#bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x you

[croimilis]

The Arrangement

title:  the arrangement

characters:  bradley ‘rooster’ bradshaw x doctor!mitchell!reader (rooster calls them angel)

words: 20k +

themes: childhood friends to strangers to friends to lovers, fake dating (minor), fluff, , smut, mutual pinning, idiots not realising they’re in love

rating: 18+

warnings: female identifying reader and female anatomy used, mentions of parental and canon character death, panic attacks, fingering (f receiving), oral (f receiving), fingering, penetrative sex (p in v), rooster has a lieutenant kink, rooster in dress whites, praise kink, unprotected sex, scratching, biting, cream pie, overstimulation

summary: 'he laughed, my darling you will never be unloved by me you are too well tangled in my soul' @atticuspoetry

You and rooster made an arrangement when you were 18 years old, that if either of you needed a date to an event and you were both single you would be each others date, you try your best to be at every celebration and ceremony for your education and respective careers. you managed to keep this up for a while, but the life of a doctor and the life of a navy aviator never seem to line up and suddenly you find yourself not only cities but countries away from one another and the arrangement falls to the background of your minds that is until you move to San Diego and Rooster finds himself calling on your arrangement one last time.

a/n:  this ended up being sooo long and i am (not) sorry about it, i got so carried away with it. also this is the dress i imagined when writing this. also, i don’t consistently refer to Rooster as Bradley or Rooster in this, it switches so often. i also apologise if the smut is bad, i don’t write it often. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT this is an 18+ piece, I will be checking blogs that interact so please have an age indicator somewhere on your blog. this is part of the ‘fly me to the moon universe’

Rooster was sure the world stopped the minute you walked through the doors behind your father, it had been over 10 years since he had last seen you and yet he knew it was you instantly. If anybody asked, he would say it was your eyes that gave you away as being (Y/N) Florence-Mitchell. The same emerald green as your father, full of life and happiness as they crinkled at the sides when you smiled at Penny across the bar, giving your soon to be step mother a wave as your father guided you through the crowd and straight towards the group of aviators that made up the dagger squadron. 

Realising your destination, Rooster's heart began to beat erratically as he stood from his bent position where he had been planning on taking his shot at the pool table, causing a confused look and a 'dude' from Hangman. Out of all the ways he had imagined and dreamed about reuniting with you, he never would have imagined it happened in Fightertown, never mind at the Hard Deck.

Yet here you are, getting closer and closer and he swears his heart is gonna beat straight out of his chest. You're beautiful, you always had been but what had once been a soft and innocent beauty when you were younger and never knew a life without Bradley had turned into sharp edges and maturity as you found what it meant to be your own person without him. He was awestruck to put it lightly as his eyes stalked you through the bar until you were standing just at the other end of the pool table, Mavericks arm wrapped tightly around your shoulder as he made introductions. 

“Everybody this is my daughter, Dr (Y/N) Florence-Mitchell.” With a smile you rolled your eyes at your father's insistence on using your title, he was very proud of everything you accomplished in your life and career and while he very rarely actually used the words ‘I’m proud of you’ he always made sure to show it when he showed you off to other people. “Please call me (Y/N/N)” 

With pleasant smiles and shaking hands everyone introduced themselves, though you had heard about all of them so many times you were sure you could pick out each and everyone member of the dagger squad by name if you tried. Your eyes moved over them all the same as they introduced themselves, taking in their features and finally putting faces to names. Maverick was the absolute worst at having pictures on his phone, preferring to keep a hard copy of photos in his hanger and you were never around the hanger anymore, much to busy with your own life that you could only really talk to your father over the phone, especially considering he was usually on the other side of the country or world. But maybe now that dagger squad had become a permanent fixture at Top Gun for whenever they were needed and you had taken a job in San Diego (that Mav was still completely unaware of) you would see the old man a little more. 

Your eyes finally made their way to the other side of the pool table where the WSO Bob sat with a small smile on his face as he introduced himself, finally your eyes met with Roosters and he swears he nearly melted at the sight, at the friendliness and tenderness towards him that remained after all these years, and your smile. God your smile still made him weak at the goddamn knees and he silently curses to himself about how you still have such an effect on him and how he should be over his silly childhood crush. “Bradley”

Walking around the pool table, Rooster gladly opens his arms for you as you unwrap your father from your shoulder and meet him in the middle, wrapping your arms around his torso as he wraps his around your shoulders, placing a kiss to your forehead as he does. It was comforting, to the both of you, it was something he always did before you grew apart, when you were still an everyday presence in each other's lives. You had missed it. It had been far too long since you had even spoken to each other, never mind seeing each other. “Hey angel.”

The familiarity of the nickname warms you from the inside, or maybe that was just the heavy radiating of Bradley as he held you in his arms. Or maybe it was the flush slowly spreading up your body and making its way to your face as you relish in how nice it feels to be held by him once again, or maybe it is because you're thinking about just how handsome Bradley had become since you last saw him. 

He had always had a bit of boyish charm about him, that cheeky smile he usually sported that was so similar to that of his fathers always drew the ladies in when he was turned their way pair that with the fact that he was always athletic and fit and you had a deadly combination that turned Rooster into quite the heart throb when he was younger. But now, you swear he's never looked better, even as he sports that ridiculous mustache he started growing when he was in college, all rugged muscles and that same charming smile alongside the new air of confidence and maturity that was unrecognizable to you.  

Never one to have a moment taken from him, the voice of Hangman forces the two of you to seperate, though you still stand close to one another. “How long you in town for?” With a gentle chuckle you cross yours arms over your chest and appraise but your father and Bradley before you answered, they both looked expectant. You had told your father you were in Fighter town for around 2 weeks but had yet to drop the bombshell that you were relocating to San Diego permanently. 

“Well I’m in Fighter town for the next 2 weeks, staying at an air bnb close to the base.” You eyed your father as he sent you a small glare, he didn’t know you were coming and so he couldn’t insist on you staying with him and Penny and that was deliberate not only did you want to surprise him but you wanted your own space, somewhere you could retreat too if need be and have some time to yourself because you were sure that every moment he could your father would be at your side to make up for not only the time he missed as an adult but the time he missed out on when you were a kid. “But after that…I am permanently relocating to San Diego.” 

You had to bite your lip to stop the giggle that tickled your throat as both Bradley and Maverick whipped their heads round to stare at you, mouths and eyes wide with shock. “(Y/N) (M/N) Florence-Mitchell!” You had to giggle at your dad’s tone as you turned to look at him with innocent eyes and a small smirk, “Yes?” Though Mav tried his hardest to look stern and serious, ready to scold you for not telling him, he can’t help but smile at the fact that you weren’t going to be so far away now. 

“What?” Now you turned to Bradley, who’s shocked expression had lessened a little but you could tell from the pinch of his brows and the down turn of his lips that he was still confused. “I wanted to surprise my dad, that was the whole purpose of this trip. Safe to say I surprised him. But I uh, I got offered head  of the ED and trauma at one of the hospitals in San Diego a few weeks back and I accepted it. Spent the last few weeks sorting out a place to live and getting ready to move, I start there in 3 weeks.” 

Strong arms wrap around you as Maverick brings you into a tight hug with a chuckle and a kiss to your forehead. “That's amazing news kid.” As he lets you go, your eyes meet with Bradley’s and you smile at him, which he reciprocates before turning to Phoenix who pulls his attention away from you and back to the pool game they were playing. 

Though now he was playing much worse than he was before, he was sloppy as his eyes followed you as you flitted between the crowd of aviators getting to know everyone and he was sure Phoenix would kick his ass in the morning for making them lose against the tag-team of Hangman and Coyote but he couldn’t bring himself to care, though she wasn’t really going to catching onto the love sick look on her friends face the minute he caught sight of you. All he cared about was the fact that you were here and even when you left you would only be 30 minutes away from him and he was determined to not let you slip out of his life once again. 

------

The next time Bradley sees you is three days later, not that he’s counting or anything, and the squad are on the beach playing some dog fight football to relax after a grueling training session with Maverick. You had been at the Hard Deck with Penny and Amelia looking at some bridesmaid dresses for the pair of you to wear at the upcoming wedding of Penny and Maverick, your eyes occasionally moving from the laptop in front of you down the beach to where they were playing. You had to admit it was quite the sight and you just couldn’t help yourself from watching, I mean who could blame you.

The sight of the 12 aviators, excluding Hondo and Mav who were now sitting on the sidelines enjoying just watching their squad enjoy themselves, shirtless and sweaty would make even a nun stop and stare. But your eyes were on one particular aviator and his on you, it seemed that every time you looked over his eyes were already on you, a smirk on his face as he sends a wink your way that has you rolling your eyes everytime. 

“So… you and Rooster.” Penny’s voice pulls you away from your staring and you turn to her with a questioning look that she rolls her eyes at with a scoff. “Oh come on (Y/N), I’m not blind. I can see the way you two look at each other, you can’t tell me there’s nothing there.” 

With a gentle huff, you fold your arms and place them on the table in front of you, pushing your laptop forward slightly as you do, “There is nothing there Penny. He was my best friend for 23 years and then we drifted apart, him busy becoming one of the best naval pilots currently serving and me busy becoming the best doctor I could.” A soft hmm falls from Penny’s lips, one that perfectly conveys a very sarcastic ‘I believe you’, “Are you sure about that? You didn’t see the way his entire face lit up when he saw you in the Hard Deck the other day, I swear that boy looked like he was on cloud 9 the minute he held you in his arms,”

Rolling your eyes, you shake your head at your step mother and tell her once again that there is nothing romantic about your relationship with Bradley. At least now anyway, but you would never tell her about the fact you’re pretty sure you were in love with him in college. “Bullshit.” Eyes widening in shock, you turn to Amelia with your mouth open and she at least looks a little bashful about her outburst obviously not meaning to say it out loud as her cheeks flush a little and her mouth gapes a little. 

“Sorry,” her eyes flit to her mother, expecting to be scolded but Penny is simply watching her with amusement in her eyes, “but it’s true.” Leaning forward in her chair, Amelia places her head in her palm as her eyes flit between you and the aviators on the beach. “Look, I know I’m only a teenger and I know nothing about relationship and being in love and all that adult stuff” at the words ‘adult stuff’ she uses air quotes that makes you let out a small chuckle, “but Rooster looks at you the same way Mav looks at Mom, and from the photos I’ve seen the way Goose looked at your aunt Carole.”  

Moving to look down the beach once again, you smile as you see the aviators carrying Bob about on their shoulders with a small chant of his name, Rooster is once again looking at you and this time you give him a small wave and a smile as he offers you a salute in return. Behind your back, Penny and Amelia share a knowing glance and a smile seeing how completely fucking  gone you were for Bradley Bradshaw. “Why don’t you go bring them down some bears to cool them off? Maybe you and Rooster can talk a little.” 

Though you rolled your eyes, knowing Penny was simply scheming, you did as she suggested, pilling some beer into a cooler she had on hand and carrying it down the beach to where your dad and the rest of the squad sat as they took a breather. Placing a kiss to your dad’s cheek as he turned his head towards you and greeted you with a gentle ‘hey honey’ you smile at the aviators as you set the cooler on the sand as you announce your presence to the rest of the group. “I bring gifts” 

You’re meet with a chorus of thanks and greetings, and of course a flirty remark from Hangman who got hit up the side of the head thanks to Phoenix who had planted herself next to the Texan which caused you to let out a laugh as you bent down to open up the cooler and begin handing out the cold beers, and soda for Bob. As you go to hand Rooster one he smiles at you and instead of taking the beer from you, offers his hand out, palm facing up as if asking to take your hand, “Walk with me angel?” 

You nod your head gently and place the bear back in the cooler, placing your freehand in his to allow him to guide you through the lounging aviators that were lying haphazardly across the sand. Though Rooster’s hand was sweaty, you had to admit to yourself that you enjoyed the few seconds in which your hand was clasped in his. It reminded you of simpler times, walking to school hand-in-hand as your mothers walked behind the two of you, playing with his fingers as you lay on his bed as he lamented about the most recent girl whose heart he broke by telling them he wasn’t interested, and even of less simple times where you would hold onto his hand in the hospital waiting rooms as his mom's health began to decline, and him holding yours the day you got the call that your mom had been in a major accident involving a drunk driver and he drove you all the way from Virginia to your home town, holding onto one another at the funerals of both Carole and your mother as if you were the last people you both had in the world, and in a way you were. While Maverick was very much present in your life now as an adult, growing up he was never really around throwing himself into missions and detachments to distract from the pain of losing Goose, you saw him at holidays and birthdays and got a few letters through the year if you were lucky, but you really only had your mom, your aunt Carole, and Bradley until you were an adult. 

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” Rooster’s voice cut through your thoughts and you let out a soft little ‘hmm’ as you came back to reality and looked over to him, ignoring the fact that his hand was still in yours despite it no longer needing to be, “I lost you there for a second angel, where’d you drift of to?” 

You gave him a sad smile and looked out to the ocean as you walked, “Just thinking about how the last time I held your hand was my mom’s funeral.” He let out a soft ‘oh’ and gave your hand a soft squeeze as you turned round to face him once again. “And about how much I’ve missed you B.”

You always knew you missed Bradley, he had been such a constant in your life with your mom and aunt Carole being best friends that bought houses right next to each other and were basically co-parents for the pair of you growing up and by the point you were in high school the two of you were attached at the hip, only really seen without the other when in classes you didn’t share together, hell, you even ended up at the same college as one another when the time came. 

So when you slowly faded out of each other's lives it was like you slowly lost a part of yourself, you always found yourself wanting to turn to Rooster whenever anything important happened. Like when you did your first solo surgery during your internship in Seattle, or when you meet the guy you thought you were gonna marry only for him to turn round and break your heart, though if you were being honest you weren’t as upset about that as you should have been, or even to tell him about the little things in life like the day you went to the pound with a friend and ended up coming home with a little scruff ball of a dog who turned out to be part german shepherd and grew up with the size to prove it. 

Even after 10 years, you still found yourself thinking ‘I should tell Bradley about this’ and then getting disheartened when you realise, you can’t. You had no real way of contacting him, you knew you could reach out to Maverick but that felt like crossing a line, a complete invasion of privacy, and even if you did reach out to Maverick he would only really know roughly where he was but not how to contact him,  and it broke you over and over again. But seeing him, it hit you like a ton of bricks just how much you missed him and with the way your heart twisted with the realisation you made sure to take a mental note to not let Penny know or find out because she would have the smuggest grin and ‘I told you so’ mentality about it, seeing him again truly felt like a piece of your soul had been returned to its rightful place. 

“I’ve missed you too angel.” If you thought you missed Bradley, he missed you just as much if not more and had spent so many sleepless nights searching you up on social media and google to keep up with your life and see how you were doing. When he was at basic, he tried to write letters, something that he could send you to let you know he was still thinking about you but he couldn’t get the words out. Couldn’t articulate just how much he missed you without it sounding far too much like ‘I love you’ and that was not something he wanted to tell you in a letter, that was something he needed to say in person, so he sent nothing instead. 

He had saw you at your med-school graduation, smiled you and told you how proud he was of you but he never told you, he apologised for the lack of communication blaming being busy and not having a chance and you did the same, med-school had kicked your ass and meant you just did not have the time to sit down and put thought to paper, or email, to send to him. And then he got deployed and the cycle started again, he would start writing you a letter and then he would trash it because it didn’t like the way it sounded and even the ones he liked never got sent as he lost the nerve and instead stashed them in a box that now lived under his bed, and you started your internship to and communication was run into the ground. 

He was just glad you were a social media person, while he wasn’t and rarely posted on any accounts he had, he got to watch your life unfold through the screen. He watched you enter relationships which made his heart twist in pain as he thought about you being with someone that wasn’t him and then he watched those relationships end which hurt even more because he couldn’t be there to comfort like he had been when you were younger. He watched as you moved from Seattle after your internship being offered a position in one of the best trauma centres in the country where you adopted your scruff ball that had been adequately named ‘shaggy’. He watched as you posted photos of you and your dad, though his own relationship with Maverick was in the gutter, he was happy to see yours healing. Happy that you had someone when he wasn’t there. 

Now that you were back in his life, he felt like that one piece of the puzzle that had been missing since he enlisted had finally been put back into place, though he would never admit it anyone, especially Phoenix after she interrogated him about your relationship after you had left the Hard Deck that first night, he didn’t want her to have the satisfaction of known that he was in fact, in far too deep with you even after 10 years after he spent so long denying that there was anything romantic between the two of you.

Though your admissions hung heavy around you, as if waiting for one of you to reach out and grab it in an admission of blame of whose fault it was you drifted apart, conversation flowed naturally between the two of you as you caught each other up on the details and events in your lives for the past 10 years, neither one of you wanting to play the blame game though it was heavy on your heads because you both knew you were equally to blame. 

As you talked and caught up, you were none the wiser to the lingering gazes of the squad of aviators who sat with either a questioning look or a smug smirk on their faces (Phoenix and Hangman specifically) as one of them voiced the question to Maverick, “What’s going on with those two?”

With a shake of his head, Maverick let out a small sigh and moved his eyes away from the form of his daughter and surrogate nephew as they walked hand in hand along the shore line and to the aviators who had now downed their beers and were getting ready for another round of dogfight football without Rooster. Pushing his aviators back up his nose, Maverick laid back in his lounge chair and shrugged his shoulders, “They were attached at the hip once upon a time, they’re just catching up.” 

Though his tone was playful, there was a warning edge to it that warned the others to drop the subject because truthfully even Maverick didn’t know what was going on between the two of you. He knew you were close growing up and you grew apart as adults, something you lamented to him about as you healed your relationship with him after graduating college, but watching you two he could finally see what your mother saw every time you two were together. The undying, unbridled love in each other's eyes that you were too blinded to see, the same kind of love he saw in Carole and Gooses eyes every day. Yeah, Maverick found himself thinking, maybe your mom was right and you were gonna be Mrs.Bradshaw one day. 

---

Its 2 weeks later and you’re finally moved into your new place in San Diego, only 30 minutes away from Fightertown on a good day and 60 on a bad day, a 3 bedroom, 2 bathroom (1 ensuite, 1 main), bungalow with an open plan living room and kitchen. It was a nice bungalow, sitting right beside the beach and a small garden out your front, the amount of bed rooms meant one could be converted into an office or home gym while the other can be a storage room, maybe changing into a baby room a few years down the line. And it was all yours, after years of renting, you owned your own home and you couldn't be happier. 

You had been moved in within 5 days with the help of your father and dagger squad who spent most of their evenings helping you move furniture and unpack everything after it had arrived. Though you were pretty sure they were doing it under the orders of your father, it was nice to have them around. The squad were your dad’s family, which meant by extension they were yours now and it was nice to get to know them. You grew especially close with Siren, Phoenix and Halo, the three happy to have another woman around to break up the testosterone, especially one who could handle Hangman’s ego and kept him and Rooster in line when things started to get heated between them. 

Your relationship with Rooster also got better, since that day on the beach where you seemed to walk the entire length of the beach and back as you talked, though you weren’t as close as you were when you were younger, which was physically impossible as he had training and drills every day and you were helping Penny with both wedding planning and in the Hard Deck on busy nights, you were still close. 

You were happy to find all the quirks and mannerisms you had memorised still existed, like the way his lip upturned when he was scheming or the how he fiddled with his dog tags when he was nervous or thinking (when you were young he would always fiddle with his dads), turning the metal over his fingers again and again, or how when he was lying he would scratch behind his right ear and his eyebrow would twitch slightly (honestly, it was such a small reaction that most people didn't notice it) everything about him so familiar and it was welcome because it meant he was still your Bradley even after all this time. 

Which is why when Rooster walked into your bungalow that night, pizza and beer in his hand with a certain look in his eye, you knew immediately that he wanted something. You watched him carefully with your arms crossed over your chest as you leaned against your kitchen sink and he placed the pizza down on your island. He was avoiding your gaze, another nervous habit when he was scared to ask something, instead looking over your kitchen as if he hadn’t been there every night for the past week. With a gentle sigh you moved forward, uncrossing your arms and putting your hands on the island so you were now leaning on it instead. 

“Spit it out Bradshaw. What do you want?” 

Rubbing at the back of his neck, Rooster almost looks sheepish as he also leans on the island with his forearm against the cold granite and this only makes you raise an eyebrow at him in a questioning manner. 

“You see…” You very rarely saw Bradley struggle to ask for something, especially not from you as there was very little you would say no to him about, now he seemed nervous as if what he was asking would cause you to reach over and slap him across the face. “I, uh, I wanted to call upon our arrangement one last time.” 

Now, whatever you were expecting him to say it was certainly not that and the shock was clear on your face as you quite literally stood up straight with wide eyes and your mouth opening and closing. It had been a while since you thought about your arrangement with Bradley, years even as the last time it came into play was your med-school graduation 10 years ago, before everything fell apart. While the arrangement was something the two of you agreed upon almost 20 years earlier as freshly graduated high schoolers, you still remembered it like it was yesterday. 

---- 

It was just after your high school graduation, your mother had organised a small party with a few of your relatives that lived nearby and a few friends from outside of school but you and Bradley snuck away in his old Bronco he had gotten as soon as he got his licence (it was almost the exact same one as Gooses) and you ended up in what you had dubbed ‘your secret spot’. It was a silly name, but it was where the two of you would always go to escape when the world got a little bit too much, either together or alone. After Bradley parked near the large oak tree that took up most of the clearing, you clambered out of the car and laid down the blanket you had brought with you, popping open the champagne you had snuck off one of the tables at the party. 

Letting out a content sigh, you plopped yourself down on the blanket, your legs spreading out in front of you as you leaned back on your arms with your head thrown back to look at the stars that decorated the night sky. Your eyes traced over the shapes of the constellations, following them until an image formed in your mind of what they were meant to be. You knew them all, and their stories, that was something your mom had taught you. Bradley settled next to you, one leg propped up so he could lean his arm on it, the other pressing against yours alongside his shoulder as he leaned back on his hand, following you in looking up at the stars. 

Bradley never understood your fascination with the stars, you had explained it to him once telling him a story your mom constantly repeated to you about how you would never settle at night unless she took you out to the stars and told you their stories, it seems that even as a baby you found them calming. You told him that even if the world was in chaos and falling apart around you, the stars were always there, they were the one constant in a world where nothing else was and looking at them brought you comfort. But no matter how much you explained it, and how much he said he got it, there was always a part of him that never quite knew what you meant but that never stopped him from listening as you explained the different constellations to him, no matter how many times he had already heard the story. 

The two of you sat in silence for a while, passing the bottle of champagne between you quietly, simply revelling in each other's company because you knew things were gonna be different come September time. Sure, you were going to the same college things were going to be different, you were hoping to join a sorority and Bradley was going to try out for the baseball team, you didn’t imagine you would have the same time for each other that you have now given you were never apart for more than an hour or two when you weren’t asleep. Eventually you moved from your sitting positions, instead opting to lie on the blanket, you with your arms on your stomach and Bradley with his arms under his head causing the muscles in his arms to flex and you cursed him for it, finding it hard not to look at him as he did. 

“I have a proposition.” Turning your head to look at Bradley with an amused smirk, you see he’s already looking at you with soft eyes and an even softer smile and you raise your eyebrow at him. Bradley turns on his side, using his arm to prop up his head, and you do the same giving him your full attention. 

“Go on, you’ve piqued my interest.”

He rolls his eyes at the teasing tone in your voice and lightly shoves your shoulder, just enough that you wobble but not enough that you fall over which causes you to giggle. “Come on, I’m being serious.”

Wiping the smile from your mouth, you put on a fake serious face, “Okay, okay, I’m serious.” Bradley only rolls his eyes again but he doesn’t shove you, instead his free hand starts to play with a loose strand of fabric on the blanket, his eyes casting down to avoid meeting yours as he spoke. 

“We make a promise, an agreement, that when we get to college and even after we won’t forget about one another. Like, if one of us has an event or a party, and we’re both single, we go together, if one of us has a ceremony or an award or any sort of celebration we go and support the other.” 

His eyes moved up to meet yours, having been scared you were going to tell him no. Tell him that now you were grown you wanted some independence from him, a chance to see who you were without Bradley Bradshaw attached at your hip. But you don’t, instead you reach out your hand, fingers clenched closed with your pinky extended and a small smile on your face. 

“I promise B” Bradley reaches out and intertwines your pinky fingers together. 

--- 

And that was the start of your agreement with Bradley Bradshaw that saw him as your date to your first sorority event and you as his to the college baseball formal, it’s what saw you at multiple events together throughout college and saw peoples always asking about if you were dating or not, with some of your sorority sisters commenting on the fact that you were lucky to have him. It was what saw him supporting you when you were given an award by the school for academics and you supporting him when he got MVP three years in a row with the baseball team, it was what had you in the crowd of his graduation from the naval academy and him in the crowd of your med-school graduation. But after you started to drift apart, the agreement fell apart with it and it hadn’t been brought up since. Until now that is

“The arrangement?” Bradley let out a small chuckle and stopped rubbing at his neck, instead now leaning on the island with both arms as his eyes swept across the room, determined not to meet your stare he tried to find something, anything he could focus on instead of you because he was sure he would see rejection in your eyes. Finally, his eyes settled on the photos on your fridge, one of you and your friends on your graduation day, one of you and your dad working on the F-14  he had in his bunker, one of you and Shaggy from shortly after you got him, and one of you and him at your senior year prom. 

A small huff passes your lips as you look him up and down, once again crossing your arms over your chest your, “Okay, but I need details first.” Bradley’s eyes snapped from the photos on your fridge to your face as his mouth opened in shock, he was truly expecting you to say no. To tell him to fuck off, that it was a stupid promise made when you were teenagers but here you were agreeing. 

“You’re serious?” Rolling your eyes, you leaned forward onto the island once again, this time folding your arms over one another, matching the way Rooster was standing, and you slid forward slightly so your face was just millimetres away from Rooster and you had to stop your eyes from flickering down to his lips and imagining the way they would feel on yours. Rooster was having a similar issue, finding himself forcing his eyes to look into your eyes because he knew if he looked anywhere else he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from reaching out and pulling you into a bruising kiss.

“Of course I’m serious, I did pinky promise after all and we both know those are sacred.” With a small smile you suddenly pull back, all too aware of how the heat of his breath against your skin was starting to cause a blush to spread over your cheeks. Quickly you clear your throat and reach for the pizza on the counter, lifting it as you round the island and head towards your living room. Throwing yourself onto the sofa you place the pizza box on the coffee table and reach down to pet Shaggy who is asleep in his bed at the end of the sofa, motioning to the other side of the sofa with your hand, “Now, details.” 

Lifting the beer, and a bottle opened, Bradley joins you on the sofa and hands you an open beer, while you’re sat with your back against the arm of the sofa and your legs pulled up to your chest, Bradley leans back, stretches one arm around the back cushions of the sofa and spreads his legs in front of him. Taking a deep swig of beer, he lets out a sigh and runs his hand over his face before he starts to explain. 

“An old navy buddy is getting married on Saturday and I was invited to the wedding a while back,” Okay, so far so good, you think to yourself and you let a gentle ‘hmmm’ to let Rooster know you were listening as you took a swig of your own beer, “At the time I was just a guest, but one of his groomsmen has dropped out, well he’s been kicked out but that's another story for another time, so now there’s an uneven number of bridesmaids and groomsmen and the bridesmaids already have their dresses so it would be a complete waste of money to ask one of the bridesmaid to drop out and he doesn’t have any other close friends or family, his brother’s are already part of the grooms party” 

“B you’re rambling.” You very rarely saw Bradley rambling, only when he was really  really nervous like that time he asked Ashley Stone to be his prom date in junior year or when he confessed to his first college girlfriend. 

“Right, sorry. Anyway, he reached out to me and asked if I would be his groomsman, all the other guys are navy men, and I said yes, no problem. The thing is this all went down when I was still seeing that girl, Molly, I was telling you about and I had put down a plus one.” 

Realisation hits you and you nod your head along with what he’s saying, “So you want me to be your plus one.” His eyes, which had been staring up at your ceiling, move to your face and he nods slowly, but there’s something in his eyes that tells you that’s not all it is and you let out a small sigh and narrow your eyes at him. 

“There’s something else, isn’t there?” He nods solemnly and takes another swig of his beer before he leans forward and places his elbows on his knees, head turned towards you with an apologetic look on his face. 

“I heard Molly was going to be there with her new man, apparently he’s a friend of the brides, and I may have said I was bringing my new girl.” You close your eyes and curse at his stupidity, taking swig of your beer as you rubbed at your temples. 

“So you want me to be your date and play pretend as your girlfriend?” It wouldn’t be the first time you had pretended to be his girlfriend, you had done it once or twice in college when he was clearly uncomfortable when someone was flirting with him to chase him off, and he had pretended to be your  boyfriend numerous times when some creeps wouldn’t take the hint that you  wasn’t interested in them, but that was short bursts. This was going to be an all day thing, and you didn’t know if your heart could take that. 

“Pretty much.” Bradley knew it was a lot to ask, it even feel outside the parameters of your agreement and he was sure you were going to turn around any second now and tell him to get lost, that you wouldn’t do it. But as you opened your eyes with a resigned sigh and looked at him, he knew you weren’t going to do that. 

“Okay Bradshaw, you got a deal. But…” You were caught off guard by Bradley reaching over and pulling you into a tight embrace, practically putting you onto his lap as he did so as he muttered thank you over and over again into your ear. You hugged him back and let out a gentle chuckle before pulling back, your hands on Bradley’s shoulders as his remained your waist where he had pulled you in. 

Your heart picked up in your chest from the contact and you felt heat rush through your body as a blush spread across your cheeks, you didn’t want to pull away any further than you already were, you actually wanted to pull him closer to you and press your lips against his. In fact every muscle in your body was screaming at you to do just that but you didn’t listen, instead letting go of his shoulder and shuffling back to your position on the sofa. 

“As I was saying, I need to know details of the wedding. Time, theme, colours, bridesmaid colours, dress code, what you’re wearing.” You ran your hand through your hair, starting to panic a little the more you thought about it, which Bradley saw. He reached a hand out and took the one carding through your hair in his, pulling it to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss to it and something about the gentle intimacy of it almost stopped your breathing. 

“Stop panicking. I will text Mercury, uh, Gerard and ask him anything I don’t know and then I’ll text you. He’s asked all the groomsmen to wear their dress whites so it won’t be hard to match me. I don’t know the theme, the dress code for the reception for the women is princess? I don't actually know, and I don’t know about the colour scheme. But I will find out, I promise.” At Rooster’s words you calm a little, taking a few deep breaths to settle your racing heart before you nod. 

“Okay, okay.” He gives you a smile before dropping your hand and reaching over to the coffee table, flipping open the pizza lid and pulling out a slice, handing it to you with a smile, “Now let’s eat before it turns to ice.” 

--- 

Saturday rolls around quicker than you would have liked, you thought you would be over the nerves by now but as the day approached the only seemed to get worse and worse until you felt your chest constricting and your lungs felt like they were collapsing in on themselves as you struggled to breath. Eyes squeezed tight, your hands gripped onto your island lip with such force that you knew your knuckles were turning white even without looking at them. Your thoughts were spiralling a little, little what ifs that were nothing if not intrusive thoughts like what if Bradley’s doing this to embarrass you? What if he’s doing just to make his ex jealous? What if? What if? What if? They swarmed your mind and you felt like you were beginning to drown. 

