive on, but still. You'd been buzzing with nervous energy for over a week.

You took a deep breath to steady yourself, wiped your sweaty palms off on the sundress you'd put on - the tiny yellow sundress that Bradley had picked out for you on your birthday last year. The tiny yellow sundress that hid the sinful white lingerie under it just perfectly. The sinful white lingerie that you had bought for this very moment.

Bradley would go feral for it, you knew that. He loved white. You thought it was because it looked innocent, chaste. Like something untainted, something waiting to be ruined. Not that you minded. One day, he had promised himself, he would admit to you that it was because it looked like something you would wear on your wedding night.

But either way, you had gone shopping for the perfect set of lingerie and you were more than happy with your final choice.

Bradley could unwrap you like a present. You were desperately hoping he would unwrap you like a present.

You had spent the last four months not doing anything other than hoping. Imagining. Remembering.

So you weren't surprised that you felt like you'd soaked through those pretty (and expensive) panties already.

Your breath hitched. You shifted your weight again.

Bradley would carry you in his big, strong arms over the doorstep, would push you against the wall, would take everything he wanted from you and give everything you needed - he'd pull your dress right off and, at the sight of your lingerie, would fuck you raw.

You had to bite down on your lip to keep you grounded. Four months away had been a long, long time. Four months in which you'd only had yourself, your fingers, your vibrator to keep you company - four months in which you'd only heard Bradley's moans spill over the phone, had only heard him call you honey and good girl through a low-quality mic, had only seen him on pictures he'd left you, on a tiny screen at best.

You were depraved. And pretty sure you'd fall apart at the first touch.

You were so immersed in your thoughts, in that lovely imagery you had created in your head, that you almost missed the door opening. Finally. Finally. You straightened up at once.

It wasn't Bradley who stepped out first - it was one of his colleagues, you guessed, with blonde hair and much shorter - but it was Bradley who stepped out second. You'd know him from miles away.

He strode out of the door and into the sunlight, all familiar brown curls and broad shoulders and Ray-Bans on his nose and an Hawaiian shirt on and his bag lazily slung over his shoulder and that moustache - by god you'd have killed him if he'd shaved that off!

He turned his head and looked at you and a grin broke out on your lips, so wide, so incredibly wide that it felt like it'd split your face in half and before you could think, before you could form any coherent thought you were already moving, your legs with a mind of their own. You were sprinting towards him. Sprinting all through the parking lot, your heels click-clicking on the pavement, and Bradley grinned, grinned and let his bag fall to the ground carelessly, opened his arms instead. Wide, so wide. He was so tall. So broad. So inviting as you ran at him, as you jumped at him, as you wrapped your arms and your legs around him at the same time, as he caught you effortlessly, as your lips landed on his.

As you crashed into him, completely, and he didn't even stagger an inch back.

You had missed four months of this.

And now his lips were on yours. Your legs around his waist. Your arms crossed behind his neck. His breath against your mouth. His lips parted. His tongue against yours.

You were desperate. And you could feel just how desperate he was, too.

You could feel all the passion, all the fiery, red passion, all the force and firmness put into this kiss as his tongue ran along yours, as your breaths met and mingled, as his hands dug into your thighs to keep you upright, to keep you snug to him.

You pulled back incredibly reluctantly. You didn't want to let go of him. You never wanted to let go of him ever again. You wanted to have him, all of him, right here, right now, and then for eternity. But you couldn't, you couldn't because this was the middle of the parking lot, and also because you at least wanted to say hello first.

So you blinked open your eyes and took him in and allowed yourself to grin as broad and as wide as you needed to right now.

"You're back", you whispered, just because that realisation still had to sink in. "You're really back."

Bradley nuzzled your nose with his and let out a hum - god, how you'd missed him. The feel of him, the sound of him.

"Yeah, I'm here, honey", he muttered, that smile of his dripping down onto his voice. "I'm here and I won't leave any time soon."

You couldn't help but lean in again, couldn't help but capture his lips again because how else, how on earth would you let him feel all the joy you were experiencing right now? You didn't even know if you could actually feel all of it. You definitely wouldn't be able to put it into words. So you dug your teeth into his bottom lip and sighed into him and pulled him closer, closer and closer, even further into you.

"I missed you", you breathed against his mouth. "I love you and I missed you, Bradley."

He chuckled, kissed you again, drew back just enough to still touch you somehow, to still have his lips on your skin somehow and be able to talk at the same time.

"I love you so much, honey", he muttered. "And I missed you so much."

And then his lips were on yours again, his fingers digging even harder into your thighs, his breath and his tongue and his moustache scratching against your skin and you moaned, because there was no more anything you could possibly have done, because you couldn't help yourself, because you couldn't stop yourself, because you didn't want to either. You wanted to let him know just how goddamn fucking much you'd missed him.

Bradley had to bite back a laugh, pulled back and looked at you through his sunglasses.

"Sounds like we should get home, honey", he said, his eyebrows raised and his smile deepening with every word. "Been waiting for that for four months."

You let out another soft moan, pushed yourself even closer to him, dug one hand into the back of his hair and scratched the other down his shoulders, down his shirt. You wanted to feel him. All of him. God, the ride home would take ten minutes. Ten minutes. How were you supposed to survive that?

"Please", you whispered onto his lips, and you didn't think you had ever meant it as much as you did now.

Bradley groaned and kissed you again, quickly, heatedly, his tongue running along your bottom lip and then pulling back again. This wasn't enough. This wasn't enough.

He set you down on the pavement again softly, your legs a bit wobbly, unsteady, and trailed one hand from your thigh to your back - anything to keep touching you as he bent down to pick up his bag again. You smiled up at him, smoothed down the front of your dress and beamed as his eyes traveled down your body.

When they snapped back up to catch your gaze, the grin on his face had turned into a much more intense expression.

"You look gorgeous, honey", he muttered, tugging you further into his side, letting his eyes drop down to your chest again. You had to bite down on your lip to keep from jumping at him right this second. He should not have been allowed to just look at you if you couldn't have him touch you too. "Did you pick out new nail polish just for this dress?"

Your grin broadened. Of course he'd notice. Bradley Bradshaw was the only man in the whole universe who would notice. And he was yours.

"Yes, I did", you smiled, looking up at him as he walked with you back to the car. He hummed softly.

"It works great together", he said. Your breath hitched. He was gorgeous and he was here and he had noticed your nail polish. He was perfect. And you wanted him to fuck your brains out. "Reminds me of your burgundy silk dress."

You had to bite down on your lip again - god, you hadn't done that nearly as often when he'd been away! - to keep yourself grounded and to keep your grin in check before it could truly split your face in half.

Your burgundy silk dress was the one you'd worn to Penny and Mav's wedding two years ago that you had spent three weeks hunting down matching lipstick and matching nail polish for. Bradley had worn that lipstick on the base of his cock for most of the night.

"You're incredible, do you know that?", you asked, your voice a bit breathy. Bradley stopped in front of the Bronco, turned to you and pulled you close again. You brought your hands up to his chest.

"I've been told", he muttered, tilted his head down to look at you and then leaned down even further to brush a kiss to your nose. "Open up the Bronco so I can put my bag in the trunk?"

You let your eyes flutter close for just a tiny little moment (he was close, so close and you would literally die if he didn't start touching you any time soon) and breathed in as Bradley chuckled. You'd put the key in your pocket and were scrambling to get it out now, taking one, two seconds too long before you heard the familiar click of the car unlocking.

"Thanks, pretty girl", Bradley mumbled, letting go of you to pull open the trunk and you had to push down a sigh of disappointment, even as anticipation rose up in your stomach. You hadn't heard him call you pretty girl in months.

When he turned back around to you, you were still frozen in spot, still smiling dumbly at him, still waiting for him to touch you, to kiss you, to fuck you. He smiled back and you knew that he knew just what you were thinking. But you couldn't even begin to care. You wanted to get him home as quickly as possible.

"You need to stop looking at me like that, honey", he said, his voice an octave deeper and you just so managed not to let another dumb, pathetic moan slip. He closed the trunk and took a step back to you. "You know I can't help myself when you look at me like that."

At that, you did let the moan tumble from your lips after all.

He'd been away for four months. And he was looking at you with his eyes all dark and his jaw clenched and his chest rising and falling heavily. How on earth were you supposed to be normal about this? You were falling apart already and he hadn't even got you home. Four months had been a long, long time.

His hands were on your waist then, forcing you against the side of the bronco, the door handle digging into your back, the metal warmed up by the sun and your arms crossing behind his neck as his body crowded yours, one leg between yours and no more space to touch, to feel, to see anything that wasn't him - he turned his head to check if the other car had driven away and then his lips were on yours, his knee pressing against your centre.

"Bradley", you moaned into his mouth, before his tongue brushed yours and rendered you speechless. You rocked against his knee, bare skin against your thighs and you wanted to sob, you really actually wanted to sob, because this was the most contact you'd gotten in four fucking months.

Bradley pulled back an inch.

"You're soaked", he groaned against your lips, his breath on your skin, his hands on your waist and you thrust your head back against the car, against the window, squeezed your eyes shut, kept on rocking against his knee.

"I know", you whined. "Been soaked for months."

Bradley let out another groan and pulled back, pulled away from you and you whimpered, blinking your eyes open again because you'd been so close to finally getting what you wanted and now he was taking that right away from you again. You looked up at him and the only reason you didn't straight up voice your disappointment was that he looked just as debauched as you felt - running his hands through his hair, running them over his face, his curls all messed up and a considerable bulge already visible in his jeans.

"Get in the car", he rasped, taking another step back from you as though he had to physically put distance between the two of you so he wouldn't give in and take you right in this parking lot. Not that you would've minded. That other car was long gone. But that he had to restrain himself so much, that he looked so positively exhausted, that his voice was so hard and so rough and so raw, that he had already, so easily begun giving you orders drove you crazy. Orders that you knew you had to follow because this was him, this was Bradley, and if he wanted something from you.... he'd get it. You'd give it to him no matter what. You'd give him everything.

So you pushed yourself off the car with a hard breath and trailed around to the passenger side, keeping your eyes on the ground even as you heard Bradley shuffle and open the driver's door because you knew that if you looked at him, no matter how much you wanted to follow his commands, there was a high chance you wouldn't be able to help yourself.

It wouldn't be the first time.

The seat felt hot and your skin sticked to it immediately and you would have cared in any other situation, but not in this one. Not when Bradley put his hand to your thigh, to your bare skin, to just below the hem of your dress. You could have cried.

He was here, finally, and he was touching you, finally, but he wasn't touching you enough, not nearly enough. This would be a long ten minutes. You pushed your sunglasses up into your hair, turned your head and rested it against the head rest, smiling at the image before you - Bradley in the driver's seat of his Bronco, the steering wheel in one hand, the sun on his face, his curls longer than when you'd last seen them. Had he got more tan? Was that possible?

God, how you'd missed this man.

And he was here now, here, next to you, with one hand on your thigh and a grin playing on his lips and you couldn't help but smile. Big and broad and all-consuming because he was here again, this man that you called yours, he was right here next to you after four months. You loved him. You'd missed him so incredibly much.

His hand moved a little higher up on your thigh, his thumbs brushing, stroking over exposed skin, raising up your dress the slightest bit. Your breath hitched.

"Bradley-", you sighed, jaw clenching as you melted, melted at every little touch because you didn't have to only remember it anymore. You could just push up into him, watch him, breathe in his familiar scent, run your fingers along his arm. This was no more imagining, no more picturing, this was real, this was happening.

"God, I missed you saying my name like that", he groaned, tightening his grip on your thigh and you bit down on your lip, wrapped your fingers around his biceps, his wrist, forced yourself to keep your eyes open so you could keep watching him. You wouldn't miss out on a single second of watching him.

"Bradley", you repeated softly. "I'll say your name as often as you want me to."

His fingers dug even harder into your thigh as he let out some strangled sounding moan.

"You're gonna be the death of me", he muttered - how often you'd thought the same about him! "I'm lucky if I can hold out these ten minutes."

You watched him quietly for a second. You could sense the heat radiating off of him, could see his clenched jaw, could feel his deathgrip on your thigh, could hardly ignore the blazing arousal in your own veins. But if he'd wanted to fuck you in the back of his Bronco, he would've. (As picky as he was about who drove his car, he'd never had a single problem railing you into oblivion in the backseat.) There was a reason he was holding out. You could only guess that he wanted to do this properly - with time and room and no risk of getting caught by the authorities. Should you have minded? Should you have begged him to take you as quickly as possible? You were sure he would have, if you'd pleaded prettily enough. But you were quite alright with time and room and no risk of getting caught. At least for right now. The both of you would manage a ten minute ride, right? You had managed four months. Ten minutes were nothing in comparison.

"Okay", you said, trailed your fingers down to his and intertwined your hands. "I'll help. I'll tell you something. Distract you."

"You can try, honey", he chuckled, sneaked a quick sideways glance at you. "Tell me about the house."

You lit up at that. You had been dying to tell him about the house. So you pushed your arousal deep, deep down (which was easier said than done) and smiled up at him.

"I don't even know where to start", you said honestly, giving yourself a second to think about it. You had ten minutes, after all. And you had to fill them all if you wanted both of you to survive this drive.

So you told him about everything.

The short version, of course.

He'd heard some of it over the phone already, but he hadn't been able to call often and you'd spent most of your time crying and telling him how much you loved and missed him when he had answered, so...

The ten minutes went by more easily this way. You went on and on and on and on about the house, his fingers between yours, your eyes locked on his, with the occasional comment about how sorry he was that he hadn't been there to help. It had been unfortunate, of course, but at the same time it had given you something to put all your time and effort into, which had greatly helped you through his deployment. Plus, there had always been help when you had needed it - Penny and Amelia and Mav, Phoenix and Bob and Jake. The rest of the squad had been scattered, called off to their own missions, but those six you had been able to count on whenever.

Bradley's hand on your thigh was still highly distracting. He moved it up and down a few times, and each time your breath hitched, each time you stumbled over your own words, each time he grinned again.

At one point, his fingertips brushed so close to your underwear that you pushed his hand forcefully back down to your knee. He had been the one so worried he wouldn't manage a ten minute ride and now he was the one teasing you.

Not that you really minded.

But you truly felt like going insane.

Then, finally! you caught sight of your driveway. Bradley was out of the car the second he'd parked it, pulling his hand from your thigh and the key out of the ignition and you had barely unbuckled yourself when he was already opening your door, taking your hand and tugging you out, sending you stumbling into him, into his arms.

He pressed his lips to yours as he pushed the door close, pushed you up against it again, pushed the hem of your dress up to grasp at your bare thigh. You wrapped your arms around his neck, forced him even closer.

"Bradley", you gasped softly. You hadn't moaned his name like that in four months, you'd do it so often today he would get tired of it. Even though you knew that he wouldn't, of course - he would never get tired of you whispering his name into his mouth, into the nothingness of an empty room, into his ear, into the pillows.

He didn't pull back from you, even as he took a slow, careful step away - making sure you'd catch on, making sure you'd follow, making sure to keep you safely, steadily against him. Not that you'd have done anything else. You trusted him with your life, you would trust him to keep you upright. So you did just what he wanted, followed, stumbled with him, eyes closed, lips on his, fingers brushing along his shoulders.

He did pull back then - just an inch or two, to turn you around, to look over your shoulder once, to tear his hand from your thigh and wrap his arms around you instead. And then his lips were back on yours again and his tongue running along yours. He pushed and you followed his wordless command, your legs working quicker than your mind, stumbling, tripping backwards, backwards, backwards and you barely cared, barely even acknowledged the ground beneath your feet because you were wrapped up in his arms, because you were tugging at his curls, because he was here, kissing you, finally.

You weren't needy.

You were desperate. You were depraved, frantic, starved. He was the air you needed to breathe and you hadn't taken a single breath in the past four months.

So you weren't pretending in the way you pulled him close, closer, closer, or in the frenzied way you kissed him, or in the desperate way you sighed, groaned, moaned against him, into him. You needed him. You needed more of him. All of him. You needed to get inside so you could have him.

You bumped into the door then, just short of digging the doorknob into your spine - Bradley pushed you right up against it and you gasped into his mouth, into the kiss. He crowded you against the door much like he'd crowded you against the Bronco, pulling his arms from around you to grasp your waist instead, to press your hips up to the door as well, and used one hand to fumble for the keyhole. He did so blindly, with his eyes still closed, his lips still on yours, with one of your legs coming up to wrap around his hips, your heels digging into his shorts.

Needless to say, he needed quite some time to turn the key.

You didn't mind. Not in the slightest.

You were making out with Bradley Bradshaw right on the doorstep of the house you shared with him, in the bright afternoon sunlight and truly, you couldn't have minded less. You didn't give two fucks about any of your neighbours or any passerbys spotting you - should they, by god! Bradley had come home from deployment after four months, you would make out with him on your doorstep for as long as you wanted to. You wouldn't ever stop making out with him ever again.

Not when he was here again, in your arms, with your fingers tugging at his hair, brushing along his neck, stroking along the collar of his shirt, sweeping along his shoulders. Not with your leg around his hips. Not with your lips on his. Not with anticipation, with arousal in every fibre of your body, of your soul. You were going mad with it. You were getting drunk on it.

You were euphoric when Bradley finally opened the gods damned front door.

He kept you safe and steady even as the support at your back broke away, as you almost crashed onto the floor of your own hallway. He walked you back into the pleasant cold and for once, for the first and probably the only time, you were the one to break away. You gave yourself a second to catch your breath. Then you pushed off of him completely. You took a step away, pulled the key from the door, pushed it close and when you turned back around, Bradley had set his sunglasses down on the little table you had put next to the coat rack a few weeks ago.

And you looked him in the eyes for the first time in four months.

He motioned at the table.

"Looks great, honey", he said, his voice a little too rough to sound quite normal. "Nice touch."

You shook your head softly.

"I couldn't care less about the table right now", you muttered, and with that, you were on him again. Actually, truly, fully on him again. You pushed yourself right up onto him, into him, pried his shirt off his shoulders, off his arms, let it drop down to the ground and then reached for his jaw to drag him further down, to deepen the kiss even if you knew that was impossible. So you bit down on his lip and allowed him to finally push your dress up over your hips, over your chest, over your head - you had to let go of him for a moment then, had to pull away from him so he could drop your dress on the floor and before you could even come close to reaching out for him again, he was taking a step back.

You could feel his eyes raking down your body. You could feel him taking in the white lingerie on your skin - the strings of the thong high up on your hips, intricate lace around your waist, the small bow right in the centre of it, the bra cups almost transparent, the floral white pattern covering up your nipples, the other few, small bows sown onto the straps.

You sucked in a breath at the look on his face. You hadn't seen that look in far too long.

"God, honey", Bradley groaned, reached for your waist, brushed his thumbs along the lace, ran his fingertips along the lingerie. You bit down on your lip as he pulled you, slowly, carefully, into him - gave you enough time to rest your hands on his chest, your palms against his tank top. "You look sinful. Did you buy that just for me?"

You nodded, swallowed.

"Just for you", you admitted. "Wanted to surprise you."

Bradley tugged you another inch closer, so close that your chest bumped into his, your breasts pressing against him. He let out a hum, his eyes dropping down to your cleavage.

"You did that, pretty girl", he muttered, his fingers digging into your sides. "You're incredible."

Then his lips were on yours again and you were melting, becoming putty in his hands, turning to goo in his arms. Your breaths met, lips parted. You couldn't quite believe you were finally touching him again.

He walked you back to the bedroom, narrowly avoiding the doorway, his hands on your hips, his fingers digging into your bum. You reached for the hem of his shirt, forced him to stop right on the threshold so you could get rid of it - get rid of that one layer of fabric still in the way. You drew back for a second to pull it over his head, to drop it to the floor, to let your eyes travel all over his bare torso.

God, how you'd missed this man and his broad shoulders and his washboard abs. How you'd missed his touch and the sound of his voice.

"Bradley", you gasped softly, your fingertips trailing over his naked skin, down to his shorts. "I need you."

He let out a groan.

"I've waited four months for you to say that again", he muttered. You could hardly take another breath before he was on you again - lips on yours and hands on your hips and your back hit the bed a moment later, the cushy mattress, the fluffy pillows softening your fall.

You raised yourself up onto your elbows so you could watch him as he stood in front of your bed, the sunlight dripping down him like drops of water hitting the floorboards, his torso bare, his curls messed up, looking down at you with a heaving chest, his fingers on his belt, unhooking it, opening the button on his jeans, pulling down his zipper - you swallowed hard as you watched him drop his shorts on the floor, step out of his shoes.

A whine rolled off your tongue.

"Bradley, hurry up", you whimpered, your fingers cramping in the sheets, your legs pressing together all of their own accord, trying to get some kind of friction as he undressed himself in slow motion while you just lay there, your panties long soaked through and your fingers itching to trail down your own body.

Bradley chuckled.

"Don't worry, honey", he muttered, kneeling down on the ground to drop kisses to your calves before pulling off your sandals. "I'll make sure you forget about the past four months, alright?"

Your breath hitched as your heels hit the ground.

"Please", you begged softly. "I've missed you so much."

He wrapped his hands around your hips, pulled you to the edge of the bed - his breath ghosting over your underwear, over that tiny white piece of lingerie you had bought for him, for him to take you apart in. His fingers dug into your skin, spread out wide, to touch as much of you as he possibly could. He pressed a kiss right to that wet spot on your thong.

You let out a moan. God, how had you survived four months without him? You were barely surviving fifteen minutes of not having him fuck you.

Bradley grinned, raised his head to meet your eyes and seriously, you were close. Too close. He hadn't touched you yet, not really. You'd die today, you were sure, die and go to heaven.

"You look almost too good to undress, honey", he muttered, brushing his thumbs below that lace around your waist, not making a move to pull it down your legs.

"Bradley, please", you whined, your hands brushing over your own chest, running over your bra cups, tracing the flowers, desperately holding back from just ripping everything off yourself, pushing him onto his knees and riding him into oblivion. "Don't tease. I need you."

He groaned into the skin of your thigh.

"Anything you want, honey", he muttered - and then your thong was gone and he was burying his tongue inside you, dipping, tracing, licking, circling your clit, breathing you in, devouring you. Taking and giving everything. It had been four months since he'd had you like this and he wanted everything, every inch of you he could get. He wanted to taste you, every last drop of you, wanted to eat you out until you couldn't think anymore, until you had truly, fully forgotten all the time he had been away, all the time you had been forced to be on your own, alone.

You thrashed, moaned above him - your fingers clenching around your bra, brushing over your nipples. You were close. Close after the entirety of three seconds, close to tears, close to coming.

"Bradley", you choked out, tearing your hands off yourself, burying them in his hair instead - tugging him off, tugging him away from you. You took a deep breath as he let go of you, as he loosened his grip on you, looked up at you with desperation in his eyes.

"I need you to fuck me", you whimpered, already too sensitive, too tense. "I need you inside me."

You hadn't had him in four months.

Four months had been enough goddamn foreplay. As much as you loved when he ate you out, you needed him, you needed his cock, you needed to feel him inside you, you needed him to take you apart and make up for all the time lost.

Bradley nodded, nodded because he knew, he understood - he saw the frantic look in your eyes, had felt the desperate drag of your hands at his clothes, his arms, his shoulders, his hair. He'd give anything to you. Everything. He would do whatever you wanted of him.

Maybe in another situation he'd have made you beg more, would have teased you more, would have edged you a few times. Maybe in another situation. But not in this one. Not after four months of being away from you, not when you were so beautifully, so desperately spread out beneath him, looking up at him with wide eyes and rosy cheeks, your lip pulled between your teeth, your gorgeous white lingerie still concealing too much of your skin.

As he'd said, you were almost too gorgeous to undress. But just almost.

So he rose up from the ground, pulled you up with him, pulled you in, his fingers brushing along your sides, your spine, your bra clasp. He let it fall open. You worked fast, worked your bra down your arms and off your hands and drew back from him to fling it against the wall and lay down on the bed, lay down all pretty and waiting.

You needed him to fuck you. Now.

He let out a groan, closed his eyes. The look on his face had you pressing your legs together again. Wetness was coating the inside of your thighs now. It glistened on his moustache. And you were sure you could have tasted it on his tongue too.

He was making you go insane.

"How do you want me, pretty girl?", he asked, pressing his knees into the side of the mattress. "Tell me how and I'll do whatever you want."

Your breath hitched in your throat. Your nerves were bubbling up. Four months. You'd waited four months for this one question.

"Behind", you whined. "Need you from behind."

Bradley had known, of course, because that was what you always said when he stood at the front of your bed and asked you this question. His hands were on your waist, grasping, grabbing, turning you over before you had fully finished speaking, your cheek pressed against the pillows, your breath coming short and shorter, adrenaline pumping through every single one of your veins. You felt hot and sticky and needy and nervous.

Nervous because Bradley stilled.

Nervous because he sucked in a sharp breath.

Nervous, even though you had been here a million times before, in his bed and in yours, bent over desks and bars and couches, with the heat of him behind you, arousal flowing through your body like oxygen, anticipation clouding your mind.

"Shit, honey", Bradley breathed.

You closed your eyes and clenched your jaw.

How you'd have loved to see his expression. But you had known you wouldn't. You had prepared yourself to be satisfied with the sound of his voice, with the feel of him so close to you.

"Shit", Bradley repeated. He took another deep breath in. "You got a tattoo?"

A tattoo.

Your tattoo.

You nodded into the pillow, scraped your cheek against the fabric, so eager, so quick to agree. Four months you had waited for this. Four months since you had begun planning this - the very day after he'd left, in a conversation with none other than Phoenix. Four long, lonely months.

Bradley ran his thumb along the soft expanse of your skin. Along that strip of skin right above your hips, just where they met your back - right above your ass, right where he could see so very perfectly.

He was gentle. Almost not touching you at all. As though he was afraid he could somehow, even after all this time, hurt you, as though he was afraid he could wipe it away.

"It's healed", you whined, breathlessly, trying your hardest not to squirm, not to push back further into him even though you felt like you were going insane. You'd known he'd take his sweet time staring at that inked expanse of skin. But you hadn't known you would be so goddamn desperate for him to fuck you into delirium while he did so. "It's fully healed."

Bradley was quiet, silent behind you. His thumb stilled, stayed still. You sunk your teeth into your lip.

You would truly go mad here. For more than one reason now.

Bradley was always loud. Always moving, always doing something. He was forward and honest and loud and it was a miracle, really, when he wasn't. When he was calm and quiet and still. It didn't always mean something good.

It surely didn't always mean something bad, either.

But it didn't always mean something good.

And you hadn't been nervous. You hadn't been nervous about showing him, because you knew he loved you and he'd love this - this show of him, this show for him. Just for him. But you had still been fidgety. You had still been excited, flustered.... nervous, after all. In a good way. Now, good was turning to less good because he was quiet, for once, quiet and you didn't know what to do, what to say. You had expected him to go feral, had expected him to fuck you raw, to go absolutely ballistic. You had imagined, pictured, visualised it, four months long. Every night that you hadn't been remembering him, you had been imagining this - this moment right here, where he read the words inked forever into your skin, and every time, again and again, your fingers hadn't been enough, your vibrator hadn't been enough, nothing had been enough. Not in comparison to him, to his fingers and his tongue and his cock.

And every time, again and again, when nothing had been enough to replace him, you thought to yourself just how right it had been to have lain on that leather table bed in that tattoo parlour four months ago. Just how right it was to have him marked on your skin like that. Forever.

Great Balls Of Fire.

"Bradley, please", you whimpered, your fingers closing around whatever piece of fabric you could manage to grab at - the covers, the sheets, the pillows. "Say something. Please"

Bradley let out a long breath.

"Great Balls Of Fire?", he asked quietly, his fingers brushing over your skin again. Some kind of reassurance, at least.

"Thought you'd like it", you mumbled into the pillow, stumbling, tripping over your words a bit, still breathless around the edges. You couldn't be expected to talk now. Not when he was so close to giving you what you needed.

"Like it?" His hands wrapped around your waist, his left thumb still stroking over those unfamiliar familiar letters on your skin - Great Balls Of Fire, in his handwriting, taken from one of his sheets of music, from his piano. His song. His father's song.