Suddenly a hand is placed on your arm, slowly rubbing up and down the skin to soothe you and another is placed on your head slowly moving through your hair and you hear voices but they feel a million miles away, distorted by your heartbeat that was thundering in your ears. Slowly you opened your eyes, to see Natasha and Callie looking at you from either side with concern and you could see their mouths move but still couldn't quite make out the sound coming out. Callie removed her hand from your hair and instead used it to guide one of your own to her chest, where you could feel her taking deep long breaths and you tried your best to match the pattern. In for eight seconds, hold for six, out for eight and repeat. Your heart beat started to calm and you could start to make out what the girls at your side were saying. 

“That’s it (Y/N)....” 

“Nice and easy…”

“You’re okay…” 

The tightness in your chest slowly fades, it still lingers but it doesn’t inhibit your breathing anymore, and the rapid beating of your heart slows to a relatively normal rate. Finally, your hands release their grip on the island and you stretch your fingers open and closed to ease the ache that had settled in them. Your eyes move to Natasha, whose hand is still running up and down your arm and then to Callie who stills holds one of your hands against her chest with a small smile and look of appreciation. 

“Thank you guys.” 

They give you small nods in return, Callie lets go of your hand and instead wraps an arm around your shoulder and brings you into a hug while Natasha threads her fingers through your hand, “No need to thank us,” it was Natasha who spoke, “I’m just glad we arrived when we did.” 

Callie let out a soft ‘yeah’ agreeing with her girlfriend, “That looked pretty bad, you okay?” You had told the girls before about having panic attacks, you were at the Hard Deck one night, just the three of you, and some creep was not leaving you alone and you had a little freak out in the bathroom that they witnessed, but it had been a while since you had a full blown attack like the one you just experienced. You were glad the girls arrived then they did as well, you didn’t know how you were going to calm down from that one on your own and it was a gift to have them there grounding you. 

With a small nod you pull back from Callie, “Yeah, I’m good now. It’s just one bad thought spiralled into another and another and another and I didn’t know how to pull myself out.” Natasha’s hand moved from your arm to rub at your back softly, knowing your body is probably still pumping with adrenaline, to sooth you further, the looks of concern remained but their lips turned up into soft smiles. They knew you were nervous about the whole thing, having lamented to them your nerves and fears when you went out dress shopping only yesterday because Rooster didn’t give you the details you needed to find a dress sooner. 

The theme of the event was fairy tales and what can only be described as royaltycore, with the bride wearing a replica of the live action Cinderella dress and her bridesmaids baby blue and baby pink dresses obviously inspired by the dress worn by princess Aurora in sleeping beauty going by their shape (matching the wedding dress in the live action movie) and colour (an obvious nod to the changing blue and pink in the original animated feature), with a pastel colour scheme, Bradley had told you that guests would have to wear pastels that matched the table you were assigned and those wearing dresses were under orders (straight from the bride herself) to dress like the princess of their childhood dreams (and surprisingly she didn't care if you ended up looking better than her, it seems she just wanted to live out her childhood dream of living a fairy tale for just a few hours) , and the table you and Bradley would be placed at was designated the lavender table so you had to hunt for a lavender dress. 

Having found nothing in San Diego you, Natasha, and Callie all ended up driving over 2 hours to LA in the traffic and heat to try and find something you could wear. You had formal dresses, having attended many a charity gala and medical events but they were all dark navys and emerald greens, you weren’t really one for pastels and you certainly didn't have anything that made you feel like a princess, in fact most of your dresses made you feel like a display, a prize to be given to the highest bidder as you were paraded around to convince donors to up their donations with a flutter of your eyelashes and your tits pressed against their arms as you walked, so you had to go out and shop for something.

 While some of the dresses you found when in San Diego had potential, they were either the wrong shape or the wrong size (and you most definitely did not have time to have anything tailored) so you made the journey to L.A and finally found something in a small shop owned by an independent designer that had been recommended by Siren (who couldn’t join you as she was dragging a very nervous Bob to meet her family in Miami that weekend). You were lucky, it was the last of the dress in stock and it was just your size and, in Callies words, you looked like a knock-out in it. With dress in hand, the three of you made your way back to San Diego and settled in your respective homes just before midnight. 

Natasha removed her hand from your back as she felt your breathing even out completely, the tightness in your chest was now completely gone and your panic had settled though nervousness still brewed in the pit of your stomach, and she turned to Callie with a smile, “Now let’s get you all dolled up.”

That’s right, you forgot you asked them to help you get ready, well you told them you didn’t know what to do with your hair and makeup and didn’t have time to book in with anyone to get it professionally done, to which Natasha let you know that Callie is phenomenal at doing makeup making a joke that if she wasn’t a pilot she would be on a movie set somewhere doing makeup for the stars. Callie blushed at the compliment and let you know she could do yours for you, while also volunteering Natasha to do your hair because she was surprisingly good at it. And that’s why they were at your place at 8am in the morning after getting home so late at night. You were gonna have to buy them a bottle of wine or two to thank them later. 

Natasha guided you into your room, her hand in yours and placed you down in front of your vanity. It was an old thing, the one your mom used to keep in her room though she very rarely used it, but it was nice to have a piece of her. She turned you to the side, so you were facing the door into your ensuite while she positioned herself behind you and Callie positioned herself in front of you, placing her makeup bag on the vanity. You were thankful she brought it, the only makeup you had were the basics to make you look less like a zombie when out in the ED, some foundation, concealer, blush, eyeliner, and maybe three eyeshadow palettes none of which contained pastel colours. Under their instructions, you closed your eyes and let the girls get to work.

The ceremony was starting at 10, would be finished in 30 minutes and Rooster was coming to pick you up on his way to the reception venue, with the reception not due to start until 12, Rooster would pick up at 10.45, giving him time to get to the venue with the midday San Diego traffic.

Which was great, considering the fact that both Natasha and Callie restarted their entire process at least 3 times each drawing out the time it took for them to actually finish doing your hair and makeup, well that and the breaks you took to eat something and to sneak a drink of champagne that Callie had brought with her deciding you would need a little bit of an edge to calm your nerves before Rooster arrives. Between the stopping and restarting, your hair and makeup was finished by 10:40. 

Though you couldn’t see yourself yet, Callie had covered up the mirror halfway through because you kept trying to peek, the looks on Callie and Natasha’s face were enough to let you know you looked good. “Beautiful. Now get your ass into your dress, I can hear Rooster pulling up.”

Callie left the room, leaving Natasha to help you get into your dress. As yout stripped out of your pyjamas, folding them neatly and placing them on the edge of your bed, Natasha turned away towards your bedroom door and started to remove your dress from the protective covering given to you at the boutique yesterday, while you made your way to your underwear drawer and pulled out a lacy thong and a strapless bra in a matching colour out and put them on. You then turned to Natasha who had removed the dress from the hanger and was holding it folded over her arm, you let out a gentle ‘okay’ to let her know it was okay for her to turn around. 

While Natasha helped you into your dress, Callie let Rooster into your home with a smile and a bit of a questioning look as she noticed he was driving a black Bentley and not his usual bronco, “You give up the bronco?” Rooster rolled his eyes as he stepped over the threshold of your home with a small smile on his face. 

“Gerard insisted all the groomsmen arrive in Bentley’s, he did wanna give me a driver but I insisted on driving to get (Y/N) myself.” Callie nodded her head as they walked into the open plan living room and kitchen, leaning against the island as she eyed up Rooster. Even she had to admit that he looked good in his dress whites. 

“You clean up well Bradshaw.” 

Roosters rolled his eyes at Callie, but his lips upturned slightly at the compliment, it fed his ego a little bit, though he only really cared about what you thought he looked like. Rooster’s eyes once again found the photo of the two of you at prom and a small smile spread across his face as he remembered just how beautiful you looked that night and how that was the first time he realised that he may have had not so friendly feelings towards you. He remembered his heart beating rapidly in his chest as he waited for your mom to go and get you from your room, how his hands felt clammy and his head began to spin as he saw you in your dress for the first time. This was no different, his heart was hammering in his chest as if it was trying to break through his ribs and throw itself directly into your hands, and his hands felt damp to his touch as he clasped them together in front of him to stop him fidgeting. 

Callies eyes softened as she watched one of her best friends and she smiled, it was obvious from the very first day that you were Roosters girl to the point that even Hangman was leaving you alone not wanting to incur the wrath of a love sick Rooster, but now watching him Callie could see it was so much more than just an infatuation but was pure, deep love, one not everybody got to experience and those who did were lucky too. “She’s beautiful Bradley.” 

Rooster’s eyes snapped to Callies and he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, he knew you were beautiful. You were always beautiful, even when you thought you looked your worst Bradley always thought you were the most ethereal being on the planet. The sound of a door opening and closing caused Bradley to look down the corridor he knew lead to your bedroom, but instead of you walking down there was Natasha with a smile on her face. 

“She’s just getting her shoes on.” Bradley nodded his head as Natasha joined Callie leaning on the island, leaning over and giving her a kiss on the cheek before she turned her eyes back to Bradley. She narrowed them slightly and crossed her arms over her chest as she looked him up and down. 

“This is your one shot Bradshaw, fuck this up and I will run you over with my car.” Bradley wanted to ask what she was talking about, argue that there was nothing to fuck up, you were just friends, and you were only doing this as a favour to him, but the sound of your heels coming down the hall stopped him and he turned to look at you. 

Callie wasn’t wrong, you were beautiful but you were so much more than that. You looked like an absolute goddess, your makeup made all your features pop, especially your eyes and

your hair was styled to perfection with little decorative butterflies poking out here and there to match your dress. Your dress. God, you truly looked like a fairy princess. A gorgeous lilac, floor-length gown, with butterflies decorating the skirt and collar line with pink highlights, including a pink belt around your waist. 

The world around Rooster faded away as he looked at you, it was like he had tunnel vision and everything else faded to darkness, and his heart beat so rapidly and loudly in his chest he could hear it and felt like he was underwater. Eyes moving over your form, not every discreetly, a flush rose on his cheeks and he felt his throat dry up and constrict as he tried to vocalise anything to let you know what he was thinking.

The intensity of his stare at you blushing profusely, eyes moving away from him as you ran your hand over the skirt of your dress to distract yourself from his gaze, which you could physically feel on you as if it was peeling back the layers of your skin and muscle and staring directly at your heart, which was beating so rapidly against your ribcage. You were so distracted by not looking at Bradley, you can’t see the sly smiles shared by Natasha and Callie, or the way they were eyeing the two of you just waiting for one of you to make a move. 

Taking a gulp, making his adams apple bob in his throat, Rooster clears his throat finally moving his eyes away from your form, though the blush he sports is still rapidly spreading across his face, “You look good angel.”

Mentally Rooster curses himself, was that seriously the best he could come up with? That you looked good? Did you really short-circuit his brain that badly that he couldn’t even compliment you properly? Natasha groans internally, throwing her head back in exasperation as she lets out a sigh and rolls her eyes. She knew Rooster was an idiot but this was beyond idiocy. You didn’t mind though, you gave Rooster a smile as you finally looked at him again. 

“You look good too B.” 

A smile spread across Rooster’s face as he reached out a hand for you to take, which you do with a small smile, “Your carriage awaits princess.” You roll your eyes at his extravagance, taking your clutch from Callie as Rooster escorts you to the car, which you give him a questioning look about and you laugh as he explains that he was forced too, but if he had a choice he would be driving you to the ball in his bronco. 

Natasha and Callie watch with smiles as you laugh with one another before driving off and as you do the couple turn to one another and sigh, “They are absolutely hopeless.” Callie nods along to her girlfriend's words and clicks her tongue, “Completely hopeless.” 

---

The drive to the venue doesn’t take as long as you thought it would, the traffic isn’t as bad as anticipated with most people taking advantage of the beautiful morning and heading to the beach before temperatures reach their peak between mid-day and three pm. It’s a peaceful drive, mostly. 

You of course tease Bradley about his moustache and how you’re surprised Gerard didn’t make him shave the ridiculous thing off to be in the wedding party and he rolled his eyes and chuckled, letting a little “you know you love my moustache” slip past his lips. And, surprisingly, you do love his moustache, though you would never let him know that it would simply inflate his ego to the point it would match Hangmans, and you did not need a cocky Bradley in your life.

But after you actually set off, conversation dies off with the only sound being the music playing gently from the speakers. You realise, half-way through the drive, that it’s a playlist of all your favourite songs from childhood and you smile at the thought that Bradley remembered and made a playlist specifically for you, you supposed it was to try and calm the nerve raging inside of you the closer you got to the venue. 

For most of the ride, you’re sitting staring out the window with your elbow propped on the window and your head propped on a fist, just watching the world whizz by, occasionally moving your eyes to take in Bradley in his dress whites. Bradley is a handsome man, he knows he’s a handsome man and often uses that to his advantage, but in his dress whites? His dress whites take it to a whole other level and you swear he looks like Prince Charming coming to sweep Cinderella off her feet. 

You take your time to admire him, from his nearly combed and styled hair that doesn’t have a hair out of place and it certainly being held in place by a mountain of products curving down along his chiselled jawline to his plump lips that had a light sheen to him, probably just a lip balm, but they looked so kissable as you stared at them for a little bit longer than you should have, being so lost in thought that you bite down on your own lips that were painted a light pink. 

You finally move on from staring at Bradleys lips back across his jawline and down his neck, moving across his arms that looked absolutely amazing in the white overcoat until you reached his hands, which were gripping onto the steering wheel with such an intensity that his knuckles were starting to change colour and the veins in his hands bulged, causing heat to spread through your body as you thought about his hands on your body, wrapped around your throat, holding your waist, dipping lower and lower to where you wanted him the most. But before your mind wanders too far, you strip your gaze away from him and look back out the window to try and calm your now rapidly beating heart and quell the embers of burning desire. 

Your gaze isn’t unnoticed by Rooster, oh no, he doesn’t even have to look over to know your staring at him, he can feel your emerald eyes burning into his skin as it moved over his form and as he looks over and sees you biting down on your lip, he has to suppress a groan because you looked so damn good and he didn’t know how long he could control himself if you kept looking at him like that, which is why he was gripping onto the steering wheel with such force to try and ground himself and focus on anything other than your pretty pink lips and how they would feel on his own, how they would feel pressed against the skin of his neck, his chest, his abdomen, his. 

Suddenly, Rooster is shaken out of his thoughts as the venue comes into sight and he is directed by a concierge to park alongside the other groomsmens bentley’s and he quickly clears his throat before following the directions and pulling in. As he pulls the keys of the car out of the ignition, he turns to you with a smile tugging at his lips, eyes roaming over your body once again, “You ready?” 

You take a few deep breaths, in for eight, hold for six, out for eight and repeat, close your eyes and steady your heart before turning to Bradley with a tight lipped smile and a gentle nod of your head, “Yeah, let’s do this.” 

You go to open your door, but Bradley quickly slaps your hand away and you turn to him with a shocked expression. Bradley only gives you a goofy grin before he gets out of his own door, shutting it behind him, before he makes his way over to your door smiling at the other groomsmen who were gathered only a short distance away. Straightening out the collar of his jacket quickly, Bradley open’s your door for you and offers you his hand, which you roll your eyes at but gladly take, allowing him to help you out of the car.

You hear a couple of whistles as Bradley’s hands fall to your waist as you allow him to steady you, pulling you close to his chest in the process. You could hear a few voices calling out from behind you, all some variation of ‘go Bradshaw’ or ‘way to go Rooster’, which causes a blush to rise on your cheeks which actually mirrored the one on Bradley’s as he tried to let you go. You stopped him, moving your arms around his neck and pulling him down to put a kiss on his cheek. Afterall, you were supposed to be his girlfriend and with people watching, you were going to put on a show.

The blush you had seen on Bradley’s face was nothing compared to the one heating up his skin now, he looked like a tomato and he had to hide his face in your neck to avoid being seen by the other groomsmen who were whooping and hollering at the display of affection. You rolled your eyes at the antics but welcomed the display of affection from Rooster, especially as he snaked his arms fully around your waist and rubbed up and down your back. It was something you frequently did when you were both younger, a way for the both of you to ground one another when it was needed, and it was very much needed now as anxiety started to take root in your heart. 

A strong smack on Rooster’s shoulder prompts him to pull away from you, “Rooster man, you gonna introduce us to your girl here or are you just gonna love up on her all night?”

The small group of groomsmen (a total of 3 excluding the groom) had made their way over to you and were now leaning either against the bentley you arrived in or the one beside it with cocky smiles on their faces and their arms crossed. You had to assume the one who smacked Rooster was the groom, Gerard. 

“Uh, yeah. Gerard, this is my girl (Y/N).” Though he had pulled away from you, Bradley manoeuvred so he was now at your side with his hand around your waist. “(Y/N), this is Gerard, and the rest of the groomsmen are Sam, James, and Steve.” He motioned to each one as he introduced them and you met them all with a smile.  

James was the first of the group to speak to you directly, his eyes trailed up and down your body appreciatively and even though you know he means no harm by it you can’t help but cringe slightly at the way his eyes rake over you, there was just something wrong with the way he did it, “Damn Bradshaw. When you said your girl was a knockout you really meant it.” Finishing off his sentence with a wink in your direction, he moves back to look at Rooster who holds you just that little bit closer. 

“Yeah, I’m damn lucky to have her.” 

You look up to Bradley with a smile, only to find him already looking at you with a softness you’re not used to. One that speaks to the way lovers look at one another in the privacy of their own homes, one that you had seen before in how your friend Graham looked at his husband and how Maverick looked at Penny. Not wanting to overthink, truly not wanting to think about it all, you turn back to the group of groomsmen and clear your throat. 

“Are you all aviators?”

Steve is next to speak, “Gerard and Sam are, me and James are marines” You give a small hmm in acknowledgement before he continues on, “What about you? You in the navy?”

You shake your head with a small laugh, “No, I think my dad would have actually murdered me if I even considered joining the navy. Um, my dads a pilot, Captain Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell?” All the men exchange wide eyed shocked looks and Sam lets out a whistle. 

“Wow, Rooster, the Captains daughter? And not just any Captain at that, Maverick? I’m surprised he hasn’t skinned you alive.” 

You roll your eyes a little at that, sure your dad was overprotective and had threatened a few of your ex boyfriends, the one person he would never threaten is Bradley, and you both knew that. “There are two people in the world my father is scared of, one was my mother when she was alive. She was small but she was mighty and quite the temper. The other is me, unfortunately for him I inherited my mothers temper and his attitude.” 

The boys around you let out a small chuckle, imagining you going in on Maverick, which you had done multiple times when he took on a dangerous mission and told you nothing about it (not even his flight details or that fact that he was flying, you really ripped into him after the uranium mission). The conversation looked like it was going to continue, until a small frazzled red head with a clipboard approached the group, the wedding planner you guessed. 

“Boys!! You are needed for photographs before the reception begins!!” You stifled a giggle as you saw them all roll their eyes at her and cast your eyes to the ground, knowing if you meet any of the groomsmens eyes you would burst out laughing. The wedding planner let out a huff as she looked at her watch and then stormed off in the direction of what you assumed was the entrance. 

“That’s our cue then.” James is the first to move off, throwing you a quick wink as he stood up straight and started heading towards the entrance alongside Steve and Sam. Gerard stayed with you and Bradley as you started moving towards the entrance yourselves, Bradley’s hand still wrapped firmly around your waist. As you walk the few metres to the entrance, Bradley and Gerard joke amongst themselves and all you can do is smile. Bradley was well and truly relaxed, you could feel it as he held you. There was no tension in his muscles, they way there usually was even if you were just hanging at the Hard Deck or at your place or at the hanger, even the micro muscles in his face seemed relaxed. 

Stopping at the entrance, Gerard motions into a girl in a beautiful light purple dress with constellations stitched into the skirt and a small silver tiara in her hair, who was standing by a table of champagne, talking to an older woman in a beautiful regency style dress that looked like it had been picked out of Bridgerton , “That’s Sarah, she’s my cousin and Sam’s girl. Let her know your Rooster’s girl and she’ll show you to your table, she’s sitting with you. That’s her mother with her, my aunt Millie, be careful she’ll talk your ear off if you let her,” the last bit is spoken in a whisper as Gerard bends down to your ear, causing you to smile. 

You nod your head and go to move in her direction, but Bradley grabs your hand and pulls you back into him, lifting your hand up and pressing a soft kiss to the back of it. It was something he had done before, the night you had agreed to this whole charade, and again it took your breath away as the simple intimacy of it made your head feel light. 

“I’ll be in soon, okay?” You give him a gentle nod and a soft ‘yeah’ falls past your lips, which is enough for him to let you go. You give him a smile as you turn towards the entrance, eyes following him from your peripheral as he moves towards where the photos are being taken until he is out of your view and you look at Sarah, who has turned to look at you having heard you coming. 

“Hi, I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Sarah.” She offers a hand out to you, which you take, and you instantly relax as you take in her gentle and welcoming smile and how something about her just eases peace, maybe it’s the constellations on her dress calming you or maybe she oozes the same energy that you found in them. 

“Hi,” You don’t expect your voice to sound as small as it does and you quickly clear your throat before you continue, “I’m (Y/N), I’m uh…” 

A look of excitement crosses across her features as she clasps her hands together and lets out a small squeal, “You’re Roosters girl? The doctor?” You nod your head slowly, shock settling in as to how she knew who you were, which you apparently weren’t good at hiding, as she links arms with you and smiles widely. 

“At the rehearsal dinner the other day he could not stop talking about you! Honestly, I wish Sam talked about me as passionately as Rooster spoke about you. And, honey, the way his eyes lit up anytime someone asked about you, it’s adorable.” 

Relief washes over you, Rooster had already spoken about you. He had planted the seeds that this relationship was legit in the minds of all the people here already, that made things easier. Now you just had to act like you were desperately in love with him, which was easy considering that you were no matter how much you refused to admit it to yourself. 

Aunt Millie now turned to you with a smile and a glass of champagne, “Hello dear, I’m Mildred but you may call me Millie.” 

You gently take the glass from her with a smile, “Hello Millie, my name’s (Y/N).” Her gentle smile and warm eyes remind you of your grandmother, and of the countless old ladies who made their way into an er throughout the year as a means to battle their loneliness, Gerard had said she would talk you ear off and you would have gladly let her if it meant she was a little less lonely for the night. 

“Well my dear’s, almost all the guests are seated, shall we join them?” Sarah smiles at her mother and links her other arm through hers, keeping one linked with you, as you walk into the main reception area. Your mouth gaped open as you looked around, it was absolutely stunning. Vine wrapped stone pillars decorated with tiny lights that you were sure would look like twinkling stars once the night had hit, beautifully arranged circular tables curved in a crescent shape with a two person table at the centre reserved for the bride and groom that was decorated with beautiful white gardenias and wild flowers on top of a soft pink table cloth that resembled the colour of rose quartz,, with a lavender table either side (one for the groomsmen and their plus ones and one for the bridesmaids and their plus ones), which was followed by sky blue, then a gentle green colour, then a soft yellow, and then it repeated in reverse order (yellow,green, then blue, then lavender). 

Each table had a flower centrepiece matching the colour of the table cloth, some sprigs of lavender on the lavender tables, blue daisies at the blue tables, limelight hydrangeas at the green tables, and coreopsis at the yellow tables. In the centre of the tables was the dance floor, edges decorated with bushes, all filled with blooming flowers of varying colours (you would have to assume most of them were artificial or else the smell would be completely overpowering), and hanging above it was a gorgeous chandelier that had been threaded with the same wildflowers as the bride and grooms table. 

Behind the bride and groom's table, towards the back sat a photobooth very similar to the one found at proms and homecoming dances with a box of props at the side, that included toy swords, tiaras, and feather boas.  At the very back of the room, hidden behind the floral background of the photobooth, was a pair of white arched doors that you assumed lead to the beach, if you listened close enough you could hear the waves crashing against the shore. It was like walking into a fairy tale. 

Sarah gently guided her mother to her table and seat, it was at the blue table next to yours and she was seated with the mother and father of the groom, as well as some admirals from the navy who usually regarded you with a slight of disdain having meet you at naval event alongside your father, but now meet you with apprehensive smiles and a tilt of their glass in acknowledgment. You gave Millie a gentle goodbye and a promise that you would join her for a conversation at another time during the night. 

Sarah then guided you to your own seat, the lavender table at the right hand side of the two person table, the groom's side you were assuming, and to your seat, though you probably could have figured that out yourself as placed at it was a placard with gentle swishing writing spelling your name. Thankfully, you were sat right next to Sarah and Rooster would be sitting on your right. 

At the table were two other women already and Sarah introduced you to them as Peggy and Natasha, Steve’s fiance and James girlfriend. They’re both lovely women and conversation between the four of you flows quite easily, you discuss your respective careers, learning that Peggy actually works as a nurse in the paediatric unit of your new hospital, and Natasha teaches self defence, and Sarah is a pre-K teacher. 

Throughout your conversation you feel eyes burning into you, though not in an unsettling way, more so a questioning way as if to determine if you were who you actually were and as you move your eyes away from the group of girls around you, you find a pretty blonde staring at you from the far lavender table on the bride’s side with a little bit of sadness in her eyes. She sits next to a tall man with dark curls and a soft lilac suit that perfectly matches her dress. She’s stunning and you quirk your head to the side, curious as to why she’s staring at you but, realisting she’s been caught, she quickly looks away from you. 

You didn’t realise that everyone (minus the wedding party) were seated until the sound of the wedding march started to play from the speakers within the room and the door opens with the maid of honour and Sam making their way in first, followed by the next bridesmaid and Steve, and then the next bridesmaid and Bradley (who gives you a wink) as he enters, and then the next bridesmaid and James. All four of them make their way across the dance floor and to the couple’s table, where they separate to their respective sides with wide smiles. 

“Introducing the newly wed Mr and Mrs Alcove!” Sam's loud tenor voice booms across the room, even without a mic, and in comes the happy couple wrapped up in each other’s arms. You had to admit you thought the bride was going to look ridiculous when Bradley had told you she was wearing a replica of the Cinderella dress, thinking she was going to be wearing the large iconic blue dress, but she looked absolutely stunning in the much simpler replica of the wedding dress from the live action movie. The dress was a beautiful creamy colour with a long, flowing skirt decorated with flowers, and atop the bride's head sat a gorgeous crown. She well and truly looked like a princess. 

You smile and clap with the rest of the guests, some of them whooping and hollering as the couple make their way to the table. The couple share a passionate kiss in front of the table, arms wrapping around one another as if they needed the other to breathe, before sitting down and motioning for their wedding party to do the same. The party splits to either side of the table and takes their seat and as Bradley sits beside you, you reach over and place your hand on his thigh, rubbing it gently as you turn to him with a smile that he gladly returns. 

--- 

The meal begins and conversation surges amongst the table, though it’s hushed it brings a buzz to the air and electrifies it. You're enjoying the conversation amongst your own table, Sam was telling a story about how Bradley literally tripped and broke his nose trying to impress someone while they were on deployment with each other. You, of course, laugh along to the story while Bradley leans back in his chair with a bit of a huff. 

Once again you can feel the same eyes as earlier on you and as you look up, you’re once again met by the same blonde staring at you but this time she doesn’t look away until Bradley catches her eye. You can feel him straighten beside you as he leans forward, one arm wrapping around the back of your chair as he whispers in your ear, “That’s Molly.” And with that, the staring makes sense, though you’re still unsure how she knew it was you. With Sarah, you had introduced yourself but you hadn’t so much as said a word to the other girl. 

Bradley leans back in his chair again, but keeps his arm wrapped around the back of your chair, his fingers rubbing gentle circles on your bare shoulder as you lean back into the chair. 

---

After dinner and speeches, and first dances, Bradley joined the rest of the groomsmen to smoke a cigar out the front of the venue, joined by the wedding photographer who wanted to get a few more candid shots of the boys (you assumed she was still going to pose them, but in a more natural manner), leaving you at the table by yourself as Sarah had disappeared to talk to some of her relatives a few tables down and Peggy and Natasha (she insisted on you calling her Nat, but you just couldn’t having stored that nickname away for Phoenix) joined the bridal at the bridesmaids table for a conversation. Your eyes had met with Millies over the crowd, and you had every intention of going over to join the woman and converse with her, but a body landing in Sarah’s seat next to you stops you. 

You turn to look who it was, not knowing anybody but those sat at your table, and find Molly sitting next to you. She looks nervous, chewing on her lips and fiddling with the golden chain wrapped around her left wrist, as she looks around for someone. She looks for a good few seconds, making sure whoever she was looking for was not going to suddenly pop up out of nowhere and usher her away, before her eyes settled on you. 

When they do, you expect to see rage, jealousy, hate. Instead, they’re soft and kind and hold a hint of sadness in them that you recognise immediately, it's a look you’ve worn yourself. One of mourning a love lost, of grieving over a relationship you would never have, and you realise she’s mourning her relationship with Bradley. 

Molly clears her throat slightly and she releases her lips from her teeth as she speaks, “I’m…uh, I’m Molly but you probably already know that.” Her eyes shuffle away from your face in nervousness, settling instead on the sprigs of lavender in the centre of your table, “And you’re (Y/N), right?”

You nod at her question, afraid to open your mouth but still wanting to acknowledge what she was saying, and she gives a small smile. “I thought so. When we were together Rooster would talk about you, tell me stories about the two of you, you look just like he described you.” You flush slightly, heat engulfing your cheeks, you didn’t know Rooster talked about you to Molly, didn’t know he spoke to anyone about you. “You really are as beautiful as he said.” 

Molly’s eyes moved away from the lavender, landing on you and she tilted her head to the side with a small sigh. You know she isn’t here to be malicious, especially as she moves to take your hand in hers gently, “I shouldn’t be talking to you. The ex talking to the new girl? People will probably think I’m threatening you” You both let out a small chuckle at that, and you must admit she had a beautiful smile. 

“That’s not what I’m here to do, promise.” She looks around her once again, this time you’re able to gather that she’s looking for Rooster, “I just wanted to let you know how in love Rooster is with you.” You’re shocked, and she gives a small giggle at your face as your mouth opens slightly.

“I’m not saying this to make you feel guilty, I am truly happy for Rooster that he finally managed to get you to agree to date him and , but I…I thought Rooster loved me, and maybe some part of him did, but after reading the letters I knew he would never love me like he loved you…” She looks back down to the bracelet on her arm and moves her hand away from yours to play with it again, “And seeing you two together? Seeing how he looks at you like you placed each individual star in the sky, as if you were born from stardust and the cosmos itself? God….” 

Your brain finally catches up to you, and you reach an arm out to touch Mollys arm, “Wait. What letters?” Molly matches your confused look with one of her own, raising an eyebrow as she looks at you, “You haven’t seen the letters? He has a whole box of them, all addressed to you starting from when he was in basic and the most recent was one from his mission before he got called back to Top Gun.”

Your head suddenly feels too full, a million questions running through your head. He wrote you letters? All this time? Why didn’t he ever send them? What about them made Molly realise he was in love with you? Where were they now? Why did he keep them? Alongside your racing thoughts, your heart started to beat rapidly in your chest as the same tightness from this morning returned and you struggled to breath. Suddenly the sound of the party felt like it was a million miles away and it was distorted as if you were underwater, the pounding sound of your heart all you could hear, as your head started to feel dizzy and the room started to ring. 

You could vaguely feel Molly reach out to you, a look of concern on her face, and she was speaking to you but you couldn’t make out exactly what she was saying. It seemed she called someone because in a second Sarah was at her side, a hand on your arm, she was also talking but you couldn’t make out what she was saying. You tried to relax your breathing, eight in, hold for six, eight out, a few times but it wasn’t working. As you panicked, your eyes moved from Molly and Sarah looking around the room for a way out and finally your eyes caught the edge of the arched doors leading to outside world, and you stand suddenly, knocking Sarah back slightly and mumble out, “I need…I need air,” as best you could given your inability to breath properly.  

You rush away from the table and push through the large oak doors, letting them slam behind you, though you were sure no one was able to hear over the pounding bass of the music playing. It was dark out, night having fallen about an hour earlier, with the only light coming from the small porch you were standing on. Your eyes scan around you, the beach spreads out before you with the ocean only a short bit away and in a sudden decision you strip yourself of your shoes, leaving them on the porch, and stalk towards the water, not caring and not really in a rational mind to care about your dress. 

You step into the water, walking until your ankles are fully covered and the skirt of your dress floats around you. The cold is a shock to your system and though the freezing cold would stop your panic attack you’re in too deep now for it to work, so instead you look to the sky. Lucky for you it’s a clear night and you can see some of the twinkling stars in the sky. 

The stars, the one constant in a world of chaos and if your body was anything right now it was pure chaos. Your thoughts still hadn’t subsided and your heart was still thundering, the tightness in your chest remained the same and it felt like every breath you took was like breathing in shards of glass. You focused on the stars, tracing the familiar patterns of the constellations and picturing them in your head as you go. Slowly your heartbeat starts to slow and then your breathing even outs, your thoughts are cleared as you go over the names and summaries of each constellation you find. 

Suddenly strong arms are wrapping around your waist and the scent of Bradley’s cologne fills your nostrils as he pulls you against his chest, saying nothing, just letting you ground yourself and come back down to earth.  

The silence lingers for a few moments as you gather yourself, “How’d you know I was out here?” 

Bradley chuckles slightly, arms tightening around your waist, “Sarah came out and got me, said you looked like you were having a panic attack and you ran off. Knew you would be somewhere looking at the stars.” You hum lightly in response, leaning your head back against his chest. It’s peaceful for a few seconds before you remember why you had your panic attack. Suddenly you’re pulling forward and turning towards Bradley with your arms crossed. 

“Tell me about the letters Bradley” 

Rooster curses to himself and avoids looking into your eyes, he knew he should have never left you alone. Should have known that Molly would seek you out, say something that gave away his secret. He brings his hands in front of him, wringing them together over and over again nervously. 

“I-I…” Rooster was struggling to find something to say, wanting nothing more than for a huge wave to come and knock into the two of you so he could disappear. Your gaze was piercing, eyes narrowing slightly as he took too long to reply. 

“I… I wrote them and then I meant to send them, I promise” Roosters hand carded through his hair, the effects of the products fading as he messed it up by doing so. Still he refuses to look at you, and you huff at it a little. 

“Why didn’t you?” You uncross your arms, instead bringing your arms down and playing with your fingers in nervousness. 

“Because…” Now Bradley looks in your eyes and he looks nervous, he couldn’t believe himself. Bradley flew F-18’s for a living, went into dangerous situations every day but this was the most scared he had ever been in his life. “No matter what I wrote, even if it was just about my day, about training, no matter the words, the only thing I wanted to write was I love you. I wanted to write it over and over and over again until my hands bled and that is not the confession you deserve.” 

You let out a laugh, tears gathering in your eyes, “And this is?” You didn’t want to cry, didn’t mean to, but you were so overwhelmed with emotions that it was the only outlet you had. You still had residual adrenaline in your veins from your panic earlier and you were happy, oh so happy, that Bradley was in love with you, with his confession it was like every nerve in your body lit up at once and the only way you could express it was tears. 

Bradley curses under his breath again, reaching a hand out to wipe the tears forming on your lash lines, “God no it’s not. This is not how I wanted to do this.” You let out another huff, rolling your eyes and looking away from him. 

“Were you ever gonna do it or were you gonna let me go throughout the rest of my life thinking you didn’t love me back?” 

Bradley, who had dropped his hand and turned his eyes away with your huff, snaps his eyes back to yours. He wasn’t expecting that, not in 100 years did he expect you to be in love with him as well. 

“You really didn’t know?” He shakes his head, hands now reaching out to grab at yours as you step closer to him. You looked so pretty as you looked up at him through your lashes with a smile on your lips. You reached up to him, cupping his jaw gently in your hand and rubbing your thumb gently across the apple of his cheek. 

“God Bradley. You wanna know why all my other relationships failed Bradley? Because I compare them all to you. No one was ever you. I have been in love with you since we were 16 and no other man or woman has ever compared to you.” 

Bradley gulps, his adam's apple bobbing as he does, and he watches your eyes looking for any hint of dishonesty. Any glimmer that you were having him on. But there's nothing but love in your eyes, and suddenly he sees what everyone else saw. Pure, unbridled love. 

“Can I kiss you?” His voice is soft as his hands move to hold you at your waist and you answer by pulling him down and pressing your lips against his. The kiss is sweet and gentle, your lips moulding together perfectly, but still filled with passion as he pulls you closer to his body. It wasn’t like the books described, no fireworks, no sparks, but rather a feeling of peace. One of home, as if your souls had been reaching out to each other your whole lives and were now touching. And though the kiss is sweet and soft and innocent, you can’t help the feeling of heat pooling in your abdomen as you thought of where this could be heading next. 

You pull back from one another, but still stay close as he presses his forehead against yours and you wrap your arms around his neck. You stand like that, simply holding each other for a few moments, until a chill settles in you and you start to shiver a little. 

Bradley gives you a small smirk, “Why don’t we head home and get warmed up? Huh?” You smile as he wiggles his eyebrows at you, making an obvious innuendo that you were all too happy to carry out, and nod and, reluctantly, untangle yourself from Bradley, making your way to the shoreline where you notice he’s abandoned his dress shoes. You suddenly turn to him with wide eyes and a hand over your mouth. 

“Bradley! You’re dress whites!” He simply shakes his head with a smile, taking your hand in his as he puts his shoes back on, “Don’t worry about it angel. I’ll get them dry cleaned.” He places a kiss on your forehead to calm your nerves before you make your way back to the venue.  

You disappear back into the room, your heels now in your hand, and make your way over to the table where Sarah is now sat with Natasha, Peggy, and Molly, who are all looking at you with slight concern. You simply smile and lift your purse, “I’m fine, promise. But we’re,uh, we’re gonna head home” The girls smile and give you hugs as you go, with Peggy promising to stay in touch and Natasha gives you a ‘be safe’ with a wink. 

As you said goodbye to them, Bradley ordered the two of you an uber, having had a few beers and you having had a few champagnes and wine, and said goodbye to the groomsmen who are all giving him knowing looks, especially as you approach behind Bradley and place your hand on his upper forearm and rub it gently as you give your own goodbyes to the boys. 

The uber is quick in arriving and you and Bradley climb into the back seat, anxious to get back to your place (which is closer than Bradley’s who lives in Fightertown). In the back of the car, your hand finds Bradley’s thigh and you start to rub gently on it, biting down on your lip as you do. You feel Bradley tense at the touch, his eyes shifting to watch you and figure out what you’re doing and he swears to god that the you were trying to kill him with the way you’re biting your lip and looking at him like you wanted to jump his bones right here in the back of the uber. 

As your hand ghosts closer and closer to his hardening cock, Bradley has to suppress a groan, instead pretending to cough as he glares at you. You were playing a very dangerous game. He grabs at your hand as it ghosts across his cock, loose enough that you can pull away if you want but tight enough that it sends a warning. You only smile at him, cocking an eyebrow, “Everything okay, lieutenant?” 

The sound of his rank rolling off your tongue has Bradley biting back a moan as he throws his head back against the headrest, you were definitely going to be the death of him, and by the looks of it you knew exactly what you were doing to him. Instead of releasing your hand, he threads his fingers through it to stop your hand from wandering and you pout a little in your seat. 

The drive to your place was far too long for Bradley, seemingly dragging on forever despite the almost empty roads, but that might have been the frustration bubbling inside of him that only seemed to grow every time he met your lust-blown eyes. When you finally stop at your place, he rushes out a thanks as he all but tumbles out of the car, causing you to giggle, and makes his way to your side, opening your door for you with a goofy grin on his face. 

You mutter out a thanks to the driver before taking Bradleys outreached hand and climbing out yourself, you’re barely out of the car before the driver speeds off leaving you and Bradley at the bottom of the path leading to your place. Bradley can’t help himself as he cups your face in his hands and presses a deep kiss to your lips, which you gladly reciprocate, moving your lips in sync as you grab at the collar of his jacket. 

You don’t wanna end the kiss, so instead you twist a little and start walking back on the path and Bradley’s hands move from your face to your waist to hold you steady and help prevent you from falling. Your back hits against the front door and you finally pull away from Bradley with laboured breaths, “I… I need to…” 

All words vanish from your mind as Bradley starts to kiss down your neck, squeezing gently where his hands meet your hips, stopping at a particular spot that has you whining in pleasure to pay extra attention to it, you could already imagine the bruise that would be there come the morning. At your little sounds, Bradley smirks against your skin and kisses back up your neck making his way to your lips once again, where he places a gentle peck. 

“What was that angel?” You roll your eyes at him playfully, turning your back to him with a smile as you start to rummage through your bag for your keys, which would be a thousand times easier if Bradley didn’t preoccupy himself with running his hands over your clothed body and placing kisses against your neck and shoulders, giving you a matching hickey on the other side. Finally, and with a fumbling hand, you find your keys and quickly unlock your door before turning to Bradley and pulling him in by his collar, dropping your purse by the door and pushing it closed with your foot. 

Bradley hums appreciatively into your mouth, arms wrapping around your waist once again and pushing you against the door once again. You stay there, kissing each other slowly and passionately, as if you had all the in the world to enjoy each other. Eventually Bradley pulls away from you, laboured breaths fanning against your face as yours fanned against his and you want nothing more than to pull him forward into another kiss but you also know if you continued this here you wouldn’t make it to the bedroom. 

You placed a hand on his chest, your blown out eyes looking into his, “I want this off lieutenant.” This time Bradley let’s himself moan at how his rank rolls of your tongue and pulls away from you enough to let himself the room to unbutton his jacket, and for you to bend down and take your shoes (which you put back on waiting for the uber, not wanting to carry them) off, throwing them down beside your purse. 

After all the buttons are undone, your hands are spreading across the expanse of Bradley’s chest that was still covered by his hunder shirt until you are moving the jacket down his shoulders and off his body completely. His lips press to yours once again and you run your hand up his chest, and around his neck to play with the little hairs at the base of his neck. With this kiss, Bradley pushes his tongue into your waiting mouth and plays with your own causing a small moan to resonate from your throat. 

While your hands are preoccupied, Bradleys are smoothing over your hips and running up the expanse of your rib cage to reach behind you and undo the zip on your dress, which he does quite fluidly and the bodice falls gently from your chest onto Bradleys. You pull away from him again, finger pressing against his white undershirt, “This too.” 

Bradley only smirks and gladly removes the offending item of clothing, allowing you to take a step back so that your dress would fall from your frame completely and pool at the ground which leaves you in nothing but the matching set of underwear you put on earlier. Bradley groans at the sight, his hands reaching out to paw at the skin now exposed to him. He grips at your hips tightly, fingers digging into the skin as he does, pulling you close to his body. 

“You are so goddamn perfect.”

If you weren’t already flushed from the situation, you most definitely would be from his compliment. You place a hand on Bradleys chest, pushing him slightly so he starts to walk backwards down your hall towards the bedroom, and while Bradley loved seeing you take a little bit of control he couldn’t let you have it all. So he very quickly has you pushed against the wall of the hall, right beside a photo of him and you, with his knee pressed between your thighs and he swears he can feel how wet you are through your panties and his dress trousers, causing him to groan as he kissed you once again. This time a little bit more fervently than the last. 

You happily reciprocate, mixing your tongue with his and throwing your arms around his neck to pull him as close as possible. You moan gently as he knocks the knee in between your thigh against your aching core, which only encourages him to do it again only harder. This time you pull away from him with a desperate moan and he smirks at you. 

“You like that angel?” You nod your head at him as he presses against you again and this time you grind down to meet the movement, letting out a moan as you do so. The sight of you grinding down on his knee has Bradley groaning and growing even harder in his dress pants than he was before. He needed to have you and he needed to have you now. Quickly, Bradley falls to his knees in front of you, his hands making quick work of discarding your panties, and he moans at the sight of you. 

“You’re so wet angel, is all this for me?” He looks up at you through his lashes, hands now gripping onto your thighs and he looks so good between your thighs, pupils absolutely blown so that very little iris remains and a devilish smirk on his face. You can only nod at him, to which he tuts and bites gently down on your thigh causing you to whine. “Come on now angel, use your words like a good girl”

You swear you feel your wetness dripping down your thighs at his word and you bite back the whine gathering in your throat, “All for you lieutenant,” you had noticed the effect calling him by his rank had on him earlier and you were going to fully take advantage of that.

“That’s a good girl”

Suddenly Rooster licks a stripe up your slit, causing you to throw your head back with such force your picture frame shakes and let out a moan, your hand coming to tangle in Bradley’s hair as he continues to lick at your cunt. It goes at it like a man starved being presented his last meal, licking and sucking at your clit as he goes, which has you a moaning, panting mess above him, barely able to utter a coherent word other than ‘Bradley’. 

You were teetering so close to the edge now, the coil in your stomach tightening and tightening. Bradley removed a hand from your thigh, instead bringing it round to rub gentle circles on your clit while he pushed his tongue into your entrance, causing you to tug on his hair with such a force that Bradley moaned and that was it, the coil in your stomach snapped and suddenly you were cuming all over Bradley’s face with a choked moan of his name.

But that didn’t stop him, no Bradley continued on throwing you into overstimulation as he swapped his finger and mouth. His mouth latched onto your clit while his middle finger slide into you, you were a babbling mess of ‘too much, too much’ but Bradley wasn’t going to stop. Not when you tasted and felt so good. Slowly he entered a second finger into you and you could feel your coil tightening once again as he moved in and out of you, occasionally curling his fingers to try and find the spot. Which he quickly does, your sharp intake of break and deep moan letting him know he’s found it. 

Bradley lets go of your clit with a pop and looks up at you, slightly teary eyed at the overstimulation and with your mouth wide open as moan and moan slipped from your lips. He could have stayed like this forever, just watching you as he got you off with his mouth and fingers. He continued to abuse your g-spot, pressing against every time his finger push into you, watching your face twist in pleasure as he does. God you look and feel so good that he can’t help but reach into his dress trousers to rub at his cock to get some kind of relief, because at this point he feels like he might burst. 

Bradley feels you tightening around his fingers and he presses a kiss against the inside of your thigh, “You gonna cum for me again angel?” You nod your head, eyes squeezed shut as pleasure courses through you and the coil in your stomach gets tighter. This time Bradley bites at your thigh and scissors his fingers inside of you, “What I say angel? Gotta use your words?” 

You let out another strangled moan, the coil read to snap once again, “Yes lieutenant, gonna cum again.” Bradley smirks against your thigh, you can feel it against your skin as he presses another gentle kiss there, “Go ahead angel, cum for me.” 

Another strangled cry of his name falls past your lips as you cum for a second time and Bradley nearly moans at the sensation of you squeezing on his fingers and he can’t help imagine that feelings on his cock when he fucks you. Pulling his fingers from you, Bradley stands once again, smirking at your already fucked out expression, and places his fingers on your lips. Without needing instruction, you open your mouth and suck them in, swirling your tongue around them to clean them off. 

“You’re such a good girl angel.” You whimper at his words and Bradley pulls his fingers from your mouth to cup your jaw and pull you into another searing kiss as his other hand wraps around your thigh and pulls it up to his waist in silent instruction, which you follow jumping to wrap both your legs around his waist, your bare cunt now rubbing against the fabric of his dress trousers and against his clothe cock hidden inside, causing a moan to fall from both your lips. 

Bradley pulls you from the wall and proceeds to move towards your bedroom, he had spent the night innocently when you first moved in earlier in the week and knew exactly where he was going, never breaking your kiss as he does. Gently, he lowers you down onto your bed before breaking your kiss to stand at the end of your bed and watch you. Your pupils are completely blown and you whine at the loss of contact, which he finds just absolutely adorable. 

“Patience angel. Now be a good girl and take your bra off for me.” You do as you're told, reaching behind you to unhook your bra and then throwing it somewhere in your bedroom, as Bradley reaches down and strips himself of his dress pants and boxers. Now, you had heard many a rumour in college about Bradley and how well endowed he was, and you were very happy to say that the rumours were true. 

As Bradley’s cock smacks against his stomach, you salivate at the sight of it. You sit up as Rooster crawls onto the bed, strong thighs in between your knees, your chest rubbing against his providing stimulation to your nipples that has you moaning which Bradley takes advantage of by shoving his tongue into your mouth. You moan at the sensation, one hand grabbing at his neck while the other reaches down to stroke his cock. 

You rub gently at the tip first, gathering the precum in your palm, which Bradley moans obscenely at, and then you start moving your hand up and down his length using the precum as a lubricant. You smirk into your kiss with Bradley as he continues to moan at the sensation of your hand wrapped around his length, suddenly the sensation of your nail scratching lightly at the underside of his cock has him cursing and stuttering forward. Bradley knew he wasn’t going to last long if you continued your teasing and there was no way he was going to cum unless he was wrapped in your pretty pussy. 

Suddenly Bradley grabs your hand from his length, as well as the one on his neck, and pins them above your head with one hand with a small growl that has you clenching your thighs together to get some friction despite having already came twice. 

“That's enough teasing from you angel.”

You whine lightly, and struggle against his grip, wanting to touch him, but he simply tuts at your behaviour and rubs his cock through your folds, catching your clit on the tip as he does. You moan at the sensation and let a please slip past your lips. 

“Please what baby?” 

“Ple…Please fuck…fuck me lieutenant” 

You can barely get the words out as Bradley continues rocking though your folds, hitting against your clit every time he does, but you do. Bradley smiles, leaning down to kiss you as he lines himself up with your entrance and pushing himself in. You gasp at the stretch, eyes closing and mouth falling open as you do. 

“You okay angel?” 

You nod your head, “Yes, feels s’good, keep going.”

Bradley was not one to deny you what he wanted, so slowly he kept going until he was bottomed out in you. God you felt absolutely amazing as you squeezed him trying to adjust to the size. He was definitely bigger than anything you had before, so you needed time to adjust. After a few seconds you're begging Bradley to move, you needed him to move, and so he obeys by pulling almost all the way out and slamming back in again which causes a loud, pornogaphic moan to fall from your lips. 

He does it again, and again, hitting the right spot over and over again as he did, which caused you to see stars but you still needed more. “Faster Bradley, please.” Your eyes roll into the back of your head as Bradley moves faster, causing a moan to fall from your lips with every movement. The pleasure was immense, you could feel every part of him inside you, every ridge and every vein pressing against your walls and you could swear his head was hitting against your cervix, and you could feel the coil in your stomach begin to tighten once again. 

You begin to babble out Bradley’s name as you approached another orgasm and he threads the fingers of the hand holding your arms down with one of yours, letting the other one go to come down and grab at his shoulder as he pistoned his hips into you, “I’m right here angel, you’re doing so well for me.” 

He lets out a deep moan as you squeeze down on him with the praise, pressing kisses and bites to your shoulders and collarbones, moving his way down until his lips wrapped around your nipples as a way to contain his sounds and to stop him from speaking, because if you squeezed down on him everytime he praised you there was no way he was lasting to give you another orgasm, and he was determined to give you another one. 

With a sharp snap of his hips, he finds your g-spot once again, moving on from beating your cervix, and instead beating into that spot over and over again causing loud moans and whimpers to fall from yours lips as the coil inside you tightened and tightened again and with a whimper you let Bradley know you’re gonna cum again. 

With a pop he releases your nipple and brings his free hand down to rub at your clit to bring you over the edge as he continues his abuse of you g-spot, “Come on angel, cum for me. You’ve been taking me so well.” 

With the pressure on your clit and the praise falling from Bradley’s lips you quickly fall over the edge and cum around his cock, the pressure from you squeezing him so tightly causing his hips to stutter as he reaches his own peak, filling you up with his cum. You openly moan at the sensation of him pulsing inside you, the feeling of his cum painting your walls just felt amazing to you. 

Bradley quickly presses a kiss to your lips as he pulls out of your sensitive hole, and runs a hand gently through your hair, your little butterflies lost somewhere in the chaos. You place a hand against his cheek and kiss him back gently, your fingers moving to push some hair off his sweaty forehead. As he pulls his lips of yours, Bradley presses his forehead against yours with a goofy smile on his face. 

“You’re amazing (Y/N), I love you” 

“I love you too Bradley” 

Bradley lifts himself off you and off the bed, to which you groan already missing his warmth, and Bradley just rolls his eyes a little as he moves towards the bathroom. “I’m only getting a washcloth to clean up with, stop being a baby.” 

You still pout at his turned back, though you are grateful he’s going to clean you up, most men didn’t but then again Bradley wasn’t most men. He’s back in seconds, a damp washcloth in hand and he’s gentle in the way he wipes you down from your neck and chest to your aching pussy where his cum is dripping out, making sure to wipe down your thighs as well before throwing the washcloth in your wash basket.

Bradley gently lifts you from the bed, allowing you to wrap your legs around his waist as he does, so he can pull back the blankets before he sets you back down. Though you are desperate for his touch, and he knows it, he goes over to the drawer he knows you keep your pyjamas in and pulls out and oversized shirt he gave you in college and then he goes to a drawer you had made up for him of some sweats and stuff so he could get changed at your place after training. 

Quickly, he slips the sweats on over his hips before making his way back over to you. Your eyes are slightly glazed over and they are struggling to stay open as you fight with sleep, but still you turn to him and match the small smile on his face. “Arms up”

Bradley’s voice is soft but still commanding and you do as your told, raising your arms up so he can put the oversized shirt on you. Once it’s on, he leans on the bed slightly and presses a kiss to your forehead, “You need anything angel? Water? Snacks?” 

You shake your head and move over on the bed, “Just you B”

Bradley smiles and crawls into bed next you, pulling you close to his chest as he wraps his arms around your shoulder. Your head rests on his pec while your hand reaches out to rest opposite you, just about his heart, and you follow the rhythm of beating until your eyes are closing and your drifting off to sleep.

---

You wake up to a text from an unknown number of a photo of you and Bradley wrapped up in one another in the ocean the night before, you seemed to be in the perfect position for the moon to illuminate your bodies as you kiss, “You’re souls are so deeply intertwined with one another that even the moon bends to your love xxx Molly”. 

#august.writes #written #one-shot #top gun maverick x reader #top gun maverick fluff #top fun maverick smut #top gun maverick one shot #top gun maverick x you #top gun maverick x yn #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw x yn #bradley bradshaw one shot #bradley bradshaw fluff #bradley bradshaw smut #bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x reader #bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x you #bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x yn #bradley 'rooster' bradshaw fluff #bradley 'rooster' bradshaw smut #tw.smut #tw.panic attack #tw.sex #tw.fingering #tw.pentration #tw.praise kink #tw.oral sex #tw.oral #tw.creampie #tw.overstimulation

[waklman]

Levis

summary: how you and bradley first met. or who knew bradley would find his soulmate sweaty in a parking lot?

warnings: none, but this is a 18+ blog in general.

word count: 1.3k.

something ‘bout you masterlist.

Bradley felt ridiculous. He was supposed to be on his way home—ten minutes ago. 

Instead, he’s ducking behind his Ford Bronco in the supermarket parking lot–drowning in his own sweat from the sweltering afternoon heat, as he eavesdrops on an exchange between two strangers. Bradley imagined that by now, he would’ve been kicking back in his armchair–with a fan blowing in his face and a spoonful of ice cream hanging out his mouth–if only his curiosity didn't get the best of him. 

Maybe this was a sign to stop spending all his free time with Hangman and Coyote. The duo is starting to rub off on him in the worst way possible–Bradley could’ve swore he wasn’t this nosy prior to hanging out with them.

“Look buddy,” you sigh, shifting the paper bags into one arm. “Actually–hold this real quick,” you carelessly demand the stranger–with pursed lips, thrusting your bags of groceries into his chest.

The man stumbles back, groaning at your peculiar strength. Yet you pay him no mind, pulling your aviators up into your hair–already facing your car again. 

Bradley laughs under his breath, watching you use the man as a mule–popping open your trunk, unbothered by the fact that he’s still trying to regain his balance. If he was going to plant himself next to you, why not make use of him? 

When Bradley first came walking out with a tub of rocky road in hand–he didn’t look twice at the scene, strolling right past you two with a clear objective in mind–get home–put on a movie–and rip open the frozen treat, that he’ll pay the price for later. 

But, that was until his ears tuned into the man’s pathetic efforts towards getting your phone number–stopping Bradley right in his tracks. This would make a good topic of conversation for the locker rooms tomorrow. 

You flap your fingers into your palm–still not looking at the man, signaling him to pass your stuff back with the off-handed gesture. 

Bradley smirks behind the hood of his truck, catching sight of the guy’s twitching eye–not believing the way you’re easily commanding him.

The curious pilot wonders how often you had to deal with sleazebags like him—because you’re doing a hell of a job at kicking him down.

Seeing that he’s taking too long to pass back tonight’s dinner ingredients–you start to casually pluck each bag out of his hands, transferring it into your trunk, unconcerned by his offense. 

“So, can I get your number now?” He asks tightly, annoyance leaking into his voice. 

You pause at the question, taking the time to scan the man up and down with raised brows. “If you’re hitting on someone wearing essentially the same outfit as you,” your voice is sweet, despite the harsh punchline you’re beginning to deliver. “Maybe it’s time for some deep reflection,” your lips stretch into a sarcastic smile, causing the man to fully display his irritation with you. 

Technically you weren’t wrong—you both had on a identical white tank top and shorts.

“I’m all for self love,” you raise your hands up in defense. “Maybe, you should try looking in the mirror next time you–” you shamelessly look down at his crotch. “..take care of yourself– it might be eye opening for you.” His mouth parts at the way the explicit suggestion leaves your mouth. 

It takes all of Bradley’s self control to stifle his laughter, not wanting to give himself away from where he’s crouched. 

“You’re fucking weird—holy shit. I’m done,” he scoffs, harshly throwing the last bag into your trunk. 

You feign ignorance, watching him walk backwards–distancing himself from you. “Don’t want my number anymore?” you ask with a pout, pulling out your phone–waving it in the air.

“Fuck No. You’re crazy,” he huffs, jaw stretching in disbelief. 

Your face completely falls–and horror is written all over the man’s face as your flat expression is slowly replaced with a menacing smile.

Just to watch him flinch, you lift your arm–pretending to chuck the device at him. 

The guy immediately breaks into a sprint, startled by your warning–causing Bradley to finally break into laughter. 

Realizing he broke his silence—Bradley stills, putting a pause to his amusement—hoping you didn’t hear him.

“You think he’s ever gonna talk to another woman again?” you ask–back turned to the new stranger, knowing the cute guy you clocked from earlier was currently tucked behind his truck.

Bradley sheepishly smiles, awkwardly standing up at your question—you knew he was there the whole time. “Nope–you got him real good. How does it feel knowing you’re keeping the ladies of the town safe?” he asks amusingly, stuffing a sweaty hand into the front pocket of his shorts. 

In one swift movement, you shut your trunk and turn to face him–sweeping Bradley right off his feet once you make eye contact with him.

You start to laugh at his joke, bringing a hand over your mouth—shyly covering your smile.

Holy shit. No wonder that guy was on your case about getting your number–you’re stunning. 

Bradley realizes he barely put an ounce of his attention onto your face this whole time, too distracted by the way you were tearing down the previous guy. He swallows, not sure if he can keep his composure now that you’re looking right at him. You’re probably the prettiest girl Bradley has ever encountered in his life. It makes him sweat harder at the thought.

“Feels good actually,” you nod, pleased with yourself. “Oh–hey nice shorts,” you call out, pointing a finger at his pants.

Bradley blinks at you, not able to get a single word out. 

“Where’d you get those bad boys?” You follow up with another smile. 

Bradley forces himself to snap out of it, looking down at his Levis and then back up at you. You have on the same pair of shorts as him. 

They’re slung loose on your hips and stretch down to your knees. The frayed hems just slightly sway at the rare summer breeze passing through the parking lot.

He lets out a breath–that he wasn’t even aware that he was holding in the first place, before finally answering you. “Oh–they’re from a thrift shop down by the main road.” 

“You gotta take me there then–maybe we can find another pair of matching shorts?” You offer, heart thumping at your own bravery.

“Sure can,” he nods, kicking the gravel under his feet nervously. “Promise not to throw that phone at me if I come over and ask for your number?” He jokes, hoping he didn’t look too ridiculous from how hard he’s smiling to himself.

“Not unless you share some of that ice cream with me, pretty stranger,” you wave him over, pulling down your sunglasses. “Hey, mind teaching me how you grew that stache? Been trying to get me one of those things,” you tease, brushing two fingers over your upper lip.

Bradley lightly laughs, walking around the front of his truck. “You’ll look like my dad if you do,” he replies, stopping right in front of you. Bradley braces himself, waiting for the gut-wrenching feeling to quickly brush through his heart at the mention of his father, but to his surprise—it never comes. 

“I like your dad already,” you softly answer, handing your phone over to him.

He would definitely like you too, Bradley thinks.

thank you for reading, and as always-reblogs are greatly appreciated!

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#bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw x y/n #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fluff #bradley bradshaw blurb #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x you #bradley rooster x y/n #bradley rooster x reader #bradley x you #bradley x reader #rooster imagine #rooster fanfic #rooster fluff #tgm fic #tgm fluff #sbu

[almostgenerallyalways]

where the wild things are (part 2)

Pt 2/?   - part 1 here Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x fem reader Category: angst / light smut (>18!) / eventual happiness Word count: 2,7K CW: language, grief

Two years ago, your sister’s death left a smoking crater in your life, leaving you to take care of your niece. Bradley has lived with loss his whole life, and is in a bad spot on the anniversary of his mother’s death.

Or: there is a crack in everything / that is how the light gets in

Six weeks later Bradley finds himself at Target early one Saturday morning, listlessly looking at socks (keeping on, his mom used to call this, on mornings where she’d throw open the windows to the Tierrasanta house, blasting Aerosmith or Tina Turner to silence the ghosts clinging to the walls, though he personally prefers operating on auto-pilot to think of the state he’s been in for the last few weeks), when a little girl rounds the corner of the aisle at full speed and crashes right into his left knee.

“Oh, shit!” He says, before he can think better of it, but upon impact the child has immediately started wailing so loud that she can’t possibly have heard him.