Your song.

Your song.

Your song.

"Honey", Bradley rasped, pulling you an inch back to him and you let a whine fall from your lips. You were soaked, you were dripping, you were desperate and still so very unsatisfied. "Do I like it? I love it. I love you. God, you got a tattoo. You're incredible. You're-"

He stumbled over his own words, trailed off, left his sentence hanging unfinished in mid air. Instead, he leaned down and pressed a kiss right on top of your tattoo. Right on top of those letters, on top of that song, on top of your song. On top of the very reason you had met, six years ago in a stuffed navy bar.

"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me", he muttered, dropping another kiss onto your skin.

You whimpered again.

"You've been so good to me, honey, haven't you?", he went on, as though he wasn't hearing those little whines, those little moans rolling off your tongue. He was. You knew that. "You waited so prettily for me to come back, didn't you? You were so eager for me to be home again, so eager for me to be with you again that you even got a tattoo?"

You nodded along, nodded and nodded and kept on nodding because yes, yes and yes - yes to everything, yes to him.

"You got a tattoo just for me, honey. You can't even see it. Probably had to twist and turn in the mirror every day to take care of it, didn't you? And all just for me."

You nodded again - never really stopped nodding, not with his fingers brushing along your back, over your skin, with his voice so deep and rough and real.

"Just for you", you whined.

Bradley chuckled.

"Just for me", he repeated, his voice deeper than before - if that was even possible - his fingers stroking along your sides, roaming over your back, your spine. "Such a good girl."

A shiver went through your entire body at that - through your legs, your arms, your shoulders, through every single one of your fingers and toes. He knew just what he did to you when he said that.

He knew.

"Bradley", you moaned, unashamed now, the nerves in your veins long subsided, replaced once more by that all-consuming heat that you could never get enough of.

"Yeah, honey?", he asked. You could hear the grin on his lips. "What do you want?"

You let out a sort of sob that sounded pathetic even to your own ears. It wasn't that you minded begging. Because you didn't. You really didn't. But you had already done so, had already begged him miserably, had told him so prettily how you wanted him to fuck you. And he was starting all over again.

"Just once more, honey", Bradley whispered, dropping kisses to your spine, climbing higher and higher. "Tell me once more and you'll get whatever you want."

"Fuck me", you cried out, burying your face in the pillow, not letting even half a second pass by. Bradley always made good on his promises. And you needed him more than anything right now. "Please fuck me."

He was on you within a heartbeat.

One hand around your waist, pulling you into him, as the other one guided himself into you. He pushed into you in one smooth movement, pushed his hips right to yours, stretched you out like he hadn't in four goddamn months.

You were clenching around him, moaning his name, tears brimming in your eyes at the feeling of him again, finally. He was grunting, groaning behind you, his hands clasping around your waist as he settled deep inside you and let out a breath.

You hadn't felt so stretched out in so long. You hadn't felt him in so long. You needed more. You needed to feel more of him.

"Bradley", you whimpered. "Move."

His fingers dug even firmer into your sides. You bit down on your lip. He felt so good, so heavenly with his hands on your skin and his cock deep inside you, but you needed him to move, you needed him to move now, you needed him to fuck you and make you fall apart for him.

"Need a second, honey", he grunted, running his thumbs along your skin - along your new tattoo, just for this, just for him. "God, pretty girl, you're so tight. Missed you so much."

You whimpered underneath him, whimpered as you forced yourself to keep still for him, even as your thighs burned with the need to move, the need for more, the need to finally come undone around him. You knew you were close already. You could feel it, had been feeling it, dancing around the edges of your perception, melting in your blood, scorching in your stomach.

"Missed you too, Bradley", you moaned into the pillow, breathless and desperate for him. "Want to be good for you. So good."

"God, honey, you are", he groaned. "So good. Perfect."

And then he was moving, finally, and you let out a sobbed kind of prayer, your eyes falling shut, your fingers digging into the sheets as he thrust in and out of you in a slow, steady rhythm - enjoying the feeling of you around him, letting you enjoy the feeling of him inside you.

Just that you couldn't enjoy this.

You couldn't enjoy this because you were wound so tightly, wound so goddamn tightly that tears were pricking in your eyes, threatening to run down your cheeks and drop onto the covers. You needed him to make you fall apart, to make you come, you needed more. Just a little more.

You were teetering on the edge and he had you spiralling with how slowly he was fucking you. You needed him to send you over that edge, not build it higher and higher and higher up.

"Bradley", you whined, stumbling clumsily over his name as he ran a hand up your back. "More."

"Dunno if I can-" He broke off, his breath hitching, his fingers resting on your neck, brushing through your hair. "Fuck, honey, dunno if I can do more without coming."

You bit down on your lip at that, let out a moan so absolutely filthy that you were sure you would have been embarrassed of it if you'd had any more capacity to think - to think of anything other than him, anything other than how this god, who could fuck you for hours on end without tiring once, with so much stamina he could have you sobbing, coming for him four, five times on his cock alone, how this god was so desperate for you after four months that he was worried he'd come if he went any faster.

You were almost pushed over the edge just by that alone.

"I don't care", you cried, because you really didn't. "I don't need long, I need you. I'm so close."

Bradley grunted, his fingers brushing even higher up on your scalp.

"You're gonna be the death of me, honey", he muttered, just before he grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled you up onto your knees - into him, into his arms, your back flush to his chest. You dropped your head against his shoulder with a moan, let your eyes fall shut again.

He thrust up into you with vigor then, with more urgency, with less fear of coming undone, less fear of cutting this short. His hands smoothed over your sides, over your chest, holding you up against him, brushing along your breasts, along your stomach.

And all you could think was yes, this, this was it. This was what you had been imagining, what you had been picturing in a cold, lonesome bed every night, what you had been so desperate for.

His fingers trailed down your thigh, trailed up again, caught on your clit, drew a circle against that little bundle of nerves and you fell forward, doubled over, only held up by him, by his arms around you as you came undone, as you clenched around him.

Four months.

Four months and a tattoo.

And he hadn't even had you there for two minutes, had barely touched you, and now you were falling apart for him, lips parted, eyes squeezed shut, legs burning, fingers cramping. You'd waited four months for this.

You could feel him spilling inside you, noticed it somewhere dancing around the edges of your perception as you gasped for breath, tears stinging your cheeks and your nails digging into your own thighs.

This.

Him.

Bradley's finger had stilled on your clit. You blinked your eyes open, refocused on your green wallpaper, on the pictures, the old vintage polaroids of you and him right above the bed until you could see them all clearly again, until you could see them and realise what they were, until you could manage to tilt your head back and rest it, once more, against Bradley's shoulder. Until you had come back to reality again.

"I missed you so much, honey", he muttered into your ear, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss onto your exposed neck. "Missed this so much."

"Missed you so much too", you mumbled, reached for his hands. He pulled his finger from your clit, let you intertwine your hands with his, rested them carefully on your stomach. "Love you, Bradley."

He pressed another kiss to your neck, his lips warm, oh so warm on your skin, soft and warm and you needed him to kiss you now, to press his lips to yours.

"I love you too, honey", he whispered, halfway to brushing another kiss onto your skin when you turned your head, met his lips with your own, cut him off by surprise.

This was a weird angle, you had to strain your neck to even slot your lips together somewhat well and you were sloppy with it, too, your chest still heaving and your mind returning to clarity just now, but you didn't care, couldn't care, not when he'd just made you come, when he was holding you in his arms, when he was finally here, right behind you again, as though the last four months hadn't happened at all.

When you pulled back, you were feeling more normal again - as normal as you possibly could feel, with him behind you, with him inside you still.

"You got a tattoo", Bradley breathed, a grin dancing around the corners of his lips. You chuckled.

"Just for you", you nodded, brushing your fingertips up his arms, up to his elbows.

Bradley kissed you again, all parted lips and breathing into each other. You felt almost melancholic when he drew back. But he was smiling - and when he smiled, you had to smile too.

"I'm never letting you go again", he said, loosened his grip on you to trail his hands slowly, softly down your body, giving you enough time to steady yourself without him holding you up anymore. "And I'm not letting you leave this bed until the sun comes up, alright, pretty girl?"

You had to bite down on your lip to keep from grinning, anticipation already bubbling in your veins again. You knew he could make good on that promise. And that he probably would.

"Yes, please, Bradley", you muttered, already bending down again, splaying out your hands to catch yourself on the mattress as you showed him your tattoo again, just for him to see, just for him to touch. Just for him. "Whatever you want. As long as you want. I love you."

#bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw #top gun #top gun x reader #bradley bradshaw smut #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw x reader #x reader

[roosterforme]

The Younger Kind Part 19 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: You and Bradley have resorted to planning accidental run-ins as an excuse to see each other. When Penny insists that Bradley joins her and Maverick for dinner on Thursday night, you agree to watch Noah. But dinner doesn't turn out the way he thought it would.

Warnings: Angst, fluff, swearing, and age gap (18+)

Length: 4100 words

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

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After Meredith managed to throw off Bradley's entire week, he was really antsy to see you, and he could tell Noah was, too. He really couldn't fathom how Meredith got the hearing postponed, and every time Bradley thought he was prepared, she threw him for a loop. 

He couldn't stand the thought of Noah worried and upset, being forced to answer questions about his home and his life in the courtroom. Even the idea of Meredith being allowed in the same room as Noah had Bradley clenching and unclenching his fists as he left work on Wednesday. He could tell Maverick was getting a bit annoyed that he kept asking to use his time off and then changing the schedule. 

When he checked his phone as he climbed into the Bronco, Bradley saw a text from you.

Babysitter: I'm going grocery shopping tonight. I thought maybe there was a chance I could "bump into" you boys at the store?

Bradley could always groceries anyway, and he knew that spending a little bit of time with you was just what he needed. He asked you which store and what time, and then he picked up Noah and took a few minutes to get changed and fix his hair. 

More than anything, he wanted to be able to invite you back to his place, do the bare minimum to help you make a perfect dinner, and then clean up while you and Noah played with the blocks. The option to make that a routine was in Bradley's brain now, and he knew it wasn't going to go away. You should be here with him.

"Let's go shopping, bub," he told Noah. "I'll get stuff to make ants on logs."

"Just like my babysitter?" 

"Just like Princess," Bradley agreed, and soon they were on their way to the store. 

Bradley had Noah buckled in a shopping car, strolling aimlessly through the produce area, looking around for you. He tossed some bananas and carrots in along with some apples, and then Noah was smiling and trying to climb out of the cart. Bradley looked over his shoulder and saw you pushing your own cart toward them. Then you let go of it and rushed over to them.

"Hi," you said to Bradley, barely glancing at him before you wrapped Noah in a tight hug. "Can I help you shop? Make sure your dad buys you all the good stuff?"

"Yes!" Noah cheered, and Bradley just shook his head. He really wanted to kiss you, but he kept his lips to himself. After running into Meredith at the coffee shop, he was a little hesitant.

"Hi, Princess," he whispered in his Daddy voice, and you finally looked up at him with a smirk. 

Then you and he pushed your carts along slowly, adding groceries and sharing some subtle touches. When you reached for him in the cereal aisle, Bradley didn't stop you. He let your hand come to rest on his chest, and when your lips met his in the softest kiss while Noah picked out some Cheerios, he pulled you a little closer. 

"I can't stay away from you," he whispered as you took a small step backwards out of his arms. 

You looked between him and Noah, and Bradley could see longing and sadness in your eyes. "I don't want you to. I miss being at your house. Do you think you'll be able to come to my graduation?" you asked, and Bradley would have done anything you wanted. 

"Of course," he promised, hoping like hell he could make that happen. He wanted to be there to make you happy. And because he was so proud of you. And because Noah loved you. "We'll be there."

You slipped your hand in his and kissed Noah's rosy cheek. "You should get some Rice Krispies too."

Bradley added a box to this cart and followed you around the store, soaking up your presence and attention and hoping he'd get more of you soon.

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

Bradley was at home, unpacking bag after bag of groceries. You didn't let them leave the store until he had plenty of food, and he told you he wanted to take you home and unload you from his car, too. You laughed, but he was pretty fucking serious about it.

Noah was coloring as Bradley put away some pasta sauce when his phone started blowing up. He got texts from Nat and Penny at the same time, but before he could respond to either one of them, Tracy called him.

"Apparently Meredith was in breach of contract with her lawyer," she told him immediately. 

Bradley held onto the jar of sauce and asked, "What does that mean?"

"Could mean a number of things, but the bottom line is, her lawyer walked out because of something Meredith did intentionally. And apparently she found new representation, and the judge is adamantly refusing any further postponements. So please, be ready for next week. You and Noah both."

Bradley swallowed hard and nearly dropped the jar as his eyes landed on his son. "We're ready."

He finished with the groceries and made two sandwiches. Nat was already bugging him about Thursday night, trying to get him to stop by her place for a drink. And Penny was asking if he was free to have dinner with her and Mav. Apparently she wanted to chat with him about his future.

Bradley sighed and bit into his sandwich, watching Noah eat his as well. He knew everyone was concerned about how he was dealing with everything, but he just wanted them all to fuck off. A movie night with you and Noah was the only thing he really wanted. The three of you could watch a Disney movie before Noah's bedtime, and then Bradley would take you to his bed and spend hours making you cum with his lips all over your body.

He leaned back and sighed. Nat wasn't going to leave him alone until he texted her back. And Penny was likely to get Mav to side with her until Bradley agreed to meet them for dinner. So he texted you.

Princess, any chance you can watch Noah tomorrow night? Penny wants me to have dinner with them.

Your nearly instant response of "I would love to" had him smiling. 

"Hey, bub, wanna play with your babysitter again this week?"

Noah had jelly all over his cheek which made Bradley smile. "She can cook the food so you don't do it," he said innocently. And Bradley thought he made a very good point. If Bradley tried to cook half of the groceries he just bought, he and Noah would be starving in no time. 

"Yeah, that's a good idea," Bradley told his son. And now he could look forward to tomorrow, knowing he'd see you then.

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

You dressed for the evening with Noah like you were going on a date. Because you were hoping Bradley would take one look at you and rush back home after dinner to spend some time with you. Having a sleepover was probably out of the question, but you were definitely interested in recreating some of your dirty moments on the living room couch with him.

You moaned as you applied some eyeliner. You already packed up your bag with some new coloring books, and you made a playlist of kid friendly songs for Noah. He loved singing with you, and you knew Bradley was a bit of a music buff. With a little luck, Meredith would be out of the picture soon, and you could spend more time with your boys, listening to music and hanging out. 

When you checked the time, you dashed downstairs to slip your shoes on. Bradley asked if you could be there by 5:30 which seemed pretty early for dinner. But you promised him you would be. You grabbed some skittles to share with Noah and ran out to your car. When you caught your reflection in the window, you smiled. You looked good. You couldn't wait to see Bradley.

The front door was unlocked when you arrived. "Hi! It's me!" you called out, and Noah came running right for you. "Noah! I missed babysitting you!" you laughed, scooping him up as your tote bag slipped down your arm. "I brought songs and stuff to color and a snack."

"What kind of snack?" he asked, and you smiled.

"I'll show you after I make you dinner."

And then Bradley was in the living room doorway, looking so good, your mouth was watering. Snug jeans, fitted dress shirt, slightly messy hair. Fuck.

"Princess," he rasped, walking toward you with a smile on his handsome face. He leaned down and kissed your cheek while Noah was in your arms, and that thrilled you. Then he held up a key. The house key you practically threw at him when you stormed out in tears after he was so mean to you. "Will you take this back? Please?"

When you nodded, he slipped it inside your tote bag and then slipped the straps down your arm and set it down for you. He was examining your face, his eyes trailing down your neck and body while Noah rambled about a cartoon he had seen. The subtle flush of Bradley's cheeks as his eyes returned to your face had you squeezing your thighs together. 

Somehow he could tell. He knew what he did to you. The little grin on his lips as he kissed your neck made you want to roll your eyes. "I'll see you later, Princess," he whispered, running his fingers along your arm as he kissed the top of Noah's head. 

And then he was gone, and you were left with Noah. "Mac and cheese? Or spaghetti?" you asked.

Noah yawned as you set him down on the carpet next to the snag. Next to where you and Bradley had sex the very first time. You sighed, already counting down the time until he'd be back home. 

"Ummm, mac and cheese."

"You got it!"

You taught Noah some new songs while you cooked the pasta, and he colored a spaceship purple. But you noticed he was a little quiet, and he was yawning a lot. 

"You okay?" you asked him softly when you set his dinner down in front of him. He just nodded as you poured him some milk. "You wish your dad was home?" He nodded some more, but at least he was eating and drinking. But when he was done, he was reaching for you with his cheesy hands. You cleaned him up a bit and tried to play with blocks on the floor. You even offered to get the paper crowns. But he only seemed interested in watching a cartoon on the couch.

So you let Noah curl up on your lap, but soon he was asleep. And when you pushed your fingers through his soft, curly hair, you noticed his forehead felt warm. You let your palm rest softly against his skin. He definitely had a fever. 

You managed to slide out from beneath him, letting him rest on the couch while you went in search of a thermometer. After tearing apart the bathroom and the drawers in Noah's dresser, you were getting frustrated. You backtracked to the bathroom and then checked the first aid kit in the kitchen. Nothing. 

Before you dug around in Bradley's bedroom, you thought you ought to text him. 

Hey Daddy, I think Noah has a fever. Where's your thermometer? 

But you got no response from him. And when Noah woke up a little while later, crying for you, he had very rosy cheeks and a runny nose.

"It's okay, sweet Noah. I'm right here," you promised, picking him up and carrying him around with you. "You don't feel well, do you? Do you know where your daddy keeps the thermometer?"

"No," he whined, crying a little harder. His forehead felt even warmer now as he rested his face against your neck, so you decided to run a bath to help him cool down. 

You checked the time on your phone again. It was pretty late, and you wished Bradley would answer your text or just come home. You poured out a dose of the children's Tylenol you found in the bathroom and knelt down next to the tub. 

"Drink this up. It tastes like cherries," you promised, coaxing the liquid into his mouth. Then you brushed your fingers through his hair as you ran a washcloth all over his skin. 

At this point, you had sent several unanswered texts, so you decided to call Bradley and interrupt his dinner with Penny and Pete. He might even be on his way home. You weren't worried, exactly; you were studying pediatric nursing. But you really wanted to know exactly what Noah's temperature was, and you wanted to care for him the way Bradley always did when he was sick. You figured that would make Noah feel better. 

"It's okay," you whispered to Noah. "I'm sure your dad will be home soon." 

You wiped tears away from his eyes while you called Bradley. But when someone else answered his phone, your heart sank, and you could feel tears in your own eyes. 

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

Bradley lounged on Nat's couch and sipped a beer. He had about an hour until he was supposed to meet Penny and Mav, and it was so nice to just spend some time with her here. 

She plopped down on the couch next to him. "So your babysitter is with Noah tonight?"

Bradley snorted as he peeled away the label from the bottle. "I wouldn't call her that."

Nat rolled her eyes and asked, "So would you call her your girlfriend then?"

"Nope," he murmured. "Not allowed to do that yet."

"Yet?"

"Yet," he replied, taking another long sip. "But as soon as I can get Meredith out of the picture, I'm asking her to move in with us."

Nat whistled. "Wow. Skipping right to the point, I guess? No more dating apps ever again?"

"Nope," he said with a smile. And then he did absolutely nothing for a full hour except bullshit with his best friend. 

"Have a nice dinner with Penny," Nat said as Bradley stood to leave. "You know she worries about you, right? Kind of wants to be a stand-in mom and grandma to you and Noah?"

"Yeah," Bradley grunted. She meant well. Penny always meant well. And she was a huge help with Noah, even going so far as to keep him when Bradley was deployed. "She just wants to be helpful. I gotta get to dinner with her. See you at work tomorrow."

"Yeah, you should be in a great mood after Penny buys you an overpriced steak and you go home to your dream girl."

"Goodnight, Nat," he said with a grin before he walked out to his Bronco. 

He was really looking forward to the overpriced steak now. He knew was running a little late as he left Nat's place, but when he passed a flower shop that was still open, he quickly stopped to get you a bouquet of flowers. Wildflowers. They smelled just like you. He set them on his passenger seat, and he couldn't wait to get home after he ate dinner and give them to you. 

He found a parking space right in front of the restaurant, and after he hopped out, he jogged inside, ready to apologize for being a few minutes late. "Hi," he said when the hostess smiled at him. But before he could say anything else, he heard someone calling his name.

"Bradley."

He spun to see Helen stand up from a table and make her way over to him. She was wearing a very short dress and some high heels, and it struck Bradley that he had never seen her in anything other than a Hard Deck shirt. He'd also never seen her anywhere except the Hard Deck. It was kind of surreal. 

"Helen," he said with a nod, but she strolled right up to him and wrapped her hands around his forearm. Her nails were a boring shade of pink, and he started to imagine your purple nails and soft skin. 

"Come on, Bradley," she said with a laugh, trying to pull him away from the hostess. "I already have a table."

He cocked his head to one side slightly and then glanced down at her hands still on him. "I'm actually here to meet Penny for dinner."

She was shaking her head and biting her lip as she tugged on his arm until he started following her. "You're not here to have dinner with Penny."

"I'm not?" he asked with a laugh, looking around and seeing no signs of her or Maverick. 

"No," she said, planting her palm on his chest and guiding him toward an empty chair. She patted his chest as he sat, and she took the seat next to him. "I got Penny to get you to agree to come here so we could have dinner together." Bradley's heart was pounding as she put her hand on his knee, but he was completely frozen now. "After she told Missy and I that you were dating again, I told her I've had a thing for you for years, Rooster."

"Oh," he managed, still thoroughly confused as to how this had happened exactly. "Okay."

She laughed and sipped a martini as she rubbed his leg. "I just thought you and I could definitely have a lot of fun together. Either dating or just... you know."

He knew. He knew exactly what she meant. And right now he was absolutely livid with Penny. But he was also livid with himself, because he had never taken the time he should have with you. Because even in spite of Meredith, he should have been in a real relationship with you by now.

"Uh, Helen," he murmured, pulling his phone out of his pocket as a means to get her to move her hand. He set his phone down on the table and said, "I'm kind of seeing someone."

"Oh," she said softly. "Penny told me you weren't. She said you were too focused on Noah and your ex."

Bradley cradled his head in his hand. "I mean, I am. But I'm also seeing someone else. It's new. Penny didn't know."

Helen looked dejected, but she shrugged and said, "If you're just kind of seeing someone and it's new, staying for dinner wouldn't hurt anything. I already ordered you a beer. I know exactly what you like." He couldn't help but notice the way she leaned toward him and pressed her breasts together. And then he saw his favorite kind of beer sitting on the table next to her martini. 

Suddenly an overpriced steak was the last thing he wanted. "Just the drinks, okay? Then we'll call it a night. Excuse me for a minute." 

He stood and headed to the restroom as she nodded at him. But he made it all the way to the men's room before he realized he left his phone on the table and couldn't even text you to check in. All he wanted was to get back home to you and Noah as soon as possible, but he was going to have to have a drink first. He really hoped Helen could finish that fucking martini quickly. 

After he splashed some water on his face, he rolled his shoulders back and sighed. He would need to have a discussion with Penny about this. But when he saw Helen talking on his phone as he approached the table again, he started walking faster. 

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

A woman had answered Bradley's phone. And it definitely wasn't Penny. It wasn't even Natasha. You were frozen, one hand on Noah's forehead and the other gripping your phone to your ear. 

"Hello?" came the woman's voice again. "Hello?" She sounded annoyed now.

"Where's Bradley?" you asked, your voice breaking pitifully. 

"He just ran to the restroom."

You swallowed hard and managed to ask, "Who are you?"

"Helen," she replied, and you nearly dropped your phone into the bathtub. Why was he with Helen? 

"Where are you?"

"We're out to dinner," she replied, and you could practically hear the smirk in her voice. "Shouldn't you know that if you're the babysitter?"

He lied to you. He lied to you again. He told you he was going out with Penny and Pete. He told you that you meant something to him. That he was waiting to be in a relationship with you. That you were the only one. 

"Put him on the phone. Now," you said with as much force as you could muster. Noah was crying again, and now your eyes were filled with tears, too.

"I'll have him call you back when he comes back to the table." 

The sound of her voice was grating on your nerves as you abruptly stood. Noah was looking up at you, his pink cheeks streaked with tears. "Tell him his son is sick, and I don't appreciate any of this!" you shouted. 

Helen said something about having Bradley call you back, but you were too busy trying to end the call before you burst into tears. 

"I'm cold," Noah whined. You looked at him and then dropped back to your knees to fill the tub up with some warmer water.

"Sorry," you whispered, swiping at your tears before you pushed his hair away from his damp forehead. "I'll fix it for you."

And then your phone started ringing. Bradley was calling you back.

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

"Okay, well, I'll have him call you back, but we're still in the middle of dinner," Helen said, and then she ended the call and set his phone down.

"Who was that?" Bradley asked, startling Helen as he loomed over her. 

"Your babysitter," she said with an eye roll. "I saw that's who it was on the caller ID, so I thought I'd answer it for you. She said your son is sick, but it's probably just a tummy ache."

"Noah's sick?" he asked, sinking down into his chair and fumbling with his phone. If you were calling to tell him there was something wrong with Noah, then it was definitely more than just a tummy ache. Then he noticed that he had somehow missed some texts from you as well. 

"I'm sure he's fine," Helen said smoothly. "Are you sure you don't want to order dinner? I'm starving, and I've heard the steaks here are excellent."

But Bradley barely heard her as he tried to call you back, listening to it ring and ring before you picked up. 

"Hi," you muttered without emotion. 

"Is Noah okay? What's wrong?" he asked. He was met with silence. "Princess, what's going on?"

He heard your humorless laugh before you said, "That's what I should be asking you. And Helen."

Fuck. Bradley knew what you must be thinking right now as he stood and glared at Helen across the table. "Baby, I'm on my way home. What's wrong with Noah?"

"He has a fever, and he's miserable. And I can't find your thermometer. And don't call me baby," you spat, and Bradley quickly tossed some cash onto the table and started heading for the exit.

"I'm on my way home right now, okay? I'll take care of everything. I'll explain everything." 

But you had hung up on him. And now he was panicking. About Noah and about you.

"Bradley!" Helen called, running after him. "Can you at least give me a ride home? I took an Uber to get here."

"Fine," he growled, barely listening as he stormed out to the sidewalk. When he opened his door and climbed in, the Bronco smelled like the flowers he had purchased for you on his way to the restaurant. 

"Fuck!" he nearly shouted as he drove away. He was vaguely aware that Helen was with him. He'd worry about that later. You and Noah were his primary concerns right now, and he'd figure that out first.

"Your babysitter is the girl you're kind of seeing?" she asked as he neared his neighborhood.

"Yeah," he grunted. "And it's actually not that new. And it's not casual at all." 

She remained quiet as he pulled in and parked next to your car. He left her in the Bronco. Hell, he wasn't even sure if he closed the driver's side door as he ran up his sidewalk and unlocked his front door.

"Princess? Noah?" he called out, frantically looking around the kitchen and Noah's bedroom before he saw the bathroom light was on. "Baby, what's going on?" he asked when he saw you kneeling on the mat next to the tub while Noah sat in the bath.

Slowly, you rose to your feet and turned to face him, and Bradley had never seen your beautiful face so angry before. Tears were dripping from your eyes as you took a step closer to him.

"Daddy!" Noah called out. And between the look on your face and his son sobbing in the bath, Bradley had no idea how he was going to fix any of this.

"I can't believe you lied to me again," you gasped. "I can't believe I let you lie to me again." 

And when he reached for you, trying to explain what happened, you pushed his hand out of the way.

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

Oh, shit. Hope you enjoy your fic, @beyondthesefourwalls And thank you @mak-32 !