He drops his red plastic basket to the floor and kneels, helping her sit up. At first glance, there’s no sign of injury, and he breathes a sigh of relief.

“Hey, princess, are you okay?” he asks, quickly looking over her head for bumps. She can’t be more than four or five, but she has a set of lungs on her like a much older kid.

Bradley doesn’t know a lot about kids, but he thinks this one may be more shocked than hurt. Already the heaving sobs are slowing down, and she looks up at him with something of curiosity.

“Where are your parents?” He looks over his shoulder, down the aisle, searching for a frazzled mom or dad, or at least an employee bearing a red polo shirt. It’s before nine-thirty, early enough that the store isn’t crowded yet, and the speckled grey linoleum tiles stretch empty as far as he can see.

“Sierra!” He hears a frantic voice exclaim, before a woman appears around the corner, clearly distressed. “Sierra, what the –”

He sees you still, recognizing you at the exact moment you do him.

“Oh, shit,” He says again, and Sierra’s definitely heard him this time.

* * *

You rush over to kneel down beside the little girl before him, gathering her up: “Baby, are you okay? I’ve told you a million times not to run off like that.”

Bradley watches you run your hands over the little girl’s head, down her shoulders, and a comprehension dawns over him that makes his stomach coil.

Having established that she’s not hurt, you look over at him with wide eyes: “Bradley. I’m sorry.”

What you’re apologising for exactly, he’s not sure, but it brings him back to the morning after you met: waking up to his empty bed, and the gut-punch of disappointment it had been. It’s not like he’d never done it – quietly gathering up his clothes from the floor of some conquest’s bedroom before any further entanglement could ensue was something of a modus operandi for him, he can admit that – but that night had felt different to him, had felt real. He remembers the way your fingertips on his bare skin had brought heat to the surface, and incited a pull deep in his stomach he couldn’t quite put a name to. You’d made him laugh and you’d dulled the heavy, hollow feeling he’s gotten used to carrying everywhere, lately, the weight around his neck lessening with every kiss you’d pressed to his overheated skin.

And then he’d woken up alone.

And here’s the reason, he thinks, the sinking feeling in his gut rapidly accelerating. He gets to his feet, anger bubbling up in his chest: “What is going on here? Are you married?”

You get to your feet too, the little girl now clinging to your leg (you look beautiful, he can’t help but think: wearing leggings, a jean jacket and a faded baseball cap. No trace of the dressed-up glamour from the night you met, and all the more endearing to him for it), your eyes growing wide: “No!”  

He continues, crossing his arms: “Because I’m not that kind of guy, if you’re wi-”

You cut him off with a hand on his wrist, and he stills immediately.

Truth is, he’d hoped, and what is as dangerous as that? He’d taken you home, had been entranced by you. He’d slept with you and it had felt right, he feels fucking stupid thinking it but it had, and he’d fallen asleep tangled up in you and had felt, for some stupid reason, safe.

And then when he’d woken up, you’d disappeared.

He shrugs off your hand, straightening himself to his full height, and looks down the harshly lit aisle. “Right, I guess I’ll –”

“Bradley,” You say softly, and he looks back down. You’ve picked the little girl up off the floor, holding her on your hip now, and she looks up at him with eyes that resemble yours, and he feels his chest constrict.

You bite your lip. “I owe you an apology. But can we have this conversation somewhere other than the sock aisle?"

* * *

You commandeer a small table outside the adjacent Starbucks, which has a view over a thin stretch of arid plants interspersed with a few palm trees, immediately followed by the parking lot. Behind it, Saturday morning traffic is swelling over the Mission Valley Freeway.

Giving Sierra a book from your bag and some water, you look her over once more to make sure she’s okay. She’s been on a wild streak lately, slipping away from you when you least expect it, no matter how vigilant you are. You try hard not to consider it as another one of your failings as a parent, but it’s getting difficult.

Right now, though, she is surprisingly compliant, settling down into the metal chair with her legs crossed, already engrossed in her picture book. You suspect it has everything to do with the man currently pulling back the chair next to you.

Just a second too slow, you realise that he’s pulled the chair out for you. “Oh. Thanks.”

You sit down, and he mirrors you.

You’d forgotten how handsome he was, or really you’d tried not to think about him at all. He’s dressed differently, on a Saturday morning: shorts and a worn raglan tee, sunglasses hooked into the neckline. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, lightly bouncing the right one, and you don’t really know how to take it.

“I’m sorry I just left,” You say, not sure where to start. “I had a great night with you, and then… It was a cowardly thing to do.”

He scratches the back of his neck. “I’d like to play it cool and say it didn’t bother me. But I don’t know, I kinda thought we hit it off.”

“We did,” You sigh, glancing at Sierra. Truth is, it had scared you, how easy everything had felt with him: The conversation at the bar never running dry, the way he’d kissed you (outside, you blaming the rapidly cooling night air for the goosebumps on your skin), the way he’d whispered into your skin, in his bed, clutching your hips as he buried his face into your neck, setting every nerve in your body alight.

You’d been fooling yourself, because things weren’t easy, were they?

“This is going to sound like a huge cliché, but… I never do things like that. Anymore, at least.” You can’t meet his eye, staring instead at a crack in the pavement where dry weeds poke through, trying to grow against the odds. The previous time you’d had sex at all, you recall, was with your ex-boyfriend, who’d dumped you three weeks into grieving your sister. Who, when you’d still been reeling from it, the sound of the impact still hissing in your ears, had sent you a text: It seems like you have a lot going on right now. Maybe we should hit pause on this until you get back to Boston.

You look at him finally, cringing at yourself. “I thought I could be selfish for a night. And after you fell asleep, reality hit me and I couldn’t face trying to explain that I… can’t get involved with anyone. Maybe that’s presumptuous, or maybe I shouldn’t have gone home with you in the first place. I’m sorry.”

Bradley looks down at his well-worn pair of running shoes, not meeting your eyes. “Oh. I see.”

Maybe it’s the fact that Sierra was up half the night, and so you barely got any sleep. Maybe it’s the undeniable fact that sitting across from Bradley again has an effect on you – the way his jaw works, the subtle smell of his aftershave. That stern set of his brow, a premature groove indicating he may spend too much time wearing that expression.

The sober, aggressively sunny reality of the Mission Valley Target parking lot isn’t enough to fully dispel the pull you felt towards him.

You hesitate. Sierra is the most guarded part of your heart, but you feel you owe Bradley an explanation. Glancing over at her, you see she’s in her own little world, absorbed in her favorite book. You take a deep breath.

“Two years ago, my sister died.”

Bradley’s head shoots up, at that, and his brown eyes rest on you.

You look down, smoothing your hands over your thighs, bracing yourself because you will not cry before 10 AM. “It was stupid. She went in for routine surgery. One in a million.”

Thinking back to that phone call always pulls you back under, and you have to make an effort to keep your voice even. “I was living in Boston at the time, and the entire flight back here I…” You shake your head, ousting the memory of the worst six hours of your life, when you’d tried to bargain with a God you’d never believed in, when you hadn’t been physically confronted yet with the cold, hard reality you knew awaited you after landing. “Anyway. Sierra has been with me since.”

The man across from you nods, hands still clasped together by his knees. “I’m sorry I assumed… I just saw you, and she looks so much -”

You cut him off. “I’m sorry I didn’t just tell you. It’s hard to talk about, sometimes, and at Callie’s party…” You pause, trying to sort through your thoughts as cars slowly roll by a short distance away, looking for parking, families transferring their weekend shopping into the trunks of their cars.

“I don’t go out much, anymore. My dad’s not in great health, and my mom takes care of him, so they can’t take care of Sierra. I take on extra billing hours all the time to make ends meet. There’s a medical malpractice suit and the lawyer fees are horrendous, and it’s so painful to keep dragging it out, but I have to pursue it if I want any chance of sending Sierra to college. It’s just a lot, all the time.” You take another deep breath. “I guess I wanted to feel like my old self for a night.”

You look up, feeling your eyes tear up. “I’m sorry. You must think I’m crazy, I just wanted to explain-”

To your surprise, he takes your hand in his. It dwarfs yours, and the feeling of his rough palm on your skin grounds you. “Hey. It’s okay.”

* * *

Hangman has been trying to reach him for two weeks, but this time, when his Bagman moniker flashes up the screen of his phone just as Bradley pulls his truck into his driveway, he picks up.

“Bradshaw.” Hangman is, of course, already coming in hot. “So you do still know how to answer the phone. What gives, man? If it wasn’t for Penny telling me you were still coming to the bar, I might’ve thought you’d burned in.”

Bradley makes a mental note to skip the Hard Deck’s tip jar, next time.

“Been busy, Bagman. I know you’re living it up there on Oahu, but some of us still have work to do.”

“Fuck you, Bradshaw,” The other man says good-naturedly. “Just wanted to make sure you’re not moping around too much.”

Bradley sighs. Since the uranium mission last year, the relationship between Hangman and him has changed, into something that may be the kind of friendship you can only have with someone who saved you and your kind-of-estranged, kind-of-uncle’s life while also still being annoying as shit. Bradley has spent over a year unlearning the decade-long honed itch to punch Hangman in the face, only to find Jake Seresin to be… a good man. A thoughtful friend. A tenacious friend who will keep calling when you’re pointedly ignoring anyone’s attempts to get in touch with you.

“How’s Vanny?” He asks, knowing Jake will tell him anyway, because he can’t not talk about his girlfriend. Meeting the younger aviator changed his friend, sanded down some of his rougher edges.

“She’s great. Getting her double stripes next week. She’s been asking about you.”

Bradley grabs his gym bag from in front of the passenger seat (he never did get any new socks), clutching the phone between his ear and shoulder as he slams the door shut. “I’m fine. Tell her that.”

He hears Hangman inhale on the other end of the line. “Fine. Okay. Where does that fall on a scale of, say, zero to going to the gym at three AM and dodging Penny’s invitations to dinner?”

Unlocking his front door, Bradley sighs again. One thing about Seresin is, he’s extremely perceptive, and once he’s zeroed in on something he will not let it go. It’s infuriating, but on some level, Bradley knows he should be thankful for it. “Let’s say a four, okay?”

Sometimes he thinks about the crash that nearly cost him an eye, and left him with the scars on his face, and wonders what his mother would’ve said, is almost glad she wasn’t around anymore to get that call (Ice got it, instead). Just last year he and Mav went down in enemy territory, and the moment he turned the yoke around he’d been sure he was signing his own death warrant, and still he couldn’t have made any other decision.

“Alright, man.” Jake knows which boundaries not to cross, as well, when to respect the territorial integrity of Bradley’s defenses. “I’ll take a four. If you feel like a change of air, you know you’re welcome in Hawaii any time, right? We’re probably getting our assignment here extended until at least the end of the year.”

“Appreciate it, Bagman.”

Goodbyes exchanged, he hangs up and steps out of his running shoes in the hall, dropping his gym bag on the floor. He stands there, for a minute, letting the cool air of the dark entryway hit his skin, a welcome contrast to the day’s accumulating heat outside, and closes his eyes.

He’d taken your hand, and you’d both sat there for a minute, the dry breeze across the parking lot carrying with it the fumes of traffic crossing the freeway, mingling with the smells of tacos and ceviche from a food truck preparing for the lunch rush, until Sierra had gotten impatient and started trying to get your attention, dropping her book to the floor.

“We should go,” You’d said, inclining your head to the girl, who’d seemed not to be holding her earlier run-in with Bradley against him, grabbing at his sleeve as he’d gotten up to retrieve the book off the ground.

Picking it up, he’d frozen.

It was a newer edition, but the design had been familiar, the cover picture immediately calling him back to his mom reading to him at night, pitching her voice low and high at intervals to emulate all manner of different monsters, Bradley exclaiming at every turn in the story as if he couldn’t recite it by heart, as if they hadn’t read this story together a million times over since Goose had been killed.

“Where the Wild Things Are”, he’d said, a little hoarsely.

“Yeah,” You’d smiled, somewhat watery still. “It’s her favorite.”

Something like resolve had settled in Bradley’s stomach, then.

Phone still in his hand, he swipes the lock screen and scrolls down from Hangman’s name to the newest entry, freshly saved under his contacts as Paloma, dove emoji, and hits call.

 .

.

.

  Authors note: soooo pt 1 of this didn’t gather much interest but I have the rest of the story loosely plotted out and i’m enjoying writing it (ask me if i’m working through my feelings re: deciding not to have kids by writing fic lol) so i will probably finish it anyway, just not sure on what timeline. anyway, comments/reblogs always appreciated <3 here’s my masterlist for other stories

#bradley 'rooster' bradshaw #bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x reader #bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x you #bradley 'rooster' bradley x y/n #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw x y/n #tgm fic #top gun: maveric fic #top gun: maverick #bradley bradshaw imagine

[bobbyonboard]

Leavin’ On a Jet Plane [Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Reader]

Summary: did I pretty much just loosely follow the plot of Top Gun: Maverick? You bet I did. Or in other words--your new husband has just been called back to Top Gun for reasons unknown. Just a lil’ thing detailing those two weeks. 

Warnings: swearing, mentions of death (rip to the best couple of all time, goose and carol), oral sex (female receiving), unprotected sex, maaaaaaaaaybe if you squint a tiny bit of breeding kink, it’s lots of build up and then just smut.

Word Count: 4.7k

Author’s Note: This is extremely self-indulgent. I haven’t posted a fic in over two years, so PLEASE be kind to me. Even though I am 27, I will cry if strangers on the internet are mean to me. Is all the info in it correct? No. Did I change a few things to make it suite my heart’s needs? Yes. Requests are always open and you can check out my masterlist here, which I’ll be updating shortly! Because there are plenty more Top Gun fics sitting in my brain lol 

also big thanks to @bradshawsbaby and @callsignbob for their fics being so amazing that it kicked my ass back into writing fics

Three weeks. 

It certainly wasn’t the longest you’d ever been apart, but still–it was three weeks. Watching your husband toss his bags in the back of his Bronco had that familiar pang pulsing in your chest, and you tried not to frown as you leaned against the doorframe. 

“Hey now, you know I hate that look,” Rooster cooed as he came back up the front steps of your small, shared home. He stayed a step or two lower than you, so the two of you were pretty much the same height, and he bumped your nose with his own. 

“It’s three weeks, baby. I’ll call you every night. Text you every second I can,” he promised, his arms moving to wrap around your waist as he pulled you up against his chest, pressing soft kisses to your jutted bottom lip in quick succession. 

Truthfully, you weren’t upset about the length. Like he said, three weeks wasn’t horrible. What really had you worried was the fact that he’d been recalled to Top Gun at all. They barely gave the pilots any information, which meant that your husband could tell you even less–and you didn’t care for it in the slightest. Going back to Top Gun could only mean one thing–something was happening and they needed the best and the brightest. 

“I know you will,” you sniffled, and you tried your best to put a smile on, if only for Rooster’s sake. “Just don’t want you forgettin’ about me while you’re gone,” you teased, trying to lighten the mood in just the slightest. 

Your smile became genuine when Bradley gave a dramatic role of his eyes and clutched at his chest playfully. “You think I’d forget about you?! About this?!,” he scoffed, reaching around to grab a handful of your ass and give it a squeeze as you squealed with laughter. “You must not know me at all, Mrs. Bradshaw.” 

Six months of marriage hadn’t changed the way that made your stomach flip–hearing yourself referred to as “Mrs. Bradshaw” had your cheeks dusting a light pink, and you bit your bottom lip lightly. 

“Alright, Lieutenant Bradshaw. You better call me, then. And you–,” you stopped briefly, swallowing a little thickly at your next words. “You better come home to your wife.” 

Rooster stiffened a bit at that, placing his hands on the sides of your face and letting his thumbs brush lightly over your cheekbones. “Hey,” he whispered, pressing your foreheads together and taking a deep breath. He’d never make a promise to you he couldn’t keep–he knew that better than anyone.

 “I will do everything I can to come home to you. Okay?”

You just nodded at his words, leaning in to give him a long, passionate kiss, your fingers tangling in his loose, unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt as you kept him close. The two of you continued to kiss for a few minutes, just clinging to each other before you finally pulled away, sliding his aviators on his nose for him, the sun just coming up over the horizon. 

“You’ve got a long ride, Roos,” you murmured, giving him one more kiss before smoothing his hair back against his head. Rooster was stationed at Naval Air Station Lemoore, in Lemoore, California. It was a cute, quiet little military town, and while the two of you missed the coast something terrible, you were content with the little community you’d built for yourselves. Bradley had decided he’d enjoy the five hour drive down to North Island instead of flying (something about ‘not enjoying a plane ride when he’s not the one piloting’) so here you were, staring at his Bronco and wishing you were going to be camped out in the passenger seat. 

“Yeah, I gotta get goin’,” he whispered in return, giving you one more searing kiss before he was pulling away and giving you that signature Bradshaw grin. Before you could even properly miss him, he was in the car, turning on the engine and rolling down the window as he was backing out of the driveway. Once he was parallel with the street, he shouted at the top of his lungs, “I love you, Mrs. Bradshaw!,” and laid on the horn, whooping and hollering. You couldn’t help but just laugh, knowing the neighbors were certainly awake now, if they weren’t already. You just blew him a kiss and watched him drive off into the sunrise, and quietly hoped these three weeks would go by quickly. 

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The first day was always the hardest. Work couldn’t even take your mind off of the fact that you’d be going home to an empty house, so you just moped around the office and immediately got into the bath the second you were home. You were thankful for a quick phone call from Rooster that night, but it was mostly drowned out by noise from The Hard Deck, and you urged him to go have fun with his friends on their first night there. They rarely got nights like those anymore, and they deserved them. 

You were at lunch the next day, casually scrolling through Instagram while you ate your sandwich, when suddenly Bradley’s picture filled the screen (it was one of him in black and white, wearing his sunglasses in bed the morning after his latest birthday) and you answered the phone call quickly.

“Hiya honey,” you beamed, cradling the phone to your ear as you took another bite of your sandwich. “How’s your first day?”.

“Baby, why don’t you come down here, huh?,” Rooster practically cut you off, voice sounded just slightly strained and in a hushed tone. “God, it’s beautiful in San Diego. You love it here–it’s only three weeks. I’ll get ya a hotel room and you can make it a vacation. Whatdya say?,” he asked, and for some reason, it felt more like he was begging you to come and stay with him, versus suggesting a fun little trip. 

“Bradley, what’s wrong?,” you asked automatically, sitting up straighter in your chair. 

“Nothin’!,” he almost squeaked out, and he could tell by your silence that you didn’t believe that for a single second. 

He was quiet for what felt like an eternity, but was probably only half a minute. He cleared his throat, and you thought you even heard a soft sniffle. 

“It’s Maverick,” he whispered, taking a deep breath. “He’s the instructor.”

Your heart immediately sank into your stomach, and you clung even tighter to your phone. You knew exactly what that meant. You’d never met Captain Mitchell yourself, only heard the stories from Bradley. The story of him pulling his papers. The story of how his father had been in the plane with the other pilot when he died. The only version you’d ever seen of your husband and Maverick’s relationship had been a non-existent one. The two had successfully avoided each other for years–now only to be forced to not only work together, but for Rooster to learn from him. 

“Oh, honey,” you whispered, running your hands through your hair and sighing softly. There was nothing Bradley could do. This was Top Gun, and it was the military. They didn’t just let you go somewhere else because you didn’t like your teacher. 

“I can’t do it–I can’t do it alone, Y/N,” he whispered into the phone, hands trembling slightly as he gripped it tightly in his hand, bent over in the chair he was currently sitting in. 

“It’s three weeks, baby. I can’t just take off work. They’d–”

“Please.”

Your mind was made up before he even finished the word. 

“Alright. I’ll go talk to Craig about seeing if I can work remotely the next few weeks, okay?,” you told him softly, wishing you could reach through the phone to hold him gently. “I’ll let you know when my flight lands. I love you,” you whispered. 

“Thank you,” he sobbed softly, and a beep let you know the phone call had ended. 

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The first flight that didn’t cost you an arm and a leg left the next morning at ten-thirty, and you were looking out the window at the approaching ocean with a mixture of emotions bubbling in your chest. While it had only been two days, you were already excited to see Bradley. His goofy grin, his strong arms. But you know a lot of this trip was going to be navigating the treacherous waters of the past, and you had forgotten your life vest back on shore. The two of you never did dig too deep into the passing of Rooster’s father, and certainly not the loss of having Maverick in his life. That topped with the loss of his mother as well, you knew the next few weeks would certainly be emotional. 

But for now, you were just thankful to have an understanding boss that allowed you to work remotely for the next few weeks (you might have added in a few tears and used the ol’ military wife card). The plane jolted to a stop once it hit the runway, and you made your way out of there as quickly as possible. 

You grabbed your bags from baggage claim and walked outside, sliding on your sunglasses and trying to look at the row of cars in search of a free taxi. Bradley was due to be at Top Gun all day, so you were just going to go to your hotel and check in, check a few emails, and then hopefully get to have dinner with your loving husband that night. But right as you were turning towards the row of taxis, you spotted a familiar looking Bronco, with a familiar looking man in a jumpsuit sitting on the hood. 

“Two days, and you already don’t recognize your husband?,” Rooster shouted as he jumped down, running over and picking you up in his arms and spinning you around as you squealed. 

“What are you doing here?! Shouldn’t you be in class?!,” you asked him, adoring every kiss he placed all over your face before he finally settled on your lips with a soft hum, his fingers digging into the fabric of your shorts as he pulled you closer. 

“Lunch,” was all he mumbled, fingers sliding up into your hair and keeping the two of you pressed together until you were both gasping for breath. 

“Thank you,” Rooster whispered, and you didn’t need to hear those words, but appreciated them nonetheless. He never asked you for a thing–Bradley Bradshaw did everything in the world for you and never once expected anything in return. So when he asked you for something this one time? You would have dropped the world for him. 

“Of course, baby,” you murmured in return, stroking his cheek lightly and giving him one more kiss. “Now, you drop me off at the hotel and I’ll be waiting for you tonight when you’re done. Deal?,” you grinned with a wiggle of your eyebrows, wanting to see that smile again. 

It did the trick. Rooster let out a loud laugh, keeping one arm wrapped around your waist as he led you to the car. 

“Yes ma’am!”

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The next two weeks went by fairly quickly. You spent every moment you could with Rooster, listening to him rant about a particularly tough day, drinking at The Hard Deck with his fellow aviators, or just holding him in the wee hours of the morning while he slept with pitiful whimpers of his father and mother’s names on his lips. 

Then one night, Bradley came home with a sad smile on his lips, and you knew that they’d been given final confirmation of their mission. 

“We leave in the morning, 0500,” he murmured against your skin that night, fingertips lazily drawing circles on the small of your back. 

You attempted to not to act as petulant as you felt, just nodding and biting at your bottom lip, trying not to cry. You understood Bradley’s job the moment you met him. He was a pilot, and sometimes he went on missions, but most of his job was relatively fine. This wasn’t World War II. He wasn’t running off to a far away land knowing he’d never come home. We weren’t even at war with anyone, for Christ’s sake. At least, that’s what you had told yourself to make it all easier. 

But instead, you found yourself having to accept the fact that this might very well be the last time you ever see the love of your life, and before you could even try to keep it together, you were burying your face in Bradley’s chest and sobbing. 

“I know, darlin’. I know,” was all he whispered, hands rubbing slowly along your spine as he just hummed softly under his breath, trying his best to comfort the both of you. But his words felt like white noise in your ears, just a dull roaring that seemed to drown everything out as you found yourself staring at the alarm clock on the nightstand that was blinking red every few moments. 

You had managed to calm down, and husband and wife lay in silence for a few minutes, the heaviness that filled the air laid across the two of them like a weighted blanket. 

“I was supposed to be the one taking care of you down here,” you sniffled, a tiny smile on your lips as you turned to look up at Rooster, your chin resting on his sternum. 

His pearly whites peeked out from under his mustache, and he leaned down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. 

“You always do.”

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Four in the morning was there before you knew it, and it seemed that Rooster couldn’t sleep either. He was already up and in the process of getting dressed when the alarm went off, soft music playing from the shitty radio/alarm clock on the nightstand. You recognized the tune quickly as Leavin’ On a Jet Plane by Peter, Paul, and Mary. What a sick joke.

You sat up in bed and rubbed at your red, tired eyes, feeling smaller than you ever had. It was as if the room suddenly felt five times bigger, and the mattress was going to swallow you up. 

“When will–When will I know you’re back?,” you  whispered, voice thick with both emotion and sleep. 

Bradley sat down next to you on the edge of the bed, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear and letting it lazily twirl around his finger. “It’s not supposed to be any longer than ninety-six hours, there and back. We’re in, we’re out,” he murmured, hating that that was the only information he could give you. You just nodded in understanding, moving to crawl into his lap, arms draping around his neck as you clung to him. 

“You come home to me, do you understand?,” you whispered, fingers clutching the material of his shirt. “Because if you don’t, Rooster, I swear to God, I’m going to go to whatever fucking country you’re in, and bring your ass back myself,” you added, and you could feel your love smiling against you neck. 

“Yes ma’am, Mrs. Bradshaw,” he whispered in return, and suddenly you felt something drip onto your shoulder, and felt Rooster’s chest tremble a bit before he pulled back. “It’s gonna be okay. We’re gonna be okay,” he added, leaning in to give you a loving, passionate kiss, one that reminded you of the early days of your relationship, when he’d kiss you good night like he was afraid in the morning, he would have only dreamt you. 

You finally pulled away, wiping away his tears as he wiped away your own, and you moved to sit down on the bed, arms wrapping around yourself as he got up and grabbed his bag. 

“I love you, Mrs. Bradshaw,” he said once more. You blinked, and he was gone. 

The sob that ripped through your lips was loud enough to echo into the hall, and it would stay with Bradley Bradshaw forever. 

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Towards the end of the fourth day, you were sitting at the bar of The Hard Deck, miserably staring out at the ocean and lazily sipping at your Diet Coke, not even bothering to take the straw out of your mouth between sips. 

“Y/N,” Penny said gently as she walked over, leaning over and letting her elbows rest on the wood. “They’ll be home soon. Believe me, if something was wrong they would have–,” she stopped herself, sometimes forgetting that being familiar with the Navy for her whole life could make her a little jaded to situations. 

“They would have already sent someone to tell me he’s dead. Yeah. I know,” you shot back, and the instant the words left your lips, you winced at your tone. You just turned and reached out your hand, taking hers and giving it a soft squeeze. “Sorry,” you whispered, a tight smile stretched across your lips. 

“You’ve got nothin’ to be sorry for,” she assured you, squeezing your hand in return. “It’s tough. It never gets any easier.” 

The two of you managed to get your minds off of your boys for another hour or so, Penny telling you about how she was going to take Amelia out on a boat ride once she got out of school, before you decided you’d at least try and get some rest back in your hotel room. You had just parked Rooster’s Bronco in a space outside of your hotel when a Naval Alert popped up on your phone: 

USS LANGLEY ARRIVAL TIME: 1600

“Oh my god. Oh my fucking GOD,” you gasped, immediately turning the car back on and practically flying down the Coronado Bridge and making your way to North Island. There was already a small crowd of family and friends standing around, and it was moments like this you were reminded that it wasn’t just Rooster and the pilots that were gone. It was an entire ship full of people whose families were waiting for them. 

You nervously paced around for awhile, making small talk with some other wives around you, before someone started shouting they could see the ship. It was then that everyone’s voices started to get a bit louder, and there was an energy surrounding everyone that had your heart pounding in your chest. 

What felt like three hours later, there was a chorus of cheers when the first group of men and women came off of the aircraft carrier. You could barely see over the group in front of you, and you decided to climb up one of the small fences, holding on tight and straining your eyes as you searched each and every face. 

“Mrs. Bradshaw!,” a voice boomed from about thirty feet in front of you. “Get your ass down from there and come kiss your husband!”

“Bradley!,” you practically screamed, jumping down and sprinting through the throngs of people before you slammed against Rooster’s chest, lunging up and kissing him roughly. 

“You’re okay,” you whispered, kissing him over and over, tasting the salt from the ocean on his skin. 

“I missed you so fuckin’ much, baby,” he breathed out, as if he’d been holding his breath ever since the morning he left you. 

“God, I fucking missed you,” you agreed, finally opening your eyes to see his face covered in scrapes that looked as if they were beginning to scab over. 

“What–?”

“Hey,” he stopped you quickly, taking both of your hands in his and kissing your knuckles lovingly. “It’s okay. I’m fine. They’re just some scratches,” he assured you, leaning in for one more kiss before he was pulling back and looking around. 

“Wait here,” he said suddenly, taking off towards his left, and you simply just blinked. Because you just knew your husband hadn’t run off only minutes after being reunited with the love of his life–right? 

“Honey,” you heard his voice from over your shoulder, and you turned around only to be face to face with none other than Captain Pete Mitchell. 

“Mav, this is my wife, Y/N. Y/N this is Maverick–he saved my life up there,” Rooster said proudly, and you felt a wave of emotion crash over you. 

“Pete Mitchell, ma’am. It’s so nice to finally meet you,” Maverick stuck out his hand, and instead of returning his hand shake, you threw your arms around him. 

“Thank you,” you whispered, and after a few moments, you felt his arms tighten around your middle. 

“There’s no need. In fact, don’t let him give me all the credit. Your husband saved my ass out there a couple of times. I wouldn’t have made it home without him,” he said firmly as you pulled back, and you couldn’t help but smile proudly at the wonderful man you married. 

“Of course he did. That’s Rooster,” you grinned, reaching out to take his hand, and your lover just kissed the back of your hand. You turned back to look at Maverick, and you caught the tail end of a smile he was giving Rooster, one that mirrored the image of a proud father. 

“I’ll let you kids go. You’ve got a lot of catching up to do,” he laughed softly, clapping Rooster on the shoulder. “I’ll see you before you go, yeah?”.

“You will,” you interjected, your arm wrapped around Rooster’s waist and giving it a soft squeeze. “We’ll go out for dinner tomorrow, how’s that sound?”. 

Plans were quickly made, and you even managed to exchange numbers with Maverick before you and Bradley were in his Bronco, tearing back off towards town and your hotel. You didn’t think you’d ever run so fast into a hotel lobby, but before you could even catch your breath, Rooster was kissing your neck in the elevator, one hand sliding down the front of your shorts, and the other moving up your t-shirt and squeezing your right breast. 

“Bradley!,” you squealed, but a moan quickly left your lips when his thumb brushed over your nipple at the same time the pad of his middle finger rubbed lightly at your clit. “Someone could see.” 

“Let ‘em,” he growled, working on leaving a mark under your left earlobe as he lazily began to grind against your hip. “This whole hotel’s gonna know how much Bradley Bradshaw missed his wife.”

The automated voice in the elevator announced your floor just as the doors opened, and the two of you managed to stumble your way into the hotel room. Shirts and pants were being flung in all directions, and you think your panties might have landed somewhere in the kitchenette, but you really couldn’t bring yourself to care. 

Because at that moment, the love of your life was kissing down your body, placing your thighs on his shoulders and diving straight into your slick cunt. 

“Fuck!,” you cried out, fingers tangling in his dark hair as you began to grind down against his mouth, every nerve ending in your body on fire. Rooster’s tongue was sliding expertly between your folds, licking up every bit of wetness before he would suck quickly and harshly at your clit, switching back and forth until you were a panting, gasping mess for him. 

“Bradley,” you whined, hips rolling constantly, trying to draw yourself closer and closer to the edge. 

“That’s it, baby,” he purred, biting softly at your inner thigh before he immediately slid two fingers inside of you, causing you to swear loudly. “Want you to come for me, honey. Want you to come on my fingers before I put my cock in you. Can you do that for me? Can you come for me, princess?”

He had barely finished his last sentence, fingers drilling against your sweet spot, before you were screaming his name and clamping down around his thick digits. Your body shook with each pulse of your orgasm, hips continuing to roll as you rode out your high, your free hand lazily rubbing at your breasts while you enjoyed your euphoric experience. 

“Such a good girl for me,” he whispered, peppering your hips and lower stomach with light kisses before he pulled his fingers out slowly, crawling back up your body. He kept one of your legs up by his shoulder, and he stroked himself twice before sliding his achingly hard cock into your soaked pussy, groaning once he was fully seated inside of you. 

One heel was digging into the small of Bradley’s back, the other into his shoulder as he practically split you in two, your sensitive cunt almost pulling him deeper inside of you. His hips began to piston against yours quickly, and you could tell that he wouldn’t last long. He’d been waiting for this. Waiting for you. 

“I fucking love you,” he panted, your foreheads pressed together and lips barely touching. “I love you so much. Thought about you every day. Wanted to be back with you, to be back in this pretty pussy.”

As he spoke, his hand slid down once again to start rubbing circles on your clit with his thumb, and you squirmed under his touch immediately. 

“Missed you,” you whimpered out, and at your words, Bradley was connecting your lips once more, kissing you with every ounce of love and affection he had flowing through his veins for you. 

As the minutes passed, your pleasure grew and grew, until you were teetering on the edge of another orgasm, feeling your skin practically sizzle with every bead of sweat that dropped onto your skin from your husband. 

“B-Bradley,” you gasped out, trying to hold out just a little bit longer. 

“I know, honey. I’m close, too. You gonna come again for me? Gonna let me fill you up? Give you everything I’ve got?,” he practically growled, and you just nodded your head furiously, your hands settled on the back of his neck, keeping him close. 

“Use your words for me, princess. Tell me you’re close. Tell me you’re gonna come on my cock,” he demanded, hips faltering just slightly as he neared his own orgasm. 

“M’gonna come, baby. Gonna–,” you stopped, a mewl ripped from your lips as that wave of pleasure crashed over you once again, and you were clamping around his cock like a vice. 

“Oh shit, oh fuck, oh fuck–,” he gasped, and within a handful of thrusts, he was spilling inside of you, leaning down to kiss you messily through your shared orgasms, his hips slowing to a stop and he just stayed inside of you for a moment, the two of you attempting to catch your breath. 

“You really did miss me,” you teased after a few minutes of the two of you just lazily kissing, and Rooster chuckled softly, nuzzling your noses together. 

Within minutes, the two of you were cleaned up and back in bed, your naked bodies tangled together under the sheets and you let your fingers dance lightly over his scrapes, pressing a feather-light kiss to each one once you inspected it. You noticed that Rooster was struggling to keep his eyes open, and so you pressed a final kiss to his lips, brushing his sweat-matted hair off of his forehead. 

“Get some rest, Lieutenant Bradshaw. You’ve earned it,” you whispered, laying down with your head on his chest, letting his heartbeat remind you he was home. He was alive. He was okay. 

“Thank you,” was all he said, and you found it funny how two little words could be worth more than an epistle about his love for you, how thankful he was for you, how he’d never be able to repay you for the past two weeks. 

“Anything for you, you big stud,” you teased, closing your eyes and feeling him giving you a gentle squeeze. 

“I’ll keep ya to that in the mornin’,” he yawned, and within seconds his familiar snores filled the small bedroom, and you fell asleep with a smile on your lips.

#top gun #top gun: maverick #rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #bradley 'rooster' bradshaw #rooster bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x you #rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #my fic #my writing #top gun fic #top gun imagine #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley rooster bradshaw fic #rooster bradshaw fic #leavin' on a jet plane

[wildbornsiren]

Monday to Friday | Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw/F!Reader.

Monday to Friday Summary:  It’s just a crush-- on one of the most beautiful men you’ve ever met in your life. There’s no way he would ever return your feelings right? 2119 words female/AFAB reader. (civilian contract working on base) , Warning: None. Some alcohol consumption. (unbeta’d. We’re going in raw here) Notes: Happy birthday @writercole . I hope you have a wonderful day. As always, likes are welcomed, comments and shares fuel my muses. Thank you so very much for reading, I appreciate it, and it means the most. 

Monday. The first note caught you off guard. A brilliant yellow post-it note stuck to your closed laptop, the writing neat, block letters. ‘Have a good day.’ A cursory glance around proved that you were in fact alone. Chalking it up to the night clerk, you smile, peeling it off and placing it in the top drawer of your desk. The two of you had struck up an easy friendship and occasionally you’d bring her coffee so she could make her drive home, or she’d stay for a few minutes catching you up on gossip and the late-night goings on of the aviators. You boot up the system, and get settled behind your desk, clicking through memos and answering emails. The building doors open, and you look up, the work smile turning to a genuine smile when three people enter. “Morning.” You get a sleepy yawn from Lieutenant Garcia, a nod from Machado and an actual response from Lieutenant Fitch. A few others pass through scanning id cards and offering greetings. It wasn’t exactly a challenging job, but it paid well and between emails and making sure identification and person lined up, you could read or otherwise entertain yourself. “Morning,” a low voice caught your attention. You look up from your book to see one Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw. “Hi,” You drop your gaze down to your book, closing it, using a receipt to keep your spot. He grins, and butterflies explode in your stomach. “Good book?” “It’s a little slow, but the world building is incredible, He’s created this entire element based magic system that ties in with socio-economic divides which leads to the main conflict between the main characters, and he’s just introduced a character without any sort of magical capabilities at all, which makes her an outcast….” You blink looking up at him. “I’m sorry.” He's leaning against the high counter, watching you. “Don’t stop.” He’s got a soft smile on his face, his eyes closed listening. “I’m rambling.” You feel a blush rise on your cheeks. “Plus, you’re going to be late.” He shakes his head, “I’ve got time.” “I could loan it to you, I mean if you want to read it.” “I might take you up on that—” “Bradshaw! You’re late.” Lieutenant Trace called from down the hall. “Come on, you need to get in here before Mav does.” His grin is sheepish, and he taps the countertop. “Duty calls.” Tuesday “Sorry, sorry I know I’m late. There was a hold up at the gate.” You nearly slip in your haste to get through the front doors, shoes squeaking against the linoleum. Sasha is in your seat behind the desk, looking exhausted, barely holding back yawns. “I did, however, bring a peace offering.” You place the large to-go cup of tea on the desk. “I overslept and then the mess at the gate…” “It’s fine.” She takes the cup with a soft laugh. “It’s one of the many perks of being chained to the military.” “Want me to call you a ride, or are you okay to drive?” “Will is coming to get me.” She relinquishes the computer chair to you, sitting in the folding chair. “Oh, I don’t know who left this, it was on the desk when I came back from the bathroom.” She passes over a bookmark with a yellow post-it wrapped around it. You unwrap the post-it and the same block lettering as the day before. ‘Why was the farmer given an award? He was OUTSTANDING in his field.’ You groan and chuckle passing the note off to Sasha. “That was horrible, but in the best way. Good job.” You replace the receipt with the bookmark. “Thanks, by the way.” She looks confused, shaking her head at the terrible pun. “I didn’t get this for you, I told you it was left.” “You didn’t leave the note yesterday?” “Nope,” a little grin appears on her face. “Looks like you’ve got a secret admirer.” “Don’t be silly.” You put the new note with the first one. “I bet it’s Lieutenant Floyd, he’s so quiet and shy.” Sasha taps her chin pretending to think. “It could be Lieutenant Bradshaw.” She says coyly. “He likes to talk to you.” “He’s being polite. He’s a nice guy.” “Mmhm. A nice guy. Is that why you blush and watch after him as that ass walks down the hallway?” “Sasha!” You look around making sure no one heard her. “I’m teasing you.” She pats your shoulder. “I know you’ve got your little crush.” “Crushes are for children.” “Infatuation? Source of all your daytime and nighttime fantasies?” “Oh look, Will’s here.” You point to the door as a tall redhead makes his way through the doors. She laughs softly, patting you on the shoulder. “I’ll stop. But you should at least ask that fine piece of Navy beef to get coffee.” You watch as the two of them go off hand in hand, Sasha laughing at something her boyfriend said. The rest of your day passed without any sort of issue, the constant flow of people keeping you busy. “Excuse me?” You look up from the long-winded email to see a man holding a takeout bag. “I have a delivery for a Bradshaw?” “Go ahead and leave it here, I’ll make sure he gets it.” You say. The delivery man takes a photo of the bag and turns to go. You pick up the food, heading down the hall, barely avoiding colliding with Lieutenant Bradshaw. “Your lunch is here.” He takes the bag, opening it and rummaging inside. He frowns and catches your elbow as you turn to leave. “Hey, they doubled it, you want this?” He’s offering a wrapped sandwich. “Are you sure? I can order something.” In your haste to get out the door you had forgotten to pack a lunch. You stomach growls betraying your words. “Go on,” He takes your hand, turning it over and placing the sandwich in it. “My treat.” You skin burns when he touches it, your breath catching in your chest just from the briefest of eye contact. He winks at you, and you’re nearly convinced that you’re going to melt into the floor, or your panties were going to evaporate. Wednesday The Hard Deck is packed, despite it being the middle of the week. Classic rock plays over the speakers, chatter and laughter mixed in. You wedge yourself between two sailors, managing to get your order to the bartender. Penny was at the other end of the bar pulling beers, the mugs disappearing as soon as she set them down. “I’m going to start a tab.” You hand over your card, taking the three bottles of Miller that are passed to you. He nods, turning to take the orders of other patrons. You make your way back to the corner table you and a couple friends managed to secure. Conversation and jokes fly, the three of you catching up for the first time in months. Work was busy for the other two and eventually the conversation turned to you. “Have you talked to him yet?” Marcy asked, taking a sip of her beer. “Who?” “That gorgeous man with the ugly moustache.” She pointed toward Bradley who was by the pool table with the other aviators. “I see him at work.” You shake your head. “And he’s definitely not interested.” “Not interested, but he’s looking over here.” “The bar is packed Marcy; he could be looking at anyone.” The jukebox cuts off, the groan of the patrons almost instant. You lose sight of Bradley for a moment, but the sound of piano keys jingling draws your attention that way. He’s on the bench, rolling his shoulders, fingers plucking out a few notes to get attention. He starts to play, the bar singing along with him. The way he commands the bar is breathtaking, magnetic, bringing everyone together. He’s lost to the music, howling the words to the song. Sweat beads his brow, and the neon lights of the bar make him glow. He’s breathtaking and you can’t help but watch him, enamored with his presence. “You should wipe your mouth.” Marcy hands you a napkin. “You’ve got a bit of drool…” “Shut up.” You mutter, snatching away the offering. “Go sing with him.” “You know damn well I can’t carry a tune, even if you hand it to me in a bucket.”

“So, send him a beer.” Now, that was an idea you could get behind. You get up, headed for the bar. The bartender who served you previously grins making his way over. “Can you send a beer to Rooster?” His call sign felt wrong, almost intimate coming from your mouth. “Put it on my tab, and I’m going to close out.” “You want me to let him know who it’s from honey?” “No, no just someone who appreciates the music.” Thursday. “Mornin’ sweetheart.” A travel cup appears in your line of sight. “Rough night?” The familiar voice slides down your back like velvet. You look up to see Lieutenant Bradshaw holding a cup of his own. “Didn’t know how you like it, so I just got you a mocha.” “We started with beer and switched to vodka later in the evening.” You murmur. The headache behind your eyes had started to subside. The coffee smelled good. “I thought I saw you last night.” He’s leaning against the counter, watching you with a small smile. “You should have come say hi.” “You were hustling Lieutenant Seresin at the pool table. I didn’t want to interrupt you.” He chuckles. “I probably would have done better. Pretty women always bring luck.” You nearly choke on your sip of coffee. It’s sweet, warm and what you wanted. You didn’t realize how much you wanted those words to come out of his mouth. “You think I’m pretty?” “I don’t think it, I know it.” He taps the countertop. “You have a good morning alright?” You watch as he walks away, wrapping your hands tight around the cup. He pauses before he enters the briefing room, he pauses, says your name. “Thanks for the beer.” Friday. You shut down your computer, logging out for the evening. Eyeing the clock, you see that you still have a little while before Sasha comes in to relieve you. Reaching for a pile of print outs you start going over the names and completing the last of your paperwork before you can enjoy your evening. “You look nice.” Sasha says, coming around the desk to join you. “Hot date?” You roll your eyes, “Only with Netflix and a pizza. Maybe a glass of wine.” “Does he know the plans for the evening?” You follow her gaze to see Bradley sitting on one of the benches near the door, just out of earshot. “He left a while ago, what’s he doing back?” “I think he has plans to invite you to dinner or drinks. Based on what he was saying when he was on the phone.” “You think so?” You tug at the hem of your shirt. “Do I really look okay?” “You look amazing. Anyway, you could be wearing a trash bag and he’d be looking at you with those big brown eyes as if you handed him the stars.” She hands over your purse. “Go, have fun.” The hallway seems impossibly long when you leave your workspace. He looks up when you stop in front of him. “I ah, wanted to give you this before, but I thought I missed you.” You pull the book from your bag, offering it to him. “I’m keeping the bookmark, but I left you something to keep your spot.” The receipt poked out between the pages; your number written on the top of it. He takes the book, “You wanna grab a drink?” He clears his throat, “tonight, with me. We can talk about the book.” “You’ve read just by holding it?” Bradley drops his gaze, a blush rising on his neck. It’s cute, especially when it travels to his ears. “I’ve read it already. It’s one of my favorites.” “The notes?” “I like your smile.” He chuckles, “the beer?” “I like your singing.” “You’d also like him out of that ugly ass Hawaiian shirt. Quit flirting in front of my salad and go!” Sasha’s voice carries down the hallway. Bradley gets to his feet and offers you, his hand. “Let’s go before she accuses us of watching her salad dressing.” “That was horrible.” You mutter groaning. “Absolutely terrible.” “I am terrible, but I’m also very good. I’d like to show you how good.” He’s leaning down, murmuring into your ear. “But first, let me buy you dinner.” ---------------------- tagging in: @princessmisery666 @princessphilly @evansrogerskitten @hoe-on-the-range​ @callsign-phoenix @callsign-fox @mayhem24-7forever​ @shadeds-library​ @butaneandthebeast​ @blue-aconite​ @therebeccaw @marvelandotherfandomimagines @jostystyles​  @cowboybarbie @mandylove1000​ @topguncortez​ @hederasgarden​ 

#Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw/reader #Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw/you #Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x reader #Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x you #Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw #Rooster/you #Rooster/Reader #shelly writes #reader insert #reader imagine #Top Gun Maverick #Top Gun: Maverick

[make-me-imagine]

Love is Stored in Post-It Notes

Prompt: Surprise reunion on Valentine’s Day

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Gn!Reader

Requested By: @paigewinchester67; you requested smut but I don't write that, so you got fluff instead lol, I hope you like it anyways.

Warnings: Nothing~

Words: 1k

-

Carrying a damp rag in your hand as you slowly made your way through the house, cleaning as you went, you began opening drawers and sorting them out.

Opening another drawer, you moved a piece of paper, revealing an old cigar box. You smiled the second you saw it, taking it out as fond memories washed over you.

Sliding open the lid, you revealed a pile of post-it notes in various colors covered in your's and Bradley's handwriting.

Picking a few up, you read through the notes, some with obvious memories attached, and some you couldn't quite remember.

'I love you!'

'I'll meet you at the spot at 7!'

'Don't forget the chargers this time'

'Dinner is at 6'

'I didn't want to wake you. I will see you later, I love you.'

You don't know why you kept most of them, but every time you found one from Bradley, it felt like he left a little piece of him behind, just for you.

Grabbing another one, you smiled, though it held an air of melancholy with it.

'Will you be my Valentine? ☐ Yes ☐ No'

The memory ran through your head. You and Bradley had been dating for a few months. It was the first Valentines Day you would be spending as a couple. He had stuck it on your phone when you weren't looking.

When you noticed it, you met his eyes from across the room and he winked, before grinning at you and motioning for you to check a box.

You had acted as though it was a tough decision, tapping the pen against your chin as you decided what to check. He frowned playfully as he clasped his hands together, as if begging you to say yes. After another moment, you had checked yes, of course.

Every year since then, he had asked you in the same way, always leaving the note for you to randomly find. On your pillow to find when you woke up, on your car steering wheel when you headed to town, on the bathroom mirror when you went to take a shower.

Each years note was stacked behind the last. All with the same question and always with the same response.

Looking up at the calendar, you noted that Valentines Day was only a few days away. And for the first time, Bradley wasn't here.

Valentines Day was not the most celebrated holiday, nor was it all that important in reality. But it would be the first time you weren't together for it.

It would be the first time you didn't dress up a little more than any other date night. The first time you wouldn't buy each other flowers, or cheesy cards. The first time you wouldn't make a themed breakfast for the two of you.

You both always made it so fun, you loved your cheesy holiday together. But even if you couldn't do it this year, you would live, as long as he came back at some point. That was all you could really ask for.

Putting the post-it notes back in the box and placing it gently in the drawer, you continued with your cleaning, trying to busy yourself.

As you made your way towards the bedroom, you stopped as you heard a knock at the door. Heading back towards the door, your immediate thought was that it was a delivery.

Peaking out the window, you saw no one. Opening the door, you immedietely looking down, expecting a box or envelope. But seeing nothing, you furrowed your brow and looked around, confused.

Shaking your head slightly, you figured maybe it was someone who had the wrong house, or maybe just a bored kid. As you turned to head back in, your eyes caught on something pink on the door, as you did a sharp double take.

On the door, just under the peep-hole, there was a pink post-it note. Your breath hitched in your throat as you grabbed the note, reading the message, written in familiar handwriting.

'Will you be my Valentine? ☐ Yes ☐ No'

Spinning around, your eyes darted around before locking on Bradley just as he stepped out from behind the car, a grin on his face as he removed his sunglasses.

"Bradley!" You laughed out as you rushed to each other, quickly embracing each other.

He laughed as he hugged you, picking you up off the ground as he spun around. "Miss me?"

"Always." You replied with a bright grin on your face as you pulled away. You placed your hands on either side of his face, making sure you weren't dreaming. You pulled his head down and pressed your forehead against his as you spoke "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Well then I couldn't surprise you could I?"

Reaching towards his pocket, you watched as he pulled out a pen and smiled. "So?"

You repressed a laugh as you took the pen, before placing the post-it on the wall and checking the yes box. Turning back to him you stuck it on his chest before patting it two times, unable to remove the grin from your face.

Placing his hand over the post-it he smiled widely as he reached out, pulling you to him again before he brought his face close to yours.

He stared into your eyes for a moment before he spoke softly "I missed you so much."

"I missed you too." You replied.

"And I love you so much."

You giggled softly "And I love you so much too."

Leaning in, your lips met as you wrapped your arms around him. It looks like you'll get your cheesy holiday together after all.

xx End xx

General Taglist: @criminaly-supernatural, @imaginesfire, @onuen, @witchygagirl, @alexxavicry

Top Gun/Rooster Taglist: @malindacath, @hotch-meeeeeuppppp, @sarcastic-sourwolf, @stargirl-05, @persephonesportal, @springflwer07, @pockyandme, @iceman-kazansky, @soultrysworld, @averyhotchner, @linkxneptune, @creativitybeware, @callsignmaverick5, @phoenix1389, @writerfulltime, @readingwithatorch

#Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw #Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x reader #Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw/reader #Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x you #Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x gn!reader #Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw imagine #top gun #top gun: maverick #top gun maverick imagine #top gun: maverick fic #Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw fic #Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw oneshot #Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw one shot #top gun oneshot #top gun: maverick one shot

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

I have seen zero Top Gun: Maverick but for some reason I love the idea of Rooster somehow getting stuck on a commercial flight beside someone who is terrified of flying

distracting them and reassuring them as they see the wing wiggle:

"Look, if it does that at 575 miles per hour at 35,000 feet, around six miles off of the ground, I'm glad it only wiggles a little."

And then he takes shuts the window cover, takes one headphone off and passes it to her before navigating his tv menu to House Hunters to occupy her attention during the flight.

#Bradley Bradshaw x Reader #Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader #Rooster x Reader #Bradley Bradshaw x You #Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x You #I blame all of the people putting him on my dash and also the wing wiggling a little #so if this is out of character—i have not seen the movie and uhhhhh soz #mine #this is not at all influenced my my work trip obviously

[roosterforme]

Wrong Number | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley was planning on a quiet night at home with a beer and a basketball game on TV. When he receives a text from a wrong number, he's left looking at a beautiful photo of you. Now he just needs to persuade you to ditch the guy you meant to text and focus on him instead.

Warnings: Fluff, swearing, slight dirty talk, Bradley touching himself

Length: 4700 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written for Rocktober. Check out my masterlist for more. Banner made by @thedroneranger

Bradley had endured such a long week at work, all he wanted to do was change out of his uniform, grab a beer from his fridge and lounge around on the couch in his underwear without a responsibility in sight. Nobody should have to work until ten on a Friday night, but it had taken him that long to sort through the massive stack of paperwork from Admiral Simpson. At least now he had nothing planned for the rest of his evening.

His apartment was too hot, and the cold bottle of beer pressed to his bare thigh as he reached for the TV remote left some droplets of condensation. It felt good. He took another sip as his phone vibrated next to him. With a soft grunt, he abandoned the remote in favor of the phone and unlocked it with his pass code.

There was a new text from an unknown number. And there was a photo attached. He grimaced, afraid of what he was going to find if he tapped on it. He read the phone number twice, but it didn't sound familiar beyond the San Diego area code. He let his head tip back as he recalled the time he pissed Nat off and she gave his phone number to a random sailor in retaliation. Bradley really hoped he wasn't going to have to kindly ask someone to stop sending him dick pics like last time. 

Before he lost the nerve, he tapped on the message, and his screen was suddenly filled with a photo of a woman who looked just a few years younger than him. And she was hot. He paused with his beer bottle halfway to his lips before letting it settle back down to his thigh. 

Hey, Alan. It's me. So now you have my phone number, too.

Bradley didn't know who the hell Alan was, but he wasn't mad about the mix-up. This photo was something else. It almost looked like it was taken in the bathroom at the Hard Deck. The lighting was bad, and there was a paper towel dispenser in the background, but whoever you were.... damn, you were stunning. All pretty features and smiling like you had a secret. 

It took him a moment to stop staring at the photo and return to the previous screen and your message. He was going to have to tell you that he wasn't Alan and that you had the wrong number, but he just sat there and tapped his phone case instead. He didn't even like the name Alan, but damn if he didn't want to be Alan right now. That lucky bastard had you interested in him. 

Bradley was wondering how the mix-up happened in the first place as he drafted up a text to you. Only some sort of fucking idiot wouldn't check and double check that he gave you the right number. "Amateurs," he mumbled as he typed with a little smirk on his face.

Hey, sorry to inform you, but this actually isn't Alan. However, I wouldn't mind one bit if you kept sending me the photos that are meant for him.

He hit send and tossed his phone aside, assuming you'd just block him and move on with your night. He brought his beer bottle back to his lips and enjoyed the way the drink helped cool him down while he contemplated taking a shower, but when he reached for the remote again, his phone vibrated. 

There was another message from the same number. Intrigued, Bradley unlocked his phone again, and he was pleased to see another text and another photo.

Hi, Not-Alan. Sorry about that! I hope you have a great night.

This photo was similar to the first one, except that you were flipping him the peace sign and winking which made Bradley laugh. You seemed fun, even through this limited interaction. And he was sure that was the ladies' bathroom at the Hard Deck, which pissed him off, because he got out of work so late he didn't feel like going out tonight. Maybe if he had been there, you wouldn't have been talking to Alan in the first place.

"Damn it." He was intrigued. He wanted to know more about this.

My night is substantially better now that I have two photos of you. So where did Alan get off to anyway? And why is he trying to steal my phone number?

This time Bradley was dying for another response. But it didn't come. He stared at his phone for a solid minute before returning to his beer and downing the rest of the bottle. Still nothing. He stood and made his way into the kitchen, tossing his empty into the recycling bin before getting another one from the fridge and eyeing up the food situation. He should probably eat something, but he swore he heard his phone vibrating. When he looked over to the couch, the screen was lit up. 

He slammed the fridge door and opened the new bottle before heading back to his phone. There was no photo this time, but there was a new message.

I actually lost Alan in the crowd, so really, the man could be just about anywhere. And I don't think he was trying to steal your number at all, Not-Alan. He wrote it on my palm, and it smeared before I could add it to my phone.

"Okay," Bradley said out loud. "Now we're getting somewhere." He sat down on the couch with his beer on the coffee table and started a new message. 

Alan should learn how to write neater in the future, because he's missing out here. You have to double check that someone who looks like you got the number right. Everyone knows that.

Bradley decided that he was going to have no shame for the night. Not as long as you kept writing back to him. He was contemplating how to save your number in his phone when another selfie with a message came through. You were out by the bar at the Hard Deck with a smile on your face, and you were holding up your palm complete with Bradley's smeared phone number.

Does this number look familiar, Not-Alan? Still no actual Alan in sight, by the way. 

Bradley supposed that the 7 could have been mistaken for a 1. Or maybe Alan's phone number had a 5 that got smeared into a 6. It didn't really matter. Bradley was going to shoot his shot and hope Alan didn't resurface. 

Good, Alan can just stay lost. What's your name, pretty girl?

Then he saved your number as Pretty Girl, and this time he did manage to turn the TV on while he waited with his phone in his hand. He muted the Clippers game and picked up his beer before promptly setting it back down again.

Pretty Girl: Not so fast, Not-Alan. You tell me your name first. And how old you are. And your blood type and the last four of your social security number. 

Bradley laughed and started typing. He realized he hadn't stopped smiling for the last twenty minutes as he hit send.

I'm Bradley. I'm 34. O positive. 2305.

On a regular night, the basketball game would have held his attention, but tonight he couldn't stop looking at his phone. "Come on, Pretty Girl," he muttered, running his beer bottle along his thigh before taking a sip. 

Pretty Girl: Okay, Bradley. You have my attention. Send me a selfie exactly where you are, and I'll think about telling you my name. No changing into something nicer. No fixing your hair. Just a selfie. Right now.

Bradley looked down at himself in just his black boxer briefs and mumbled, "If you say so." When he set his phone camera to selfie mode, he looked at the screen and realized his hair still looked pretty decent from work. So he went ahead and took a picture where he was wearing a bit of a skeptical smirk, and he sent it before he could think twice. 

And now his heart was beating a little faster. This was probably where you'd stop responding. Oh hell, at least he went for it, but a few minutes later, you still hadn't sent anything back to him. Maybe he could have tried to hide the scars on his neck and cheek, but what was the point? Clearly you were sending him actual selfies you'd taken tonight, and he did exactly what you'd told him to. Then his phone vibrated.

Pretty Girl: Do you really expect me to believe that you're not just googling "hot shirtless guy with a mustache", downloading a photo, and trying to pass it off as yourself?

He tipped his head back and laughed. There was just something about you. He didn't even know your name or what your voice sounded like, but he could already tell he was going to like both of those things. If you ever told him or let him hear you.

That's really me. Promise. Will you tell me your name now? Or do I have to keep calling you Pretty Girl?

He was wondering if you were still at the bar, surrounded by guys like Alan who would love to take you home while you were chatting with him. And he hoped the next text would contain your name. But you just ignored him when you wrote back a few minutes later. 

Pretty Girl: Prove you're not just sending some photos of a random hot dude. Go stand by your open refrigerator and take a selfie. Then take another one with your toothbrush. 

"She's a handful," Bradley murmured as he stood with a smile. He carried his beer into the kitchen, opened his refrigerator and snapped a selfie where the fridge light somehow accentuated his features nicely. Then he left his beer on the counter while he went into his bathroom. He was actively trying not to smile for this one where he had his red toothbrush hanging out of the side of his mouth, but he was on the verge of laughing at how ridiculous his night turned out to be. 

He typed up a message and attached both photos and then sent them off while he finished his beer at the kitchen counter, Clippers game forgotten. 

What is this, Pretty Girl? A hostage negotiation? I already told you, that's really me.

It didn't take too long for you to respond this time, and Bradley wasn't even letting his screen dim long enough to need to unlock it now.

Pretty Girl: Are you naked in these photos?

"Jesus," he muttered. Of course he wasn't. Did you want him to be? Shit, he needed to stop thinking about that.

No! I'm wearing underwear. You told me not to get changed or anything.

He felt flushed and too warm as he set his phone down on the counter and went to open some windows. Then he walked a few laps around his apartment in an effort to chill the fuck out. He wasn't even with you, and you were under his skin. 

When he returned to his phone, there was a selfie and a message waiting for him. In the photo, you were sipping a drink, and the way the straw pressed to your perfect lips had him practically moaning. 

Pretty Girl: My friend thinks there's something wrong with me. I'm at a Navy bar in San Diego at the moment. There are hot guys galore, and yet I'm glued to my phone. 

"Shit, shit, shit." Bradley thought about getting dressed and heading out to the bar himself. Then maybe he could hear you tell him your name in person right before he pulled the straw away from your mouth and kissed you.

How much longer are you going to be at the Hard Deck, Pretty Girl?

Bradley started heading for his bedroom closet when his phone vibrated in his hand.

Pretty Girl: How do you know I'm at the Hard Deck? Do I need to smash my phone to bits and go into hiding?

"Fuck," he grunted, typing so quickly he had to go back and fix several spelling errors before he could send it. The last thing he wanted to do was make you uncomfortable, so he paused before getting any clothing out of his closet.

Because I'm in the Navy, and I live in San Diego. And I recognized the inside of the bathroom from the first photo you sent me. I swear I'm not creepy. You can ask Penny, the bartender and owner of that fine establishment. I spend enough time there. Show her my photo.

Bradley collapsed onto his bed with his forearm over his eyes and his phone clutched to his chest. He didn't have to check the time to know it had been a while since he texted you. He also didn't have to look at his phone to know it was after midnight now and that you and he had been chatting for almost two hours. Bradley jolted when the phone vibrated against his chest.

Pretty Girl: Okay. Alright. Penny is a sweetheart, and your story checks out. Also, she told me your call sign and then told me to have you verify what it is for my own peace of mind. So what is it, Bradley? And how do you know what the ladies' restroom here looks like?

Oh, he was going to owe Penny big time. He typed away as he lay sprawled out on his bed.

My call sign is Rooster. And as for your bathroom question.... are you really going to make me answer that?

Bradley closed his eyes and thought about the girl who had taken him into the bathroom with her last year. He was pretty sure she had brown hair, but other than that, he couldn't really recall. But he did remember looking at that paper towel holder on the wall and the framed photo of an F/A-14 that was hanging over it while he was in there with her. 