PART 20

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#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster fanfic #rooster x you #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster x reader #rooster x female reader #rooster bradshaw fic #top gun imagine #top gun maverick imagine #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction #roosterforme #the younger kind

[inmyloveworld]

in a world of boys (bradley "rooster" bradshaw x reader)

word count: ~1.5k

synposis: dating was hard. tiptoeing the line between casual and official always had you stumbling. and bradley, in spite of how good he made you feel, was no exception.

warnings: insecurity, allusions to anxiety (spiraling thoughts, disassociating, just a LOT of self-doubt and questioning)

a/n: i have cute fluff ideas i swear! but writing from experience always just gets the words flowing. here's to hoping we all find someone as emotionally mature and empathetic as bradley bradshaw.

bonus note: i looped slut by taylor swift writing a majority of this oops

The words had always come easy to you. Every conversation was effortless, no matter what the context. Quips and jokes flowed through you as the blood flowed through your veins. It never took careful thought or pondering. But pondering was consuming you as your fingers hovered over the letters at the bottom of your screen.

Bradley and you had been seeing each other for nearly two months. Late-night rides in his Bronco and one overnight at your apartment had filled the weeks since you had first bumped into him at the Hard Deck. His charm and humor lit up your days. His heart and warmth soothed you in moments of weakness. And for once, you had opened yourself to all of it; to all of him.

There was no limit to the dishonesty and complacency you'd been shown in your prior dating history. Bradley was neither of these things, as far as you were aware. Yet, the lack of clarity for what he felt was beginning to plant a sick feeling in your gut.

Things were going so well. Never had you felt more assured in someone's affection and interest in you. Never had you felt more cared for and adored. You loathed yourself to think of gambling that for the sake of your security.

Me: Hey.. not to ruin the mood, but I was just wo

Pathetic. Delete.

Me: Is this just a sex thing?

Abrasive. Delete.

You groaned to yourself in frustration. Judging by your history, this would only end one way. Still, you weren't sure how much longer you could bear the fluttering in your chest under the guise of nonchalance.

Me: I really like what's between us right now. But can I ask where you think this is going?

Here we go.

You hit the 'send' arrow before you could think through it for another second. God, why did this have to be so complicated? Were you the source of all the complications, with your need for control to figure out how everything had to go? Was this the reason no one would commit to you in the past? Or was the dating world simply reduced to nothing but souls too fearful to stick it out, for what could be lying ahead of them? Were you settling? Were you making him settle?

Two buzzes of your phone jolted you in your seat.

Flyboy: I think it'd be better to talk about this in person. You up for a drive?

Oh god.

You sent back an answer and ran your hands through your hair. Tears started to prick at your eyes already as a familiar sinking feeling settled in. Quickly, you were trying to soothe yourself with the small comforts of the situation.

His car always felt musty anyway.

You won't have to worry about accidental pregnancy!

It's face-to-face, at least. Maybe you'll get proper closure for once.

A dozen other weightless sentiments were stacked in your head by the time you heard the purr of a familiar engine outside. You drew in a deep breath, collected yourself as much as possible, and swiped up your keys.

Flyboy: Here!

You didn't even open the text thread, opting to keep your head bowed as you locked your front door. Goosebumps rose along your skin as it met the night air. With much effort, you inhaled deeply. Your feet were leaden as you trudged toward the Bronco.

All the darkness swirling in your head gave way to that bright smile Bradley held just for you. Something in your chest twisted sharply at the show of affection. Every moment of this adoration passing was the last, you reminded yourself. This drive would loop you right back to the somber state you were in before the greatest man you'd ever known walked into your life.

"Hey there, angel," he greeted. The rasp in his voice warmed you the same way a glass of whiskey would. Steadily, slowly, and then all at once.

"Hi," you called back as you hopped in the passenger side. You kept your gaze ahead, hands beginning a nervous pattern of threading fingers. Bradley raised a brow at the action but didn't call further attention to it. His eyes hooked to the road as he pulled the pair of you off into the night.

There was almost an ache in the absence of his hand on your thigh. Both of the worthy appendages anchored themselves to the wheel, no yield in their grip.

Safe driving; he's just practicing safe driving. It's a late night, dark even with the street lamps, and the Bronco's headlights didn't match the brightness of modern LEDs.

But perhaps it's the first thing to go. Bradley needed to take the first baby step away from this.. whatever it was. And he was having you take it with him.

Was there something you did? Maybe the night you spent together had been too soon. Or maybe you had been too forthcoming in your own intent, without clarity on his own.

You never let things simmer. You always had to know, that eternal impatience winning out against the chance of a simple slow burn. But maybe this wasn't meant to take that direction; maybe that's not what Bradley wanted.

Would anyone ever want that? Was it just that they didn't want it with you? What was so wrong with you? Were you so horribly broken to everyone else that no relationship could ever be fulfilled? What were you not seeing in yourself?

"Hey, earth to angel." An empty parking lot surrounded you. The sounds of crashing waves and the warm autumn breeze replaced the storm of neverending thoughts ringing in your ears. Bradley had his hand on your arm, the first touch he'd granted you the whole evening, the touch that broke your trance. His brows were furrowed again in concern as he scanned your sorrow-filled face. Not wanting to startle you further, he kept his voice soft. "Talk to me. What's going on in there?"

You took a moment to compose yourself. Your eyes shut as you drew in another deep breath, letting it out with a drop of your shoulders. And then, you told him.

Each one of your fears and anxieties, a summation of how your heart and body were carelessly juggled in the past, how you found yourself at fault in every instance. How even in that moment, when everything seemed to be right with him, something had clearly gone wrong out of your view and it was all about to crash. But it wasn't on him, you insisted. It was on you.

The waves and breeze continued to sound long after your voice faded from the air. Tears pricked at your eyes slowly in sullen acceptance. You had nailed your own coffin shut with this whole conversation. You should have stayed silent. Being lost on your path was better than taking an exit, wasn't it?

"I'm sorry, I-"

"Look at me." Bradley was an emotional man, you had come to learn. He wore his heart out on his sleeve the moment he felt safe enough. So, the absence of emotion from his voice churned your stomach worse than anything else. You met his eyes sheepishly, preparing for a more brutal "break-up" than you originally anticipated.

He sighed, the hand on your arm shifting up to cup your cheek. The touch warmed you and drew the tears from your eyes at once. Droplets rolled down your cheeks in single strands, yet you could not bother yourself with embarrassment. This would be the last he would see of you.

Bradley chuckled. "I did this all wrong, didn't I?"

What was there to laugh about? Had he meant to be more direct in his lack of intent, or in ending things-

"My mom's yelling at me from up there, I know it."

What?

Bewildered was the perfect word for your changed expression. And Bradley now knew better than to let you sit on coded messages.

He took your hands into his, rubbing soft circles along your knuckles as he told you, "I'm serious about this, angel. About us, you. I have been from the get-go."

A flurry of feelings coursed through you. Shock and relief mixed with the confusion still lingering behind in the wake of this confession. It was as if you didn't believe what you were hearing, because part of you really didn't. The part of you that had doubted a silver lining to your history of heartbreak was incapable of believing in a resolution.

You didn't know how to accept it or respond. Excitement was chomping at the bit to break your otherwise unsettled demeanor, but fear still held a tight grip on the reins. "Are.. are you sure?"

Bradley could've laughed again, the question ridiculous in his mind. Being with you was as clear as day to him. The ways in which you eased his soul, sparked life back up amidst his dreary routines, and made him picture a future ahead was something he knew he could not be without. He now realized his failure in communicating as such to the person needing to hear it most.

So he held back the laugh and held your hands instead. "I've never been more sure of anything than I am of you."

tags: @avengersfan25

#bradley bradshaw imagine #rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster fanfic #rooster top gun #top gun x reader #top gun rooster #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick #bradley bradshaw fanfiction

[pkochetkov]

[smut] baby zegras

pairing: trevor zegras x fem! reader

summary: trevor wants a baby and he wants one now

authors note: this took soooo long lowk hate the middle-end but whatevs

warning: trevor is a horny freaky fuck, bad words, breeding kink, children, pregnancy

gif not mine!

masterlist

trevor has always known that whatever his future had in store for him he wanted you in it. he had fallen in love with you from the moment he saw you at the age of seven, you six. he never got over the little girl with pink bows holding her pigtails in, who smiled a big grin at him and introduced herself, and certainty didn’t get over her when she became his best friend (he quickly made her his girlfriend after an impromptu sleepover during which she realized she didn’t bring her own clothes and had to wear his).

when trevor had gotten drafted, he knew that with his future pretty much figured out he needed to ensure that you’d be there forever, so he proposed. you of course said yes, i mean, who wouldn’t.

you’re still engaged nearly 4 years later, neither of you in too much of a rush to actually have the wedding and continue up the ladder just yet. you were never shy to talk about your future and what it could hold, and trevor definitely wasn’t shy about telling you he wanted to “fill you up” over and over again.

his little heart was bursting at its seams as he watched you playing with his little cousins and his teammates’ kids. so full, in fact, that he had to drag you home early.

early so he could drag you up to your shared room and rip your clothes off, and that he did. trevor grabbed the hem of your shirt and ripped in half, earning a gasp and scolding “trevor!” from you.

“i’ll buy you another one.” he said and began pressing messy wet kisses down your sternum, your nipples hardening from the cold air and the overwhelming lust that you felt. his kisses moved even lower, stopping just above the button of your denim shorts.

trevor skipped over them for now, moving his head so he can press kisses against your inner thigh. he could feel the heat coming from your cunt, the place you needed him the most, but he wasn’t going to give in and fuck you. not yet anyway. he wanted you to finish by his mouth or fingers before stuffing you full of his cock.

“y’looked so good playing with all the babies today. couldn’t get the thought of fucking you full out of my head.” you moaned at his words and trevor began unbuckling your shorts pulling them and your panties down your legs.

he ran his fingers through your folds, collecting the evidence of your arousal on his fingers. trevor dipped his fingers into your entrance pulling them right back out before he passed the first knuckle and used the remnants to helps his fingers glide over your clit.

“trev, do something please. it hurts.” you nearly sobbed. trevor is a huge tease, always has been and always will be. he teased you in the bronco on the way home, for example. placing his hand at the top of your thigh and stroking clit over your shorts and underwear, making you more turned on than you are just looking at him.

he gave into your pleads and placed his tongue flat against your entrance, moving it up to your clit. the contact made your legs tremble, loud moans leaving your mouth. thank god jamie isn’t home yet.

“you always look so pretty from this angle, baby.” trevor’s words vibrated against your clit, causing your thighs to clamp shut on his head. he smacked his hand against your right thigh and when you didn’t pull them open he forced them. this seemed to make the pleasure more overwhelming and your orgasm came quicker than expected.

trevor licked you clean and came up to kiss you, the taste of yourself on his lips was enough to make you needy again and he could tell.

he pulled away and began undressing, first his loose jersey, followed by the black under shirt and his sweatpants.

you we’re getting inpatient, and turned on. watching him strip seemed like it took forever and while you were still spent from your previous orgasm, you needed another.

while trevor was somewhat distracted, your hand slid down to your clit. it was still sensitive from trev’s previous assault on it but the circles your fingers were moving in felt so good. they glided easily from the cum and spit left down there after trevor’s messy clean up.

“uh uh, nope. no ma’am. move them.” trevor snapped his fingers at you and you whined out at him, “but trevor, please.” the man in front of you moved your hands away from your clit, bringing them up with his own to rest above your head.

trevor leaned his head down, connecting his lips with your own, rutting his hips against yours. his cock slid between your folds rubbing your clit before pausing at your entrance.

“you ready baby?” you nodded and trevor pushed in, moans leaving both of you.

trevor’s thrusts started off slow, trying to convey the love he felt for you with calm, languid movements. though, they didn’t last very long.

trevor sat up and released your hand from his own choosing instead to grab a pillow from under your head and put it under your waist.

“i’m gonna fuck a whole hockey team into this cunt. you want that, mama?” before you could reply trevor began slamming into you at a pace that left you breathless.

your body felt like it was on fire. every collision of your hips, everytime his tip pressed against your cervix, every dirty thought about breeding you that fell from trevor’s lips made you feel like you’d combust.

“you’re gonna look so pretty, so full of my babies.”

“god this cunt is so perfect, can’t wait ‘til i’m leaking from it.”

trevor’s pace never let up, if anything it got more and more intense the closer he got to his own high, your own still coming at a blinding rate.

the man above you paused to lean over, connecting you hands above your head once more. you looked up at your fiancé and he down at you. the pleasure he provided became overwhelming and before you could warn him, you came.

trevor, ever the gentleman, talked you through it before his own orgasm followed. he never stopped, fucking his release deep into you.

he collapsed on top of you, still supporting himself as to not crush you.

“trevor,” he hummed, “as much as i love you over me, i need to pee.”

the man above you immediately shook his head, “absolutely not. i am not risking any of my babies ending up on the floor.”

“well would you like to hold them in while i pee?”

“i mean if you’re offering…”

“trevor zegras! that was a joke!”

“i’d hardly think so.”

liked by nhl, anaheimducks, trevorzegras and 349,760 more…

yourusername: baby zegras coming soon!

tagged: trevorzegras

comments on this post have been limited.

trevorzegras: ❤️❤️

yourusername: we love you ❤️

jackhughes: so excited to be the favorite uncle

anaheimducks: baby duck coming soon! 🧡

#nhl hockey #hockey #hockey boys #trevor zegras #trevor zegras smut #nhl smut #trevor zegras x reader #:mar’s fics!

[bradshawsweetheart]

Baby Come Close | college!Bradley Bradshaw x virgin!Reader |

turn the lights down low, baby come close

put your trust in me, let this love be

SUMMARY: On the last night of spring break of junior year at UVA, you decided that this was the perfect time to lose your virginity to none other than Bradley Bradshaw. WORD COUNT: ~4.9k WARNINGS: THIS BLOG IS 18+ SO JUST ASSUME ANYTHING GOES. MINORS DNI. this is just pure smut. barely a plot. p in v. corruption kink if you squint. praise kink if you squint more. fluff. swears. no use of y/n. A/N: this is my first time writing publicly, especially smut, in a very long time, and my first fic for TGM! I’m so nervous to post this, please be gentle :')

It was the last day of spring break, and the college town of Charlottesville, Virginia was a bit quieter than usual, due to most of its population being who knows where doing who knows what with their time off. Your parents were out of town in Boston, but you much rather would have spent time with Bradley at his apartment than go back to your empty childhood home anyway, exchanging pleasantries with former high school classmates who you would undoubtedly run into in public. You and Bradley, instead, decided that spring break would be much better spent in the privacy of his empty dwelling, partaking in day trips to Virginia Beach in his Bronco and a staycation of movie-watching-turned-heated-groping sessions… And maybe even more if you decided to finally take it there. What better time than tonight, before the first day of the final stretch of junior year at the University of Virginia?

“What did he say?” Bradley whispered, snapping you out of your thoughts. Usually, the two of you would try to watch the movie until around the thirty-minute mark, and then one wandering hand or a lingering kiss later and it would be completely ignored. For you, however, tonight’s movie was long forgotten the moment he had turned it on.

“Hm? Oh, I didn’t hear him. Sorry…” You smiled at him sheepishly.

“You good, angel?” He cocked his eyebrow as he turned to face you. The warm amber of his irises bore into your face with adoration and slight concern. “You’re not thinking about breaking up with me, are you?” He feigned worry, clutching over his heart. You swatted his arm playfully with an eye roll.

“I’m just a little thirsty… Do you want anything from the kitchen?” You offered, feeling a little silly as he simultaneously took a swig from his bottle of beer. He pretended to think for a moment.

“Yeah, get me a glass of you.” He grinned, leaning down to catch your lips in his, stifling your giggle as you cringed with an exaggerated scoff at his cheesy remark. Bradley Bradshaw, dad joke supreme.

“On second thought, maybe I’ll decide to break up with you when I get back, Dadshaw.” You teased, pushing his curls from his forehead, earning you a perfect pout from his plump lips to which you gave a lingering kiss. There it was.

If you were being honest with yourself, you were growing restless with the over-the-clothes grope sessions that regularly took place the last few months. While they were exciting and enjoyable, there was a particular itch that you just couldn’t scratch, even on your own. Your thoughts would drift to him at night as you imagined what being with him would be like, and any time your unskilled fingers fumbled to bring an unfamiliar feeling to that place deep inside you, you would immediately withdraw your hand. The longer things continued on like this, the antsier you were getting and if Bradley was feeling the same way, you would have been none the wiser. He was aware of your predicament and he, ever the gentleman, always let you set the pace and never asked anything of you that you were not comfortable with. His mother raised him better than being any other way. “I promise I’m not some bible-thumping prude.” You would promise him from time to time during these exchanges. He never asked you for your reasoning, but he knew it was just a matter of trust. He would just simply smile and assure you there was no rush, that he would never pressure you to go further than you wanted.

In truth, however, the idea of being your first anything excited him. He felt a little guilty for having that thought in the first place but he couldn’t help it. Any time he tried to get any information from you about what you had done before, just out of sheer curiosity, you would quickly skirt around the subject and bring up anything else. He would never press you on the matter, but he could tell when you were hesitant and very intentional with your movements during impromptu make out sessions behind the bookshelves in the library during study breaks. But he also noticed when something changed inside of you: the time he pulled you into the office of the professor he was TA-ing for when they were out for a few days. When he decided to be spontaneous and clear the professor’s desk of clutter to push you onto the surface, you didn’t exasperatedly scold him or get flushed and embarrassed like you normally would. You simply continued on, pulling him into you, your kisses and touches… hungrier, but he continued to let you set the pace, and while it didn’t go much further, he could feel the desperation growing there with you. That was a week ago, right before midterms, and neither of you had talked about it since.

He tilted his head at you as you winked and sauntered away, making your way out of his room and down the hall toward the kitchen. After nervously gulping down half of the water in your glass in an attempt to slow your heart rate, you stepped into the bathroom off the side of the galley. You gripped either side of the sink as you bent over the counter to face yourself in the mirror, inhaling deeply before letting out a shaky breath. “You can do this. It’s not a big deal. Everyone has done it… Just not you,” you furrowed your brow at your failed pep talk. You had been in your head about this for a couple months, and especially all week as he made a habit of sweetly coaxing you into staying over every night of spring break with him to cuddle every time you would start gathering your belongings to leave. You worried that you wouldn’t be nearly as good as the other women Bradley had already been with, and you often wondered why he was even waiting around with you in the first place, especially when other girls on campus would throw themselves at him had they been given the chance. You had even brought this up to him a couple times before, how he was wasting formative college experience time with you, which was always met with, “Baby, I don’t want anyone else,” or, “Sex isn’t the only important thing in the world.” Sure, not the only thing, but surely still pretty important to someone like Bradley Bradshaw.

“No, you’re not backing out of it. Get it over with. Everything will only get easier from here on out.” You told your reflection definitively. You reached up under your skirt, hooking your panties with your thumbs before tugging them down your legs. You had hoped this bold of a move would spur you on to go through with this, either by your own actions or even by Bradley discovering you bare, as you knew he would often absentmindedly run his thumb against the underwear lines at your hip when he cuddled you. After giving yourself one last look-over in the mirror, you took a deep breath before turning off the light and exiting the bathroom.

Bradley snapped his head up when you reentered his bedroom, giving you a cheeky grin. “Are you back to break up with me, angel?” He has no idea what he’s in for tonight, you thought, but then quickly humbled yourself by the fact that, well, neither did you.You sauntered over to turn off the television with the remote before tossing it away to his textbook-ridden desk. The sudden silence and the way he was looking at you was making you lose your nerve, so you walked over to his stereo to pop one of his CDs in the player, Smokey Robinson’s Smokey, pressing the repeat button and then skipping until the player display read the number 9. Baby Come Close started softly through the speakers, and you remembered the first time he had you listen to it with him.

“This right here… is lovemaking music,” he proclaimed, wiggling his eyebrows at you, only half-joking. Your eyes widened as you playfully swatted his arm, causing him to bellow with laughter. “But make no mistake, it sounds so much better on vinyl.”

“Then why aren’t we listening to it on vinyl?” You teased, prodding his chest with your finger.

“The thought of keeping my collection here with me at school when I live with these idiots makes me shudder, honey. Get real.”

Bradley’s expression was puzzled as you crawled across the bed to straddle his lap, cupping his face and running your thumbs over his smooth skin. He beamed at you nonetheless. “What are you –” You cut him off by gently tilting his chin upward and placing a slow, sensual kiss on his lips. Your lips moved perfectly in sync as he sat up a little straighter, placing his hands on your hips. You shakily reached for one of his hands before setting your discarded lace panties in his palm. He pulled away to look at the delicate fabric and blinked a few times before slowly sliding his other hand under your skirt to grip your bare behind. He softly drew a circle on the skin there with his thumb. His touch felt like static and left goosebumps in its wake, making you shiver. It suddenly clicked in Bradley’s mind as he remembered what he told you about this song, it made his chest constrict. You nervously bit your lip as you watched him short circuit in real time. Bradley took pause as he met your eyes, full of both lust and uncertainty. “Are you saying…”

“I’ve been wondering what it feels like, how you feel, for a while,” you admitted softly, fidgeting with the hem of your skirt. Bradley swallowed hard, his heartbeat in his ears as he hung on every word you said. Your gaze shifted to focus on your hands as you nervously stated, “I don’t want to wait any longer, Bradley. I think I’m ready.” Your eyes fluttered closed as he hesitantly caught your lips again. He grinned into the kiss and pushed your shirt up slightly to rub his calloused thumbs along the soft skin of your waist. You sighed into his mouth as your lips parted, which Bradley took advantage of by sliding his tongue to massage against yours in your mouth.

“We’ll take it slow. I’ll take care of you,” He promised after a long moment with a heavy breath, slowly inching a hand further up your tee to palm your breast and pinching your nipple through your bra, enough for your breath to catch in your throat. “Is this okay?” His eyes snapped to yours expectantly, and he smiled softly when you nodded. Bradley pulled your shirt upward over your head and tossed the material to the floor. He took a moment to marvel at the lacey red bra that matched the underwear in his hand before attaching his lips to your neck and flinging your panties aside. You sighed, bringing your arms up loosely around the back of his neck to run your fingers through the curls at his nape. He raised a hand to cradle your jaw, his thumb gently nudging it to angle your chin to give him more access, and his other expertly sliding up your back to unhook your bra with ease. You sighed in relief as the restrictive material fell down your arms and tried to fight the bashful feeling that washed over you. You felt your face flush as you realized Bradley was the first person to see you this way, all hot and flushed on top of him. He blinked as he took in the sight of your bare chest. “Absolutely perfect, angel.”

You experimentally ground your hips down onto his and the friction of his denim jeans against your bare core made you whimper. You could feel his hard cock through the stiff material separating you, and you desperately wanted more. Your shaky hands fumbled with the button of his pants as you kissed down his jaw and along his neck, placing hot, lingering kisses on the somewhat-fresh scars that stretched across his skin. He chuckled softly, placing his hands over yours to steady them as he guided the button out of the loop.

“Relax, baby. We can take it nice and slow,” Bradley reassured you before lifting you from him to shimmy out of his jeans. But before you could touch him again, he wrapped his arms around your waist and flipped you over, gently placing you underneath him. He rubbed your sides as he shifted his weight on top of you, pushing you into the plush of his mattress. He supported himself on his forearm as mouth latched onto your right nipple, his free hand massaging your other breast. You moaned softly, you felt him smile against your soft skin. Bradley’s tongue swirled around the bud, and he released it with a pop before moving to the left one. When you arched your back, instinctively pushing up against his mouth, he groaned, His hand wandered to your thighs, rubbing them each for a while before slipping between them when you opened them slightly. He nudged your thigh to open wider with his knee. “Am I going too fast?” He asked, stopping his mouth on your skin to look up at you. You shook your head with a nervous smile and he placed a kiss on your sternum. “Tell me what you like.”

“I — I don’t know.” He furrowed his eyebrows at this confession.

“Show me how you do it when you touch yourself,” He requested, and stopped his movements when you opened your mouth to speak… and then closed it. “You’ve never touched yourself?”

“I have! Well, kind of. I either got bored, or whenever I felt anything building I just… stopped.”

“So… You’ve never came before, even on your own?” He prodded delicately, and you sheepishly shook your head. Bradley suppressed the moan at the back of his throat. He wet his lips with his tongue. “Oh, honey. I can’t believe you’re this innocent,” he said more to himself than to you, which made you feel a bit self-conscious. He noticed you tense. “No, baby, no, that isn’t what I mean. You’ve just been so… I never would have guessed.”

“I would understand if you didn’t want to keep going.” You offered, shifting uncomfortably. Bradley’s expression turned incredulous as he rapidly shook his head.

“No way is that deterring me from you. How about we find out what feels good together, okay?” You nodded and let out a shaky breath as his middle finger slowly slid through your slick and ghosted over your clit. An unexpected sound squeaked from your chest and you flushed when he met your eyes. “Soaked already. Is this all for me?” He shot you a lopsided grin, and smirked when you whimpered and nodded. You bucked your hips against his hand, a silent plea for any type of friction, and he obliged by rubbing your bundle of nerves in slow circles. This felt so much beyond anything you could have possibly done on your own, the unanticipated movements of his touches. You felt like your body was on fire.

“Bradley,” you pleaded, your legs starting to scramble. He held your hips down with one hand and slid his middle finger into you with the other, wordlessly obliging, slowly pumping it a few times before curling it upward and hitting a spot that had you arching your back and letting out a sharp gasp. “Oh!”

“How’s that?” He asked smugly, chuckling slightly as you could do nothing but dumbly nod and blink up at him, not exactly answering his question but it was definitely an answer all the same. He watches you with an amused grin as he repeated the motion with his skilled digit, eliciting a strangled moan from somewhere deep in your sternum.

The rumors you always heard about him before you got together were true, he certainly had magic fingers. The sounds he was pulling for you made him thank the high heavens that he had ears, and that his roommates had left town for the week. He kissed down your stomach and your breath hitched as he continued down, down, down. Bradley raised his eyes to meet yours, immediately softening at your slightly panicked expression. “May I?”

“I… Yes.”

“If you don’t like it, we can move on,” He beamed his reassurance at you earnestly. “But I promise I’m going to do everything I can to make you feel so good, baby.” He teasingly kissed along the outside of your thighs, chuckling when you squirmed, desperate for any kind of contact. Suddenly, feeling his hot breath against your core, he placed a slow, delicate kiss against you before spreading you with his fingers, then licking a thick stripe upward.

“Oh, my fucking –” Bradley attached his lips to your clit, alternating between licking and sucking. You could feel yourself getting impossibly wetter. His tongue dipped down to your weeping hole, teasingly plunging into you every so often. You didn’t know what to do with your hands as they scrambled to find purchase in the sheets. He guided one of your hands to his hair, your other following suit, and when your fingers tangled into his tresses, he groaned at the tug.

“You taste so good, honey,” Bradley breathed, and his voice was so raspy and full of lust it caused you to buck your hips slightly against his mouth. The comment made your cheeks heat up, almost embarrassed. He hummed against you, the vibrations adding to the immense pleasure he was already giving you. He pulled his mouth away and brought up two digits two your wetness, slowly teasing your entrance, making you whimper pathetically. “I love the little sounds that you make when I’m teasing you.” It was unlike anything you had ever experienced before. He pushed his fingers into you slowly, allowing you time to adjust to the slightly uncomfortable stretch, before curling upward against your walls and moving them into you at a steady pace. You felt that unfamiliar feeling start to rise in your stomach and your legs began to shake.

“Bradley – I can’t – I think I’m gonna –”

“Come for me, baby,” He growled against you, harshly sucking your clit as his fingers sped up a bit. You cried out in complete ecstasy as you came undone under him, tugging his face impossibly closer into your core. He rutted his hips into the mattress as he watched you, desperate for friction, and continued to work you through it. You would have felt embarrassed about the way you convulsed if you hadn’t heard through the cotton filling your head, “Holy shit, you’re so fucking hot.” As you came down from your high, you hissed from the overstimulation as he kept at you. You pushed his head back involuntarily and he chuckled before kissing the inside of your thigh apologetically. You tried to take a moment to catch your breath as he continued to kiss your thighs and around your heat. “Was that alright?”

You heaved a laugh at the question, you felt him grinning against your belly. “Something like that,” you quipped, meeting his eyes. He looked so in love, just watching your already fucked out expression as you tried to find your way back down to Earth. You ran your fingers through his hair, he pressed his cheek into your thigh. “I want that all the time.”