He wouldn't mind taking a trip there with you, that was for sure. Or maybe you and he could skip the scandalous bar hookup and just go right to dinner or a movie. For some reason, he thought he might actually prefer that.

Pretty Girl: Be back soon. I'm getting a ride home.

Bradley mused out loud, "It better not be from Alan." Shit, he could have offered to go pick you up and make sure you got home safely. He'd only had those two beers all night, and now he was picturing some faceless guy named Alan driving you home and pawing at you.

He texted you back.

Let me know when you get home, okay? And you can always just call me.

With a sigh, he got out of bed and plugged his phone in, not sure what to expect at this point. He went back into the bathroom and used his red toothbrush. And then he went back to the living room and closed all the windows. When he was in his room again, he had no new notifications as he climbed in bed. He was about to text you again and check in when his phone rang.

CALL FROM Pretty Girl

Bradley was smiling as he answered. "Hey, Pretty Girl."

A soft laugh preceded your voice, and he had to bite the inside of his cheek as you said, "Hi, Bradley with the O positive blood. Are you trying to tell me that you were in that bar bathroom with a girl?"

He found himself laughing. "Can I plead the fifth?"

When you moaned softly, he dropped his phone onto the pillow and had to scramble to get it. "Oh, my god. Even your voice is sexy."

Okay. He should not be on the verge of touching himself after you spoke three whole sentences to him. "You make it home safely?" he asked, trying to play it cool as he thought about those photos you sent him. 

"Mmhmm. A very nice man named Alan drove me home. He's right here next to me as I get changed for bed."

Bradley thought for a beat that he had met his match in you. "You better be lying. You know what, put Alan on the phone."

Your laughter filled him up as you said, "He's not really here. I had to ditch him, because he doesn't even have a mustache. Apparently that's a deal breaker for me now?"

Holy shit. Bradley was in trouble. He was getting turned on, and you weren't even really saying anything dirty. "You're killing me. You gonna tell me your name, Pretty Girl?"

"No. I think I'm going to hold onto it a little longer."

"Fine. But please explain to me how I've never seen you at the Hard Deck before. I'm certain I would remember your face."

Your voice sounded a little softer now as you said, "I just moved to Coronado. It was my first time at the bar."

If he hadn't worked so late today, Bradley would have probably been there tonight as well. "You had fun? You think you'll go back again?"

"Probably," you replied casually. "When do you think you'll be there?"

Bradley was so warm he was starting to sweat. "Pretty Girl, you just say the word, and I'll clear my whole damn calendar."

Your little sighs and soft giggles were going to be the death of him. "You know, I still have Alan's, or rather your phone number on my hand."

He imagined himself kissing your palm and rewriting his phone number. "Should be in my handwriting. I'll make sure I always bring a pen with me to the bar."

You cleared your throat softly, and Bradley imagined you climbing into bed. "Penny told me to watch out for some of the other guys. But she said you're okay."

"Just okay?"

"Actually, she called you a big, brown eyed puppy dog."

Bradley laughed. "I've been called worse."

"I'm sure you have," you replied quickly. "You deserve some sort of punishment for daring to look good with a mustache."

"It's a blessing and a curse. Now, are you going to send me another photo? Or are you going to just agree to meet me tomorrow night?"

He heard a rustling noise and then you softly said, "Alan is not going to like this one bit." And then another photo arrived, and this one had Bradley's mouth hanging open. 

"Now it's my turn to ask if you're naked in this picture." He was taking in every inch of your exposed skin and your bedding tucked up to your collar bones. You took your makeup off for bed, and you looked cozy and intimate. And you were talking to him. You were letting him see this. Bradley had to actively think about not touching himself. 

"Totally naked."

"Fuck."

"Send me another one?"

"Yeah," he grunted, swallowing hard as he tried to pose for another selfie just how he was, sprawled out on his pillow with his left arm bent and tucked back behind his head. But his cheeks looked flushed, and his eyes looked darker than usual. He was turned on. 

Fuck it. He snapped the photo and sent it. And about ten seconds later, he was greeted with the strangled sound you made.

"It should be illegal for someone with that mustache to look so good. It's rude, honestly. Bradley, you're kind of rude, because now I want to know...."

He was hanging on your every word. "Know what, Pretty Girl?"

The call went completely silent before you said softly and sweetly, "What your mustache feels like...everywhere."

A soft, startled laugh escaped his lips. You were on the verge of some dirty talk now, he could just tell. And his cock was hard as he replied with, "I'd love to let you find out. But before you respond, I need to know how much you've had to drink tonight. I don't want to take advantage of anything here."

You whimpered on the other end of the call. "A mustache, brown eyes, and a gentleman? All Alan did for me was buy me those two Long Island iced teas."

Bradley grunted and said, "That's enough about Alan. Why don't you go ahead and tell me where you'd like to feel my mustache first, Pretty Girl."

You squeaked and said, "I want to feel it rough along my skin right below my ear while you whisper to me. Oh my god, I can't believe I said that out loud. I should just go to bed."

"Don't hang up," Bradley said, panting with need now. "Tell me more."

"Okay," you sighed with another little squeak. "I want to feel it on my lips. While I'm sitting in your lap, licking the taste of that beer you drank from your mouth."

"Holy shit," he groaned, palming himself through his boxer briefs.

"I know," you whined with need. "And I want to feel it on the back of my neck while you do filthy things to me. And I don't even know you!"

"You will," he guaranteed. "Please, tell me what time I can meet you tomorrow."

Bradley listened to the rustle of your sheets as he waited. Then you finally said, "Seven o'clock? At the Hard Deck?"

"I'll be there, Pretty Girl. I can't wait to see you."

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

It was barely even 6:30, but you were already at the bar all made up and wearing a cute dress. Penny recognized you right away, which was kind of nice and kind of embarrassing. When she asked if you wanted another Long Island, you waved her off and said, "Nothing yet. I'm meeting someone."

Her eyes lit up as she asked, "Is it Rooster?"

You'd barely slept all night, preferring to look at the four selfies he'd sent you after you ended the call around two. There was a little more dirty talk, sure, but you and he also learned a bit more about each other. And now you were going to meet this naval aviator who was originally from Virginia but loved the Los Angeles Clippers face to face. 

"Yeah. It's Rooster."

Penny looked truly delighted. "You have nothing to worry about. He's very sweet."

"Tell that to the butterflies," you muttered as you placed one hand on your stomach for a beat, willing the nerves to dissipate as you walked away. You'd told Bradley you wanted his mustache on your body. In several places. And then he told you he thought you were so pretty and fun that he wanted to kiss you everywhere. And right now you were just mystified as to how this could have possibly happened only a week after you moved to this neighborhood. And you still didn't know what happened to Alan after you went to the ladies' bathroom and saved the wrong number in your phone.

You laughed when you thought about it, and then you ran your hands along the fabric of your dress. You were so antsy, your palms were sweaty. You looked down at yourself and just got more nervous. Bradley hadn't seen much of your body in the photos you'd sent to him. You'd seen plenty of his though, and he looked tall and muscular even next to his damn refrigerator. And his face was gorgeous, right down to that sinful looking mustache. 

And you were just... you. Alan was really more your speed with his nerdy glasses and messy hairstyle and his lack of ability to even grow any sort of facial hair at all. You just hoped that Bradley wouldn't take one look at you in person and walk right back out of the bar. 

You were about to tell Penny that you thought you needed a drink after all when the door caught your eye, and Bradley strolled into the bar like he owned the place. "Oh...fuck," you whispered, gaping at him as he ran his fingers through his hair. The photos hadn't even done him justice. He had to be over six feet tall, and he was so broad and muscular, he looked like he could pick you up and toss you around a little bit. "Shit." He was wearing some snug fitting jeans and a tropical print shirt like he just knew he could pull off the most ridiculous look. "Damn." He was glancing around, trying to find you while you started scouring the room unsuccessfully for another exit. 

You were trapped in here, and he was walking further into the bar now. And you didn't think you could hide halfway behind this couple who was making out for very much longer.  

As Bradley's eyes scanned the crowd again, he looked a little apprehensive. His brow was scrunched, and he checked the time on his watch. You knew it was almost seven. So you took a deep breath and let it out slowly, and then you scooted one step to your left. When his gaze came your way again, his eyes landed on you. And then his face softened. The apprehension melted away, and he smiled a cute and somehow sexy little grin that made you whimper.

Now he was heading your way, his gait sure and steady. And then he was just a few feet away and you could see the scars on his face that you'd studied all night in the photos. And you could see the flecks of gold in his eyes that somehow the selfies didn't capture. And then he was talking, and his voice was even better in person.

"Pretty Girl."

Okay, so he'd seen you up close, and he wasn't running away. That had to be a good sign, right? You managed to say just one slightly breathless word. "Hi." And then his smile grew, and he was closing the space between your body and his. He was reaching for your face and running one rough thumb along your cheek. And then he kissed you.

And the soft scrape of his mustache was even better than all of the ways you'd spent your night imagining it might feel. You couldn't help but return his kiss, and somehow your hands ended up pressed to the front of him, sliding up to his chest. 

When he broke the kiss, he stayed close, his lips not far from your face. He covered your hands with his, keeping them on his body. And then he leaned close to your ear, his mustache scraping along your soft skin there as he whispered, "Tell me your name, Pretty Girl. I'm dying here."

Soft laughter bubbled out of you as he pulled away from you a bit, and those butterflies were going wild. His eyes were fixed on your face, begging for an answer this time as he stroked your hands with his thumbs. And then you told him, and he tried your name out on his tongue a few times with that grin that you liked so much. He kept saying it softly until you kissed him this time, and then he guided your arms around his neck. 

"Listen," he said in that raspy voice that you'd love to focus on all night. "I have no problem staying here for a while if you want to. I bet you could even persuade me to join you in the ladies' room."

"Sounds tempting," you told him with a smirk.

"It really does. But we could also just ditch the bar and grab dinner instead? Maybe watch the Clippers game and have a drink at my place? I'm a little worried Alan might show up here and try to lure you away, if I'm being honest."

You practically snorted with laughter. "I can't even really remember what Alan looks like. He was totally gone from my mind after the first selfie you sent me. Let's get out of here."

He took you by the hand. "Anything you want, Pretty Girl."

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

I love dreamy loverboy Bradley, and I love Pretty Girl too. Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

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[tongue-like-a-razor]

Hotter Than Texas | Part I

(unofficially: Brother's Worst Enemy)

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x F!Reader

Alrighty y'all, this is for everyone who has so patiently waited for me to make this a thing XD Not sure if I could squeeze a whole series out of this one but we shall see. Maybe at least a part 2. Enjoy!

Summary: Bradley Bradshaw is tasked with transporting a not-so-delicate package in the form of Jake Seresin's baby sister, who turns out to be Bradley's dream girl worst nightmare.

Aka it's a road trip, strap in.

CW: swearing, age gap (10 years)

The mission is simple. Collect Seresin Junior from the train station near the main gate of the base and deliver said cargo to the Seresin homestead in Eastern Texas on his way to Atlanta, Georgia for a long overdue visit with his grandparents. It isn’t rocket science. It sure as hell doesn’t hold a candle to the canyon run he pulled off just the other month. And yet, Bradley’s drumming his fingers anxiously on the hood of his Bronco as he leans into its frame, waiting on the trolley from downtown San Diego.

While Jake and Bradley have recently made peace after their longstanding cold war, Bradley isn’t exactly thrilled to meet another one of his kind. Besides, he isn’t one for small talk, and the prospect of spending the next two days with a complete stranger is downright daunting. He prefers music to conversation and he’s hoping that his road trip companion won’t be offended when he turns up the radio and forgets there’s anybody else in the car.

When Hangman had asked for the favor, he assured Bradley that he was his last choice – which wasn’t exactly a compliment, but Bradley appreciated the gesture, nonetheless. By the end of the term, there was nobody from their squadron left on base except Bradley, and he would be heading east anyway, might as well provide shuttle service while he’s at it.

As the trolley whistles into the station, Bradley pushes off his car and straightens his back, watching the tinted windows as they zip by, a blur at first and then gradually separating as the trolley comes to a stop.

Bradley leaves his car to walk around the fence, not quite sure how he’s going to be greeting a person he’s never before seen, but it’s not like he’s going to fashion a sign for the occasion. He sticks his hands into his pockets, the breeze picking up his unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt like a parachute before it starts whipping around his torso in the wind tunnel on the platform.

He glances around at the commuters stepping off the trolley, trying to pick out the blondes that might resemble his colleague, when he feels a tap on his shoulder. He turns his head, just as you say, “Rooster, right?”

He blinks at you, slightly disoriented. You look nothing like Hangman, thank fuck, because Bradley can’t take his eyes off you and, as inappropriate as this reaction is, it would make it that much worse if you did. He gives you a sideways grin. “What gave me away?” he says.

“My brother told me to find the dorkiest guy at the station,” you respond, grinning at him.

Bradley chuckles. “So, you’re walking to Texas, then,” he says, stepping around you.

You laugh, struggling to redirect the wheels of your suitcase.

Bradley bends down to grab the handle. “I can take that,” he says, tucking away the retractable bar and lifting it off the ground by the strap.

“Thanks,” you say, cringing slightly as Bradley lifts the luggage as though you’re embarrassed by its weight.

But after the countless exercise drills over the years, Bradley hardly notices that it’s heavy. In fact, he could probably carry it over his head. He eyes you inconspicuously as you fall in step with him, wondering if perhaps that might impress you – not that he wants to impress you.

“Actually, he said I couldn’t miss you because you’d be a head taller than everyone else, and probably wearing a very bright shirt.”

Bradley looks over at you with a grin. “Hopefully I didn’t disappoint?”

You eye his shirt flapping in the breeze. “I found you, didn’t I?”

Bradley lifts your suitcase into the trunk of his car and walks around to open your door for you.

You give him a suspicious look. “Thanks,” you say.

Bradley nods at you, offering a hand to help you in. Once you’re seated, he shuts the door behind you and exhales unsteadily the kind of sigh that often accompanies a guilty conscience. There’s no way he could possibly get entangled in a mess of this magnitude. And a colossal mess it would become if he were to develop any sort of soft spot for his recent enemy’s baby sister. Bradley, being a sensible, mature adult, understands this unequivocally. But, when he rounds the car and climbs into the driver’s seat next to you, the notion that he’s not allowed under any circumstances to find you attractive flies right out his rolled down window.

This is because you’re already tuning the radio like you own the place and because you smell like a goddess. Bradley has no clue whether it’s your hair or your perfume or your goddamn essence that’s permeated his upholstery in under ten seconds, but whatever it is, he certainly wouldn’t mind smelling it on his sheets in the morning.

Fuck. He’s fucking fucked.

“This alright?” you ask casually, as if you didn’t just hijack a stranger’s radio.

He cringes at the stereo; he’ll have to work on your taste in music. “Got your seatbelt on?” he asks as he pulls out.

You turn around in your seat and pull on the seatbelt.

Bradley promptly hits the breaks and you lurch forward slightly, the seatbelt in your hand getting stuck on its way out. He looks over at you with an air of seriousness despite the small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “The seatbelt should be the first thing you do when you enter a vehicle.” Not fiddle with the radio, he adds silently.

You raise your eyebrows at him in amusement. “Okay, dad.”

Bradley nearly shudders at your response. He’s probably a good ten years older than you, so, really, while dad might be stretching it, you’re not too far off. “Keep up that attitude and you’ll be listening to Metallica the whole way home.”

You smirk at him. “I like Metallica, so joke’s on you, bud.”

Bradley starts driving again. “If you like Metallica, then why are we listening to this trash?”

Your jaw drops and you reach for the volume dial to turn up the song. “How dare you?”

Bradley rolls his eyes. Something tells him he’s in for a wild ride.

…

About two hours later, Bradley pulls into a small gas station just past the border into Arizona.

“Want something to eat?” he asks, leaning across the console to pop his glove compartment and pull out his wallet. “Or drink?”

You purse your lips. “I could go for a coffee.”

“How do you like it?” he asks.

“With a pinch of salt.”

Bradley gapes at you. “I can’t tell if you’re joking.”

You snort. “I’m not joking. You should try it! Cuts the bitterness in half, my friend.”

Bradley cringes. “The bitterness is why I drink it.”

You shake your head and declare wisely, “You’ll see.”

“That you’re a nutcase?” Bradley mutters under his breath as he exits the car. He jogs over to the convenience store, determinedly blocking out the seductive quality of your persuasive tone. You could probably convince him to drink a pint of his own urine if you set your mind to it.

Bradley drums impatiently on the counter, waiting for the clerk to finish restocking one of the shelves with chips. While he’s waiting, he glances out to check on you as if you’re a child under his charge. You’ve stepped out of the Bronco to stretch your legs and Bradley doesn’t like the way the two guys in the convertible in behind are eyeing you.

Bradley cranes his neck to check on the clerk’s progress and lets out a stifled sigh. When he looks back outside, he sees that one of the men has approached you and, well, Bradley isn’t about to wait to see what happens next. He drops a bill on the counter and calls out, “Keep the change,” to the clerk before practically slamming his way through the doors with the coffees in his hands.

Why it bothers him that some random dude might want your number is not of consequence. What matters is that Bradley gets rid of this asswipe before you start enjoying his company.

He strides confidently past the man chatting you up and stops right in between you and him, handing you a coffee.

“Careful, it’s hot,” he cautions moodily, not entirely sure how to go about handling a situation in which, objectively speaking, he has no real authority.

You meet his gaze with a small smile. “You don’t say,” you respond with all the sultriness of a blazing, desert sun.

Bradley’s gaze remains unwaveringly on you as he unhooks a pair of Ray-Bans from the neck of his muscle shirt and slides them over his eyes. “Ready to go?” he asks in a level tone, hoping he can avoid what is bound to be an unpleasant interaction with the man still standing behind him.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” the man speaks up. “Didn’t realize you were with someone, honey.”

Bradley keeps his eyes on yours for several moments longer, trying his best not to show the irritation he feels at the way this rando just called you ‘honey’. Reluctantly, he turns to face him, wondering what in the world he could say that wouldn’t make him sound jealous as fuck.

But before Bradley could speak, you slide casually into his side, leaning on him like it’s the most natural thing. “That’s just fine,” you say to the man. “No harm, no foul.”

Bradley looks down at your head as it nestles into his shoulder and then lifts his arm to let you move in closer. Trying to play it cool, he skims the tips of his fingers across your lower back, which is warm and feels like the perfect place to rest his hand.

Convertible guy promptly departs, and Bradley is left standing in an embrace with the one person on the entire planet for whom he should never catch feelings, at a derelict gas station on the outskirts of arid Yuma, Arizona, and the heat is really starting to get to him. Slowly, you start to peel yourself away and Bradley, sensing your withdrawal, drops his hand and recoils from you like you’ve burnt him.

Did it feel nice pretending you were his girl? Sure did. Is he going to erase it from his memory and never let himself so much as shake your hand again? Absolutely.

Read Part 2

Tag List

I’ll be tagging the rest in the comments probably tomorrow!

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#bradley bradshaw #rooster #bradley rooster bradshaw #top gun #miles teller #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x you #rooster bradshaw #top gun maverick #rooster x reader #rooster top gun #rooster x you #rooster fanfiction #rooster fic #rooster fluff #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw x female reader #top gun fanfiction

[sometimesanalice]

Bedside Manner

Summary: You were expecting the perfect summer afternoon with the Daggers, but when a game of dogfight football takes a turn for the worse, you’re left with a bleeding head and an aching heart. And it’s up to Bradley to show you his bedside manner.

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Length: 8K

Warnings: A little angst, a little pining, and two idiots in love.

It’s a perfect summer afternoon. Well, almost.

The sun is high in the sky and the steady salt kissed ocean breeze keeps it from being too uncomfortably hot. The coolers are filled with beers and sodas and a few pink cans of rosé that Coyote had brought. And the beach blankets were littered with open half-eaten family sized bags of chips and cubes of bright pink watermelon and containers of various dips and ziplocs with sun warmed and mostly melted chocolate chip cookies.

“You guys, really, I’m fine,” you state as adamantly as you can given the circumstances.

Sure, you have Jake’s t-shirt pressed against your throbbing, bleeding head. Sure, you are a little afraid to put your full weight on your left ankle and already dreading the long walk back to your car.

But it’s fine, you’re fine. Everything is…peachy. Or it will be as soon as they all stop looking at you like you’re about to crumple to the ground like some 1920’s silent film starlet from on the silver screen.

Nat has that deep pinch between her sharp brown eyes. Jake’s lips are pressed together in a firm white line. The rest of the team stands hovering around you in a misshapen semicircle, all sandy and sweaty, and wearing the concern painted across their faces.

All except for Rooster, who can’t seem to look at you at all.

“Clearly, you’re not,” Phoenix says flatly, clearly unamused by your attempts to minimize the situation. And you wish that just this once she could have let this go and follow your lead. But then she wouldn’t be Natasha Trace.

Your best friend since middle school had always been the most capable and sharpest person in the room and you loved that about her.

Normally.

But not so much when her keen assessment of you keeps you from being able to slink away quietly without fuss. 

“No, seriously. It’s just a little scratch. It’s not a big deal.” It sounds feeble even to your own ears. Trying to hold back a wince when the way you shake your head makes starbursts bloom behind your eyes.

You could have dealt with the pounding in your head if it weren’t for the relentless burning of your ankle that was only making things worse. One or the other would have been easier to manage, but both vying for your attention as the pain pulses with every heartbeat was miserable.

The sun was too hot, the kids frolicking the ocean were too loud, the sunscreen on your skin felt too greasy. All you wanted was a shower and your bed and to forget this whole day even happened.

You look around the group trying to gauge how successful your efforts are, but it’s clear that no one seems to be buying your brand of poorly performed bullshit. You wanted to crawl into yourself like a hermit crab, protected by your own shell, as six pairs of eyes all looked on at you sympathetically, while the pretty brown ones you wanted to see the most were hidden behind a pair of sunglasses and trained down at the ground.

It was supposed to be a fun day.

You’d woken up that morning absolutely giddy about trading spreadsheets for sand and sunburns and sea salt tangled hair. Your cheery, new swimsuit already laid out and waiting for you from the night before.

There was something thrilling about hooky on a Friday with all of your favorite people that made you feel all kinds of young and free. Well, hooky for you. They’d been given the day off after a month of intensive training and testing of some new defensive software. They all deserved the break and you were more than happy to tag along.

You were always the good kid in school, never skipping, never missing a class. You’d felt like a rebellious teen as you crafted your ‘out of office’ email, a smug grin on your face like you were getting away with something. Even though you’d earned the right to use that PTO whichever way you wanted.

The anticipation of a snow day from your childhood school days had nothing on the intoxicating promise of a beach day on a golden summer Friday.

The team must have felt the same way too because the group chat the night before had been chaotically amusing. The excitement was palpable enough that you’d almost think you all lived in some landlocked state rather than San Diego, where it felt like all roads led to the beach whether you wanted them to or not.

Somewhere between the string of all capitalized sentences and exclamation points with a few well-chosen emojis scattered throughout, Natasha had managed to wrangle everyone in enough into sorting out who was responsible for bringing what. There wouldn’t be another veggie platter incident, not on her watch.

You’d felt bright and effervescent as you’d pulled into the parking lot, your eyes reflexively seeking out a blue Bronco that hadn’t arrived yet. With a beach chair over one shoulder and a beach bag over the other and a packed cooler bag in your hand, you’d made towards the multicolored sprawl of blankets and the striped peaks of the umbrellas, where you were met with the smiling faces of shiny happy people.

Some of the boys had rushed over to help you carry your things and added your offerings to the communal pile of snacks and sunscreen and bottles of water. It had been easy to fall into conversation with everyone as you set up your own little patch of paradise and shimmied out of your frayed cut-offs. Natasha had given you a wolf whistle and you’d laughed as you give her the finger.

And hour and a half later with an easy grin on his face, carrying a case of beer and two big Ziploc bags stuffed with what you learned later were homemade cookies balanced on top, was Rooster.

You’ve had plenty of beach days with them but every time you saw him in those damn denim shorts he always seemed determined to wear, regardless of how impractical they were, your mind still went a little fizzy as you took in just how well they clung to his thighs.

He’d taken the ribbing from his squad in stride as he unboxed the beers and added them to the collection already chilling in Bob’s bright yellow cooler. You were trying- and failing- to read your worn paperback book when he’d surprised you by plopping his things next to yours on your oversized towel and stole a chunk of juicy watermelon off of the plate balanced on your lap.

“Hey, book worm,” he grinned as he popped it into his mouth, “How’s my favorite girl doing?” That smile of his getting bigger when you rolled your eyes at him.

“Hi, Rooster,” you’d said looking at him from over the top of your sunglasses with an amused smirk.

And if your cheeks felt warm, it was from the sun and not the teasing tone of his raspy voice.

When he’d shrugged off his shirt to apply the sunscreen you’d brought with him in mind, the wink he’d shot you went straight to your head like champagne. The sun highlighting his impressive abs and sculpted shoulders didn’t help either as he took great efforts to cover his chest and stomach with the lotion. He had to be doing it on purpose, because he’d kept rubbing it in well past when the white hue faded. But who were you to complain? Melanoma was no joke.

“You wanna help me out?” he’d asked turning his back to you, looking over his shoulder. You’re pretty sure that he’d been flexing because he’d looked impossibly broad, every defined muscle standing out for eyes to map out and explore.

You’d been at war with yourself, because while your eager hands were desperate to touch him, you also knew that once you ran your hands along his solid frame that you’d never want to stop. That you wouldn’t be content until your fingertips had traced every inch of him.

You had been blessedly and devastatingly spared the choice.

“I got you, Rooster. My hands are already all sunscreen-y,” chimed in Bob, who had just finished rubbing his own freshly applied layer. “Wouldn’t want it to get on her book.”

You were only half relieved to be off the hook, while Bradley on the other hand was still looking at you expectantly, almost hopefully, still with the white and yellow bottle of sunscreen partly extended towards you.

“That’s so sweet of you, Bob-” you’d started.

“Yeah, so sweet-” Bradley grumbled under his breath.

“I appreciate you sparing my pages the sunscreen grease,” you’d said shooting Bob a smile, choosing to ignore Bradley’s comment completely. “Plus, your hands are bigger than mine. You’ll have him covered in no time.”  

Bradley looked between you and Bob before he passed the bottle to the other man, shaking his head a little in defeat. You’d giggled to yourself as you wiggled your book at an openly brooding Bradley, and then leaned back on your elbows to observe the way the attentive WSO made sure to carefully and thoroughly cover Bradley’s entire back.

Respectfully, of course.

Behind your sunglasses you’d admired all of Bradley’s bulk compared to Bob’s lithe grace. But in your defense, they were standing right in front of you and you’d already reread your book at least five times in the past, so it wasn’t nearly as interesting as the scene in front of you had been.

“You look awfully comfortable over there,” Rooster called out with a raised eyebrow.

“Just taking in the view,” you’d teased back.

“Yeah, I bet you are,” he huffed as Bob finished up, giving him a thanks, man before tossing you back the bottle of sunscreen. He’d nudged his sunglasses down his nose and pinned you with his gaze, “Let me know if you want me to get your back. My hands are just as capable as his.” Even in the high heat of summer, the way he’d looked at you sent chills running along your arms.

You felt the way his keen eyes traveled from your face, down the deep-v of your swimsuit and along the swells of your breasts, and down your legs to your freshly painted toes. His mouth had ticked up in the corner then left you reeling and your heart pounding away in your chest as he’d strut off to go join Fanboy and Coyote by the mountain of snacks.

And that was the thing about Bradley Bradshaw. You never knew if he was just flirt-y or flirt-ing.

You hadn’t had a crush in ages, but when Nat had introduced you to her team five months ago, the man with the sunkissed curls and surprisingly attractive mustache had immediately caught your eye.

And as you’d gotten to know him, it had only gotten worse.

Not only was he very nice to look at and could make you laugh until your sides ached, but he also he had depth about him in a way that most men your age didn’t. You liked talking to him and listening to his stories. You liked learning his perspective on things. You liked being around him.

He made you feel interesting and special and funny and seen. You’ve never felt as comfortable in your own skin as you did when you were around him.

Rooster would send you flirty winks, give you less than subtle once overs, and could flash you such devastating slow grins that they’d have you trying to catch the butterflies they released in your stomach for hours after you went home.

But he’s never made a move.

If only he wouldn’t play hide and seek with his true intentions.

You felt like you were still waiting on some small clue whether he was serious or not. You didn’t know if he was just having fun with you or if he was into you and it was more than just friendly banter. It would be so much easier if he’d straight up tell you one way or another.

Needless to say, you’d let Nat be the one to help you with your sunscreen a little bit later. The idea of Bradley’s big hands on you, gliding along your sun-warmed skin and under the crisscross straps of your swimsuit, was too much for your hummingbird heart.

The sun climbed higher into the sky as the butter yellow midmorning transformed into a Midas-touched golden afternoon.

The squad had been able to reserve a fire pit and the plan had been to stay until the sunset. An endless summer day stretching out before them like a cat. They had nothing but time.

Clusters of people came together and split apart like a kaleidoscope as some went to take a dip in the ocean or raid the cooler and snack spread or go for a walk along the shore. Changing and shifting with the direction of the wind, going where the mood took them.

And for a peaceful moment, it had been you with your book and a napping Bradley sprawled out next to you on your towel with his arm flung over his eyes. Close enough that you could feel his warmth, almost but not quite touching. The sound of his soft breaths and the waves their own kind of lullaby as you contentedly read your book, turning your pages quietly to not disturb the man next to you, as the droplets of the Pacific dried on your skin.  

You still don’t know how you got roped into playing a round of dogfight football with the Navy’s best and brightest. You were more of a corn hole or ladder toss kind of girl, but Coyote had all but thrown you over his shoulder and dragged you out before you’d agreed to participate, conceding your defeat.

You were on a team with Hangman, Coyote, Fanboy against Nat, Rooster, Payback, and Bob. A few plays in and you had been getting the hang of it. They’d all been making sure to take care to go easy on you even in the chaos of two teams playing offensively and defensively at the same time. You were more than a little out of breath, but you were having fun.

Before the next snap, Mickey gave the most impassioned pep talk you’d ever heard, “Fuck luck, we don’t need luck. We gotta fucking win.” You had been about to laugh, but then you’d seen the looks on Jake and Javy’s faces and decided against it. Curious about the other team, you’d glanced over only to see Rooster looking back at you.

The calls had been made, the blur of plays in motion as people whirled and dodged and sprinted.

You’d just lobbed the ball to Javy before darting around Nat when a big, solid body collided with you. Hard. You’d felt the twinge of your ankle twisting in the sand right before the force sent you flying in the opposite direction you’d been headed.

The impact had been jarring. The air knocked from your lungs.

Where you should have been met with a mouthful of gritty sand, instead your head had connected with the rough surface of a partially buried rock. The low, thick thud reverberating throughout your whole body.

You’d been so stunned that you didn’t even register you were even on the ground until you heard the chorus of oh fucks and holy shits and goddamns and jesus christs over the ringing in your ears.

The game coming to an immediate and conclusive end.