“I am so, so happy to oblige.” He suggested, experimentally going back down to kitten lick at your soaked cunt. You giggled, shaking your head.

“I wanna touch you too,” you stated breathlessly. Bradley cocked an eyebrow at you as you sat up and pushed him to lay backward to sit between his knees, reattaching your lips to his collarbone and eagerly kissing down his chest and abdomen. He chuckled, bringing a hand up to gently hold your hair out of your face. His finger lovingly swept a circle over your cheek. You boldly and playfully licked a thick stripe up his torso, causing a strained groan to bubble from his throat, before returning nip down to the waistband of his boxers. Your sudden confidence had quickly dissipated as you looked up at him with wide eyes. This was the first time you’d seen him this way, in this position. Bradley was so beautiful. He had been hitting the gym pretty hard in preparation for his hopeful, second-round acceptance into flight school come graduation next year and it was definitely paying off, though you admit you still liked it when he was a bit softer in the middle. He gave you an encouraging grin as you began to pull the material downward, his cock sprung free and slapped up against his abdomen. You blinked, dumbfounded, as you took in the sight of him. “I…”

“You don’t have to do anything.” He stated firmly with a soft smile, bringing a hand to brush the hair from your face once more. You furrowed your brows and shook your head.

“Teach me?” You gazed at him expectantly. “Show me how to touch you. Teach me how to make you feel good, too.” Fuck. He nodded, swallowing hard. He took your hand and brought it to his lips for a quick kiss before guiding it down to secure gently around his length. He tightened his hand over yours slightly, signaling you to tighten your grip a little. Taking his cock in your hand, you hesitantly pumped it a few times before surprising the both of you by boldly licking the precum from his tip. It was surprisingly pleasant but maybe it was because a soft, strangled moan bubbled from Bradley’s lips, which was enough to make you squeeze your thighs together. You wanted to do everything you could to hear that sound again. He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, humming in approval as you hesitantly took him into your mouth, swirling your tongue around his length until it hit the back of your throat. You gagged but recovered smoothly as he guided you to bob your head. You hollowed your cheeks as you sucked on his length and pumped what you couldn’t fit with your hand, just like you saw in the videos you sometimes watched in preparation for this moment.

“Are you sure this is your first time?” Bradley chuckled and sighed as his head fell back against the headboard. You couldn’t keep the cocky grin off your face as you repeated your motions. You figured he was exaggerating your skill for your benefit, but you didn’t care. The sounds leaving him were deliciously filthy, reassuring you that you were doing all the right things. “That’s it baby, just like that. So fucking good for me,” His hand gripped a fistful of your hair as he thrusted his hips toward your face slightly. You gagged but recovered immediately, though you could feel your embarrassment flushing your cheeks. “Shit, sorry, is that okay?” You hummed in response, the vibrations adding to Bradley’s pleasure so much so that he huffed out a string of curses. You could feel your wetness begin to drip down the side of your thigh, and you were getting a little antsy.

“Bradley…” You whined as you pulled back for air. Your body stiffened as nerves consumed you once more. “I want… I need…”

“What do you need, honey?” He questioned gently, pulling you up to him to catch your lips. He expertly flipped you back onto your back, slotting his body between your legs. You could feel him over your heat, causing you to experimentally buck your hips upward to grind against him. “Tell me what you need.” Bradley hissed as you whimpered. He fumbled to pull a condom from the box of his bedside drawer, planting wet kisses on your outstretched arm on his way back to you.

“Please fuck me,” you requested boldly. The filthy words from your lips made him throw his head back with a groan. “Bradley, please.” He tore the foil packet open with his teeth and pumped himself a few times before rolling the condom down onto his length. He kissed up your neck back to your lips as he positioned himself at your entrance, running the head of his cock through your slick folds.

“Let me know if you want me to stop, okay?” He kissed you sweetly. You smiled at him with a hesitant nod. You figured you would feel a lot more embarrassed than you did, feeling pathetically naive and innocent to be experiencing this for the first time at your age, but he never put the thought that he felt that way in your mind. Bradley was never condescending, he never talked down to you or made you feel like something too pure or too delicate to touch. He slowly pushed his tip into you, causing your eyes to water and screw shut. Your fingernails dug into his shoulders and your body went rigid.

“Angel, I need you to relax your muscles. I don’t want it to hurt,” He bit back a moan as he continued to fill you once you relaxed. “Do you want to stop?”

“No.” You stated firmly. It didn’t hurt as bad as you were told it would, it was more uncomfortable than anything. He waited for you to adjust to him, idly planting wet kisses over the length of your neck and collarbone as he whispered sweet praises in your ear.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” Bradley cooed. “You’re taking me so well,” After several minutes, you shifted your hips slightly in attempts to ease the discomfort, and… Oh. You moaned slightly at the new electricity inducing feeling that coursed through your body. Bradley picked up his head to reattach his lips to yours and pulled his hips back slightly before slowly thrusting back into you. You gasped, your eyes fluttering open to meet his. His dilated pupils fixated on your own as he found his rhythm, pushing deeper into you while increasing his pace. His sweet moans were music to your ears, and yours to his. You were a whimpering mess underneath him, grabbing fistfuls of sheets as he ran a hand down your thigh to wrap your leg around his waist. “You’re so tight.” A deep-seated groan emitted from the back of his throat as his thrusts became sloppy, his fingers digging into the skin of your hips. He took one of your hands in his, interlocking your fingers and bringing them to rest on the mattress above your head.

“You feel so…” You moaned before your lips latched onto his neck. “Fuck.”

“I love listening to you,” He admitted blissfully. “I never could have imagined the sweet noises you make.” You whimpered at his words. He hastily snaked a hand down between the two of you and started rubbing tight, fast circles on your clit. The added sensation with him thrusting into your dripping core at a dizzying pace, repeatedly hitting just the right spot, was almost too much but so perfect. His praises kept stoking that building fire in the pit of your belly, and watching him watch you sent you over the edge once more. Your vision went white as a string of curses fell from your mouth. Your legs began to shake and the rest of your body stiffened.

“Bradley, oh my – fuck!”

“That’s it, good girl,” He groaned at the sight of you writhing underneath him. He sucked a mark into your collarbone to contain the melodies escaping him. “Baby, I’m gonna come,” Bradley rasped as he buried his face further into your neck. You brought up your other leg to tighten them both around him, bucking your hips to meet his thrusts as he came undone on top of you. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You had never seen such a beautiful sight, watching the muscles of his bicep contract as he held himself over you while he fell apart. He lazily peppered your neck with hot kisses, sucking marks into your skin, and after a few moments, he begrudgingly lifted himself off you with a huge grin plastered on his face. He would have stayed there forever if you let him. “How are you? Was that okay?” You giggled at his concern, shaking your head in disbelief.

“It was perfect,” you hummed in contentment. Definitely worth the wait, and now I know what I’ve been missing. Bradley’s phone began to ring, and when he lifted it to check the caller I.D., his smile faltered for a split second.

Mav

He hastily declined the call. Maverick was continuing to not get the hint of months’ worth of rejected calls and Bradley refused to let him ruin another perfect moment in his life right now.

“Who’s calling so late?” You joked. Fucking Maverick on his fucking Pacific Standard Time.

“Telemarketer, probably,” Bradley lied, cupping your face and kissing your lips sweetly. “What do you say we just skip the first day back tomorrow and stay in bed all day instead?” His grin was anything but angelic, borderline shit-eating, as he began to kiss his way down your neck to your chest. You erupted into giggles, pretending to push him away.

“Bradley!”

Baby Come Close was still thrumming through the speakers on repeat as you held each other, and neither of you were in any rush to end the perfect night. You both desperately wished that you could have stayed here forever.

#please be nice LOL #baby come close #top gun maverick #top gun maverick smut #top gun maverick fanfic #top gun maverick fanfiction #tgm smut #tgm fanfiction #tgm fandom #tgm fic #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw x y/n #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw headcanon #rooster smut #rooster imagine #rooster x reader #rooster fanfic #rooster #top gun rooster #rooster top gun #miles teller #my works #* #riley's writing #top gun smut #top gun x reader

[ohtobeleah]

Was It Over? // Jake Seresin

-> Chapter Four: [Parental Guidance]

Summary: Jakes Mother simply cannot understand what he saw in you, your mother simply cannot comprehend why you left Jake.

Warnings: Sick!reader. Breast cancer diagnosis. Jake Seresin x F!reader. Angst, hospital & medical inaccuracies. SLOW BURN ROMANCE/ Inaccurate medical information. Relationship turmoil. Overbearing mothers.

Word Count: 4:1k

Author Note: Mothers…Especially boy mothers can just be the worst when they’re in LOVE with their sons.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

November 1st 

Bradley Bradshaw never thought he would be the person Jake Seresin called when he was in a situation and needed help, but here he was. Sitting in his Bronco outside the house of a woman he didn't know in the early hours of the morning watching Jake stumble down the small overgrown cobblestone path. The Halloween costume Rooster had seen Jake in early that night was long forgotten as the fighter pilot wore nothing but a pair of boxer briefs with his wallet and keys in the palms of his hands. 

Immediately as soon as Jake sat in the passenger's seat of Bradleys pride and joy, he could smell the liquor trying to expel itself from Jake pores. 

“You smell like a distillery and we have a HOP at 8am.” There was a very evident disdain for Jake's current state in Roosters' tone, Jake wasn’t drunk enough to miss that. “Why are you calling me in the middle of the night to pick you up anyway? What did you do this time to warrant getting kicked out?” Jake didn't respond right away as he kept his eyes staring blankly out the window, the two had only just recently been given new orders to remain in North Island permanently. But when he did speak up, Bradley's heart ached. 

“I accidentally said my wifes name while uh–yeah.” Jake didn't think he needed to explicitly tell his wingman that, during one of the first and what Jake would consider the last one night stand he’d engaged in during your separation, he’d called out your name. “Vanessa didn't really like that.” 

“Yeah, no shit.” Bradley agreed as he drove down the street. “That's rough dude.” Bradley knew of yours and Jake's separation, Jake had told him one night at the Hard Deck after he’d asked how the family was. The two hadn’t always been on good terms but Rooster liked to think you and him were close enough to send Christmas cards to. When Jake had told him you’d left? Bradley didn’t reach out—he assumed it was for the best all things considered. 

“Yeah—but you know what’s rougher?” Jake sighed as he let his head fall back against the headrest. 

“What’s that?” 

“Knowing your wife won’t ever believe you’ll change.” Bradley knew without even looking at Jake that between the mix of alcohol and his desire to win you back that the naval aviator sitting with slumped shoulders beside him was holding back tears. “And proving her right by sleeping with some badge bunny who looked an awful lot like her.” 

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

Your home had never been so quiet with all three of your children gone. You stood in the foyer of the entryway just looking around at the mess that had been left behind. Forgotten toys yet to be put away, discarded shoes, dirty plates and cups. Pine needles that fallen from the faux Christmas tree that was essentially hanging on by its last thread. The reminisce of three young children that were allowed to be children inside the safety of their own home. 

As you wiped away the tears that you had let fall freely down from your puffy eyes, you made an effort to tidy up the house you’d be leaving in only a few short hours to leave for the hospital stay you had planned. Tiny shoes with no feet to fill, toys left unattended over the holidays simply to be replaced by newer shiner ones. 

Between now and new years while Jake had the kids in Texas your treatment plan would increase tenfold. You were scheduled for aggressive rounds of IV chemotherapy that you knew you’d have to stay in hospital for to go through, your body was barely tolerating the oral medication as it was. You were scheduled for a double mastectomy in your time at the hospital which would hopefully stop any cancerous cells from spreading to more lymph nodes and areas of your body that remained untouched. Did you have high hopes? Not particularly. But you were ready and willing to do just about anything the oncologist assigned to your particular case had recommended. 

It was going to be a rough stint, but hopefully by the time Jake returned with your children, you’d still be able to mask your diagnosis. How you were going to explain the symptoms like hair loss and suddenly having no breast tissue to Jake was something you had yet to come up with. 

But ‘New year, New me’ was looking like the best possible explanation. Maybe the new look would get him off your case a little when it came to working on your marital issues. 

As you put things back in their rightful places and tidy up, you felt your phone ringing in your back pocket. The call ID immediately made you want to cry even more than you already had been. 

“Hi mum—“ You cooed softly as you stood alone in your empty home. “I uh, I just got home.” 

“How was Jake?” Your mother asked as she drove over to yours, you could hear the difference in her voice because of the shitty ass bluetooth system she barely knew how to work properly. “Did the kids kick up a fuss?” 

“Jake was–” You would never be able to find the right words to describe your husband, well, ex-husband. “Jake was Jake mum you know how we are right now.” Your mother knew about your diagnosis. She had been the one who urged you to see a doctor after you told her you had found a rather large lump on your left breast. “And no, actually the kids were super excited to go with their dad for the holidays, I think they still don't really understand that I'm not gonna be there at all, maybe they just think I won't be there for a day or two, but uh–yeah, they were good.” 

“And how are you feeling?” It was surprisingly a rather hard question to answer as you sat down on the lounge. For the longest time you had always put your family first, made sure all their needs were met before your own. From your kids to your husband they always came first, but now? Now you had to focus on your health and put yourself first if you had any chance of getting through the next few weeks. 

“I threw up this morning–” It was your way of saying you werent travelling well at all. “After I slept with Jake–” You knew your mum would be shocked at your admission, so you closed your eyes and braced for it. The scolding, the “never sleep with an ex speech” But it never came. All that came was a sigh you couldn't tell was laced in disappointment or approval. 

“You need that man in your life darling, he's a good man, the two of you just need to work on your differences.” Your mother had always had a soft spot for Jake Seresin, for a few weeks after your initial breakup he stayed in her spare room. Jake loved your mother like his own and you knew that if you ever gave her a moment on the soap box, your mum would scream it to whoever would listen just how much you and Jake were made for one another. 

Which in your opinion was a little shitty. Jake had his own mum. You needed yours. 

“I know he's a good man mum, that's why I married him to begin with.” You sighed heavily as you laid on the lounge to ward off the dizzy spell that was threatening to throw you off balance. “But I haven't been his priority in a hell of a long time, and I owe it to myself to not go back to being a married single mother.” 

“Okay okay, well–” You knew your mum was only trying to help but it felt like the two of you had this very same conversation every time you spoke, it was like deja vu. “He won't wait around forever darling.” That fact you also knew, according to Jake himself her name was Violet or Vivian or Vanessa. Something that started with a V. Either way you knew very well that Jake wouldn’t wait around for you to take him back on his hands and knees begging. 

But at the end of the day you weren’t sure if you even wanted him to wait for you. Of course you loved Jake, with your whole heart. But right now nothing made sense to you, you were dying after all. 

“Trust me,” You rolled your eyes thinking about how Vanessa or Vicky or Veronica looked. If she looked anything like you or maybe completely different. If she had blue eyes you'd surmise that he probilby date her. “I know he won't, but he's not the priority right now, my health is.” 

“I'll be there in about an hour or two depending on traffic.” For a split second you wished it might take a little longer. Although you loved your mum dearly and appreciated everything she ever did for you, her favouritism towards your husband made your blood boil. 

“Okay, I might have a bit of a nap while I'm waiting for you, I'm feeling pretty shattered.” No word of a lie was spoken, you were exhausted to say the very least. Finally being alone and not having to be in constant caregiver mode for three young children truly had your body calling it quits. You needed sleep and so much of it. 

“I'll see you soon alright?” You mum spoke through the bluetooth that crackled and broke with the failing reception, but you heard her just barely. 

“Alright, bye mum.” You paused hesitantly as you let your eyes close “I love you.” It had been a while since you told anyone you loved them besides your kids, and for a second you wished it was Jake on the other end of the line. You did love him, probably more now than you ever had. Everything was just so messy, it wasn't fair. None of this was fair. 

“Bye Darling.” Your mum replied. “I love you too.” 

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

“My babies!!” Janeen Seresin was in Jake's opinion, one of those women who never should have had kids, let alone four of them. Jake was the youngest of four Seresin children and the only boy. His father, Rodney, was a hard task master who no matter what Jake accomplished in his career or personal life, never seemed to be proud of the man he had become. 

“Hi Ma.” There was a pretty simple explanation for that, Jake never took a beating without getting a few punches in himself. He wasn't the kind of guy who you could beat into submission even as a teen. “Merry Christmas.” 

“Jacob oh my boy it's so good to see you.” Janeen took her youngest child in her arms in the threshold of the Sersein estate. Lavish gardens surrounded the old exposed red brick home that had been in the Seresin family for generations. Jake knew when his parents died it wasn't going to him, but to his eldest sister Julies. “Come in come in! You guys must be so tired after your flight.” 

Jake, despite being a fighter pilot who had flown some of the most suicidal missions, was a nervous flyer when he wasn’t in total control. Commercial flying wasn't something he typically enjoyed. It made him anxious at the best of times and whenever he added his children to the mix he was sure that the way his heart pounded inside his chest during takeoff was early signs of an underlying genetic heart condition he probably inherited from his father. 

“The kids are definitely a little tired, I think Sam's ears haven't really pooped either.” Jake cooed as he and his kids entered the house Jake grew up in, the overly eccentric, far too big, the annoyingly in your face house he knew you always hated. It always seemed to exemplify the two worlds you and Jake grew up in as children. 

“Grandma!” Lucy interrupted. “Mum said that Santa will know exactly where we are if we put out cookies and milk for him and carrots for his reindeer like we do at home.” Janeen chuckled at her granddaughter as Jake placed Sam on the ground to walk off with his brother to explore the mansion style home that was far bigger than the one they were used to. 

“Your mother would still have you doing those silly little things wouldn't she?” Jake bit his tongue as he watched his mother soothe a hand over his daughter's head. “Of course we can put out cookies and milk, but if I get ants you better be ready to clean them up little miss.” Lucy simply smiled and nodded in response, the dig had gone right over her six year old head. 

“God Ma you'd think you never had kids of your own before.” Jake argued in an attempt to remind his mum that his kids were only young. The magic of Christmas was important to you and him. “I'm sure Santa won't leave cookie crumbs all over the house.”  

“Santa isn't who I’m worried about making a mess–” Janeen tried to say the loud things quiet while around Jake's children, but the intent in her words was still as loud and as obnoxious as ever. “How is your mother Lulu? I’m sorry she won’t be joining us for Christmas and new years.” 

“She’s been sick the past few weeks.” Jake frowned at his mothers smile, she left little to the imagination about her opinion of you. “But she’s better now.” Jake wasn't so sure of the statement his daughter made, the way you were only on your knees this morning throwing up into the toilet bowl made him frown in response. Jake had this gut feeling he couldn’t get rid of it no matter how hard he tried not to think about it. Was something wrong with you? Like, more than just a long winded flu? Who even gets the flu for three weeks these days? 

“Oh I’m sure she is dear, right before her big trip away hey?” Ever since you and Jake separated, Janeen Seresin had been pushing for Jake to file for divorce and full custody. No one got to leave her perfect angel boy. In her eyes Jake could do no wrong, he was her angel, her precious baby boy that no woman could ever be good enough for. 

“Yeah! She’s going to the snow with a bunch of her friends Grandma.” Lucy replied, she didn’t understand her grandmother’s resentments just yet. That or it went right over the little girl's head, either way Jake was thankful for her innocence. 

“Oh I know your dads told me all about your mothers grand plans.” Janeen rolled her eyes pretty heavily at the idea you were off whoring yourself out on a ski trip out of the country while her son was tasked with looking after the three children you had with him. 

“Ma, drop it will you?” Jake urged. “She’s allowed to go away for the holidays, she’s pretty much had the kids all year.”

“And why is that?” Janeen retaliated as little Lucy walked off to find her brothers. Jake followed his mother into the dining room where festive decorations dressed the dining table. Perfectly set and prepared. A stark contrast to your old chipped four seater dining table that had soggy cheerios spilled on the top just this morning. Jake much preferred the cheerio-covered table to his mothers perfectly decorated one. 

Fuck, Jake thought to himself the more he looked around. His kids were about to mess this place up. He knew deep down that would bring you a little solace. You knew Janeen was sour on you. The idea of the kids making her life just a little more chaotic would normally make you chuckle.

“Because I live and work in North Island now, I don’t have the proper work schedule to take three kids on by myself.” That was the appropriate and only answer, but Jake knew his mother saw it differently. “I don't have to means to look after them myself–Y/n does, we both agreed on that when he split.” 

“She’s keeping those kids away from you sweetheart.” Jake couldn’t have rolled his eyes harder if he tried, he’d been home for all of what? five minutes and already his mum was disrespecting you. “You don’t see those kids nearly as much as you should and it’s her—“

“Don’t you think that’s more on me then it is on her?” Jake argued back. “Come on ma you know exactly why we separated, I wasn’t putting in what she was giving and it damn near killed her. The last thing she needs is a custody battle.” 

“What you ever saw in that woman I’ll never understand sweetheart.” Janeen cooed as she reached up to touch her son's cheek. “I always knew she was never good enough for my baby boy.” 

Jake wanted to argue, he really did, but it was Christmas and his entire family would soon be filling the Seresin estate. So Jake pressed his lips together and leaned in to press a kiss to the top of his mothers head. He didn’t want to ruin yet another family holiday. He didn’t want to be dubbed the family disappointment because of his separation. Although he knew that's exactly what he was. 

He just wanted to be loved. And at this point Jake was gonna take that love whenever the hell he could get it from. 

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

“Y/n–” At first you didn't respond, but as your mother shook you as you slept on the lounge and called your name a few more times, you finally woke up. “Y/n, babe jesus have you been asleep since we got off the phone.?” It took you a moment to come back into your body as you wiped the dry drool that had leaked from your mouth onto your cheek. The discombobulation was clearly evident to your mother as she stepped back a little to give you some space. 

“Yeah, I guess so.” You mumbled as you sat up. “I'm just really–” The all too familiar feeling of bile rising came hard and came quickly. “Oh god mum, get me a bucket!” The look of panic written in the tired lines on your face was enough for your mum to realise what was going on. 

“Oh shit hang on.” Your mother hurried into the laundry nearby and searched high and low for something you could use, but you decided soon thereafter that it was quicker if you booked it into the kitchen and puke right into the kitchen sink. “Y/n! Oh god are you alright darling?” 

For a single mother of two children, yourself and your older brother Carson, your mother did alright for the hand she was dealt. On the younger side, your mother always seemed a little ‘Childish’ in her nature and mannerisms. But she was your mum and you wouldn’t change her for anything. 

“I'm fine–I just–” You couldn't keep anything down to save your life right now, so when your body wanted to expel any form of bile it was just stomach acid and remnants of whatever you had most recently eaten. Your mother did her best to comfort you as you coughed and splatted your gagged in the kitchen sink for dear life, she could tell your body was weaker than it ever had been just from the way you trembled under her touch. 

It broke her heart to see you like this, so sick and fragile. You did well to hide it though, for what it was worth she thought you looked relatively healthy still. But it was still early on in your journey. 

“I'm so scared mum.” You cried out through gags as you stayed bent over the sink coughing and crying. This wasn’t fair, you had a family to think of, kids to watch grow, a husband to hopefully fall in love with all over again. How could whatever god was up there do this to you? Why did this happen? Why you? What had you done so wrong to deserve this untimely fate?

“It's okay I've got you baby.” Your mother cooed as she rubbed circles into your back with her open palm. “Im here, I’ve got you now, let's get you ready to go up to the hospital hey, you wanna take a shower or?” 

“Let me just brush my teeth–” You sighed as you spat into the sink to clear your throat. “I should ring Jake, make sure they got in safe.” 

“I'm sure they’re just fine, he’d call if there was a problem, let's just focus on you for once.” You didn't want to feel like you were neglecting your children but you already felt like you were. They were your entire world, putting yourself first just wasn't in your nature. But as you thought about calling, thought about just sending a text, you looked at your phone to see a missed call from Jake about twenty minutes prior and a few text to follow. 

:Lover: “Kids and I are here safe, ma’s on her fuck the ex campain already and dads nowhere to be seen.” 

:Lover: “Hope you're enjoying your kid free afternoon, safe flight tonight, text me when you get into Calgary.” 

You couldn't help but to smile as you pocketed your phone, you'd call Jake later once you were settled into your hospital room. Right now you just needed to finish packing, brush your teeth and get over to the hospital for your admission time. 

“He loves you so much.” Your mother reminded you as she followed you up to your room to help you finish packing. 

“I know he does.” You really weren't in the mood to be discussing the state of your marriage right now. “He deserves better, someone not riddled with cancer cells.” 

“Is that why you won't even consider the idea of getting back together?” Your mother was nearly flawed when you silently nodded in return. “Y/n, don't you dare–” Again, you didn't want to talk about it. Between Jake's mother not being your number one stan and your mother playing devil's advocate what seemed to be twenty four seven, you were just over everyone having an opinion. 

“Mum! He didn't care about me enough when I was healthy and happy and his wife! What makes you think he’ll care now that I’m literally dying!” You shouted as you threw a pair of extra soaks into your luggage bag. “It's not fair, none of this is, but I left him well before I got sick and me getting sick doesn't change the reason I left.” 

Your mother didn’t respond, all she did was stare at you worryingly from across your bedroom room in silence. It looked as if she was trying to figure something out, read your face, understand what was going on. Then, after a few short moments of silence she spoke. 

“Your father and I went through something very similar before he died.” Your parents had been divorced for three years before your dad died in an awfully unexpected car accident. It shattered your mum, you knew it did. “We never did get to a point where we could resolve our differences.” She explained softly as she walked over to help you pack the last few items. You let her help you fold some T-shirts, Jake's old T-shirts, as she spoke. “This past year watching you and Jake go around in circles about how much you both still love each other and how desperately he's willing to change in order to keep you is so infuriating because you, my baby girl, have already decided you're not worth loving because you’re unfortunately going through something I can't even begin to comprehend.” 

“He couldn't love me before mum.” You simply sighed in defeat, god it was like you were going around and around on a ferris wheel. “What makes you think this changes anything?” 

“That man has never stopped loving you Y/n, he just got a little lost, we all do.” 

“If you had a chance would you take dad back?” It was a question you'd never asked before purely because you were afraid the answer would be no. now? As you tried to navigate the best thing to do for yourself, you desperately hoped the answer would be yes. Perhaps then you wouldn't feel so torn about hating to love Jake Seresin and his ability to captivate your entire being. 

“Without a shadow of a doubt my dear.” You’d never seen your mother have to hold back tears so hard before in your life. She was watching her only daughter go through a battle she wouldn't wish on her worst enemy as well as trying to help you through your separation. Although sometimes unwarranted and unsolicited, she was still your mother. 

“Without a shadow of a doubt.” 

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

Tags: @blindedbythelightt @starset21 @tayl0rhuynh @mamachasesmayhem @marvelogic @itsmytimetoodream @maverick-wingman @kodzukenmaaa @eternalsams @seitmai @nota-professional l @jessicab1991 91 @hardballoonlove @senawashere @lafrone @fanficfandomlove ve @withahappyrefrain @dizzybee03 @maisie-rebloging-blog @goldenseresinretriever @a-reader-and-a-writer @sunlightmurdock @shelbycillian @memoriesat30 @accioprocrastination @the-aspiring-fanfic-writer @athenabarnes

#was it over? // jake seresin #tw: cancer #tw: breast cancer #jake hangman imagine #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x y/n #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman x reader #jake hangman fic #topgun maverick #top gun fan fiction

[bradshawssugarbaby]

Heavenly Kind of State of Mind - Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

summary: Bradley takes you out to thank you for taking care of him when he broke his nose. He didn't expect dinner to turn into something else.

pairing: baseball!Bradley x reader (Angel)

warnings/content: depictions of broken nose, Bradley being a manwh*re, sexual references, fluff, awkward first date.

word count: 2.3k

taglist (also tagging those who were interested in Take One For The Team since it's a similar vibe and explains the lack of updates lol): @avengersfan25, @jessicab1991, @atarmychick007, @b-bradshaw, @nouis-bum, @mamachasesmayhem, @floydsmuse, @kmc1989, @dckweed, @katfanfic, @nerdgirljen, @whatislovevavy, @mrsevans90, @averyhotchner, @yuckosworld, @tgmreader, @allepaula, @lourd-ita, @mariaenchanted @sorchathered, @sarahsmi13s, @hangmansgbaby, @djs8891 @primroseluna @silversprings-mp3 @drxgxnslxyer @gardenavenue @seitmai @unhinged-bitch @mattyskies

Bradley wasn’t the dating type.