For how many empty bottles and cans were sitting collected in a trash bag off to the side of your beach set up, they had been surprisingly quick to act as you blinked blankly, trying to clear the spots from your vision.

It was a silent ballet of efficiency as they instinctively fell into their roles, much like you imagined they did the sky. Everyone stepping up and then stepping back as they did their part, like the ebb and flow of waves.

Nat had carefully poured some fresh water from a bottle on your face to remove the sand that clung to the sweat and sunscreen on your skin. Then Jake had wordlessly passed her his clean spare shirt he’d jogged of to get to help stop the bleeding after Javy checked on your pupils to make sure they were the same size. While Bob stood off to the side holding your warped sunglasses in his hands, as if he was hopeful they could still be salvaged. Mickey and Reuben had been waiting in the wings giving you space, ready to help if they were needed, but not wanting to not crowd in.

And from the corner of your eye, you’d caught Rooster standing a couple feet away with his hands in his hair looking absolutely wrecked.

“Bradley?” you’d tried, even though his name stuck to your teeth. But he’d just shook his head at you before turning away slightly, like he couldn’t look at you, which made your heart sting as well.

They only allowed you to move to sit up after they were content with the answer to their questions- What day is it? Friday. Where are you? San Diego. What else hurts? My ankle and my pride.

It wasn’t until someone hauled you up from underneath your armpits that the throbbing and stinging and aching settled over you. The pain seeping and spreading through muscle and bone like an inky oil spill.

It’s still an almost perfect summer afternoon except for the fact you hate everything about this.

You hate the way they’re gathered around you with too many pairs of assessing eyes pinned on you. You hate that you’re the reason the game of dogfight football came to a definitive and abrupt end. You hate that you’re the reason their carefree and fun afternoon off has turned into this.

There’s a pressure building behind your eyes, the hot tears of hurt and frustration and embarrassment are clamoring to be released. You have to bite your lower lip to keep it from trembling.

And it doesn’t help that you’re the type who’d rather lick your wounds in peace.

You just need to get back to your car and you can figure things out on your own from there. You just need a moment to yourself.

As you open your mouth to argue your case again, Jake puts his hand up and stops you before you’ve even had a chance to start, “I hate to break it to you, sugar, but you’re not fooling any of us.” He says it gently, but gives you a pointed look at the way you’re leaning heavily on your right leg to keep the pressure off of your left ankle.

“That head wound is not a little scratch. Just like your ankle isn’t just a little puffy, when it’s twice the size it should be. You need to go to the Emergency Room,” Nat says, final and resolute. A lifetime of friendship has taught you not to argue when she has that look in her eyes, the one that says try me, I dare you.

They all talk over you as they figure out who is the most sober of the group after your suggestion to call yourself an Uber is immediately shot down. Drinks are being counted on fingers, and memories are searched to make sure every sip and bottle and can is accounted for.

Your eyes drift over to the man who is still actively avoiding looking at you, even as he talks to everyone else on the team. You aren’t paying too close attention to what he is saying, but you can hear the short, clipped staccato of his words.

Bradley’s shoulders are tinged a little pink even though you know for a fact that you had purposely passed him the 65 SPF. His eyes are hidden behind his dark green tinted sunglasses, but you don’t need to see them when you can read his body language better than any book.

His arms are crossed firmly over his chest, the tendons in his forearms flexing and shifting, like he is squeezing and releasing his fists from where they’re tucked under his biceps. Everything in his body looks coiled tight and strained, so at odds with the easy going and loose-limbed man you know him to be.

You don’t realize just how much you’ve zoned out until Natasha has to say your name a couple time before you pull your gaze away from Bradley and back to her.

“Ok, it’s settled,” Nat informs you, “Rooster’s going to take you.” You barely nod your head in acknowledgement when she tells you, because it feels like you’ve been punched in the stomach now too.

“It’s the least he can do,” Jake drawls.

“That’s not fair-” you start, defensively.

“Fuck off, Bagman-” Rooster snaps.

The rage in his voice shocks you, you’ve never heard that much heat from him before. There’s none of the teasing tone that usually underscores their banter. Jake puts both of his hands up placatingly like my bad, folks and Javy just shakes his head and sighs.

And this time when you look at Bradley, he is finally looking back at you with a deep furrow in his brow. His jaw is clenched tight, that muscle ticking and jumping, as he takes in the way you have Jake’s t-shirt pressed against your forehead.

Not exactly the way you’d hoped he’d be looking at you when you put on your new blue and white striped swimsuit this morning.

The one you’d bought because you wanted to make him look.

Just not like this.

With everything sorted the rest of the team trickles away a smattering of take cares and get better soons and let us know if you need anythings. But not before Mickey hands Rooster his stuff and passes Nat your bag and sandals. He gives you the gentlest of squeezes on your shoulder before he leaves to join everyone else back on little part of the beach you all had claimed before things went to shit.

Your group of eight now downsized to a trio.

Bradley is quick to roughly pull on his tank and shirt, and Nat fishes out your car keys from your bag as she waits for him to slip his shoes on. When he’s ready she passes it to him and he silently slides it over his arm.

Nat bends down to help gingerly glide your feet into your sandals, “I’ll grab the rest your things and drop them off at your place and then one of the boys will drop off your car later. We’ve got it all covered, ok?”

“Thanks, Nat,” you say quietly, trying to hold back a wince as she slips the left one on, your ankle pulsing in tempo with your heartbeat.

“Best friends don’t say thank you, they just do,” she says matter-of-factly as she stands. It’s the same thing you’d told her after you’d dumped a carton of strawberry milk on Carly Radke for outing Natasha your freshman year in high school. It was only time you’d ever gotten detention, but it had been worth it.

“They just do,” you repeat with a small smile.

You’re so grateful that your friendship with her is one that has spanned years. That you’ve been able seen one another grow and change and come into their own, but that you haven’t outgrown each other. She’s the person you want by your side and having your back. There is no one quite like Natasha Trace.

She turns to Bradley and you watch him stand a little taller under her sharp eyes, your straw tote still dangling from his forearm.

“You good?” Nat asks him with a look in her eye that you can’t place. And you’re reminded that even though she’s your best friend, that he has also earned a spot as one of her closest friends. Their relationship built over years and experiences that you could never fully understand. Different, but just as deep.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got her. I’ll take care of her,” Rooster promises with a stiff nod, as he gives her his word. It might have made your heart beat a little faster if you didn’t feel like such a burden. That it’s simply a twist of fate and three less drinks than everyone else for the reason that he’s the one to look after you. That he’s the one stuck with you.

“I know you will,” she says softer now, patting his shoulder, “Keep me posted.” Nat presses a kiss to your cheek and gives you an encouraging smile then heads off to go rejoin everyone else.

You watch her go with longing. The cheerful beach set up with its colorful blankets and umbrellas looks more like a desert mirage now. The sweet coconut scented potential of what the day could have been now forever out of reach.

And then it’s just you and Bradley and the sound of the waves and cries of seagulls.

The two of you silent and motionless.

You feel one wrong move and the fragile attempt of the stiff upper lip you’ve cocooned yourself in will crack open and all the soft parts of you will seep out into the sand beneath your feet.

His expression is shuttered closed as he bends a bit like he is going to pick you up.

“Woah, buddy, what are you doing?” You’re squinting into the sun as you look at him. You’d step into his shadow to block it, since you’re now in need of a new pair of sunglasses, but that would mean moving to the left which isn’t an option with your ankle.

“Buddy,” he grunts under his breath, slipping off his sunglasses and carefully putting them on your face, being mindful of stinging scrapes and wad of soft cotton you’re holding to your head. “They’re definitely going to have to run concussion protocol on you,” he mutters more to himself than to you, “I’m taking you to the Bronco and then we’re going the ER, remember?”

“Yeah, I know, Rooster,” you grit out, even rolling your eyes hurts, “But I don’t need you to carry me.”

Everything about this was excruciating and embarrassing enough without him being the Clark Gable to your Vivian Leigh. Maybe you could lean on him and hop over to his car? Like a six-foot-one pair of crutches with good hair.

“Take a step without wincing and I’ll think about it,” he says firmly, pointedly calling your bluff. There’s an expectant look of go on then, whenever you’re ready on his face. Because he knows he’s right, and you do too.

You don’t even bother to make a move, but the way your lower lips wobbles speaks volumes.

“That’s what I thought,” he says quietly, almost like pains him to be right.

He bends a little to hook his arms around your knees and back to lift you up, and this time you let him. Your free arm automatically wrapping around the back of his neck. And he starts off towards the winking windshields of the parking lot.

You’ve thought about what it would be like to be wrapped up in Bradley’s arms, how good it would feel to be pressed closed against him. And now you are and it’s nothing like you’ve imagined, because there isn’t anything sweet or swoon-worthy about how you ended up in them. You’re his duty, you’re not his desire.

All your sandcastle hopes have been washed away by the tide.

You’re so frustrated. You’re frustrated by the day, by yourself, by him.

This time you can’t blink back the tears that well up in your eyes. They flood through your tear ducts carving hot trails down your sun-tinged cheeks.

You want the Bradley from earlier. 

The one who stole your watermelon with warmth in his eyes.

The one who dozed next to you in the sun like a cat, his features soft free of the tension he now holds in his shoulders.

You want your Bradley.

The one who’d whispered cheeky comments in your ear whenever the team got into lighthearted tequila fueled arguments about things like whether a hot dog was a sandwich.

The one who’d always go up to the bar with you on busy nights at the Hard Deck and make sure you didn’t get bumped into on the way back to your friends with your freshly refilled drinks.

You’re aching, aching. Everywhere.

For a brief moment, as you swipe at your tears, you’re happy for the throbbing in your head and ankle, so that way you don’t have to think about the stinging in your heart.

“I know, I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I know you’re hurting,” Rooster says gentle and low as you sniffle, but you can hear the thickness of the words in his throat. The term of endearment is the sweetest of nothings, making your tears come faster. Where it should ease the heartache, all it does is make you angry at yourself for giving your emotions away. “We’re almost to the Bronco. It’s ok, we’re gonna get you taken care of, I promise.”

We.

You wanted that with him.

You want to press both of your hands to his cheeks to make him look you in the eyes to ask him is it going to be you and me together?  You’ve been a fool for love before, but you didn’t know if could take another hit-and-run with your heart.

The salt of your tears makes your cheeks feel tight and itchy as the summer breeze dries them on your skin.

Bradley carries you like you weigh nothing, but cradles you like you’re the most precious things he’s ever held. He’s mindful of any dips in the sand and gives wide berth around the college kids playing volleyball close to the entry back to the parking lot.

When he reaches the Bronco, he sets you down gently, making sure both of your feet are planted on the asphalt before letting go of you to unlock his car. He tells you to wait a moment when you move to open the passenger side door.

“I never know when I might get called up for an emergency deployment, so I like to have some extra clothes just in case,” he explains as he digs around in the backseat, pulling out a pair of gray athletic shorts.

“Oh.” And you realize you’re still just clad in your striped swimsuit. “Thank you for sparing me from the hospital germs,” you say lightly, an attempt at a joke to break the ice. One that doesn’t land, since instead of cracking a grin he just presses his lips together in a firm line and nods.

Bradley crouches low in front of you and you put a hand on his shoulder for balance as you lean against the Bronco, still trying to keep as much pressure off your left ankle as possible as you step into them. He’s looking up at you and even through his sunglasses perched on your nose, you swear his brown eyes get a shade darker as he eases the shorts up your legs. You’re touched by the effort as he ties the strings in a lopsided bow, even if things are feeling tense between the two of you.

“Think this’ll be easier,” he mumbles shrugging off his light blue button up. You’ve always liked this one, with its soft pastel pink and minty green watercolor prints of net fishermen and hula girls and palm trees.

He holds it open for you, helping you thread your arm through it, and then takes over holding Jake’s now ruined shirt to your head so that you can get your other arm past the sleeve. It smells like him, citrus and amber. Your fingers brush against each other when you reclaim the makeshift bandage, and he adjusts his shirt so that it hangs over your shoulders just right.

It’s an awkward kind silent as Rooster helps lift you into the Bronco with his strong hands around your hips. He is all smooth efficiency as he buckles you in with a click. You pass him back his sunglasses the same moment he hands you your tote bag, and it almost feels like a hostage exchange.

He says nothing as he hauls himself into the driver’s side. The car rumbles to life when he turns the key in the ignition and a cheery song from the 80’s station on the radio comes on. Bradley quick to turn the volume down low. His thumb brushing your shoulder as he sets his hand on the back of your seat to look behind him as he carefully backs out of the spot.

It’s never felt this strained with him before.

It’s so painfully obvious that the two of you are walking on eggshells around each other. You can almost feel the wall that’s gone up around him. The white noise of the radio drowned out by the hum of the road as he drives in near silence.

Your day has been most effectively ruined by a chunk of sedimentary rock, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t still recoup what’s left of it.

He could still have the perfect summer afternoon.

He could still go back to your friends and their perfect beach set up and laugh with them as Coyote keeps accidentally setting marshmallows on fire. He could still catch the bold oranges and soft pinks of the sunset with all the satisfied contentment he deserved to experience.

“You can leave me and go back, you know. I’ll be ok if you just want drop me off and then head back to the beach,” you say looking down at your fingers as you trace the stitching of his leather seats.

When he doesn’t answer right away, you glance over at him. The vein in his neck is standing out boldly against the column of his throat.

“Do I seem like the kind of guy who would leave someone at the ER alone?” he asks, his voice rougher than sandpaper.

“No. No, of course not,” you say emphatically, “That’s why I’m giving you permission.”

“Permission?” he scoffs with a shake of his head.

“Yes, permission,” you say, clipped.

You’re giving him an out, why doesn’t he get that?

He heaves a big sigh and grunts. “Is it… Would you rather have Bob- with his big hands- here instead?” Bradley asks, frustration leaking out around the edges of his words.

“Bob with his big hands?” you repeat baffled, “What does Bob have to do with anything about this?”

“That’s what you said earlier, sweetheart. I’m just citing the source. Or I can call Phoenix? Or…” he pauses glancing at the t-shirt pressed to your head, “Or even Seresin. Once we get you checked in I can call any of them an Uber or something, and they can be there with you, if you don’t want me.”

“No, Rooster, I don’t want anyone else.” You wince at the implication and hope it doesn’t read into it further than the current situation to two of you are wading through like quick sand.

“Ok, good,” he grumbles.

“Great,” you lob back.

His hand tightens on the steering wheel, the knuckles turning white, “Then where is this even coming from?” The action makes his thick forearm flex in this most delicious of ways that you’d appreciate more if you didn’t feel the anger simmering low in your stomach.

“It’s pretty damn clear that you’d rather be back there, Rooster. Or literally anywhere else right now.” You flip down the sun visor with more force than it deserves, regretting that you gave him his sunglasses back when the bright California sun in your eyes turns your headache into a full-blown migraine.

“Of course, I’d rather be anywhere else!” he says hotly, tossing his sunglasses back in your lap, “Do you think I like that you’re hurt and that we’re on our way to the hospital?” You shove them on your face with an angry huff.

A car speeds by blaring their horn as they pass by.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Fuck off,” he grunts but speed of the Bronco doesn’t change, “Asshole.”

Bradley’s driving five miles under the posted limit, and you know for a fact he religiously drives at least ten miles over. And his turns have been smoother than butter, as if he is trying not to jostle you anymore than you’d already been today.

You are so tired of this hot and cold thing that he’s doing. His words and his deeds weren’t going hand in hand. He keeps giving you the cold shoulder, but is also so in tune with your every movement and need.

Gingerly, you angle yourself in your seat to look at him better, resting your tired left arm on the back of your seat and taking in his strong profile.

“Why are you being like this?” you demand, waving your free hand in a vaguely in his general direction.

“Like what? I’m not being like anything,” he retorts, making the same vague hand gesture as you did a moment earlier.

And oh, if that doesn’t fill your chest with hot indignation. That low simmering anger has turned into a full roiling boil as you shift in your seat trying to get your ankle in a position where it doesn’t hurt.

“Seriously, Rooster? I can feel tension rolling off of you in waves. You’ve been like this since everything turned to complete shit on the beach. I didn’t mean to ruin your day, I’m just trying to figure out how to make things better,” you bite out unable to keep things bottled up anymore.

He sucks in a sharp breath, “Are you kidding me right now? You think you ruined my day?” He glances from the road to you and back again, his brown eyes wide and searching.

“Yes?” Or so you’d thought until you’d seen the shock written all over his face, but now you weren’t so sure. It’s like you’ve dumped ice water on him instead of simply calling him out. “I feel like you’re taking it out on me and I don’t know why.”

“Jesus Christ,” Rooster swears under his breath, shaking his head. “I’m so damn sorry, sweetheart. I’m mad at myself, because I ruined your day.  I should have been more careful, I should have been looking out for you. It’s not like you’re hard to miss in that swimsuit.” Your cheeks heat up at the comment, but you choose to ignore it.

Misery drips from his words like spilled ink off a page. You knew he was upset, but you didn’t realize he was upset about that. That he’s shouldering this fluke of fate as if it is his burden to bear. Some of the anger you’ve been feeling leaves your body like the tide washing out back out to sea. You’re still upset at him for how he has been acting up until this point, but you’re not mad at him about that.

“Bradley, no. It was an accident.”

“Yeah, an accident I’m responsible for,” he says hoarsely, rubbing roughly at his forehead. “God, I can still hear the sound it made when you hit that rock and it makes me feel sick. I would give anything to undo that moment. I need you to know that.”

He is being so hard on himself and your heart squeezes, this time in sympathy rather than hurt. He didn’t place that rock in the sand, the both of you were victims of circumstance.

“It could have happened to anyone. It could have been anyone,” you press delicately, trying to get him to hear you, shifting in your seat again still uncomfortable.

The sunshine bounces off of his slumped shoulders as he sighs raggedly.

“But it happened to you and it’s my fault. You’re bleeding, you’re in pain, and you’ve been crying. And it’s because of me.” He reaches down with his right hand and lifts up your leg so that you can rest it on his thigh, some of the ache alleviating immediately. He asks quietly, “That better?”

“Yes, thank you,” you murmur. He looks so upset, and all you want to do is curl into his lap. You want to hold him and you want to be held by him. “You know I don’t blame you, right?”

You expect him to move his hand back to the steering wheel, but he keeps it on your leg. His thumb stroking your still slightly sandy shin. Your cheery toenail polish at odds with the color blooming around your ankle.

Bradley’s throat bobs as he swallows hard, “Yeah, I do. I know that. But I still blame myself.”

The Bronco rolls to a soft stop at the light. There’s enough traffic that you know you’ll be here for a bit, and so does he since he turns in his seat to look fully at you. You take his sunglasses off, tucking them into the pocket of his shirt that rests above your heart, so nothing stands between his brown eyes and yours.

“So, you’re going to keep beating yourself up over it and icing me out? Making me feel worse? For what, Bradley? Because you’re a glutton for punishment? That’s not fair to me or to you.”

“Shit,” he mutters, his left hand running through his curls. “You’re right and I’m so sorry. I’ve been in my head feeling so damn guilty that I’ve been such an asshole. Can you forgive me?”

You’re about to answer him that when a horn startles you, making you jump in the leather seat. You see the light is green, the car that had been in front of you is gliding through the intersection passing under a blue sign pointing the way to the hospital.

“Bradley, the light.”

The car behind the two of you honks their horn again.

“They can wait. This is important, you are important. Do you forgive me?” There’s an underscore of need that punctuates his question.

“Yes, of course,” you say easily and sincerely. There’s so much remorse in his eyes, you would have forgiven him with that look alone.

“Thank you,” he breathes out in relief. And then he smiles at you for the first time since the beach and that ache in your heart is completely soothed, bandaged by that soft way he is looking at you.

Atlas no longer, he can simply be Bradley.

He takes his foot off the brake and by some miracle he’s able to make it through the light before it turns red again. You can see the tall structure of the parking lot near the hospital poking out above the line of the treetops.

The destination is closer than ever, but there are still things on your mind.

“And you aren��t an asshole, Bradley. But your bedside manner could definitely use some work,” you tease with a smile of your own.

“Baby, I’ve been trying to show you my bedside manner, but you keep holding me at arm’s length,” he groans dramatically.

The idea of experiencing Bradley Bradshaw’s bedside manner makes you feel all kinds of weak in the knees, even as you’re seated in his Bronco with your leg propped up in his lap, his big hand skating up and down along your shin comfortingly.

“How can you even say that with a straight face? You’ve never made a move!” you exclaim incredulously, “I was even the one to ask for your phone number, if you remember.”

“What the hell are you talking about? I hit on you all the time,” he argues with your favorite brand of Bradshaw banter, “I’ve been waiting for you to give me the green light, sweetheart.”

“I thought you were supposed to be pretty and smart,” you smirk.

He barks a laugh and the last tendrils of all the tension and all the pressure that had been swirling around you like a marine layer evaporates.

“You saying I’ve had the green light this whole time?” He looks over at you with a boyish smile, you like the way you feel when he looks at you like this.

“What I’m saying, Bradley, is if you’d have actually asked me out I would have said yes.” You press your toes into the muscle of his thick thigh and immediately regret it, wincing as pain ripples around your ankle.

He makes a sympathetic sound deep in his chest, “Sounds like I’ve been an idiot.”

“A very pretty one,” you allow, leaning your aching head back against the back seat.

“At least there’s that,” he concedes good-naturedly as he pulls into the parking lot, turning on his blinker for a spot opening up near the entrance to the Emergency Room by some twist of fate, one that’s in your favor this time.

Bradley pulls into the empty spot and kills the engine turning to you. He gently eases your foot back down onto the sandy floormat of the Bronco and leans into unbuckle your seatbelt.

He’s so close now looking up at you from under his eyelashes, and your breath catches in your throat. He moves closer, you can see the bits of hazel that surround his pupils. Your eyes flutter close and you tilt your head up, lips parting at the anticipation of his kiss.

There’s no holding back the noise of dissatisfaction you make when his lips press a tender kiss to your cheek. You lean into him wanting to feel, wanting him to give you more. His warm breath coasts over your skin as he chuckles. You can feel the way his lips are pulled up into a smile.

“I’m a gentleman, sweetheart,” he says as he pulls away, his eyes lingering on your lips. “My mom raised me not to go for the kiss on the first date. Or ones with head wounds and potential concussions.”

“Some first date,” you lament jokingly, looking in at the fluorescent lights awaiting you inside the hospital. You’d rather skip over this part entirely, but you’re ready to be done with holding Jake’s shirt to your head. “Nothing like insurance cards and scrubs to really set the mood.”

“Mmm. How about this, after we’re done here, I’ll take you through whatever drive-thru you want-”

“In-N-Out,” you cut in without a second thought. The novelty of it still hasn’t worn off on you, even if the fries are terrible.

“Ok,” he grins, “I’ll take you through in In-N-Out and get you your number two combo with mustard and grilled onions with a vanilla shake.” He pauses waiting for your nod of approval, looking more than pleased with himself when you acknowledge he got your order right.

“I like the sound of this so far,” you hum.

“Well that’s good. Since it’ll be our first date, I want to set that bar high,” he says giving you a wink. And there are those butterflies again, this time you don’t try to catch them with a net. They’re free to flutter around as they wish.

“If you really want to impress me, you’ll also take me through the McDonald’s drive-thru for their fries,” you muse.

“Done.”

“I was kidding,” you laugh, shaking your head at him disbelievingly and thoroughly charmed.

“Well, I wasn’t. So after we get you fed, give or take some fries, I will bring you home. I’ll get you whatever you need, I want to make sure you’re comfortable. Think you might be on crutches for a bit, sweetheart,” he says softly, playing with the ends of your hair. “And then in the morning, if you’re up for it, I’ll take you out for breakfast. Or bring you breakfast. Whatever you want. We can call that date number two.”

“And then you’ll kiss me?”

“And then I’ll kiss you,” he promises, offering you a crooked pinky finger. You beam and you wrap your own around his.

He slips out of the driver’s seat leaving you to contemplate the terms of his offer as he rounds the front of the Bronco. The nurses are going to get an eyeful of him in only those snug jean shorts and thin white tank. You make a mental note to avoid looking at him if they have to connect you to a heart rate monitor, he doesn’t need to know the effect he has on you. Not yet anyways.

“I have counteroffer,” you announce turning your body towards him as he opens your door for you.

“Let’s hear it, baby,” he says with a grin that almost makes you forget how bad your head and ankle hurt, “Shoot.”

“We still go to In-N-Out, but then in the morning you make me breakfast in bed with some of those famous Bradshaw pancakes I’ve heard about,” you say, as he steps in between your legs, “Seems like a good way to work on that bedside manner of yours.”

“I think you’re going to like my bedside manner, sweetheart,” he murmurs, stroking his thumb over your cheek.

You tilt your head at him, taking in the sunkissed strands in his hair and the affection in his eyes, “I guess we’ll have to find out.”

“Guess we will,” he rasps.

Rooster drops another sweet kiss to your cheek, whispering for you to stay put, and then he struts off towards the automatic doors of the Emergency Room. Leaving you alone with the butterflies in your stomach and the hope in your heart.

You dig your phone out of your straw tote and check the time, doing the math in your head.

There are a few messages from Nat and other people on the team already checking in, but you know you’ll have time to reply to them later as you wait with Bradley sitting by your side.

You look up and see he’s got a wheelchair now and is making his way back to you, wearing a soft smile on his face just for you.

Only seventeen more hours until you get to kiss Bradley Bradshaw and you can’t wait.

You’ve got that forever feeling about him.

Oh, oh, oh.

Thank you for reading! Rock on. Oh that joke was schist, I'll see myself out.

This was written as part of @roosterforme's Rocktober Playlist! You can check out all the other great submissions here!

The song that inspired this story was Paula Abdul's "Straight Up"

Taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

#bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #top gun imagine #top gun fanfiction #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw x female reader #bradley rooster bradshaw imagine #bradley rooster bradshaw fanfiction #rooster x reader #rooster x you #rooster x female reader

[tip-top-cloud-surfer]

Bumping Beach Bikini - Rooster

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw / Wife!Reader

Word Count: 0.8k

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

Warnings: Pregnancy; References to Sex/Suggestive Jokes; Flirting; Use of Second Person POV “You,” No Physical Description of Reader (Minus Pregnancy), No Y/N

Summary: Rooster admires the view of his pregnant wife on the beach.

Master List

Bradley had a mental list of the best outfits that he had ever seen you in. There wasn’t a set ranking, just general levels of appreciation.

There was a step above your normal beauty and allure, which mostly included random casual outfits that for whatever reason just got him going. Like the yellow sundress that you wore when it was exceptionally hot out that was super easy to slide his hands under. Or those jean shorts that he loved to slip his hand into the back pocket and give your ass an appreciative squeeze. Or anything of his that you chose to wear.

And the step above those were your slightly dressier outfits that got him even more excited. The backless black dress that you wore out in Vegas when the two of you went out with the Dagger Squad. Or the blue floor length dress that you wore to Maverick and Penny’s wedding that looked like it was literally sculpted for you and your figure. Though he did rip the zipper on that one.

Then there were the more special outfits. Your wedding dress mostly, since he literally burst out into tears the second that he saw you step out in it. The photo of you that he kept in his cockpit was from your wedding day with your veil spread out around you, giving you a completely angelic appearance. And, well, Rooster was also very fond of the matching white lingerie set that you wore underneath it that night too. He did rip that one too though.

And at the very top of the pyramid of his favorite outfits was, of course, your birthday suit. Nothing would ever top that one.

But seeing you in a maternity bikini with one of his Hawaiian shirts wrapped around your shoulders and your baby bump sticking out from between the folds of his shirt—now that was a sight that he ingrained into his mind for the rest of his life. That one really challenged your birthday suit in his mind.

“What?” you laughed, shooting your husband a look as you applied more sunscreen. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You’re glowing,” Bradley praised, still taking in your beauty.

“With sweat,” you giggled, rubbing in another layer of sunscreen. “It’s only spring and I swear I’m melting already.” You set down the tube of sunscreen and shot your husband a playful look. “You just had to make sure that I was heavily pregnant during the hottest months of the year in Southern California, didn’t you, Bradshaw?”

“Maybe you should have done the math before you begged me to get you pregnant,” Bradley replied, a bit smugly.

“I don’t beg,” you scoffed, shooting him a look. “And besides you offered about fifty times before I let you. If anyone was begging, it was you, Bradley.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Rooster mused, smiling over at you.

There was one rule to surviving with a heavily pregnant wife—it was to let you win. On just about everything. Anything health or safety wise, he would argue back, but Rooster took a rain check on all of the little things. And frankly he got more satisfaction out of seeing you happy than being right.

“Do you have enough water?” Rooster asked, sitting up some more.

You reached over and lifted your giant water bottle into the air. Taking a long sip from it just to prove your point to your husband, you set your water bottle back down on the sand.

“I’m fine. Just need some time to relax,” you replied, leaning back in your seat. “Before it all really sets in.”

Reaching down to pick up your ankle, Rooster started to massage your foot, earning a sigh of relief from your lips. Practically melting into your chair, you turned to your husband with a small, thankful smile as you curled your toes a bit.

“I could get used to this.”

“I’m sure you could,” Rooster chuckled, rubbing the back of your calf.

“There’s only one thing that would make this better.”

“What?”

“Take your shirt off.”

“Mrs. Bradshaw,” Rooster jokingly admonished, causing you to smile wider. “Be careful suggesting that. I knocked up the last woman who asked me to take my shirt off in that tone.”

“I’ll take the risk,” you replied with a smile, rubbing your bump slowly.

“So long as you understand the risk,” Rooster returned with a wink.

“Jesus Christ, the rest of us are trying to eat here,” Phoenix cut in, sounding annoyed.

You and Rooster turned to the other Daggers, Maverick, and Penny, who was hiding an amused smile behind her hand. Maverick turned to Penny with a similar expression, shaking his head. But most of the other Daggers, those who were single anyways, shot both you and Rooster somewhat disgusted looks.

“Sorry,” you called sheepishly, waving to them.

“I’m not,” Rooster replied, reaching up to take his shirt off.

#top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick #top gun: maverick #top gun #tgm fanfiction #tgm #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster fanfic #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x wife!reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #rooster x reader #rooster imagine #top gun rooster #rooster x you #rooster top gun #rooster bradshaw fic #rooster bradshaw #rooster fluff #rooster #bradley rooster bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw x female reader

[croimilis]

✴ 𝐢'𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭

the top gun maverick character taking care of you when you’re drunk

❊ characters: bradley ‘rooster’ bradshaw, jake ‘hangman’ seresin, robert ‘bob’ floyd, 

❊ warnings: alcohol consumption, drunknenes, mentions of makeup and hells but no specific pronouns used, established relationship 

❊ word count:  listed with each character 

❊ a/n: the inspiration for this comes from the fact that I was drunk  and wanted nothing more than one of the top gun characters (and my boyfriend) to look after me. i also loved doing this type of writing, it was really helpful for preventing burnout with my longer pieces, and i am open for headcanon requests. 