At least, that’s what he told himself on the drive over to the San Diego pier. 

As Bradley crossed the bridge from quiet, serene Coronado into the bustling downtown core, he tapped his hand against the steering wheel, nervously drumming the beat to a classic rock song. He pulled up into a parking space, looking around the parking lot for your obnoxious little car with its pink interior that he’d been thinking about since you took him to get his nose checked out. The break had healed nicely, unable to tell that two weeks prior, his nose had met with the fist of a grown man. Bradley sighed as he realized you weren’t here yet, adjusting his sunglasses in his rearview mirror. 

He didn’t date. 

It wasn’t his thing. 

The awkward small talk. The painful silences. The uncomfortable stage where you waited to see how the other person wanted to proceed, all for it to fall apart in the end anyway. He knew dates were just a stop gap to heartbreak. He was the expert, in fact. In the years since his marriage fell apart, he’d skipped dating all-together, resolving himself to one night stands and quick hookups as a means of bypassing the inevitable heartache he’d be faced with if he’d gone the dating route. 

After his marriage, he didn’t know what he wanted. He’d wanted kids, he thought, but then again, kids meant his career got less focus. Kids meant he’d have one of two choices — retire and become a picture-perfect dad, working a normal career and being the doting husband and father he knew he’d want to be, or, stay playing baseball, continue his dedication to his career, and always feel guilty for not being home, fielding the upset accusations of his wife, telling him he was doing it as an escape, running from his responsibilities. 

Being alone gave him freedom. It gave him the ability to further his career and focus his attention on whatever the fuck he wanted. And he liked it that way. 

However, despite his best efforts, he couldn’t stop you from occupy every thought that he had over the past two weeks. Being unable to play didn’t help — doctor’s orders had him benched for two weeks until his nose had healed. 

He’d attended practices, worked out at the gym a few extra times for good measure, and even took a guest spot in the commentator booth for a game over the past fourteen days to keep himself busy, but he couldn’t stop himself from thinking about you. 

Every time he thought he was comfortably distracted, focused on something else, his brain would circle back around, coming back to you each and every time.

It was exhausting.

He tried so hard to push it off. Too hard, in fact. As he sat in his Bronco, hands still drumming on the steering wheel as he listened to the radio, now blaring The Beach Boys through his car, he hummed along to the familiar tune, hoping that it would provide him a little reprieve from the all-encompassing thoughts of you. 

Just as he closed his eyes, letting his imagination take him to the beach, walking across the warm sand, cool waves lapping at his feet as he stepped towards the ocean, he heard a gentle tapping on his window. Snapping back to reality, his eyelids fluttered, eyes opening wide as he spotted you gently tapping your knuckles against the window. 

He turned the car off, pulling the keys out of the ignition and stuffing them into his pocket as he hopped out of the driver’s seat. Your warm, friendly smile was enough to make him weak in the knees and he could barely keep himself together when he saw you standing there in that sweet, pretty little sundress you were wearing. He just hoped that his light-washed denim jeans didn’t betray him and give away how tight they were getting.

“Thanks for inviting me out,” you smiled as you looked at Bradley, hand raised to gesture at his healing nose, “Looks like you healed up nicely, Bradshaw.” 

“Not having baseballs flying at my face for the last two weeks might have helped. Stayed out of bars too, wasn’t about to risk having another drunken baseball fan taking swings at me.”

“You just didn’t want to lose another bar fight, did you?” you teased, pursing your lips as you looked around at the pier. 

“There’s like four different restaurants here, I figured I’d let you take your pick. Reservations aren’t an issue,” Bradley explained calmly, giving his head a gentle nod as he surveyed the parking lot. 

“Wow, you have that much influence here? Aren’t they used to pro-athletes?”

“That’s not what I meant. I made reservations at all four. Just in case.”

“Wow, never had you pegged as a people pleaser, Bradley. I’m impressed.”

“I’m not,” he replied stubbornly, shaking his head. “I just didn’t want to pick something and find out you were deathly allergic to seafood or something. Killing you with a food allergy didn’t seem like an appropriate way to thank you for helping me the other night.”

“You’re right, unexpectedly poisoning me doesn’t sound like a good thank you. You’re in luck though, no food allergies.”

Bradley let out a sigh and looked around again, looking more vulnerable than ever. He looked uncomfortable, nervous even, and you couldn’t help but feel sorry for him.

“Steak?” You hummed, raising an eyebrow as you tried to break any tension between you. “I could go for steak.”

“Steak works,” he grumbled, nodding his head. He leaned in towards you, his lips just milimeters from your ear as he whispered softly, trying to be as quiet as possible before being spotted. 

“Photographers are over there, they’re gonna want to snap a few photos of us. Are you ok with that? We can either play it up or downplay it. Up to you. I can always walk in ahead of you if you don’t want the attention.”

You felt your breath hitch in your throat as he whispered into your ear, the hairs on the back of your neck standing at full attention. Craning your neck to look above his shoulder, you spotted a white Escalade with a short, weasel of a man sitting in the front seat, camera poised and ready to capture a shot. Your eyes flitted back to Bradley as you nodded your head. 

“Give them a show,” you nodded, granting him permission to play up the dinner, “Maybe it’ll help stop people from watching you for a reaction now that your ex’s upcoming nuptials are plastered over every glossy magazine there is. I can’t even read Cosmo without seeing her—” 

Bradley grumbled something at you, interrupting your ramble. He took you by the hand and nodded his head, looking back over his shoulder towards the camera before his gaze landed on you once again. Before a word was spoken between the two of you, Bradley’s large hand was on the small of your back, pulling your body in against his. Lips pressed together, you felt your body melt back into his hand. 

Although you’d never admit it to his face, you’d thought about kissing Bradley Bradshaw’s lips over and over and over again since you met him two weeks ago. You’d thought a lot about Bradley, more than you’d care to admit. You thought about those large hands of his, picturing his rough, calloused palms cupping at your tits, feeling their weight as he gently squeezed at them. You’d pictured his lips on your skin, soft and slow, pressing hot kisses over every inch of exposed flesh, unable to keep his hands and mouth off of your body. 

Bradley Bradshaw had you tangled up in a crush that rivalled the ones you’d held in high school. And weirdly — you found yourself refusing to give it up. Since that night you dropped him off to get his nose examined, bloodied and battered and vulnerable in the passenger seat of your car - you’d been completely head over heels for him, whether you liked it or not. 

As Bradley’s calloused hand held yours, enveloping it in his large fingers, his expression softened, lips forming into a gentle smile. The two of you walked hand in hand towards the restaurant, with Bradley giving his name to the hostess as he approached. He gave another glance towards the photographer behind him, furiously snapping photographs from the seat of his car, headlines practically writing themselves in his eyes as he watched Bradley closely.

Bradley didn’t want to admit it, but you agreeing to give the press a little show was helping his career more than anything - appearing to be on a genuine date would help quell the rumours about his long-storied sexual escapades since his highly publicized divorce. 

When his marriage crumbled, he went through a series of bad decisions. His temper was already the stuff of legends in the game, with stories about locker room fights and fines for unsportsmanlike conduct, but those rumours proved true when his life began to fall apart around him. He’d been caught, on more than one occasion, with a pretty blonde in a compromising position with him. Dancing in bars, drunken stumbles in hotel lobbies, walks of shame the following morning. He’d earned the nickname Bradley “Hit-It-And-Quit-It” Bradshaw for crying out loud, and while it wasn’t something he was proud of, it sure wasn’t something he chose to dispute either. 

As Bradley tucked your chair in, he leaned down to whisper in your ear once again, his hand resting gently on your shoulder as he spoke. 

“Let me know if this gets uncomfortable for you,” he nodded slowly.

“Mhmm,” you hummed, shivers running up and down your spine. 

Bradley took the seat across from you, smiling politely at the waitress as she took your drink orders. Moments later, his hand wrapped around his beer glass, raising it to his lips as he took a long sip, the frothy head brushing against his mustache as the liquid passed his lips. He watched as you looked out at the pier, eyes gazing at the sunset over the horizon, the sky painted shades of pink and orange. 

“It’s nice view sitting here, isn’t it?” Bradley nodded in agreement as he spoke. “It’s my favourite. I haven’t come in a while though.”

An awkward silence washed over you both. 

The kind of silence that reminded Bradley why he hated dating.

An uncomfortable pause later, Bradley cleared his throat, nodding his head towards you as he forced an uneasy smile. You looked back at him, sensing his discomfort and wanting to smooth the tension as best as you could, you said the only thing that came to mind as a safe topic of discussion.

“Are you ready for the game tomorrow?” 

“Hmm? Yeah, yeah,” he nodded casually, sipping his drink. “I’m excited to be back on the roster. Did you hear the excuse they came up with for how I broke my nose? PR said a bar brawl wasn’t a good look, so they said I did it during practice.” He scoffed, laughing softly. 

“Practice? What’s the story they came up with?”

“Mhmm, said I missed a rogue line drive, caught it with my nose instead of my glove.”

You shook your head and laughed, cocking a manicured eyebrow up at Bradley as he spoke. Another awkward pause hung in the air as you took a sip from your wine glass. Your eyes drifted back to Bradley, sensing his nerves.

“Alright, enough of this,” you laughed, shaking your head, “Why do they call you Rooster?”

Bradley’s eyes went wide as he set his drink glass down on the table. His dark brown eyebrows raised in surprise as he looked at you. A strained laugh escaped his parted lips, his dark brown curls moving as he shook his head. 

“It’s not exactly dinner conversation,” he said simply.

“What—you’re joking,” you retorted with an incredulous laugh. “There’s no way.”

“‘Fraid so. Rooster Bradshaw. It’s not because I’m up early for practice every day.”

“It’s because you’ve got a big—”

“Not at dinner,” Bradley warned, shaking his head.

“So, the whole, you know,” you frowned slightly as you thought over how to word your inquiry, your voice dropping down to a whisper, “Bradley-hit-it-and-quit-it-Bradshaw thing, that’s connected to it?”

“Unfortunately,” Bradley grumbled, shaking his head, “It’s not something I’m proud of.”

Another awkward moment passed, the clinging of silverware against a dish was the only sound emitted from the two of you as you sat there. Between bites of steak and sips of wine, the odd question would slip out, basic small talk that no one enjoyed on dates, facts about the two of you that weren’t important to anyone. You had to remind yourself at several points that this was never a date - it was never intended to be. It was a thank-you. A half-hearted gesture of kindness from Bradley in exchange for you not running to the papers about his bar-room brawl and his broken nose. A gesture of thanks for not fuelling the already tainted reputation he had for himself. 

Between the breakdown of Bradley’s marriage, his subesquent outbursts that he was prone to devolve into at any time on and off the field, the heated locker room exchanges that got him traded between teams, and the now infamous, and probably over-dramatized accounts of his sexual conquests, his life was falling apart around him. You keeping his broken nose a secret was the first kind-hearted gesture anyone had made towards him in he didn’t know how long. 

All Bradley knew was, despite the clumsy awkwardness, the silences and pauses, the uncomfortable pressure he was putting on himself despite reminding himself it wasn’t a date. Bradley was left wondering. 

Maybe he wished it was. 

#bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw au #bradley bradshaw x y/n #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw au #bradley rooster bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x y/n #rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw au #rooster bradshaw x you #rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster bradshaw x y/n #top gun maverick au fic #baseball au

[whohasthecards]

Hangster AU -- Firefighter Bradley & Best Buy Employee/Aviator Jake

AU where Bradley is a firefighter and Jake is still an aviator. Jake is on a long leave, probably because of the mission, and he takes another job to pass the time. He works at Best Buy.

Bradley comes to Best Buy to buy something, he's still in uniform, so Jake knows where he works at. And they snark at one another, but Jake manages to throw the box of what Bradley needs at him, smirking all the time.

---

"Can we stop debating the merits of 10 different wires and connectors and just give me the box, please," Bradley said exasperated as he held a hand out for the box this Ken doll was holding.

"Sure, here, catch," Jake said shrugging throwing the box lightly at him. "No need to get as red as your fire truck."

Bradley groans, rolls his eyes, and walks away. He was never wearing his fire department shirt in public ever again.

---

Bradley put his keys on in his bronco. And turn it. Engine sputtering.

"Oh come on," Bradley muttered, moustache twitching.

He stepped down again on the brake and clutch, twisting the key. Nada. Bradley groaned and hit his head on the steering wheel wondering who the fuck to call.

He jumped when he heard a knock at the window, seeing Ken doll, looking sympathetic.

He opened the door.

"Need a jump?" Ken-doll asked.

Bradley, sighed, "Yes please."

"Give me a sec to bring my car over."

"Thank you." ---

"Man, you've been having issues with the lights and radio, too? But you just replaced the bulbs, right?"

Bradley deeply sighed and rubbed the space between his eyes, "Yeah."

"That's fucked up, man, good luck, better bring it to the shop for the wiring."

"No comment on the wires on this one?"

"Car wiring is a whole another thing I ain't gonna touch, too much of a headache for me," Ken-doll said, flicking the toothpick in his mouth to the side.

"How do you know so much about wires, anyways? You work with it a lot at Best Buy?" Bradley said going back inside his truck to try to start it.

"Nah, not really, I studied engineering, and my other job. You pick some stuff up along the way."

"You studied engineering and you work at Best Buy!?" Bradley said fingers slipping from the ignition.

"Anything wrong with that?" Ken-doll said, raising a brow.

"No, I mean-- Oh look the car's starting," Bradley said flustered. "Thank you, man, I'm Bradley Bradshaw by the way, incase you need anything, I'm by the fire station." Bradley said holding out his hand.

"It's Jake, and if you need anything from electronic goods to repair, come to Best Buy for a wonderful service," Jake said shaking his hand and winking.

"Should add auto-repair to that slogan."

---

A series of events caused them to meet again. And they hit it off, go one dates and all that.

Jake likes listening to Bradley's stories about his job, and Jake tells him about some crazy customers he had to deal with.

Bradley never asked about Jake's previous job/other job, and Jake,,, forgot.

---

One day, Bradley's station gets a call for a jet having to do an emergency crash landing. And they have to make sure that the area is clear and be prepared for anything that might happen. If the pilot gets stuck or something gets lit on fire.

And they're listening in on the radio with the pilot and pilot's instructor telling him what to do. Calm, steady, smooth, and knowledgeable.

Familiar.

They arrive on scene, get the pilot out, and the instructor comes eventually in a rush.

"Is my pilot, okay?" A familiar voice asked.

"Yeah, we're getting him checked out at the hospital, nothing severe."

He hears the man sigh, "Good."

The man turns the corner, and his eyes flickered to Bradley for a moment, before focusing back on the fire captain.

"I'm Lieutenant Commander Seresin, thank you for helping during this incident."

---

"You work in the Navy!?"

"Yeaahhh--"

"You didn't tell me!?"

"I forgot!"

A pause.

"Also does the team know we're dating?"

"The station? No, why?"

"Wanna mess with them?"

"I'm listening."

#fanfic #top gun maverick #top gun #top gun fandom #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin #bradley rooster bradshaw #hangster #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin x bradley bradshaw #word vomited this stuff #hope it makes sense

[tip-top-cloud-surfer]

Stay Away from the Altar - Hangman

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin / Wife!Reader; Seresin Daughter!OC (Rose) / Bradshaw Son!OC (Nick)

Word Count: 4.4k

This work, all my works, and my entire blog are 18+ Only.

Warnings: (Over)protective Dad!Hangman; Angst; Fighting; Rebellious Teenagers; Tense Father-Daughter Relationship; Teenagers Dating; Crying; References to Threats; References to Previous or Hypothetical Pregnancy Scares

Summary: Jake isn't ready to accept that his daughter is growing up. And he's definitely not ready to accept that his daughter seems to have fallen for Rooster's spawn.

A.N. You could read this as a sequel to my Left at the Altar series, since I used the name that I gave Hangman and Reader's daughter in that fic for this fic. But it's not 1000% necessary to read the series to understand this story.

And I meant to post this as part of Father’s Day, but let’s just ignore the fact that it’s a day late.

Master List

Admiral Jake “Hangman” Seresin was a very accomplished man. He was the youngest man to reach the admiralty since Tom “Iceman” Kazansky and was currently the Air Boss of NAS Miramar. He had his beautiful wife and absolute love of his life still by his side with their twenty-year marriage anniversary just around the corner. And three beautiful children to brag about to the world.

Everything was going near perfectly in Jake Seresin’s life. And then his eldest daughter Rose suddenly snapped from his little princess and into a defiant teenager about to flee to a college on the other side of the country. And sure, Rose had mentioned going across the country for college before, but Jake was more than a little suspicious.

Why, you may ask? Because Washington DC was awfully close to Annapolis, Maryland. The Naval Academy. The Naval Academy that one little fucker was attending next year.

Nicholas Peter Bradshaw.

Rooster’s spawn was messing with Rose’s head and Jake was not going to stand for it.

Jake didn’t always have suspicions about Nick. He was a decently good kid. For Rooster’s kid, anyways. He was somewhat smart—not as smart as Rose, but he wasn’t dumb as rocks—and he didn’t cause too much trouble. And because of the handful of months between Nick and Rose, they were practically raised side-by-side, which was great until they hit their teenage years.

Because then Nick started to linger.

Spending so much time around Rose. Going to all of her games and all of her events, even if he had his own to worry about. Coming over to ‘study’ and to do ‘homework’ together frequently. Offering to give Rose and her siblings rides to school events or the beach. Always offering to help her and Jake’s wife too with anything to try and impress them.

Yeah, Jake had seen that game played before. He had played it himself back in the day. Successfully. Very successfully. He had the wedding ring, three full wedding albums, three kids, and nineteen and a half years of marriage to prove it. He knew all of the steps and all of the tricks to successfully convince a woman outside of his league to fall in love with him.

And, so, when Nick offered to take Rose for a ‘scenic’ drive in the Bronco, Jake put his foot down.

“What do you mean I can’t go?” Rose complained, glaring up at her dad. “It’s summer!”

“Exactly, so why don’t you go spend some time with your siblings? Or your other friends? Before you go all the way to the East Coast!”

“My other friends that just happen to be girls?” Rose emphasized, a scowl twinging at her lips.

“Yes,” Jake replied, causing Rose’s scowl to deepen.

“Why are you being so weird? Nick has driven me around all over the place!”

“You’re not going for a ride in that stupid bucket of bolts with him, Rose. And that’s final.”

“What is going on now?” Jake’s wife called tiredly, walking into the room.

“Dad won’t let me go for a drive with Nick,” Rose quickly explained, walking over to her mom.

“In the Bronco,” Jake emphasized, causing his wife to sigh.

Rubbing her face tiredly, Jake’s wife picked her head up and glanced between her eldest daughter and her husband. She knew exactly what Jake was concerned about, particularly with his emphasis on the Bronco. Taking a moment to come to a decision, Jake’s wife turned to Rose.

“You can go out with Nick in the Bronco, but be back by dark, okay?”

“But—” Jake started to protest.

“—Thanks, Mom!”

Rose hurried up to her room to change and to probably text Nick to come and pick her up while Jake stared at his wife with clear betrayal. In response, his wife shot him a knowing look and folded her arms over her chest.

“Jake, you’re overreacting,” his wife stated, causing Jake to gape at her.

“Do you want our daughter running around in the Bronco?” Jake hissed quietly, walking over to his wife. “Do you know what could happen to her there?”

“I’m sure that they’ll wear their seatbelts, Jake.”

“Babe, do you remember what we did when I took you for a ride in my truck? A nice slow ride on a summer night?” Jake asked, causing his wife to sigh again.

“Jake, they’re just friends.”

“That’s what we told your parents. Six months later, we were going at it like rabbits naked as the days we were born in the back of my pickup truck!”

“Jacob! For the love of—”

“—Why can’t you see that we’re losing her?” Jake interjected, causing his wife to pause for a moment.

The annoyed expression on her face dropped and she instead simply stared at her husband with a softer expression. Taking a step towards her husband. Rubbing his arm supportively, Jake’s wife reached out and grabbed his hand to give it a squeeze.

“We’re not losing her, Jake.”

“We are losing her,” Jake insisted, his voice coming out small. “She’s moving so far away in only a couple of months and she’ll barely have time to come home. She’s spent most of the last two years barely home between all of her activities and her friends. And I’m so proud of her, but she’s . . .”

“Growing up?” Jake’s wife suggested with a small smile. “Jake, she’s eighteen now. She’s not a little baby anymore.” Cupping Jake’s cheek with her hand, Jake’s wife offered him a small supportive smile. "She’s growing into her own person. And she’s your daughter so she’s stubborn as hell and won’t listen to anyone else while she does it. Least of all us.”

“But she’s going so far.”

“You’re in DC every other month,” Jake’s wife pointed out, rubbing his back. “And she has a phone. She’ll call us. She’s not leaving and never comin back, Jake.”

“She might if he gets involved,” Jake muttered under his breath, causing Jake’s wife to shoot him a look.

“Jake, they’re just friends. And even if they’re not, he’s a perfectly nice boy.”

“But, a Bradshaw? Really? She can do better than that.”

“I’m sure that Rooster would say the same if the situation was reversed,” Jake’s wife replied, shaking her head lightly. “But do not push Rose away by trying to come between her and Nick. The more that you make it seem like she’s rebelling, the more that she’s going to want to do it.”

“But I know exactly what the little twerp has planned!” Jake insisted, causing his wife to sigh.

“First of all, that little twerp is now taller than you. Second of all, Rose is a smart girl with a good head on her shoulders. She can take care of herself. Especially after all of those years of self-defense classes that you put her in.”

“She could kick his ass in three seconds,” Jake agreed, causing his wife to laugh.

“So, stop worrying about him. Just focus on spending time with your daughter, Jake. Okay?”

Pressing a soft kiss to Jake’s lips, she gave his hand a squeeze before walking off to continue on with her day. Jake stood there for a moment, thinking over his wife’s words, before the doorbell rang. Hearing Rose upstairs start to hurry, Jake quickly made his way to the door.

Nicholas Peter Bradshaw seemed a little surprised to see Jake standing at the door and subconsciously straightened up a bit more. Jake’s wife wasn’t lying—Nick was taller than Jake by a few inches, but he was like a little puppy in Jake’s eyes. And not just because Nick always wore a stupid lovesick smile on his face whenever Rose was around.  

“Hey, Uncle Hangman,” Nick greeted him politely, nodding to him.

“You should get in the habit of calling me Admiral Seresin, Cadet,” Jake replied calmly, causing Nick to subtly wince a bit.

“Yes, sir.”

Jake nodded curtly as Rose hurried down the stairs, dressed for the San Diego heat. Letting out a light growl, Rose darted around her dad, grabbed Nick by the arm, and started pulling him towards the Bronco that was parked in the driveway.

“Goodbye!” Rose called over her shoulder.

“Be careful!” Jake called after them. “And think before you do anything!”

“Goodbye!” Rose emphasized back at her dad.

~~~~~

After the Bronco ride, Jake was still on alert when it came to Nick Bradshaw. His wife told him to calm down each and every time, warning him that he was going to give Rose a ‘complex’ if he kept trying to police her life like that, but Jake could just feel it in his bones that he should not trust Nick Bradshaw around his eldest daughter.

And because his instincts were second to none, he was proven right.

Jake was just starting to drift off to sleep with his wife happily tucked into his side. It was a warm night in Miramar and the air conditioner was running full blast. The white noise helped to lull his wife to sleep but Jake had always been a light sleeper, so it took more for him to fall asleep. Jake rested his head on top of his wife’s when he swore that he heard a noise from outside.

Jake picked his head up with his eyes cracked open, suspicious. He was always on alert. His wife often told him that he took the role of protecter a bit too seriously, but Jake couldn’t give in even a little bit with that. For his own conscience.

Getting up from bed, careful to not wake his wife, Jake padded down the hall. Passing by his younger children’s rooms, Jake kept his ear tuned to try and hear the sound. He peeked out the window, trying to spot any sort of indication about what could have made the noise. Like the neighbor’s stupid dog. And when he heard the subtle squeak again, Jake’s eyes narrowed.

~~~~~

Rose Seresin, meanwhile, was trying to open her window. She tried greasing the sides of it during the day, but it still made that stupid squeak occasionally. Holding her breath and hoping that her dad, who she knew was a light sleeper, didn’t hear her, Rose opened the window and looked down to see Nick waiting for her below.

He smiled up at her and waved, causing Rose’s heart to flutter in her chest. It wasn’t exactly planned for her to fall in love with her childhood best friend. But, as her mom told her, sometimes the heart just wants what it wants. And hers wanted Nick Peter Bradshaw.

Blowing him a quick kiss, Rose grinned and slid one leg out of her window. Planting her sneaker clad foot on the roof, Rose carefully slipped out of her window and lowered it a bit more, just in case her parents check in on her during the next few hours. Climbing down the side, Rose prepared to kick off and drop onto the soft mulch below when a chill went down her spine.

“Rose Leslie Seresin, what do you think you’re doing?”

Startled, Rose’s grip on the ledge slipped and she fell a bit. And Nick, also startled and close to shitting his pants, tried to catch her, but he ended up just acting as padding for Rose’s fall. Jake, still dressed in his pajamas, hurried over to help his daughter.

“Are you alright?” Jake called, pulling Rose to her feet and leaving Nick on the ground. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” Rose sighed, brushing dirt off of her.

“Then why were you jumping out of your window?” Jake hissed, pointing up at the window to her bedroom. “In the middle of the night?”

Rose, who, all thing’s considered, was a bit of a golden child, froze in place, not really sure what to say. The evidence was right there, after all. And nothing that she could come up with would somehow make all of that go away.

“That’s what I thought,” Jake practically growled, before turning to look down at Nick. “What are you doing here, Cadet?”

“His name is Nick,” Rose stated, coming to Nick’s defense.

“And your ass is grounded,” Jake snapped back, causing Rose to shrink into herself. “I cannot believe that you would be so irresponsible, Rose! Running around with him in the middle of the night! Climbing out of your window! What the hell do you think that you were doing!?”

“Why the hell are you . . .” Jake’s wife called, stepping outside, before she spotted the situation at hand. Sighing, she took a deep breath before walking down to the scene. “Come inside. You’re going to wake up the neighbors.”

Once they were all inside, Jake’s wife told him to take a breath and to go and call Rooster to pick his son up. Rose sat on the couch, curled up on herself, looking like she wanted to burst into tears. Nick sat on the opposite side of the room, staring over at Rose, but unable to reach out to comfort her because then Jake might really bite his head off.

“Your parents will be here in ten minutes,” Jake grunted to Nick, who winced, before turning to Rose. “Do you have any explanation for this, young lady?”

“Jake,” Jake’s wife called to him softly, not wanting to see her daughter burst out into tears. “Give her a second to collect herself.”

Though he already had about a two-hour scold on the tip of his tongue, Jake bit it back. Mostly because he didn’t want to see his daughter burst out into tears either, even if he was livid about what he just saw outside.

He knew that he shouldn’t have trusted Nick Bradshaw.

Rooster and his wife showed up promptly, looking a bit concerned and harried. Rooster’s wife was completely embarrassed and practically grabbed Nick by the ear to drag him out of the Seresin household. With a quick apology to Jake and his wife, Rooster’s wife pulled her son outside and to the family car, leaving Rooster to drive the Bronco home.

But Rooster just had a few words to share with Hangman before he took his own leave.

“Go easy on her,” Rooster stated, causing Jake to scowl at him.

“As if I’ll take any sort of parenting advice from you, Rooster, after what your son just did.”

“Right, because you were a saint when you were a teenager. Never sneaking out or sneaking your now wife out in the middle of the night, right?” Rooster asked dryly, causing Hangman to narrow his eyes. “They’re eighteen, but they’re still kids. They make mistakes and they deserve a chance to learn from them. Don’t let your own fears fuck with her head. Cause it’ll take decades to undo that.”

Jake simply clenched his jaw in response, so Rooster saw himself out. Glaring down at the floor for a moment, Jake turned to see Rose burst off the couch and run upstairs to her room again. Jake’s wife walked behind her, trying to calm her down, but Rose kept going until she reached her room. Jake’s wife shot him a concerned look before hurrying up the stairs after her.

Jake stood where he was, hearing his wife lightly knock on the door and walk into Rose’s bedroom. Jake walked upstairs slowly after a few moments and quietly padded down the hall to Rose’s room. But he could hear his daughter crying before he even reached her door.

“Honey, it’s going to be alright,” Jake’s wife told her daughter, trying to comfort Rose.

“No, it’s not! Nick’s never going to want to see me again after this!”

“Rose, he probably wants to see your right now,” Jake’s wife assured Rose, probably squeezing her into her side.

“And Dad probably hates me!” Rose cried, causing Jake’s heart to shatter in his chest.

“Your father will never hate you, Rose,” Jake’s wife stated firmly, not giving her daughter a moment to doubt herself. “He’s just upset.”

“You didn’t see him, Mom. He hates me! And Nick’s probably going to break up with me now and . . .” Rose trailed off with just a couple of cries and gasps for air.

Lowering his head, Jake walked away from the door and back to his own bedroom.

~~~~~

A week had passed and Rose was completely avoiding Jake. If he walked into the room, she quickly left it or didn’t make eye contact. She spent most of the day up in her room, serving out the grounding that Jake and his wife agreed upon for sneaking out through her window. He wasn’t sure if she was in contact with Nick at all, but either way, he felt like he couldn’t ask.

And with only two weeks left until Rose headed out to the East Coast for college, Jake knew that he had to try make sure that his relationship with his daughter was salvaged before she left and probably never looked or came back.

Walking upstairs, Jake headed down the hall and knocked on the door to Rose’s room. She opened it a few moments later and her features instantly sunk a bit when she noticed it was him standing there. Lowering her head, Rose hid a bit more behind the door.

“What is it?”

“Let’s go for a drive.”

“Dad, I just—”

“—Please?” Jake interjected, causing Rose to glance up at him.

Ten minutes later, they were driving down the road, just the two of them, in Jake’s truck that they used for their beach days and family road trips. Rose was silent in the passenger seat, her gaze focused out the window and her entire body curled away from him. But Jake remained patient and focused on the road in front of him.

Pulling into the old diner that he used to take all of his kids to when they were small and his wife was either working or taking some ‘me’ time, Jake glanced over to catch Rose’s reaction. She frowned a bit and turned to look at him for the first time during their drive.

“Why are we here?”

“Well, it’s lunch time, isn’t it?”

They got out of the truck, with Rose being a bit reluctant, and headed inside the diner. They were quickly seated in a booth and Rose used the menu to put a barrier between her and her dad. Jake remained patient and smiled at the older waitress as she walked over to take their orders. Jake and Rose gave their orders before being left on their own.

“Did you get everything that you need before you go?” Jake asked Rose softly, who shrugged her shoulders in response.

“Most of it. We’ll just pick it up when we get there. That’s what Mom said to do.”

“Are you packed then?”

“Somewhat,” Rose replied, keeping her voice quiet.

“Are you excited?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Jake folded his arms underneath him and let out a sigh when Rose kept her responses short and her gaze lowered and away from his own. She fiddled with the paper wrap holding the utensils together, doing anything to fill the time and avoid having to talk to him.

“Rosie? Can you look at me?”

Rose glanced up at her dad, sinking a bit in her seat. Jake straightened up a bit, his expression serious and concerned, but his voice remained low and calm.

“I don’t hate you, Rosie. I could never hate you. You’re my daughter. My baby girl. And no matter what you do, I’ll never hate you, okay?”

“I know,” she replied quietly.

“Why didn’t you tell me and your mom about Nick?” Jake asked softly and not accusatorily.

“Because I knew that you would freak out,” Rose explained quietly. “And I really like him, so I didn’t want to scare him away or mess anything up between our families.”

“And he treats you well? Makes you happy?”

“Yeah,” Rose stated, nodding confidently. “He does.”

“Did he ever make you feel uncomfortable? Or pressure you into doing something that you didn’t want to do but he did?”

“No. The whole window situation was my idea,” Rose replied, causing Jake to sigh.

“About that—”

“—Dad, I don’t want to talk about it,” Rose interjected, lowering her head again.

“Rosie,” Jake began, though she kept her gaze away from him, “I know that you really like Nick. But I don’t want you to . . . build your life around him. You’re only eighteen. You have your whole life in front of you. Both of you do.”

“I know. I’m not saying that we’re getting married,” Rose insisted, picking her head up a bit defensively.

“And that makes me very happy to hear,” Jake replied, causing Rose to sigh. “But I just don’t want you to get into a situation that you’ll regret down the line. I did a lot of stupid stuff when I was your age and I was lucky that in the end everything worked its way out.”

“I know. Grandma told me,” Rose stated, causing Jake to wince.

“All of it?”

“Just the bit about Grandpa threatening to shoot you when they thought you knocked up Mom,” Rose explained, reaching for her drink.

“Yeah, I remember that conversation,” Jake sighed, rubbing his face. “And I don’t want you to ever be put in that position, Rosie.”

“Dad, I’m not stupid.”

“Are you calling your mom and I stupid then?” Jake countered, causing Rose to press her lips together.

“I’m not going to answer because I don’t want to be grounded again.”

“Good choice,” Jake stated, sitting up a bit straighter. “The point is, I remember what it was like to be a teenager and everything that goes along with it. And I made a lot of mistakes with your mom back then and even later and I wanted to protect you from all of that. But,” Jake emphasized, causing Rose to raise an eyebrow, “you’re going off to college soon and I need to accept that you’re growing up.”

“I’ve been growing up for a while, Dad,” Rose replied softly, shifting in her seat.

“I know, but I was in denial because it’s scary how fast you grew up. And you’ve accomplished more than I ever thought possible,” Jake continued, causing Rose to nod slowly. “Hell, you’re ten times better off than I was at your age and you get most of it from your mom, that’s for sure, and I’m so proud of you and I know that you’ll do even better at college and . . .”

Jake trailed off for a moment, taken back to a different day, about fourteen years ago, when Rose sat across from him at a booth in this dinner. She was missing about three teeth in her smile and her hair was pulled back away from her face. And she had a ketchup stain in her dress afterwards that his wife was not happy about, but made Rose giggle when he was getting scolded about it.

“Dad?” Rose called, bringing Jake back to the present.

Blinking a bit rapidly, Jake stared over at his daughter, who seemingly grew into a young woman overnight. She wasn’t a baby anymore. She didn’t need him or her mom like she needed them before. And she was ready to spread her wings and fly high, like they always knew she could.

“I don’t love the idea of you dating . . . but if Nick treats you right . . .”

“He does.”

“And he makes you happy . . .” Jake continued.

“He does,” Rose repeated, nodding curtly.

“Then you don’t have to hide your relationship from us anymore.” Rose noticeably perked up, but Jake was quick to add his paternal disclaimer. “But that doesn’t mean you two get to just do whatever you want. No excessive PDA and don’t ever think about climbing out of your window like that again. You’ll break your neck and then I’ll break him for not catching you.”

“Dad.”

“And if he gets you into any of the situations that your grandmother described to you about me and your mom back in the day—”

“—We won’t!”

“But if you do, I’m still an admiral. And if Nick wants to stay in the Navy, he better understand that I’m not afraid to call in some favors to serve him the consequences of his actions.”

“You mean Uncle Coyote?”

“I’ll call in a lot of favors,” Jake vowed, tapping his finger on the table threateningly, though Rose cracked a small smile in return.

~~~~~

The old Dagger Squad members who lived out and around southern California gathered during the last few days of summer to wish Nick and Rose good luck before they both headed out to the East Coast to start the next chapters of their young lives. Separate chapters or at the very least adjacent chapters in Jake’s mind.

Jake glanced over at where Rose and Nick were playing cornhole with a couple of the other Dagger kids when he felt arms wrap around his waist. His wife pressed a kiss to his back, between his shoulder blades, and rested her head against him.

“You made it right?”

“Mostly,” Jake replied, causing his wife to smile.

“I knew that you could,” Jake’s wife returned, walking around to his front.

“I still don’t like it. Or him,” Jake insisted as his wife cupped his cheek.

“But?” Jake’s wife suggested, rubbing his cheek with her thumb.

Jake sighed, turning away from his wife for a moment, before reluctantly turning back to face her. She arched her brow, like she knew exactly what he was going to say in response.

“But he makes her . . . somewhat happy.”

“I’m surprised that you survived that sentence,” Jake’s wife replied, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his lips that Jake returned happily.

“Barely.”

Wrapping an arm around his wife, like they were the teenagers, Jake glanced over at cornhole to see Nick with his arm wrapped around Rose’s waist.

“Don’t get too comfortable over there, Cadet!”

“Dad!”

“Jake!”

#tgm #tgm fanfiction #top gun #top gun: maverick #top gun maverick #top gun fanfiction #jake hangman seresin #hangman x reader #hangman fic #hangman fanfiction #hangman angst #jake seresin #top gun hangman #top gun maverick hangman #hangman x wife!reader #jake hangman x reader #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin fic #hangman seresin #hangman top gun #bradley rooster bradshaw

[vivwritesfics]

I'm back with something fluffy :)

Hayloft cuddles after a long day with Rooster

or

Sending the night in the barn in the hayloft by the window thingy some barns have, looking at the stars

Have a good day:D

-🐎

Nonnie ily so much -- cowgirl cowboy shit is my favourite

Bradley was running late. Like the gentleman he was, he let her know that he was running late.

She wasn't mad. No, Bradley running late meant that she could take care of a few things. She mucked out the horses in the barn, gave them fresh hay, food and water. She threw some hay into the field with her two new, feral mustangs and set up the hayloft.

Normally, Bradley was taking her out to dinner or something nice like that. Even if he loved being on the ranch, he still made sure to take her out, to give her a reason to get dressed up.

But this date was her idea. And Bradley was only more than happy to go along with it.

While she waited, she set up the hayloft. It was almost empty, with less than half of the bales of hay she usually had (she was expecting a delivery in a few days anyway). She swept hay away from where they would be laying and set up the pillows and blankets. She placed her laptop on top of the box full of extra feed supplements and turned her attention to the window.

From the window she watched as the Bronco came down her driveway. The windows were open and she could hear him singing along to his music.

He parked the Bronco, climbed out, and looked up at the hayloft window. "Hi, pretty girl!" He called and pulled his sunglasses from his face.

"Come on up!" She called.

Bradley did just that. He pulled the barn doors shut behind him and climbed up the ladder, joining her in the hayloft.

He scooped her up and kissed her. "I missed you," he said as he put her back down.

"Missed you too, Roos," she said and pulled him into the floor with her.

They watched a movie on her laptop until the sun started to set. When it did, she pulled Bradley out of the barn and into her little farm house for dinner.

As much as Bradley wanted to ask her to move in with him, he'd never ask her to give up all of this. It had been her dream for years, even before they had met.

They got back to the hayloft in time to see the stars appear through the hayloft window. She leaned against Bradley's firm chest, his arm wrapped around her as they pointed out made up constellations. He loved this, even more than he loved taking her to fancy restaurants.

He kissed the top of her head as she pointed up at a cluster of stars. "Roos, it's in the same shape as your moustache," she said and giggled.

Bradley tickled her sides and kissed her again.

#bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x reader smut #bradley bradshaw fluff #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw imagine #rooster x reader #rooster #rooster imagine #rooster x you #bradley bradshaw x you #top gun #top gun maverick #top gun: maverick

[waklman]

Glue Song (Pt. 2)

summary: you meet rooster and jake doesn’t know how to feel about it.

pairing: jake seresin x female reader

warnings: brief mention of death

a/n: more pining, friends to lovers, fluff x angst, rooster x hangman moment (?). part 3 comes next..!

word count: 2.2k

previous part | next part

Jake doesn’t know what gets on his nerves more. 

The fact that Javy insisted to go help you grab more cookies from the kitchen, leaving him to brood in his seat alone or the fact that he’s been painfully watching Rooster struggle to squeeze his Bronco between your mini cooper and Jake’s very own Ford truck. 

After a heated argument on which pilot should lend you a hand, Javy won on the basis that Jake should be the one to greet Rooster when he arrives. And so, Javy is able to escape the wrath of his seething friend with the most shiteating grin on his face as he got to follow you out back. 

Replaying the scene back in his mind leaves Jake annoyed beyond belief, and now that he’s witnessing Rooster back out of the parking spot for the fifth time this evening, he feels his anger flare up even more. 

Jake leans back in his seat, throwing his arms across his chest and watches his guest finally stroll through the front doors as if he’s not running late with another variation of his Hawaiin button up slung over his thick shoulders. 

Rooster doesn’t know what to say as he carefully steps inside, spotting Hangman sitting by himself. He keeps a neutral expression on but doesn’t know what to make of his view. Hangman is waiting for him by a table of love-themed baked goods. He can't help but to imagine how Natasha would kick him in the balls laughing once he tells her what he’s currently seeing. 

Rooster takes in Hangman’s appearance as he gets closer, bewildered that his hair is styled nicely, instead of being slicked back by five pounds of gel. And he can’t recall a time where he’s seen Hangman dressed so casually before. For the first time ever, he acknowledges that Jake looks pretty good. 

As he takes his last step over towards the table, Rooster hesitantly speaks.

“Look man. I don’t know if you misunderstood what Mav said but—”

“Sit.” Jake asks through clenched teeth, peeved that Rooster would even assume he’d have any kind of romantic interest in him.

Though slightly horrified at the situation, Rooster obliges anyway—taking a seat, awkwardly adjusting himself in the tiny chair.

The sight was laughable. The two grown men were basically swallowing the small seats they sat in with an array of goodies displayed between them. 

Jake looks across the table, his eyes silently trailing up and down Rooster’s body. 

Rooster can’t tell if he’s trying to size him up or he’s simply curious about how many Hawaiian printed shirts he owns. 

Both men clear their throats and flinch at their synced mannerism. 

Before they get a chance to fester in an awkward silence together, Jake feels his phone ring repeatedly in his front pocket.

Jake immediately recognizes the unique text-tone he specifically set for your contact. 

Rooster curiously watches Hangman, the man across from him practically shoves half his arm down his pants to grab his phone, a small smile replacing his previously annoyed expression. 

Angel 

Me and Javy are warming up the cookies now!!

Is that his truck out front???

I'm so excited Jack!! 

We’re coming out soon I promose :)) 

His grin peers back at him in the reflection of his screen as he rereads your typos, you were so happy for him that you didn’t even bother to look over your own spelling. 

“Who’s Jack? :(“ he quickly types out in response, shoving his phone back in his pocket. 

Jake bunglingly shifts in his seat, attempting to find a comfortable position after realizing that Rooster had been watching him check his phone.

“Coyote is joining us in a bit, and my other friend too.” He speaks so fast Rooster would’ve never caught what he said if he wasn’t paying close attention.

“Oh, alright” he responds.

They both synchronously stare down at the food in front of them before making brief eye contact with each other. 

Both men quickly retract their gaze, pretending to look around the shop–unsure if they want to make eye contact with one another again. 

Rooster stares off in the direction of the kitchen and spots Coyote walking out, his head looking back over his shoulder to smile at a girl following closely behind him. 

“Wait, watch where you’re going.” you draw back your smile, a worried look settling on your face as you kick at Javy’s ankle, alerting him to look ahead.

Pulled in by the sound of your voice, Jake quickly averts his eyes in your direction. 

You and Javy are both wearing the new bear paw oven mitts he helped you pick out last weekend as you carry out red velvet cookies together. 

He can’t ignore the way his throat tightens as you two make your way over. 

Jake doesn’t know what’s gotten into him. He blinks to regain his composure, realizing that he spaced out so severely within the last few minutes that he didn't realize that you and Javy had already politely greeted Rooster and you had taken a seat next to him. 

He drops his gaze down to your knee as it bounces nervously, unaware that your leg is slightly rubbing against the side of his jeans. 

His eyes trail up to your face, and follows your line of sight. You’re eagerly staring down at the cookies you just put out with Javy, as the two pilots sitting across from you are engaged in friendly conversation.

“Try her stuff.” Jake speaks up, interrupting the conversation. 

He quickly rams a cookie into his mouth with his right hand, as his left gently grabs your knee, halting you from giving yourself carpet burn from the way you were furiously rubbing against his denim pants. 

Jake feels you look up at him appreciatively from his peripheral as he shovels a chocolate croissant into his already stuffed cheeks next, urging his fellow aviators to join him. 

“Mmm so damn good,” he moans—closing his eyes, appreciating the way the chocolate swirls on his tongue.

“Yeah?’ Your shoulders shake, laughing at his reaction. Despite how many times he’s already tried your baking, Jake has never failed to display his enjoyment every time. 

Rooster and Javy quickly reach for the closest treat as Jake shoots them a spine chilling look while you distracted yourself, trying to find a napkin from the empty table behind you. 

Once you’re fully facing everyone again, you hand Jake his much needed napkin and place a napkin in front of everyone else too. 

Javy thanks you by shooting a thumbs up at you since his mouth is full, and you Bradley shyly grins at your kind gesture. 

Rooster then takes a big bite of one of your red velvet cookies and feels a wave of nostalgia hit him right in the chest. 

“Oh wow. This is amazing,” he compliments you, wide eyed.

It tastes so much like his mother’s cookies that it makes his heart twinge. 

“I don’t remember the last time I had something home-made. This is great,” he admits to the group with a smile.

Javy and Jake stills at his statement, knowing the reason why he hasn’t eaten anything home-made in awhile. The duo learned recently that his mother passed not long ago, and his father died in an accident involving Maverick while he was young.

“If you come around here I can whip up something for you. What do you like, Rooster?” you offer, lips pulled into a small smile.

Jake knows that you mean it too. It wasn’t just to make conversation or to distract from the topic—he can almost envision you keeping yourself past store hours to practice new recipes for Rooster. 

“These cookies are great as is.” he returns your smile, appreciative that you didn’t attempt to pry or send him a look of pity he’s grown accustomed to receiving. 

“How about you come around in the morning with Jake? Maybe it’ll count as bonding time to your boss.” you joke.

Jake feels himself choke on his croissant, Javy pushes a cup of water in his friend’s direction immediately.

Jake fervently nods his head no at your statement after clearing his throat with water. 

“Jacob Daniel Seresin.” you scolded, appalled by his manners. 

Bradley smiles watching the once cocky pilot he knew shrink in his seat like a kicked puppy as you stare him down. 

“Sounds good.” Rooster agrees to watch Jake sulk further. 

“Hey are you guys coming down to the Hard Deck next week? Phoenix convinced Penny to reserve the space for just the navy Friday night” Rooster suddenly brings up, picking up another cookie for himself.

“Oh. Yeah I’ll be there, what about you two?” Javy looks at you and Jake. 

Jake can practically see the wheels in Javy’s head turning and he wants to splash the rest of his water on him to halt his scheming.

You bite down on your tongue, a nervous habit you could never rid yourself from. Jake has never really brung you around his friends, besides Javy and now Rooster. He knows you run on the introverted side, you’re comfortable meeting others in small intimate settings like this. But a bar–the Hard Deck? Full of boisterous members of the navy running on a couple beers? Jake even grows nervous for you.

“What do you say Hangman? We can have her as our plus one.” Javy offers, slightly provoking Jake.

He looks over at you, trying to decipher your expression but it's unreadable.

“If that's okay with you guys?” you combat his nervous stare with a smile, reaching down to play with his fingers that were currently splayed on your knee. 

Jake relaxes a bit, feeling your fingers twist at his graduation ring–but the anxiety still sits at the back of his throat like bile.

You don’t want to disappoint Jake and rudely decline the invite. That was probably the last thing you wanted. 

Who knows? Maybe you’ll have fun since Jake and Javy will be there. It’ll be nice to see Jake spend his weekend outside the walls of your apartment for once. You’ve been feeling guilty for keeping him inside so much, although he insisted there wasn't a place he’d rather be.

But you knew deep down, Jake was much more of a social butterfly than you were. He would thrive at a bar filled with people. Your chest warms, knowing that in a room full of others, Jake will always manage to shine and cast his presence onto everyone there like a mirrorball. 

“I’ll take that as a yes” Javy grins as you both stare back at him. 

Within the following days, Jake learns that he has to share his mornings before work with both you and Rooster. 

He tries his best to be civil, making small talk with the two of you but he can’t help but to feel like he was kicked to the curb. His involvement in conversations grows less and less by the day, yet this doesn’t go unnoticed by you. You’ve attempted to pull Jake aside a few times but he insists that he and Rooster are already running late to base–leaving you defeated as you watch him walk past customers and make a beeline for the exit. You know there’s something clearly bothering him and you grow increasingly worried, watching him retract from you like this. 

Unbeknownst to you, Jake has the same worried feeling weighing down on him. 

Everyday, as you speak to Rooster–Jake takes the time to study your face, admiring your features, trying to commit them to memory–worried that one day he won’t get to see your face as often anymore. He feels his heart sink the second he looks over to Rooster and sees that the brunette has the same admiration for you in his eyes. 

The feeling grows worse by the second–and Jake is unsure of what to do with himself.

You even tried to talk about it with him–but for some reason-Jake uses every excuse in the book to avoid the problem. Jake Seresin, a man who thrives off the thrill of confrontation can’t fathom the idea of having a possibly confrontational conversation with you. All because he doesn’t want to hear about what you think about Rooster. He doesn’t want to hear an ounce of praise for the man to leave your lips. He doesn’t want to learn that you grew close with Rooster like how you’ve grown close with him. It’s better if he doesn’t know anything, that would hurt less. 

This morning he finds himself standing next to Rooster, dozing off as the mustached man animatedly speaks to you, his muscled body leaned over the counter you worked behind. The scene in front of him makes him feel so nauseous that he hasn’t even made an attempt to taste his latte, afraid that he won’t be able to stomach it. 

“Jake?” you softly called out to him, pulling him out of his haze. 

He looks up from his coffee and meets your stare from across the counter, he sees you bite down on your tongue–a nervous habit of yours. He feels even more sick. 

“Am I still coming over to your place on Friday to get ready with you?” you look up at him hesitantly, afraid he’ll deny your request.

He feels guilt coat the roof of his mouth. You looked so scared to speak to him.

“Yeah I’ll see you Friday, Angel,” he assures you.

Your heart twists sadly at the term of endearment. 

“And we’ll talk then?” you ask.

“We’ll talk then,” he reiterates.

thank you for reading, and as always-reblogs are greatly appreciated!

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[roosterforme]

You Want Me Anyway | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley wasn't your boyfriend. He didn't owe you anything. But after months of hooking up, you expected more from him than what you were getting. It was time for you to move on. But Bradley has other ideas.

Warnings: Fluff, smut, angst and swearing

Length: 1500 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written for Sensational Smutfest! Check out my masterlist for more!

You and Bradley were by no means official. But you had been hoping you were at least exclusive. For months you had been trying to have the conversation with him, trying to define the relationship, but he just brushed you off. 

And now you knew why. Because tonight at the bar while you were surrounded by your friends, you were forced to watch Bradley flirt with some girl in a mini skirt who boldly bought him a beer and had her hand planted on his chest. He was eating it up, leaving you to silently stew in your anger, because nobody even knew he spent most nights tangled up in bed with you. This girl was laughing hysterically at everything he was saying, and you'd simply had enough. 

It was time you forgot about Rooster Bradshaw. You didn't need to keep letting him string you along with his vague answers and half truths. There was no way you'd let him think you needed his attention exclusively if he was going to spread his around. 

Recently you found that Hangman was good for a few things: the occasional laugh, keeping you on your toes in the air, and tons of flirtation. 

"Hey, Hangman. Teach me how to play darts," you called out to him, and a second later he was guiding you toward the dartboard with his arm draped across your shoulders.

"I thought you'd never ask, Sweetness," he drawled, his lips close to your ear. "You're about to learn from the best."

You couldn't help but laugh at how cocky he was. "Is that so?"

"You thought I was only good in the air? I'm good everywhere. Here, stand like this," he told you, guiding you into place with his hands on your hips. Soon you were throwing darts with his help, nearly hitting the bullseye a few times. "You're a natural," he whispered, letting his hand glide up to rest on your shoulder. "You want a drink?"

"Please," you told him, and when he went to the bar, your eyes caught on Bradley. His cheeks were beet red, and he looked fuming mad.

"What the fuck is that?" he asked when he approached. His voice was low and harsh as he got in your personal space.

You shrugged. "Just hanging out with Jake."

Bradley scoffed. "Okay, well Jake can just keep his hands off you!"

"Why should he?" you asked, keeping your expression completely neutral. 

Bradley's eyes narrowed to slits. "Because you're with me."

You laughed in his face. "Really? I had no idea. You seem to like flirting with other girls more than talking about-" His mouth met yours in a rough kiss. Right in the middle of the Hard Deck. 

"No, you're with me," he growled again, gripping the back of your neck and kissing your lips and your jaw and your ear. "Say good night to Jake. I'm taking you home."

But you didn't say good night to anyone. You just tripped along next to Bradley as he guided you toward the exit. "What's gotten into you?" you asked him once you were outside. 

But he didn't answer you. In fact, he didn't say anything as he picked you up and carried you to his Bronco and drove to his house while you complained the whole way. "This is ridiculous. You can't just suddenly decide that you're in charge of what I do!" 

But you were just met with more silence.

"Bradley," you finally said, caving and talking first once you were in his bedroom. 

He took your chin between his thumb and index finger, tipping your face up to look at him. He kissed your lips softly, brushing his mustache across your skin. "You're mine. Don't flirt with Jake. Don't flirt with anyone. You're with me."

You moaned at his words. "And just what do you think you were doing tonight, Bradley? You don't get to have a different set of rules for yourself."

He kissed you again. "I won't. Not again. Now get in bed, and spread your legs wide."

You watched his brown eyes flash with something exciting as you peeled your clothes off and climbed in his bed. But you quickly learned that what he had in mind wasn't going to be as pleasant as you originally thought. 

At first, his mouth on your pussy felt amazing. His tongue felt possessive, like he was claiming you. But then when you were so close to the edge, he stopped cold and eased away from your body.

"What happened?" you gasped, panting as a sheen of sweat crept along your neck and chest.

"Say my name." His voice was harsh, and you clenched around nothing.

"B-Bradley."

"Louder."

"Bradley! Please, Bradley!"

Then his fingers were inside you and his lips were on your breasts, and you ran your hands up and down his neck. He was being possessive, and you loved it. This is what your body was craving from him. But just when you were close again, he released you. 

"Fuck!" you gasped.

"Say it."

You swallowed hard, head tipped back in frustration as tears filled your eyes. "I'm yours, Bradley!"

Then he was filling you with his dick, and you felt perfect for a few moments as he pinned your hips down and moved so slowly. You could feel everything, each tiny thrust and every twitch of his cock. But he was making sure you knew he was in control, because he never went faster. He worked you up until you were a panting, gasping mess beneath him. Every vein in his neck was on display, and you wanted to cum so badly. Your legs were shaking, back arching off the bed as he stroked your sweet spot with expertise. 

 But as he brought you to the edge again, he seemed to reluctantly pull out. Then he growled, "Don't even think about cumming yet," next to your ear, and you cried out in frustration as he rubbed his tip across your clit. You watched him straddle your thighs as he smirked down at you, and he grabbed his cock while you gasped for air.

You watched him jerk off as you bit your knuckle in frustration, thrusting yourself up against him to try to get some more friction against your clit. Within a minute, Bradley was coating your pussy, belly and chest with his cum. Marking you. Then he dipped his fingers in the mess and held it up to your lips. He fed you his cum while you whined and begged him. "Please?" you gasped, after cleaning his fingers for the fourth time and rubbing yourself against his balls.

He pressed his lips to your ear as he dipped his sticky fingers in your mouth one more time. "You think Jake can take care of you like I can? You think anyone else can?"

You shook your head and mumbled, "No," around his fingers. 

"That's right. Now who's about to make you cum?"

"Bradley!"

Finally he removed his fingers from your mouth and eased them through his cum and down to your pussy. He fucked you with his fingers and teased you with his tongue until you were hiccuping with relief as your orgasm quickly washed over you. 

"That's my good girl," he crooned, running his mustache through your wetness and pressing his nose to your clit while your body shook for him. "So good. Don't forget who you're with now." He kept stimulating you until you had some tears falling from your eyes, but his lips were so gentle now as he worshipped your pussy.

You started to sit up as you whispered his name, and Bradley's eyes were on yours. He kissed you, and you moaned at the taste of yourself on his lips and mustache. He eased you back again, the mess of his drying cum rubbing between your bodies as you held him close.

"What made you change your mind all of a sudden?" you asked as his lips migrated to your jaw. 

"I didn't change my mind all of a sudden. I've wanted to be exclusive for weeks, and start calling you my girlfriend."

Your eyes drifted closed at the word girlfriend uttered in his raspy voice. "Then why were you flirting with that girl? And avoiding my conversations?" you asked, taking his face between your hands.

He looked at you with his big, brown eyes and smiled. "Because I know you're too good for me, but I want you anyway."

You bit your lip and smiled at the ceiling. "I'm way too good for you."

"But you want me anyway," he supplied, making you giggle as he kissed your ear. Then he scooped you up and headed for the bathroom while he asked you to start referring to him as your boyfriend. "I made a mess, and I'll clean it up."  

You weren't sure if he was talking about coating you in his cum or talking about your relationship, but either way, he was going to take care of it.

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

Thanks for reading this blurb that turned into a one-shot.

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[jupitercomet]

Sunflowers

summary - “Where were you?” You ask softly.

“Sunflowers,” Bradley blurts as he sets them down on the kitchen island.

“W-What?”

“Sunflowers,” he repeats, letting out a shaky breath. He’s nervous, his eyes darting between your own and the bouquet.

or

Bradley’s always been good at saying things he doesn’t mean, but he’s even better at saying things that he does.

warnings - age gap relationship (Bradley is 38, reader is 25), mentions of therapy, the little prince makes a return

this blog is 18+, minors please do not interact

word count - 2.6k

I’m officially on spring break!! so I thought I’d post the Make Up™ to celebrate. enjoy! - bugs

part one   i ain’t worried ‘bout it masterlist

You wake up heavy. And you’re not used to waking up heavy. Normally you wake up light, and it takes a couple seconds for the heavy to register—for you to remember why you’re meant to feel heavy at all. But this time you’re a kind of sad that even sleep cannot forget. And so, from the moment your eyes open, you feel tired, and hollow, and heavy.

The bed is empty beside you, sheets cold and only slightly rumpled from your light tugging at the blankets. It’s unclear if Bradley spent the night next to you and the thought breaks your heart a little, but you push it down and pad out of the bedroom. Rubbing a hand against your sleepy eyes, you’re hit with another stab of betrayal when you’re met with an empty living room and kitchen.

Bradley had left.

There’s no note on the fridge, or explanatory text on your phone, and you purse your lips because you really don’t want to cry anymore. Instead, you try to ignore the bitter disappointment, deciding to shower like that will wash away all your heavy. It doesn’t, but you walk through all the steps of it anyway. It’s weird to do all of this alone at Bradley’s house—normally you wouldn’t think twice about it. Now there’s this hyper-awareness that maybe you don’t belong here anymore. Maybe you never did.

You fall into old habits when you finish drying off, reaching for one of Bradley’s shirts before you can stop yourself. You hold the old cotton in your fingers, staring at it thoughtfully. It’s baby blue, the text on it worn with age and the amount of times it’s been through the cycle of Bradley’s washing machine. A few summers before you met, Bradley joined a volleyball league with some of his buddies and each of the teams ended up getting t-shirts made. It was the kind of shirt that spent most of its time hanging in the closet, but you always gravitated towards it anyway.

You know that, right now, you shouldn’t find comfort in it, not after last night. But you do. After a beat, you throw the faded, baby blue shirt over your head.

Bradley’s still not back—part of you wonders if he’s waiting for you to get the hint that he doesn’t want you here anymore—but, despite everything he’s done, you know that’s not Bradley. You swallow down your hurt and decide that breakfast would taste better. It takes making, eating, and putting away your pitiful bowl of oatmeal for Bradley to finally return.

You hear the Bronco pull into the driveway. The sound of the front door as Bradley unlocks it. In your head, you can picture everything he’s doing. Sliding off his shoes, putting his keys in the basket by the door, turning into the open living room. Though you can see all of this so clearly, you don’t face him. Not until he’s right in front of you.

Bradley freezes when you lock eyes, as if surprised to see you in his kitchen. The air is awkward and it makes your heart constrict because you hate that you feel so uncomfortable and unsure around the man you love more than anyone. He has yet to speak, but you notice something yellow poking out from behind his back.

“Where were you?” You ask softly.

“Sunflowers,” Bradley blurts as he sets them down on the kitchen island.

“W-What?”

“Sunflowers,” he repeats, letting out a shaky breath. He’s nervous, his eyes darting between your own and the bouquet. “I, um, I took you to the San Diego Museum of Art once—to see van Gogh—and you told me you didn’t know how to feel about Starry Night because you don’t believe that beauty is worth pain. But these are, um, I mean, van Gogh painted Sunflowers in 1888 and it’s one of the paintings he’s most proud of. And, to him, it represented happiness, which is why the sunflowers are yellow. He also—”

Bradley wets his lips in thought, fiddling with the rubber band holding the bouquet together. He feels like he’s butchering the speech that’s been running through his mind since last night, but he keeps going anyway. “He also painted it during a time when he was really happy and, I think, that’s what it’s meant to be… like, his happiness. But the important thing is that people think it’s beautiful— I think it’s beautiful.”

You’re frozen in the kitchen, akin to a deer in the headlights. You still look like the aftermath of a night spent crying, but you’re bathed in the yellow sunlight filtering in through his kitchen window. And Bradley has never been good at understanding art, nor has he ever claimed to be, but even he knows that if yellow is happiness then it most certainly makes sense that you're covered in it. He takes another breath.

“What I’m trying to say is, I… I don’t want you to be my Starry Night, I want you to be my Sunflowers. And… And I want to be your Sunflowers too. I don’t even know if I’m making sense but—”

Bradley’s train of thought dissolves when you suddenly move around the kitchen island and throw your arms around his neck. Your cheek rests against his chest and you squeeze him tightly, a kind of desperation in your fingers as you hold him. Bradley doesn’t entirely know what’s going on anymore, but he doesn’t waste the opportunity to secure his hands around your waist. He breathes in the scent of your hair, refamiliarizing himself with every part of you he’d been aching for these last couple hours.

“I am so, so sorry,” Bradley whispers, his grip tightening.

Your voice comes out a mumble against his shirt. “I know.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Bradley questions softly, nudging your side gently. “You can yell at me if you want.”

Your eyes well with tears again as you look at the sunflowers. “I don’t want to yell at you, Bradley… Can you just hold me for a little?”

“I can do that, honey,” Bradley nods, beginning to rock you slowly.

It’s quiet for a moment and then in a weak voice you ask, “Did you mean it?”

“No, honey, not at all,” Bradley shakes his head against your hair. “I’m not embarrassed to be with you. I just— Sometimes I’m embarrassed you have to be with someone like me.”

He hears your breath catch, he can feel the movement of your bottom lip tucking under your teeth. “What do you mean?”

“I’m... I’m not the kind of guy smart, mature, put-together girls want, I guess. I’ve never really been in super serious relationships or things like that and especially not with girls who— who know how to be healthy communicators. I don’t think you’d feel the way you do if you were with, like, Bob or something. But… No one expects me to be in a healthy relationship. So they see you, and you’re 25, and you’re dating me—” Bradley cuts himself off, pursing his lips. 

Because he doesn’t want to say it. That sometimes he is embarrassed that, no matter what you act like, people know there isn’t any possible way Bradley Bradshaw could have found someone good for him. That you can’t be all these wonderful things that Bradley knows that you are because he’s too stupid to be attracted to that, so you must be some childish disaster.

Just like Bradley.

“And— And sometimes I get upset because I feel like I need you a lot more than you need me. Like, if you left me right now, you’d be okay and and I’d… I’d probably do something stupid and self destructive,” Bradley swallows. “I know I’m not in a position to ask you for anything, but when you don’t come to me for things you’re feeling, it feels like you see me that way too. Like it’s only a matter of time before you realize how much better you can do than me.” 

You look at him sternly. “Bradley, I can’t— I don’t want to do better than you. You are the healthiest, most serious boyfriend I’ve ever had, and I’ve never had someone who just knows everything I need so well. I do need you, so, so much. I guess... maybe that’s a little scary for me sometimes. But that’s not your fault and, you’re right, I need to get better at being vulnerable with you too.”

You take a breath. Bradley’s still rocking you in the kitchen, looking down at you with his big, brown eyes, and it hits you that this is your Bradley. You’ve always known he was yours and he’s always been yours, but now you know this is your Bradley who loves stronger than anything. And he gets angry, and sad, and reckless just as strongly and sometimes that’s hard. But he loves you more than anyone has ever loved you. He’s your Bradley who stays up researching the life and works of Vincent van Gogh because he’s always loved you like you’re art and he wants you to love like that too.

“Sometimes being around people your age is hard for me because it makes me feel bad about not being in the same place as you. And I want to tell you, but I don’t want to make you feel like you have to give things up for me—I know it probably wouldn’t look like that to you but that’s just what it feels like—so I just try to get over it. And, honestly, I can handle people treating me like a child— Maybe not all the time, sometimes it can be a lot. But I can. What I can’t handle is you doing that. Last night, you didn’t treat me like an equal member of our relationship and I— Bradley, I am younger than you. And that means that sometimes I’m going to act 25. I can’t take it if you use that against me. I need to know that you’ll respect me then too.” You gnaw at your lip, somewhat hesitant to meet Bradley’s eye.

“I will. I do,” Bradley promises. “But I know I need to get better at showing it. I think… I think I’m gonna start seeing someone. A professional, I mean. I don’t like who I am when I’m angry and I think part of the problem is that I want to be able to, like, express my feelings the way you do, but I can’t and it makes me frustrated. I’ll probably need you’re help sometimes, you’re way better at this stuff than me, but I want to, um, I want to be someone that can be there when you feel like this. I want to be someone you’re proud of too.”

You smile softly, “I am proud of you, Teddy.” Gently, you cup his cheek and Bradley melts into your palm.

He turns his head to kiss the inside of your hand. “I love it when you call me that.”

On the kitchen island, the bouquet of sunflowers sits—yellow and happy.

Morning blends to afternoon and the sunlight in Bradley’s kitchen gets muted by soft clouds. The two of you are entangled on Bradley’s couch, shirts and shorts tossed to the hardwood floor beneath you. Bradley insists that it’s because it’s too hot, but you both know that his A/C works just fine and that it’s not the real reason Bradley pulled you onto his bare chest as soon as you stripped to your underwear.

You let out a quiet breath, cheek smushed against Bradley’s pec as you trace patterns on his skin. Bradley’s hand is lazily stroking your back, fingertips gliding across your spine, as the other holds a worn copy of The Little Prince.

Once you learned that Bradley had never read The Little Prince, you went out and bought a copy of it from an old bookstore. While Bradley appreciated the gift, he never read much of anything that wasn’t jet manuals or mission reports, so for a while it sat as mere decoration on his coffee table. People had asked about it a couple times—Natasha pointed it out once at a backyard barbeque he was hosting—and Bradley always shrugged and said it was his favorite book. He’d never read it, but he knew it was his favorite.

Now though, he finds himself reading it, his chest vibrating under you as he reads aloud. And, though he always said it was his favorite, Bradley wasn’t sure how much he’d actually like reading a children’s book, but a small smile lights up his face when he realizes the narrator is a pilot and he thinks that when he’s done with the book he’ll watch the movie like you always wanted to. But, for now, Bradley feels your soft breaths on his bare skin and he reads.

“—His face turns from white to red as he continued:

‘If someone loves a flower, of which just one single blossom grows in all the millions and millions of stars, it is enough to make him happy just to look at the stars. He can say to himself, ‘Somewhere, my flower is there…’ But if the sheep eats the flower, in one moment all his stars will be darkened… And you think that is not important!—”

Bradley closes his mouth suddenly, looking down at the top of your head. His fingers no longer ghost your skin, but are more firmly pressed against it because what he really needs is to feel you. Feel the rise and fall of your breaths, your warmth. How soft, and strong, and fragile you are. Because sometimes Bradley has to remind himself. Because sometimes Bradley forgets.

“Why’d you stop reading?” You ask quietly.

“I was thinking.”

You watch as Bradley sets The Little Prince back on the coffee table. “What were you thinking about?”

“Stars and flowers,” he pauses. “And you.”

He feels your smile grow across his skin. “I was thinking about that too,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to Bradley’s chest. He doesn’t say anything more, and neither do you, for several minutes until you speak suddenly. “Will you read again? I like when you do the voices.”

“‘Course I will. Just gonna look at you a little longer first.”

You cover your face with a groan. “Stop it.”

“Stop what? Lookin’ at you? Or this?” Bradley breaks out into a grin when you let out a shriek as his fingers dance along your sides. His laughter joins your own, legs entangling with yours to pin you to him as you squirm gleefully on his chest. And Bradley decides that he knows for certain what the Little Prince is talking about.

Because when he looks at you, laughing on his chest, soft and strong and fragile, Bradley knows that he can face all of his stars, as painful as they are, because, somewhere, you’re there. And that’s the kind of beautiful Bradley sees in you. The kind of beautiful that heals. The kind of beautiful that only ever shows itself because Bradley is fully and utterly happy.

Bradley has always been so sure that the two of you could work through anything. That you love each other more than you’re mad at each other. That you want to fix things more than you want them to just stop. That you matter more to each other happy than sad.

Now, as he watches you like Sunflowers, Bradley knows that it’s true.

I don’t have a taglist but feel free to follow my library @jupitercometgold​​ if you want to be notified when I post

#bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw imagines #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fluff #bradley bradshaw angst #rooster imagine #rooster imagines #rooster x reader #rooster fluff #rooster angst #top gun maverick imagines #x reader #i ain't worried 'bout it #buggy's got a pen

[bloodynereid]

hello!! (2nd request of the day let’s goo). i was wondering if you could do something with a gn reader and either jordan, rooster, phoenix, or hangman?? it’s completely up to you. reader comes from a rough household with like a lot of yelling and swearing and door slamming (from parents and younger siblings) and at one point ____ (insert character here) yells and they kinda just freak out and cry or something because it reminds them of home?? and lots of comfort after?? - 🧚🏻

Sorrys & I Love Yous

pairing: bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x gn! reader

tw: bradley is sort of an asshole in this im sorry but it fit with the fic, screaming, crying, trauma response

description: memories and feelings of your past resurface after an incident regarding dinner.

a/n: hii🧚🏻anon! sorry that it took me so long to write this and also sorry that this is so short i'm trying to get back into writing! also i hope it was ok that i chose rooster, he just made the most sense (i was thinking of the jake and bradley fight in the briefing room) and this is good ?? idk i think im having imposter syndrome with my writing haha. also as someone who has had this sort of thing happen to them i hope i wrote this okay, it's based off my own experience but who knows.

It had been a good day at work. You had been able to finish a piece your editor had been nagging you about and you were actually happy with the final product. It seemed like it was the opposite for Bradley though.

You arrived back to your shared house on the coast later than usual, you had stayed back to chat with some of your colleagues about the new issue of the magazine and time ran away from you. You had parked your car next to Bradley’s bronco and felt a surge of happiness at seeing the familiar blue vehicle.

“Hi honey!” You called out into the lit house after dropping your keys on the little dish beside the door.

“Hey.” Bradley called back to you from the living room, where the familiar sounds of a football game blared out.

You smiled and kicked off your shoes before ambling over to the couch and giving Bradley a quick hug and a peck on the cheek.

“How was work?” You asked as you sat down next to your boyfriend.

“Shitty.”

“Jake being an asshole again?”

“Hmm.” He hums back in assent and you nod in understanding before getting up and walking over to the kitchen. Usually the first person who comes home makes some kind of dinner but as you stare at the empty counters and unlit stove a pang rang through your heart.

“Bradley, honey, did you make dinner?”

“What?” You cringed slightly and turned to look over your shoulder to your distracted boyfriend.

“Did you make dinner?” You repeated.

“No.”

“Uh, is it okay if I just order something?”

“Sure, whatever.”

“Right.”

You went to grab your phone from your discarded bag and started to scroll through the usual restaurants.

“Bradley, honey, what do you want to eat?”

“Huh?”

“What do you want to eat?” You repeated in a slightly annoyed tone, he wasn’t acting like himself and it was getting on your nerves.

“Whatever.”

“Whatever?” You asked incredulously as the man finally met your eyes and a twist of his mouth made a shudder run down the length of your back. It reminded you of your father right before he started yelling in your face.

“Why the hell are you on my case? You’re the one who’s fucking late, what the hell were you doing anyways?!” Bradley yelled out, his voice escalating as his fist clenched around the beer bottle. After a few tense moments it was like your brain went on autopilot.

Your nerves seized up, your vision went white and a whimper escaped your throat. You felt rivers of water start to fall from your eyes and you felt completely and utterly powerless.

When Bradley realized what he just did he quickly let go of the beer bottle and moved to scoop you up in his arms but you still weren’t totally there. Your body seized up and you were suddenly running away from him and into the downstairs bathroom.

The loud bang of the door hitting the frame echoed through the house as you turned the lock and slipped down until your legs were against the cool tile.

Shivers racked your body and sobs fought their way out of your throat and lungs.

“What the fuck is happening to me?” You muttered out loud in between sobs.

“Honey? Y/N?” Bradley’s now soft voice, the one you were used to, bled through the wood. “Are you okay?” At that a loud sob escaped from your gasping lips.

“Please open the door. I- I’m really sorry. I, fuck, I shouldn’t have reacted like that. It’s my fault, I should have made dinner and instead I screamed at you when you didn’t do anything wrong… sweetheart?”

“Yeah?” You whispered out.

“Oh there you are. Can you please open the door?”

Taking a deep breath in, you carefully pushed yourself up from the floor and stared at your reflection in the mirror. Swiping your hands against your cheeks you let out another sob before turning around and turning the lock before opening the door.

You were met with the sight of Bradley who had a bereft look on his face. He looked like a puppy who had just been left behind for the first time.

“Oh sweetheart.” He gathered you up into his arms and you encircled yours around his body, clutching him tight.

“What you did was wrong.” You muttered into his shirt as tears continued to run down your face. “You hurt me Bradley.”

“I know and I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that. You don’t deserve that and you’re free to break up with me if you want. I was being a total asshole.” A teary laugh left your throat and you broke your embrace to look at his face.

“I’m not breaking up with you, you idiot! But I do agree with you being an asshole.”

“I deserve that.” You snorted before Bradley leaned over and placed a peck on your forehead.

“I’m really fucking sorry.” He said again and you nodded.

“I know.”

“I love you.”

“And I love you.”

this was only re-read like 2 times so sorry for any grammar/spelling mistakes <3

#bradley bradshaw #maria's random stuff #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster top gun #rooster x reader #rooster bradshaw #rooster x you #top gun maverick #bradley rooster bradshaw #tgm #top gun #top gun fanfic #top gun fanfiction #top gun imagine #top gun x reader #bradley x reader #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun maverick x reader

[dindjiarin]

Hell of a View - Rooster x Reader (Nickname Ginger)

This fic is the result of being unbelievably down bad for Lieutenant Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw.

DISCLAIMER: This is only my second finished fanfic, and the first one I've ever published.

Title inspired by Hell of a View - Eric Church and credit goes to @patheticallydimwiiitted for the song rec/bonkin'-in-the-Bronco suggestion.

Don't copy my shit, plz. Not that it's amazing but like, honor code, guys.

WARNINGS: 18+ SMUT (more like sweet smut though), fluff, sexual harrassment/assault references, blood, Rooster punches a douchebag.

WORD COUNT: 5,750

Your skirt flares as you turn to grab the dirty glasses from the bar. As you spin, you feel the breeze from the front door opening. A tall, dark-haired man is walking in toward the bar. 

“What can I get you?” You ask, immediately regretting having spoken as you recognize the man.

“Well, hello, Ginger. Look at you still serving us boys- I figured you’d have been snapped up by now.” He taunts, a hungry look in his eyes at his recognition of you. You’re incensed to hear your favorite nickname come from that mouth once more. It had been given to you by some regular bar patrons after a particularly unfortunate box dye incident, and this man did not deserve to speak it.

Your heart stutters for a second, and anxiety rises in your throat. After three years, the man who harassed you has returned from deployment. You hate confrontation, especially at work. It’s not the best character flaw to have when you work in a Navy bar, but it’s you. 

“You were banned, Jekyll. You’ve been banned for a while now.” It’s said quietly, but you hope it’s forceful enough. In your peripheral vision you see a man’s head turn sharply at your words. He’s behind Jekyll to the left, seated at the piano, yet no longer tinkling random keys. The bar was relatively empty for a Thursday night and the same few songs kept being selected by one blonde man playing pool with a few buddies. Some 70s rock song was whining from the jukebox.

“That’s the thing - it has been a while. I’m not the same,” he insists. “Anyway, someone told me this place lifts bans after a year.” 

“Listen, I don’t know who told you that but they were wrong.” 

The brunette man steps closer to the bar. “I’m sure Penny wouldn’t mind me being here for just one visit. I don’t think you truly mind, either.” His smile is leering. He’s trying to unnerve you. Unfortunately, it’s working. Your mind tumbles back to the feel of his rough hands grabbing your ass like he was trying to leave bruises, his gin-scented words whispered in your face as he pressed you into the wall behind the bar that night. He had taken and dropped the trash bag you’d been holding (“This is no job for a pretty girl”) and held your hands above your head. Once your mind had unfrozen, you managed to knee him and dash inside. He had been after you for weeks at that point. Penny banned him immediately. For good.

“I do mind. You need to go.” You say a little firmer. The glass in your hand is shaking from the memory. The left window behind Jekyll darkens as the silhouette of a man rises. 

“C’mon, swee-” Jekyll starts to say. A hand lands on his right shoulder.

“She said get out, man,” the auburn-haired pianist states. He briefly scratches the corner of his mustache with his other hand - as if he couldn’t be more relaxed. 

Jekyll spins. “What the fuck? Lieutenant Bradshaw?” He laughs, seemingly genuinely pleased to see the man, “Hey, man, how ya doin’?” Then his tone shifts to one a little more antagonizing, “You ain’t been in town for years- you really think you have a say in this, ol’ Rooster boy?”

“Nope. She does, though.” Rooster is so calm, it starts to soothe you, too. You recognize the man who always thanked you after every drink with a “ma’am” despite telling him multiple times to call you ‘Ginger.’ Sometimes when you’d hand him his drink your fingers would touch. He was always warm. Always laughing, singing with anyone. You’d had a serious crush on him since you first saw him. Now, the scars on his neck and chin are illuminated by the sun’s reflection on the bar. His eyes are hard.

“You’re leaving.” You affirm to the other man with the most confidence you’ve felt yet. You set the glass down and begin to walk around the bar. 

“You’re being ridiculous. You’re kicking me out because, what, I fuckin’ complimented you years ago?” He scoffs.

Your steps falter for a second at his callous disregard of his own actions, but you reach the front door and throw it open. Rooster’s eyes look up from your feet and you make eye contact - he had noticed. For a second, you feel self-conscious under his gaze.

Jekyll snaps you out of it. “You’re not even giving me a chance. What a bitch. Stuck up cun-” He doesn’t get to finish the vitriol as his jaw is snapped sideways by the punch. Teeth clack together and a grunt issues forth. Rooster shakes his right hand out once. His lip is curled in a snarl; his eyes flash at the other pilot. You feel your mouth drop open in shock.

Jekyll stumbles - away from Rooster and, unfortunately, toward you - and nearly falls before righting himself. He’s far too close now. 

“What the fuck, man!” He shouts. The entire bar is silent. “I said, what the fuck, Bradshaw?” 

No one says anything. You’re frozen once again as Jekyll looms a couple feet from you. At least you had the benefit of the bar before. Nothing separates you from the anger of the man who now towers over you. His head jerks to you. You’re the easier target.

“This is your fault,” he snatches at your arm, but Rooster is there. He shoves the angry man out the door.

“You know the rules,” Lieutenant Bradshaw laughs roughly, “‘No disrespecting a lady.' C’mon, let’s go, dickhead.” He isn’t suggesting Jekyll go outside alone; it’s a challenge. Rooster stalks out the door after the man into golden-hour light. Your mind spins as you can only watch. The image of Rooster Bradshaw, Hawaiian shirt askew, his knuckles bloody, his hair aflame with the sun, stuns you briefly - and it's a hell of a view.

“You can’t just fucking grab her, and you won’t touch her again. You won’t come back,” Lieutenant Bradshaw orders. “Are you clear on that, Jekyll? I can make it clearer.”

“You’re a fuckin’ pussy. You’re gonna take her side? You’ve known me since A School, man. All this over a four?” Jekyll shouts, insulting you again. 

Rooster takes three powerful strides until he’s in Jekyll’s face but he says nothing. Jekyll’s jaw visibly clenches as if deciding something. 

He makes the decision. 

His left fist slams into Rooster’s stomach; but Rooster was prepared for a low blow, so he hardly bends forward at the pain. However, Jekyll’s right fist lands on the side of Lieutenant Bradshaw’s face, and Rooster staggers sideways two steps. Both men are six-foot-nothing and well-built, but Bradshaw has a stronger emotion than anger on his side. His left hand grabs Jekyll’s shoulder and his right slams into the center of the smaller man’s face once, twice. Jekyll stumbles away again, falling this time to his knees, but he staggers to his feet quicker than you like. His eyes are livid, his mouth and nose full of blood.

Rooster stares him down, a drop of his own blood on the left side of his mouth. His hands are balled and he breathes heavily in anger, facing the sunset. 

“I do not understand your problem here, man,” the banned pilot shouts.

“You don’t need to,” Rooster answers. “You just need to fucking leave.” Rooster straightens his tall frame, and repositions himself so that he’s blocking the entrance to the bar. 

“Know when you're beat, man,” he warns as Jekyll starts toward him, but then a man pushes brushes past you, then another, then a third. The other Hard Deck patrons have seen enough and two of them pull Jekyll away. One man stands in front of the Lieutenant, defusing. Rooster nods once, then deadpans: “Hilarious coming from you, Hangman.” He then turns around to face the building - and you. 

His eyes meet yours, and you’re sure you look terrified. Fights aren’t totally uncommon at the Hard Deck, but fights in which you’re the topic of debate certainly are. Could you lose your job for not stopping the fight? No, surely not. Would Lieutenant Bradshaw get in trouble? Probably, the Navy didn’t appreciate fights between servicemen. It was nice of Rooster to kick Jekyll out, but to continue the fight? How could he have taken that so personally? 

“I’m sorry about that,” you apologize as he nears you, though you did nothing wrong. “I- I never expected him to come back here.”

“‘s’not your fault he’s a fuckin’ dick.” He smirks, his mustache quirking up at the corner. He works his jaw around, testing to see if it was truly damaged. His sweat glistens on his forehead, across the small bit of chest visible in the brilliant light; the veins in his neck are pulsing. You notice his Hawaiian shirt is skill askew and the white undershirt has taken a drop of blood from his mouth. 

“Let me help,” you hear yourself say; your stomach knots. The adrenaline is wearing off and you’re worried about what to say to the intimidatingly beautiful man who just took two punches - For me? You wonder. You start walking into the rear of the Hard Deck. His slow, sure footsteps echo behind you as you step into the cleaning closet and grab a first aid kit. Then into the kitchen for some ice. When you reutrn, he’s seated at a table in the corner. He’s facing you and he looks oddly satisfied, you think. A strangled giggle leaves your mouth at the absurdity of the situation. 

“What?” He asks. “You alright?” When you don’t reply, he continues, “That bastard owes the whole bar a round, but I think he owes you a lot more, honey.”  

You smile softly at the concern, but your heart thuds with his use of the pet name. “Yeah, no, I’m fine.” You debate telling him why Jekyll upset you so easily. You want to open up to him, to explain why you were so shaken when that asshole walked into the Hard Deck. Plus, why should you be ashamed of what Jekyll did all those years ago? That was on him, not you. So, you tell him the short version. 

“A few years ago, he tried to- well, he grabbed- he kind of- touched me.” You finish lamely, partially second-guessing your decision to tell him such an uncomfortable thing.

He’s silent for a moment, his jaw clenching. “Son of a bitch,” he mutters. The veins in his tanned neck are visible again and your mouth is dry. “If I’d known that I’d’ve kept goin’,” he snorts. 

“No, I’m really grateful for your help, but I’m glad you weren’t more seriously hurt,” you say, staring at the small cut on his cheekbone. It ran parallel to one of his other scars. How had he gotten those? The one on his neck looked downright inviting. You shamelessly let your eyes drink him in.

“Mmm, you don’t think I could’ve taken him?” He teases, examining his hand.

“Oh,” you breathe, “I think you could take just about anything.” You weren’t just thinking about fighting anymore, and it resonated in your voice. You bite your lip to prevent further embarrassment spilling from you.

Rooster hears the want in your voice. He's been waiting to hear it. His hooded eyes look up at you through dark lashes and he challenges, “You think you could take anything?” His voice is husky, suggestive.

He lifts up his right hand and you wildly think for a moment he’s going to grab your waist, but then you realize it’s for the bandage you’re holding. You take his hand in your own and carefully wrap the bloodied knuckles with gauze, remembering the times you’d accidentally touched his fingers. You had been right, he was warm. Being close enough to touch him, you smell the sea salt and sweat on him. It shouldn’t be as pleasing as it is. You can feel his eyes on your face, though you keep your own on the gauze. You’re working slowly because you don’t want the moment to end, and you’re afraid of what happens when it does. Your hands tremble, but his are steady. Then, inevitably, you tie the gauze. Your eyes flick up to meet his.

His pupils are blown, the deep honey color of his irises ringing the space you’re falling into. Your stomach drops, leaving you feeling untethered. His mouth opens, his tongue flicking across his lips to wet them absentmindedly. The movement brushes his mustache briefly and you want to do the very same.

“How long is your shift?” he asks, breaking the silence. His dark eyes commanding your attention.

“I close,” you breathe out ruefully, frowning.

“Aw, well that’s a shame, sweetheart.” He drawls, waiting for another answer.

“I’m off tomorrow?” You’re unsure why you phrase it as a question.

His face cracks into a smile that would break your heart if it didn’t send you soaring instead. “How do you feel about flying?”

“Flying?” You’re taken aback. You’ve not been on an airplane in years; the last trip had you kissing the ground upon arrival, but you’re not totally opposed to the idea - especially if your pilot was the best the Navy had to offer.

“Sure,” he answers, “Mav’s got this two-seater we’ve been working on. I think it’s ready for a go.”

You only know who “Mav” is because Penny’s been flirting with him at the bar for the past month or two. Though you had noticed him watching Rooster play and sing, the connection between the two hadn’t been obvious. 

Not wanting to give in too easily, you tease him, “Hmm, could be fun. But I think it depends.”

His eyebrow quirks, “Depends on what?” The chair creaks under his weight as he sits up straight, ready for your stipulations. He’s so tall that even while sitting he’s eye-level with you. 

“On who will be piloting.”

His jaw drops, his hand goes to his chest in mock-offense. “Wow. Just cut me to my core, huh?” His smirk returns, “Alright, fine, offer revoked.” Your mouth drops open to backpedal but he continues to tease, “How ‘bout a drive then? That safe enough for you, ma’am?”

Though truthfully you absolutely trusted him as a pilot, the image of him in his baby-blue Bronco speeding down PCH, the Hawaiian shirt he’d undoubtedly wear blowing in the breeze, was too appealing. You tilt your chin up and answer in a voice you hope sounds seductive, “I think that’d be acceptable, Lieutenant.”  

What neither of you were expecting was his body’s reaction to your use of his title. His eyebrows shoot upward in surprise, his back stiffens. He attempts to subtly shift his hips in an attempt to adjust himself, but he knows you saw. That godforsaken, smug smile, crowned by that retro mustache, returns as he murmurs, “Looks like you better save that for later, darlin’.” He then stands and you’re nearly touching his chest. He slowly steps around you and asks, “Ginger, be here tomorrow for me?” 

____________________________________________________

Since Rooster never specified a time, you show up at the Hard Deck the next day at opening. It’s mid-day and the sun is baking down. You’d take the dry Californian heat over the humidity of the South you grew up in any day. There was a breeze from the ocean which pushed at the bottom of your blue sundress. Sitting down at one of the outside tables, you pull a book from your bag. And if he decided not to come, this wasn’t far from how you’d spend a day off, anyway. 

An hour later, the sun had conquered the shade in which you’d been sitting, so you head inside. Penny is at the bar with Maverick. They smile at you and Penny asks, “So where you guys headed today?”

“I actually have no idea. I don’t even know if he’ll be here for sure.”

“Oh, he’s comin’.” Maverick laughs, smiling fondly.

Smiling in response, you ask, “What makes you so sure, sir?” 

The older man takes a sip of his whiskey and says, “You haven’t noticed? Kid doesn’t take his eyes off you. Most of those piano performances are to get your attention.” He laughs again, shaking his head. “He got that from his daddy.” There’s tenderness in his voice, but you’re unsure why. 

Penny looks at you with a knowing smile on her face - you’d confessed your own crush to her a week ago. It had been a literal confession; she’d caught you paying for his drink without his knowledge. She opens her mouth to say something teasing, but the sound of a vehicle pulling up outside fills the quiet seaside air. Worrying about the teasing the two of you would get if he came inside right now, you smile a goodbye at the couple and rush out the door.

Closing his Bronco door is exactly what you’d pictured the day before: Bradley Bradshaw in a tan Hawaiian shirt and board shorts that show off his long, muscled legs. You’re standing there, hands clasped out of anxiety, as he sees you. His eyes meet yours, but they shamelessly trail down your chest and over your dress. He leans sideways against his truck.  

“Blue’s my favorite color, y’know,” he grins. 

Suddenly you realize you match his truck, and you laugh, “I hope you don’t think I chose the color of my outfit to impress you.” You step a little closer.

“The color is not what’s impressing me,” he blurts, then tries to gloss over it: “You’re ready to go?”

“Yes, sir, I am.” 

It wasn’t an attempt to fluster him, that word was part of your daily vocabulary, but again his cheeks blush and his right hand moves to his waistband, adjusting his bottoms. He clears his throat. You’re confused at his reaction; doesn’t he call you “ma’am” just about every day? He gives you a look you don’t quite get, and he walks around to the passenger door. 

Opening the door for you with his right, he holds out his left forearm for you to grab while you climb up into the car. “Ma’am,” he instructs, proving you were right to be confused. 

Deciding that touching him right now would be in detriment to your own self-control, you grab the handle and hop up in the seat before he can assist. 

He shakes his head and teases, “Independent, huh?” 

“Maybe,” you retort. The door shuts and you watch him as he goes around the hood to his own door. He’s so mesmerizing even just walking. His shoulders roll; he struts. It’s the kind of quiet confidence that strikes you in your core; you’re a little embarrassed as your body responds to something so small. He hasn’t even touched me, you chastise yourself, stop it.

He doesn’t need to jump into the car, his long legs equipped for the job. He turns to you, taking in the sight of you in his passenger seat finally. His mouth quirks into that breathtakingly smug half-smile and you flush with heat. He pops on his dad’s Ray Bans and says, “Alright, baby, let’s go.” 

____________________________________________________

“So, where are we going?” You query. The windows are partially down as Rooster rushes along the Pacific Coast Highway. His speed surprises you; you’re not worried about your safety, but you were thinking it would be a lazy drive and it’s clear he’s distracted.

“There’s a hidden spit of beach less than an hour from town - rock piles on both sides. Not a lot of people know about it, and it’s one of my favorite places to think, to breathe.” He answers, glancing at your reaction to the openness of that statement. 

Since he seems willing, you ask him, “What do you go there to think about?” Your head tilts a little, a lock of your long, brown curls rolling into your face. He notices, debating whether or not that kind of touch is too soon. You move the hair away before he decides, so he answers your question instead, his eyes on the road. 

“Whatever is happening,” he chuckles. “There’s always something.” Then he adds, “We’re nearly there.”

Okay, so maybe not that open. You wait for a moment to see if he’ll say more, but he doesn’t. 

You tease, “Ah, well, that’s fascinating. You’re taking me out here to think with you? It’s hard to use that brain without a little help, huh?” 

His head tilts back as he laughs. “Corny. C’mon, you can do better than that.”

“It made you laugh. That was its job.” 

He glances over at you again, this time with a mischievous look. 

“My brain works just fine, thanks. Can’t say much for yours,” he jokes. “Coming out here with a man you barely know? Not very smart, darlin’.” 

You’re torn for a second - obviously, you trust this man with your life, otherwise you wouldn’t be sitting in his truck, but you can’t help but briefly question: was he making fun of your naivety? Your experience with Jekyll? It doesn’t occur to you that he doesn’t know the details enough to poke fun at you. Your brow furrows for a second, unsure how to process the joke. Your silence makes him uncomfortable. The Bronco slows as he turns onto a sandy side road then stops a few hundred yards from the main road. 

His seat squeaks as he turns toward you; Rooster backpedals, “Hey, you can trust me,” his eyes bore into yours, begging. “Shitty joke.” 

His eyes are alight with concern, his eyebrows knit together. Rooster mentally berated himself. He’d been incredibly turned on by your outfit, your teasing - more than he expected to be. The entire drive he had spent vacillating between kissing you or waiting, not wanting to screw this up. He’d meant to come across as flirty, but he’d stuck his foot in his mouth instead. 

“Oh. No, you’re fine,” you realize the simple miscommunication. “I just misconstrued that.” 

“No, I’m sorry. Really shitty joke. That won’t happen again.” He promises, knowing he’ll keep it. He reaches for your hand, truly apologetic. Your core sparks up as his calloused hand takes yours. You watch, stunned by the feeling of him twining and untwining your fingers with his own. Still trying to read your expressions, he waits. 

You look up and the light in your core ignites into a fireball as you recognize the look in his eyes. Instead of speaking your forgiveness aloud, you place your free hand on his cheek, your thumb caressing his scars. His eyes close blissfully; his mustache tickling your palm as he tilts his head into your hand. It’s the most vulnerable you’ve ever seen a man. 

You both let the moment deepen, and his eyes open slowly, pure desire written in them. He leans in further, and you’re frozen in your seat, hand still holding his cheek. His free hand smooths across your cheek and into your hair. He’s so close you can feel his breath, and your lips part to breathe him in. Your other hand fulfills a wish you’ve had for weeks: you touch the side of his neck, and it’s a dangerous move. His pulse is racing, skin heated like the sand outside. Your thumb brushes over his Adam’s apple and he swallows.

Involuntarily, you moan, “Oh,” and he’s done. 

He nearly crushes his pouting lips to yours, parting your lips further, and you let his wide tongue dip into your mouth. It feels so good to let him in; you want nothing more than the feeling of him everywhere. The warmth sparks down into your thighs, your stomach. The hand in your hair pulls you in further, deeper. His kiss becomes desperate. Your left hand cups his jaw while the other drops weakly into your lap. When your lips gap in between kisses, a low sound escapes him, sending another wave of electricity through you. His left hand moves to your throat, feeling the soft skin, and he drinks in the soft moan you make.  

He breaks the kiss and looks down with lidded-eyes, about to ask you if you’re okay, when you smile up at him. His eyes glance down at your lips again and you can’t take it anymore: you push out of your seat and climb onto him. 

Rooster smiles so widely, you almost cry. You kiss him again, deeper, still deeper, as he continues to make those noises that only he could. His mustache tickles and burns in a way you’d never thought you'd love so much. Your thighs enjoy the feeling of his hands, his thick arms holding you up. God, you’re glad you wore a dress. He’s holding you off of his lap, though, he won’t let you feel him, yet. Your hands work to slip his unbuttoned shirt off, but he’d have to drop his hold to do so. The noises you make probably sound desperate but you don’t care. His biceps flex as he breaks the kiss again, this time to see your face as he lowers you onto his tented shorts. 

The sound that leaves your lips is a cry of relief at the friction, unstoppable. His dick is already hard as steel, and though the shorts prevent any further study, you cry out at the feeling against your swollen self. Without any thought, you grind your hips against him slowly. 

“That’s it, baby,” he groans, lips against your cheek. His mustache sends a tingling sensation across your face and neck. Enjoying the feeling of your body as his fingers stroke your exposed thighs, he tilts his head back, which gives you access to his neck. You can’t stop yourself from dropping to lick and kiss him there, biting gently. He goes nearly weak beneath you. You remember your task of removing his shirt, and you all-but rip it off him. His white undershirt, though covering his chest, leaves none of the muscles in his arms to the imagination. You trail your fingers down his shoulder and bicep, momentarily stunned by them. 

He laughs, “You alright, sweetheart?” 

“You’re kinda hotter than me,” you let slip. 

His face falls; he looks hurt. “Are you being serious?” Unsure how to answer that, and upset you might’ve ruined the moment, you grimace. “Holy shit,” he argues, “This isn’t the most intellectual thing I could say because most of the blood is not in my brain right now, but I’m in the Hard Deck almost every day. I love that place, but I don’t need to see it everyday. You, however, I do. I’ve had to - you know - take care of myself more than once after leaving your bar,” he admits. “And shit, that sounds creepy, but I promise, I-” 

You cut him off with a kiss, apologetic that you let that intrusive thought out. Then your hand moves to his shorts. Under your lips, a hitched moan echoes as you unfasten them and slip your hand inside. Your lips part and you look up into his eyes as you feel the sheer size of him. Slowly, your hand strokes along him. His eyes close in pleasure and he mutters, “Fuck.” That word sends your body into a frenzy: you need him. 

“Please,” you whimper. His grip on your hips tightens. Then, remembering, you beg, “Please, Lieutenant.”

His eyes shoot open, utterly black in his lust. His hips swell upward in response.

Again you push him, “Please, Lieutenant Bradshaw,” and you’re rewarded by the feeling of his dick twitching, straining in your hand still inside his shorts.

He takes you into his arms again, lifting you off his lap. You cry out in protest, but he throws open his door. With your legs wrapped around him, and his arms holding your ass, he gets out and walks to the back of his truck. He sets you carefully on the tailgate, stepping back, and you laugh as you realize the truck bed is filled with blankets. 

“This wasn’t exactly my plan, I promise.” His boyish grin devastates your heart. 

“You had a plan?” You ask playfully. You reach for his hand and pull him back to you, unable to stop touching him. His arm snakes around your back and he lays you down slowly, his hot mouth on yours.

Though you can’t see it, somewhere nearby is the shoreline, you hear the crash of the waves and the call of seagulls. The sun beats down, but the breeze from the ocean chases away most of the heat. You’re warmed now by the golden body of the man above you. Rooster’s thigh splits your legs open, his knee edging your legs even further apart. You giggle, and he grins once more. You pull his white tank top over his head, and your heart stops for a moment as the planes of his hard chest, his abdominal muscles are revealed to you. You had no idea he was this ripped.

He laughs at your reaction and whispers, “Your turn, baby.” His hand skates underneath your dress, up your thigh, savoring your expressions at the feeling. Then he reaches your hip, and his eyes go wide as his hand finds no cloth to remove. 

“I had a plan,” you tease. As you speak, your hands push his waistband down. “One I’ve been thinking of every single day since you walked into the bar. I wanted you so badly, Lieutenant.”

His shorts now below his ass, you start to take him into your hands again but he thrusts against you. His biceps frame your head as he ruts along you, and the cry you make dies with the breeze. His moaning mouth goes to your neck, leaving marks from both lips and teeth. He’s almost feral with want. He sloppily kisses the hollow of your throat, then down across to the neckline of your dress. 

“Need this gone,” he orders.

“Yes, sir,” you start to obey, but before you can even touch the material, his arms flex as he tears your thin dress in two.

You gasp in pleasure as his tongue makes its way through the valley between your breasts, his mustache sweeping. The two of you are totally bare to each other, and you’d have it no other way. He thrusts against you again, leaving you gasping. His tongue enters your mouth with an aggressiveness you can’t help but wilt beneath. The feeling is sensational combined with the contact of his skin on your own; like you’re opening every part of yourself to him. But you know that’s not fully true yet, so you hook your calves around his thighs. Your arms cling around his neck, and you hear yourself moan, “Bradley, please.” 

“I’ll give it to you, sweetheart.” He tilts his head back to look into your eyes. “I need you to look at me, okay?” You see the admiration and the lust filling them as you feel him push into you. The moans from both of you mingle in the salty air. The feeling of him inside you is nearly unbearable.

“Oh, my god,” you cry out. He fills you so well. You’re gasping again, “You’re-” 

He silences you with another deep kiss. His thrusts come hard, but slowly at first. But he’s starving and the sound of his hips slapping your thighs turns both of you on even more. He’s hitting you in a place you weren’t sure existed, building the tension in your body with every push. He leans into your ear, keeping his rhythm, and murmurs, “You drive me crazy. Always. Those low-cut tank tops, your tight shorts,” he sounds like he’s losing control. “You know what you’re doing.” He licks your throat and continues, “You’re mine, darlin’. You’re done for now.” 

His words undo the knot in your core, and your body shudders around him. He smiles and says, “That’s my girl.” But he doesn’t lessen his pace. He thrusts faster, needing to claim you fully. 

Your body still shaking, you gather the presence of mind to breathe in his ear, “I want to be yours.”

And he comes apart, his hips stutter, the powerful feeling of release shocking through him. He buries one final push as he lets go, and he leans his head on your shoulder, panting. 

___________________________________________________

The deepening blue, Southern California sky expands above you. Twilight is approaching and the late hour casts its honeyed light. The breeze whistles softly as Bradley twirls a strand of your hair between his fingers. You lay next to him, head on a pillow, your right arm across his bare body. Your fingers trail the lines of his muscular chest until he disappears under the blanket he’d brought. You briefly wonder what you'll wear home now that your dress is mangled; you smile as you decide to steal his Hawaiian shirt.

“I really did not intend for that to happen. I wanted to do it right with you.” He eventually says, his eyes following a cloud.

“Oh.” You wonder if he’s regretting having moved so quickly. “I’m sorry.”

He shifts to look at you. “No, I just wanted you to know I wasn’t- I didn’t want to just-” He raises his hands in suggestion and makes a face like you know what I mean. He explains, “I mean that I wanted this to be real. A real date. Not a one-time-thing.” He pauses, searching your face, “If you feel the same.” 

Reassured, you tease him, wanting him to say it outright, “If I feel the same as what, sir?” You look up at him innocently.

He huffs a laugh, now knowing your game but playing along anyway. His voice starts dangerously low, intentionally sexy, “The same as how you make me feel, honey. Like the world doesn’t matter as long as you’re nearby.” His voice changes slightly into a confessional, “I feel home when I see you, and yeah, maybe that’s crazy -” He trails off, his eyes dance between yours, trying to read you, wondering if he said too much too soon. 

“I would say that’s crazy - if it were anyone else. But with you…” You reach up to brush your fingertips along his cheeks, his chin. You pull him down for a kiss, pure sweetness in it, willing him to feel your emotions. “With you, Lieutenant Bradshaw, I’ll never have enough of you.”

“Holy shit, you’re it for me.” He beams, pulling you on top of him.  

#rooster #top gun 2 #fanfic #fluff #smut #miles teller #bradley rooster bradshaw #top gun maverick #top gun: maverick #hangman #rooster x reader #top gun fic #rooster x you #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster smut #glen powell #fanfiction #top gun fanfiction #top gun fanfic #personal #my fics

[roosterbruiser]

Okay but as someone w lupus who is not doing too hot rn, I would drop kick someone into the sun for a good blurb of Bradley taking care of me 🫣

𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐏𝐮𝐭

𝐚 𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞

You aren't sleeping very soundly. Try as you might--drawing the curtains closed, putting a pillow over your face, getting under a weighted blanket, playing white noise, turning the fan on high, even putting a few drops of lavender essential oil on your pillow--the deep and all-consuming sleep you crave just isn't coming.

And it isn't just that you can't sleep--it's that you just don't feel good. You're certain you have a low-grade fever, your joints are aching, and you're sluggish.

After trying to be a productive human for a few hours, you decide to just give into the desire to lay down and sleep. Except the closest you come to sleeping is fluttering in and out of awareness with a sudden jolt.

Bradley comes home, lug-sole boots thundering against the entryway tiles, without a care in the world. He tosses his keys in their designated metal bowl with a resounding clang. He's even still crooning some Peter Gabriel song that was playing in the Bronco on his drive home. Needless to say--he seems to be making as much noise as humanly possible, entirely and blissfully unaware of the throb in your temple.

"Baby!" He calls out dramatically, unlacing his shoes and tossing them aside (another bang, bang!). "Where are you? M'gonna explode if I don't kiss you right now!"

Any other day, you'd be elated to hear such a romantic--albeit melodramatic--statement. But right now, your throat is aching and your eyelids are heavy and you're tired in the very marrow in your bones.

He starts for the stairs, still humming loudly along to a song that is just not playing, and calls out your name. You don't have it in you to raise your voice--which is the only way he'd be able to hear you, anyway--so you just wait underneath your pillow and wait for the sound-bomb that is your boyfriend burst through the door.

Burst through he does--letting the door slam against the wall (a habit you are really trying to get him to break seeing as he's put a lock-shaped hole in the wall. He says he just gets too excited and you think it's endearing, but you're also sure that he's getting tired of spackling the same spot every weekend) as he enters the room full of song and cheer.

But then he sees you.

You look just as tired and worn down as you feel; fingers a blue-tint, body covered entirely by the weighted blanket you only break out when he isn't home to lay on top of you, and pillow pressed against your face a tell-tale sign that something isn't right.

"Oh, baby," he whispers softly, immediately hurrying into the bedroom, now mindful of his footfalls. He presses his hands against yours, tutting when he feels how cold your fingers are. "You should've called," he says soberly, stroking the soft skin of your hand with his calloused thumb. "Would've come home, baby."

You groan, shaking your head, unwilling to open your eyes.

"You're government property," you tell him softly, muffled by a mouthful of pillow. "Can't just tell the Navy to give my boyfriend to me for a day."

Even without looking, you know he's grinning. Even as shitty as you feel and you're cracking jokes.

"Don't you know the Navy answers to you, baby?" He chuckles, bending down to press a fleeting kiss to your hand, patting your forearm.

"Hah," you manage dryly.

That's how he knows you really don't feel good--you can't keep riffing with him. His chest is aching just looking down at you. Poor thing, he's thinking.

"Let me tuck you in," he says softly. "Permission to move the pillow?"

You grumble, but shoot him a thumbs up.

It's so bright in the room, even with the curtains closed. You have to blink a few times, squinting up at him. And he's smiling in that soft way, pitying you and loving you all at once. He hates when you're sick more than anything in the world, but boy is it a breath of fresh air just to see that face of yours.

You frown, your cheeks pink.

"Hi," you whisper, voice ragged.

He strokes your hair softly, slyly checking your forehead for a fever. Then he leans down and presses his lips against yours; it's a soft and sweet kiss, one he's been looking forward to all day.

"Hi," he mumbles against your lips. "Y'look beautiful."

You scoff.

"Shut up," you mutter, sighing. "I'm sick."

He kisses you again, nuzzling his nose against yours. He's grinning now.

"And those two things are mutually exclusive?"

You don't have it in you to retort, so you just roll your eyes.

"M'gonna grab a survival kit," he starts, stroking your cheek carefully, noting how pink it is in comparison to the rest of your peaked face. "Don't go anywhere, okay?"

You glare at him--he just can't help himself today, apparently. You have just enough energy to stick your tongue out at him and he walks out of the room chuckling.

He's good at taking care of you--it's because his mom was good at taking care of him when he was sick. She spoiled him and even if he didn't physically feel good, he loved being showered with attention. So he gives you the same treatment. It's not that he likes when you're sick, but he likes to spoil you.

You drift off for the few minutes he's gone and come to as he pads through the door with his arms full. He kneels at your bedside, humming quietly, in full nurse-mode.

"Open," he hums, holding a thermometer to your lips. You comply without a grumble and he pats your cheek. "Should I crush your pills up and hide them in applesauce?" He asks.

You narrow your eyes at him, shaking your head. He has a shit-eating grin spread across his pretty face, chuckling to himself.

You have to admit--he is endearing when he's like this. You know he's only trying to lighten your mood and honestly? It's working. Damn Bradley Bradshaw.

He's humming to himself as he moves to pull the covers up around your feet and slips a pair of fuzzy socks on you. He even leans down and presses a kiss to the top of your socked feet, which would make you gag if it was any other man than Bradley. But that's the thing about Bradley--you were totally and completely in love with him and he returned those feelings tenfold. Hell, he was obsessed with you! There was not even one part on your body he didn't adore, not one state of being that he wasn't enamored with.

He tucks you in with a gentleness only someone as lovely as Bradley could possess. Then he swiftly grabs the thermometer from your lips and reads it with his eyebrows pinched.

"What's the prognosis?" You ask, resting your cheek on your shoulder.

He opens his mouth, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Says you're hot," you and Bradley say in tandem, your tone dripping with faux-mockery and his dripping with genuine charm.

"Am I getting predictable?" He asks, popping a bottle of fever reducer and placing two on your tongue, effectively rendering you wordless again. He holds a straw to your lips and you drink as much as you can before collapsing back into the pillows.

"Only sometimes," you say quietly, eyes growing heavier by the second.

You honestly just feel better in his presence--the ache in your skull dulled by his grin, by his careful touch, by that glimmer in his eyes that makes you gooey inside. So when he kisses your forehead again and tells you that he's going to put some soup on, you are not surprised to feel that tell-tale exhaustion flood you. It's one you can't evade; within minutes, you're slumbering under the blanket he tucked around you, lips wet with icy water, feet warmed by socks he bought for you.

"Nurse Bradley reporting for duty! May I offer you a sponge bath--!"

He stops speaking as soon as he sees your slumbering form.

He isn't gone for very long--maybe fifteen minutes--but when he comes through the bedroom door carrying a tray of chicken noddle soup and saltine crackers and finds you finally resting, he's relieved.

He knew you were tired and he knows how difficult it is for you to sleep when he's not home. He sets the tray down on the bedside table as carefully as he can, quickly stripping to his boxers, climbing onto the bed beside you. You rouse only for a moment as he tangles your limbs in his, tucking your head under his chin, slotting his leg between yours.

But he's quick to press soft kisses to the crown of your head, stroking your hair.

"Shh," he whispers. "S'okay. Just couldn't leave you all by yourself in this big ole bed, baby."

You smile through your exhaustion, wrapping your arms around that warm and taut torso, nuzzling your face in his neck. He smells so good; like the nice soap you buy from his shower this morning, like jet fuel, like salt air. It is a scent that entirely overwhelms you with adoration and comfort.

"You liiike me," you mumble, yawning.

He laughs, kissing you again and again, letting himself get lost in your sweet scent.

"More than that," he whispers. "I love you--so much. Just so, so much."

You're slipping away again, mouth parted, face blanched in the infinite warmth of his tanned skin.

"I love you too," you whisper, muffled by his throat. "Nerd."

His heart is so full right now that he's certain it's going to burst--he loves you more and more every single day. It's something that overwhelms him at times, something that wets his eyes, parts his lips. And right now, with your bodies an endless and intricate pile of flushed and goosed skin, he feels it now. His heart lulled to a steady rhythm that he knows is the cadence of your name, his eyelids heavy with something close to sleepiness, his fingers tingling as they comb through your hair.

Bliss. That's what he's feeling as he holds you, as he thinks about reheating your soup when you wake up, as he mentally marks what time you will need another dose of fever-reducer. Total, absolute bliss.

here is my tag list!!

𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐦𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐛, 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧, 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐬! 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲, 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐨𝐛!

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