✾ bradley ‘rooster’ bradshaw [375]

the biggest baby when you’re leaving. pouts and gives you puppy dog eyes as you’re leaving to try and get you not to leave but will still give you a kiss as you walk out the door or as he drops you off. he will text you throughout the night to make sure your safe and happy and the minute you text him saying you wanna go home or if there is any change in the way your texting that puts him on edge, he’s immediately leaving to go and pick you up wherever you may be. when he collects you, he’s all goofy smiles and sweet forehead kisses as he gently ushers you into the car, saying his goodbyes to your friends and checking in to make sure they all have ways home and even offering to drop them home if they don’t. what happens when you get in the car depends, if you’re hungry and need something greasy that just hits the spot Rooster will not hesitate to take you to get food, but if you just wanna go home and get into bed then he’ll head there straight away. when you do get home, he watches amused as you struggle to get your heels off, stumbling through the hall and into the living room where you slump onto the sofa and start fighting with the flimsy strap but he wouldn’t let you struggle for long, bending down beside you and taking your shoes off for you placing a gentle kiss to your ankle as he does. he would then, despite your protests, carry you to the bedroom bridal style and place you gently on the bed, turning around to let you take your clothes off while he grabs your favourite pyjamas from the drawer, if you’re struggling with zipers or buttons bradley will gladly help you. once your changed and tucked under the bed he goes and fills up a glass of water and grabs some advil, which he places on the bedside table on your side with a sweet kiss to your forehead. he then gets into bed beside you, where he holds you close to his chest and rubs gentle circles on your arms to help you get to sleep.

✾ jake ‘hangman’ seresin [556 words]

much like bradley, jake is pouting and whining and trying to make you stay, even going so far as to pull you in for a deep kiss and messing up your lipstick just before you leave, which earns him a slap to the shoulder before you go and fix it. he’ll even come up behind you and wrap his arms around your waist, placing soft kisses on your neck and shoulder, smirking to himself because he thinks he’s won. but then you turn and press a soft kiss to his check, leaving behind a lipstick stain and suddenly your out the door and he’s left gobsmacked. and isn’t that he doesn’t want you to go out with your friends, he wants you to go have fun and let loose a little you just looked so damn good in your outfit and heels and he may have wanted you all to himself for the night just so he could ravish you. nevertheless, jake sits with his feet up watching an old movie with his phone on his chest so he could feel it vibrate, checking it every time it does to see if you’ve text him or are calling him to come pick you up. once the text asking him to pick you up comes through, he’s out the door like a shot and at your location as quick as possible. when he gets there, he’s has a smug little smile on his face as he remembers all the time you’ve chastised him for being too drunk and now here you are, just as bad or maybe even worse than he’s ever been and he is so not gonna let you forget that in the morning, in fact he takes photos and videos of your drunk ramblings so he has proof (that he quickly deletes the next morning when you ask him to). once he’s had his fun and said goodbye to your friends, he helps you into the car and buckles your belt for you. as he drives, he’ll take your hand in his and rub gentle circles over your knuckles while the other is on the steering and he listens intently as you ramble about the drama in the morning (storing the information away to get a more coherent story in the morning time), and when he pulls up to your home (even if you’re fully awake and coherent) he will throw you over his shoulder and carry you into your home. before he puts you to bed, he places you on the counter in the bathroom and takes your makeup off for you, peppering you with gentle kisses as he does, and brushes your hair for you so it isn’t a tangled mess in the morning. when that’s all done, he helps you out of your heels and outfit (throwing it into the washing basket in the bathroom) before carrying you koala-style into the bedroom and gently placing you on the bed where your pyjamas are already lead out. though he knows you can dress yourself, he helps. once your dressed, he crawls into bed with you and holds you against his chest where you fall asleep listening to his heartbeat. it isn’t until the morning that he realises he didn’t leave out water and painkillers, but he’s lucky he’s awake before you and their sitting there when you finally wake in the morning. 

✾ robert ‘bob’ floyd [473 words]

bob is the sweetest man, giving you gentle kisses before you go out and being so careful so he doesn’t mess up your makeup and i think out of all of them, bob is the most prepared when you go out drinking. before you even leave the house, you agree on a time for him to come and pick you up and if you want him to come earlier you have a code word that you text him and he will be there as quick as he can. in both cases, he’s throwing your comfiest pyjamas into the tumble dryer before he leaves the house so their nice and warm for you coming in and he’s already filled your favourite bottle with water and ice and put in the fridge, he’s double checking to make sure you have pain killers in your medicine drawer and if you don’t he’s stopping at one of those 24hr stores to pick some up because he knows you’ll need some in the morning. when he arrives at the club or bar where your drinking, he’s quick to find you and guide you outside to the car with his arms wrapped around your waist and carefully sits you in the care, legs sticking out so he can take your shoes of for you. once your shoes are off, he's throwing them into the back seat to be tomorrows problem and buckling you into the car. while he drives, he has a hand on your thigh, rubbing gentle circles with his thumb as a reminder for you that he was there. unlike bradley, he will not take you to get food but will insist on getting you home and into bed but he promises to order in the greasiest breakfast he can find in the morning. once your home, almost asleep in the passenger side, he scoops you up into his arms and carries you into the house and straight into bed where he lets you undress while he grabs your pyjamas out of the tumble dryer and brings them to you, again leaving you to get dresses in peace while he grabs the water bottle from the fridge and two pain killers for the morning. when he gets back into the room, you’re curled up tightly under the blanket and struggling to keep your eyes open so he just places the water and pain killers on the bedside before placing a soft kiss on your forehead before going into the bathroom and grabbing on of your makeup wipes, which he uses to rub most of your makeup of as gently as he can once he’s done he starts preparing for bed himself. by the time he crawls in, your already fast asleep, but he’s quick to wrap his arms around you and bring your back into his chest.

#aodhan.writes #headcanons #top gun maverick headcanons #top gun maverick x reader #top gun maverick x you #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley 'rooseter' bradshaw x reader #bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x you #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake 'hangman' seresin x reader #jake 'hangman' seresin x you #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x you #robert 'bob' floyd x reader #robert 'bob' floyd x you #tw.alcohol #tw.drunk #tw.makeup #tw.heels

[waklman]

Hurt/comfort with Bradley and babybear? I’m thinking babybear has migraines or something like that and calls Bradley for help. Really soft!

(note: i dont see babybear calling him for help but i'll have him walking in on her instead, hope thats alright with you nonny!!)

warnings: none, fluff, 18+ blog in general.

something 'bout you masterlist

“Holy fuck!”

In his doorway, Bradley fumbles the tablet falling out his hands—juggling it in the air before finally catching it. “Christ...” he lowly mutters to himself, carefully inspecting the ipad for any signs of damage with narrowed eyes. 

As he checks the back, Bradley nearly flinches at the smiley cartoon bear printed onto the protective case. It looked significantly less frightening when you picked it out from that flashy mall kiosk. But now that it’s staring back at him in the dark, the bear looks like it’s giving him a sinister smile.

With an awkward clearing of his throat, Bradley decides to shift his attention back to what almost knocked the device out of his hands in the first place. 

At first, Bradley was too preoccupied with dipping his head to fit through the doorway—that he didn’t even notice the conspicuous bump underneath his covers. But as soon as he looked up, his soul nearly left his own body.

Bradley was very certain that he made his bed before he left this morning. Yet now, he finds that most of his pillows are scattered across the floor, while one sole surviving pillow precariously hangs off the edge, right by the massive bump in his comforter. 

But Bradley’s shock towards the state of his bedroom quickly fades as he recognizes that lumpy silhouette under his padded sheet. It’s shaped like his unpredictable girlfriend who has the keys to his apartment. 

Letting out a calm breath, Bradley turns to set down his tablet onto the nearby dresser before taking careful steps towards the foot of his bed. 

You rarely showed up unannounced to his place, not unless there was a problem.

The last time you did let yourself in, Bradley walked in on you digging through his fridge for ice cream to satisfy your period cravings. After catching you waist deep in his produce, Bradley had to pull you out and sweetly kiss your tears away—with his fridge door still slung open. It had taken him an hour to calm you down from your emotional outburst, that day.

So seeing that you’ve decided to pop in again, Bradley finds himself a tad bit worried.

Standing stiff at the foot of bed, Bradley stares down at you with furrowed brows. “Babybear…what are you doin’ under there?” He raises his question, voice barely above a whisper. 

Instead of answering him, you blindly shuffle closer to the bedframe to make room for him. It’s all the confirmation he needs to know that it’s you under there. Bradley softly smiles, watching the mountain under his covers shift from one spot to another. 

As gently as he can, Bradley joins you on the bed, sitting cross-legged in front of you. With one hand, he strokes what he believes to be your head. 

After a few seconds of silence, there’s a voice coming from underneath the bump he’s petting. “…It hurts.” The loud voice he’s used to hearing sounds weak and exhausted—and it’s not because you’re being muffled by the layer of stitched cotton. 

Dropping his hand, Bradley reaches for the hem of his comforter, lifting it over his own head to join you under there. Despite how dim it is under the stuffy sheets, Bradley catches the shine of your eyes as they widen in surprise. 

Bradley sighs as the sheet settles down on both your figures. The puffiness of your eyes and the fresh tears slick in your lashes means that you’ve been crying, and he wasn’t home to wipe away those tears. 

“C’mere baby.” 

At his gentle command, you immediately climb into his lap, legs encircling his waist, and head hung low, staring at his sweatpants with a pout. “What’s hurtin?” He asks worriedly, cradling your face between his hands, prompting you to look at him.

You blink slowly at him, cheeks squished between his palms, “...My head.”  

Bradley pauses to think, chewing on his bottom lip as he does so.

Bradley knew you well—well enough to know that you were more of a stomach ache kind of girl. He noted that when he learned you ate anything—and—everything, despite your sensitive digestive system.

And Bradley could only recall one time where your head was hurting—you had stayed up late and got a migraine from lack of sleep. 

“You stayed up last night?”

Bradley’s hands travel up to your forehead, thumbs beginning to draw small, circular motions into your temple, hoping to soothe the pain.

Closing your eyes, you answer him, a bit ashamed. 

“....Was patching up the holes in your socks.” 

Bradley sputters out a loud burst of laughter, but then he stifles it, reducing it down to a softer, controlled chuckle. 

“You stole my socks to fix ‘em up?” He whispers, slightly shocked.

Embarrassed, you slowly nod in his hands, with him still massaging your temple. With your eyes still closed, reeling in comfort Bradley's providing you—you miss the small smile on his face. 

Leaning forward, Bradley presses a soft kiss to each of your eyelids. “You’re silly.”

Thinking he’s scolding you, your lips flip into a frown. “M’ sorry. I know,” you answer, voice growing smaller. 

Bradley begins to panic, seeing your bottom lip start to quiver. “No–Shit,” he pauses, lowering his frantic voice. “No. I wasn’t yelling,” he lets out a tight breath. It was a mistake to joke with you when you’re sensitive, Bradley makes note of that for the future. 

“Can never be mad at you. Not when you’re sittin’ pretty like this,” he assures you, dropping his hands to your waist. Bradley felt guilty for thinking so, but you were really cute when you got like this. It wasn’t often that you let him take the reins, so he’s soaking this in—just a bit. 

At the movement, your eyes flutter open, blinking as you adjust your vision. It only hits you now that you’re sitting in his lap, while he’s being a saint with you. 

It’s like he can read your mind, because Bradley leans forward in a matter of seconds, meeting you in a slow, steady kiss. Lifting a hand to your cheek, he pulls back—but not before pecking you once more. His chest buzzes with warmth, watching a small smile grow on your lips—he’s lifted your mood. 

“Now that you’re done stealin’ my socks,” he whispers jokingly, drawing a giggle from you. “Let’s nap this off, yeah?”

Feeling another dull throb come on, your laugh simmers. “Yes please. Still hurts.”

Bradley hums, acknowledging your slight wince.  

As you both lay back with you in his lap, the sheet covering you both slips off, and fresh air fills your nostrils. You two spend the next few seconds adjusting in bed, stretching out your legs, as Bradley starts to massage your temple with both hands again.

“No more sewing my socks in the middle of the night,” he murmurs, tucking his chin to kiss the top of your head, hoping you’d agree in your drowsy state.

“No more ripping your socks,” you weakly argue, words slurred from sleep. 

“Yeah, yeah. Sleep silly girl.”

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tags: @s0uz4s @bradswolfe @swiftsgirlfriend @djs8891 @mannsachds @strokesofstokes @coconut152 @angelbabyange @shanimallina87 @ohgodnotagainn @atarmychick007 @Olivia21blunt @s-u-t @hangmanscoming @geraltsaxii @wkndwlff @sammyrenae68 @bradshawed @roosterbruiser @gracelyn-writes @bubblegumbeautyqueen @angeliccks @zombiedeathsworld @blueoorchid @averyhotchner

#bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw x y/n #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x you #bradley rooster x y/n #bradley rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw fluff #rooster fic #rooster imagine #rooster fanfic #tgm fluff #rooster x you #rooster x y/n #sbu blurbs

[almostgenerallyalways]

where the wild things are

Pt 1/3  Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x fem reader  Category: angst / light smut (>18!) / eventual happiness  Word count: 3,4k (sorry if you saw this posted before - i got in my head and wanted to take it in a different direction) CW: language, grief

Two years ago, your sister’s death left a smoking crater in your life, leaving you to take care of your niece. Bradley has lived with loss his whole life, and is in a bad spot on the anniversary of his mother’s death. 

Or: there is a crack in everything / that is how the light gets in

Carol Bradshaw used to read to Bradley from Where the Wild Things Are, and Bradley used to picture it: sailing to an island inhabited by monsters, and reigning as their King. She made him a felt crown, once, which he’d wear to school, and which she’d hang from the wooden post of his twin bed at night, before she tucked him in.

It’s Goose who always looms largest in his mind, sticking to him like a shadow, the long-buried legend everyone compares him to. Sometimes, in the morning, Bradley looks in the mirror and sees his father’s ghost reflected back at him, and he thinks, as he ages into his mid-thirties: Dad never got these crinkly lines next to his eyes. He never got a chance to frown at the stubbornly multiplying white hairs at his temples.

As he got a little older, Where the Wild Things Are was relegated to the back of a shelf. It’s strange, he thinks: One day you read your favorite childhood story for the last time. One day your mother kisses you on the crown of your head for the last time, and you don’t even realize it.

When he got too old for picture books, Carol used to tell him stories about Goose, until he could recite them by heart. The places he’d gone. The adventures he’d lived. The way he’d proposed to her, down on one knee in the sand still warm from the fading sun. The way she’d jumped into his arms, sending him flying back into the surf, knocking off his sunglasses to be carried away on a wave.

She did such a wonderful job keeping Goose’s memory alive, was so dedicated to making sure Bradley would know his father (the way he’d grin at Carol from behind the keys of the piano. The way he’d burn pancakes every time, but still insisted on making them every weekend he spent with his wife and son), that adult Bradley sometimes thinks: I hope she knew.

I hope she knew she wasn’t just Goose’s widow, there to carry on his spirit for his son, for Mav, for everyone.

Bradley knows his father was larger than life – and hopes his mother didn’t feel crushed under the weight of him, of the specter of the husband she lost at barely thirty: Mav crying into her shoulder and Bradley acting out at school, the Navy sending her a medal in a polished mahogany box.

He never asked her. At nineteen, faced with losing the only parent he remembered outside of the bedtime stories, outside of the pictures tacked up in Mav’s apartment, it was all he could do to keep showing up for her – for the hands that kept growing thinner, until the veins stood out starkly, for the clumps of hair he’d pluck off her pillow before she could notice she’d lost them.

He wonders, too, after he’s done staring at his father’s ghost in the mirror, why she never remarried, back when she’d (theoretically, cruelly) had her whole life ahead of her. He recalls, vaguely, men being interested over the years: family friends or colleagues who’d drop by the house on the weekends, throwing a ball around with Bradley. But they were always kept at arm’s length, if not by Mav’s harsh gaze (and was that right, Bradley reflects now, was that fair?), then by Carol herself.

She’d been so young, he thinks, rubbing a hand over his temple, trying to smooth out a permanent crease that seems to have appeared overnight. Did she feel like she couldn’t? Or like she shouldn’t?

And who is keeping Carol’s memory alive, now? Only him.

Only him to remember how she’d read to him, every night, without fail. How she’d make him the Sunday pancakes, although she wouldn’t torch them like Goose had. How she’d park him on the chair outside his elementary school principal’s office and storm in there, a determined look on her face, and when she’d come out he’d suddenly be unsuspended, Principal Spacek looking uncharacteristically cowed.

How she’d let Mav crash on their couch for months on end, and drive Bradley to hockey in the winters and baseball in the summers, and always, always, hug him and tell him she loved him before he left the house, even the morning after they’d had a monstrous argument about him smoking weed in the high school parking lot.

He's the only one left to carry on that torch. And he’s got no one to hand it to.

So forgive Bradley if he, on the fifteenth anniversary of his mother’s death, wants to get shitfaced drunk.

* * *

You suck on the straw of your drink, only to find there’s nothing but ice and the tangy pulp of crushed lime left at the bottom of your glass. Music pounds in your ears, and though you’ve barely had two, you feel a little giddy – you’re a lightweight, now, out of practice.

Not since Sierra has lived with you have you been in a place like this, packed with bodies and possibilities, people dancing and laughter ringing out, a sharp vibration of potential in the air.

You used to love this, before: dressing up and linking arms with your friends, letting the night carry you wherever it may. Tumbling in the back of Lyfts on the promise of another bar being open later, a friend of a friend’s after-party where you could dangle your feet in the pool, kiss a stranger.

Right now, though, you can’t get yourself to relax fully. Your mind keeps drifting to Sierra, long asleep by now, at your parents’ house – in a few hours she’ll be rolling into their bedroom, demanding waffles for breakfast.

Not being with her generates a constant low-grade buzz of anxiety, bouncing between your heart and stomach, and you keep checking your phone even though it’s been ages since your mother texted you a picture of her, safely tucked into her makeshift bed on the pull-out couch in their living room.

You remind yourself once again that this is Callie’s night, and that Sierra is safe, and that you should try to actually enjoy a Saturday night where you’re not, for once, desperately trying to catch up on work and/or scrubbing purple Crayola off the baseboards of your rented apartment and/or falling asleep on the couch at 8:30 pm, every bit as exhausted as the four-year-old cradled in your arms.

As if on cue, Callie floats by, a ridiculous plastic tiara askew atop her wild mass of curls, and grins at you like the Cheshire Cat: “Babe. Stop making a face like you left the stove on, and come dance with Priya and me.”

Your heart melts a little bit, and you reach out affectionately to straighten out her crown. “Alright, bridezilla. Let me go get you a fresh drink first.”

A minute later, you’ve weaved your way through the pulsing crowd to claim a spot at the heavy oak bar – the gleaming wood looks like it’d be more suited to a saloon than a place like this. Pushing yourself up on your tiptoes, you search the menu for something Callie might enjoy – she’s got drain water tastes on a champagne budget.

The beleaguered bartender signals that it’s your turn.

“A paloma,” you say, still frowning at the menu. “and a Coors Light, please.”

“Paloma.” Someone next to you repeats, as if a little surprised.

You turn slightly to look at the stranger, a dismissive remark at the ready, but it dies on your tongue.

Because he’s very striking, this man, sitting on a barstool in faded jeans and an absolute eyesore of a shirt: tall and handsome with an incongruous moustache, suntanned skin and the dawn of a smile at the corner of his mouth not quite matched by the deep circles under his eyes.

“Sorry,” he says, sounding a little hoarse. “That was my mom’s drink. With Fresca, of course.”

You cock your head slightly. He’s holding what looks like a scotch on the rocks, glass already almost empty before the ice has had a chance to melt, and you know that feeling. Have spent a good few nights chasing answers at the bottom of a glass, never getting anywhere.

“I don’t think they make Fresca anymore,” You say, “But it’s still good.”

“I haven’t thought about that in forever.” He smiles slightly, looking back down into his glass, and you can’t help but be charmed. He glances at you. “Can I buy you a drink? This one, I mean.”

There’s something in your gut that tells you to say yes, so you say: “Yeah, why not?”

* * *

Bradley, as it turns out his name is, is the sort of good-looking that intimidates you a little. At first, you feel like you can’t look directly at him for too long – it’s a bit like staring into the sun.

But there’s something else about him, too, that makes you forget about all that. The slight hunch of his shoulders, the way his smile looks a little out of practice. Somehow, over the din of the bar, his voice draws you in until you realize you’ve told him half your life story over the course of three quarters of a drink.

“So you’re a San Diego girl through and through, then, huh?” He inquires, propping his chin up with his hand, elbow resting on the gleaming bar.

You raise your almost-empty glass. “Born and raised, went to college here, the works. The only time I was ever away was when I worked in Boston for two years, but then-” You look down at your bare knees, coming up short for a second. “But then I requested a transfer.”

But then my sister died, and my life fell apart is not conversation for handsome strangers you meet in bars, and right here, right now, you don’t want to be that girl, anyway.

Bradley smiles, taking your abrupt silence for the evasion it is. “I don’t blame you. Too cold up in New England. I was stationed in Rhode Island for a little while, wasn’t my favorite.”

You return his smile gratefully. He’s a gentleman, you think – he doesn’t pry. He smells good, too – Top shelf whiskey and sun and aged oak. It’s messing with your head a little.

Callie finally finds you when her beer’s already past lukewarm, forgotten where it sits on the bar. She throws her arms around you from behind: “There you are, we thought you bailed on us.”

She catches sight of your companion, and your apprehension rises when you see the metaphorical bulb light up above her head. “Oh, hello. Didn’t realize you’d made a friend.”

You manage to keep yourself from rolling your eyes. Just last week she fruitlessly tried to tell you to take more time for yourself, make some effort, meet someone, so she must be loving this. “Callie, this is Bradley. Bradley, this is the bride.”

She holds out her hand, allows him to take it. “One of, at least. My future better half is holding her cousin’s hair back in the ladies’ room.”

“Congratulations,” Bradley grins, apparently not in the least phased by this, “on your impending nuptials.”

You swoon a little bit. Callie, of course, notices, and has an expression on her face like it’s Christmas morning.

“Listen, babe,” she says, looking down at you, her gleaming metallic heels (her favorite pair, you remember picking them out with her for graduation, though they were not at all appropriate for the occasion) giving her a height advantage. “Priya wants to go downtown, to that place with the two DJ’s in the basement. Are you coming?”

She looks between the man opposite and you. “Unless…”

Unless. You know you should, it’s her bachelorette, and it’s been so long since you’ve been able to give her your undivided attention: Between Sierra, and work, and crying heaving panic attacks about the state of your life following crippling, devastating grief, you’ve always had her support, and you owe her (maybe, quite literally) your life.

Bradley cuts in, tentative over the change in music to a slower, deeper sound: “Unless you want to stay here a little bit longer?” (It shouldn’t be possible, you think, for him to look this fucking sincere.) “I would really like that. I could drop you off there later…?”

He turns to Callie: “You could text me the address?”

Callie went to law school with you, and while you went into the safe, comparatively sane world of corporate finance, she is a public prosecutor through and through. She narrows her eyes at Bradley, clearly torn between deep-seated, hard-learned suspicion of strange men, and budding, unadulterated joy at seeing you take an interest in anyone who’s not your niece or a client.

“Alright, Bradley,” She levels, sizing him up judiciously, the effect only slightly diminished by the plastic crown still clinging to the side of her head, “I’ll need your phone and driver’s license.”

To his credit, he hands both over without a word, and Callie makes quick work of texting herself his contact details and a photo of his license. “Great,” she looks up, grinning: “You kids have fun. I’m gonna drag my future wife out of the bathroom and blow this joint.”

To her credit, she refrains from miming I’m watching you at Bradley, but you suppose it’s implied.

* * *

When you step outside into the chill of the San Diego night air ahead of him, it hits Bradley that this night is going nothing like he expected. From the moment you appeared next to him, out of thin air, he’s felt off-kilter.

Like he got tipped into your orbit, and now he’s fated to spin circles around you.

“Paloma.” He says, and you turn slightly, a smile on your lips. He steps in closer, nudging you out of the way of the flow of people making their way into the bar.

Your eyes flash up to his when the broad flat of his palm makes contact with the curve of your side, your skin feeling hot through the thin, slippy fabric of your dress – the color brings to mind the backyard of his old house in Tierrasanta, overrun with California sage: he spent a lot of time there as a kid, alone with his thoughts. He presses his thumb to the fabric, the force of the memory almost bringing back the earthy, crisp smell of that place.

You don’t say anything, holding his gaze as he trails his palm down your side, but he swears your eyes darken almost imperceptibly, and your breath hitches. It emboldens him, and his free hand finds the curve of your jaw, your skin feeling impossibly soft under his fingertips and then he’s kissing you, and the rest of the world (the passing cars, the faint pounding of music from inside, the buzzing of a streetlamp nearing the end of its life overhead) retreats.

You taste like tequila and lime and grapefruit and something else he can’t quite put his finger on. Your hands come up to curve around his shoulders, fingertips grazing the nape of his neck, and he pulls you a little closer. You let out a little sigh in response, and it goes straight to his head, heart hammering in his throat when you cup his jaw, deepen the kiss even more.

He pulls away after a moment, dazed, and sees the wild look he’s sure he must have in his eyes reflected in yours. It sends a jolt of heat right through him, and he swallows heavily.

“Bradley.” You state, and he opens his eyes to find you looking up at him, a little smirk on your face like you know exactly what just went through his head. He almost laughs, feeling suddenly out of breath, but then you slowly run your thumb up the line of his jaw, and all thoughts leave him.

“Tell me to take you to your friends.” He says, sounding a little hoarse to his own ears.

He feels you shiver under his palm for a moment, and your eyes close. He can’t help but feel gratified (and he’s aware of the way he looks, women like him, he knows this – but right now, he particularly wants you to like him, to approve, to see past the glaring cracks in his foundation), and a heady warmth floods him when you open your eyes, that little smirk returning to your face, and you say:

“Take me home with you.”

* * *

You’re nervous, you can’t lie to yourself – going home with someone seems like something out of a past life to you at this point, let alone someone you just met – but Bradley has a way of looking at you that makes you forget your nerves, your self-consciousness. He’s barely taken his eyes off you since he first asked your name, and something about him (maybe it’s that quiet confidence he exudes: not showy, not cocky, just steady and certain) puts you at ease.

He's so eager, and you feel like it makes you glow. You laugh when he bumps his head in his haste to pick you up, press you up against the door – he looks sheepish, for a second, until he smiles wide and kisses you again, and heat floods through you.

You haven’t really felt beautiful, or desired, in two years – the first year after Mel died was a fog of grief and sorrow, a mess of bureaucracy and lawyers, where it was all you could do to keep treading water, keep Sierra fed and cared for, shield her from the worst of the flying shrapnel the grenade of your sister’s death sent careening into your family’s lives. The second year, you pulled yourself together because there was no other option – working long hours to secure Sierra’s future, helping your parents where you could, spending every waking minute worrying for this little life you’d become responsible for.

Bradley doesn’t hide his desire, on the contrary – hitching your legs around his waist, burying his face in your neck (the straps of your pale green dress slipping down your shoulder) – he keeps telling you how beautiful you are, into the skin of your throat, your collarbone, the tops of your breasts.

You’re still half-dressed when he makes you come on his fingers, and for the first time in ages your mind is pleasantly blank, free of worry, the only thoughts being more and Bradley’s warm skin between your thighs as you nudge him down onto the bed, lightly running your fingernails down his torso until he can’t take it anymore and flips you onto your back, his body reassuringly solid above you.

* * *

Hours later, Bradley’s asleep, face pressed heavily into your shoulder, and for a mad, half second you consider just letting yourself drift off right here, with his arm slung across your waist. On the nightstand sits a picture, the glossy, slightly out-of-focus quality of disposable Kodak, of two people and their baby. You reach for it, next to a couple of Jodi Picoult novels and a very worn copy of something called the F-14D NATOPS Flight Manual, and trace your finger down the side of the frame.

Bradley shifts and nestles his face into your neck a little closer, and your stomach sinks. You know you have to go; can’t face waking up here tomorrow and trying to explain, seeing those eyes that looked at you so reverently as he kept repeating your name grow cold.  

Just for a moment, as you run your fingers through the coarse waves of his hair, you allow yourself to imagine you could have this: Someone to fall asleep next to, to take care of you, to tell you things will be okay.

But that’s a dangerous thought, and you’ve discarded it by the time you softly shut the door behind you.

masterlist 

part 2

#rooster x reader #bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x reader #rooster x you #bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x you

[kyber-crystal]

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

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

words: ~3.3k

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

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

I. meet me in the middle

“Mav!”

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

“The pretty one,” Rooster stated. 

“Be more specific.”

“I am being specific, Captain.”

“No, you aren’t.”

“Fine, I need your daughter.”

“You always need her for something.”

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

“Actually, I’m hungry.”

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

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

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

“Doesn’t matter. Come on.”

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

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

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

“And?”

“You can sit over there.”

“I don’t want to, though.”

“Alright, then.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks…” 

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

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

“Yeah.”

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

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

II. waiting on you

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

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

“Nothing. I’m just happy to see you.”

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah. Makes sense.”

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

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

“You’re so right, man.”

III. rose-tinted glasses

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

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

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

“Where?”

“I’m looking right at her.”

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

“No, you’re even better.”

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

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

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

“Wow…it sure is.”

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

Everything seems to fall into place. 

IV. for you, i’d cross the line 

“Y/N, hey.”

“Are you drunk?”

“Doesn’t matter. Move over.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Was that tipsy you or sober you?”

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

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

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

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

V. saving grace

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bradley sees your hands tremble slightly. “Sweetheart.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

epilogue—soul ties 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

You shake your head. 

“Come on. It’s been all day.”

“No.”

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

“No,” you muttered bitterly. 

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

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

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

“What,” you exhaled.

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

Your heart stops.

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

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

This was Rooster Bradshaw, and he was your soulmate.

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

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

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

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

“Sweetheart…”

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

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

“I waited ten hours.”

“You should’ve gone home and slept.”

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

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

Helovesmehelovesmehelovesme.

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

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

And you were most certainly right about that now. 

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

“What…what are you talking about?”

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

Your heart grows warmer. “Roos…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[wildbornsiren]

Kinktober Day 9: Praise Kink || Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw/F!Reader

Praise Kink Summary: Bradley is a good man. You let him know exactly how much he means to you.  660 words Female/AFAB reader. Established relationship. Warning: EXPLICIT MINORS DNI: hand job.  Notes: For #kinktober2022. Reminder that these will not have part twos, or continuations. Please follow @wbslibrary​ since tag lists are gone. (I appreciate ya’ll so much but it was stressing me out, and I was worried I’d miss someone). Comments and sharing let me know you love me, likes are appreciated. Thank you so very much for reading. It’s so appreciated and means the most.

Early morning sunlight creeps through the partially open curtains. Bradley is sprawled out on top of you, his head resting on your chest. Your fingers card through his damp curls, your touch languid and lazy. He had woken you up a few hours ago, tangling up in arms and legs, sweet kisses and sweaty sheets. Now, in the quiet of the morning he’s curled up with you, fingers brushing along your sides. He’s warm and heavy, comforting. “You still with me Lieutenant?”

His chuckle sends warmth spiraling through you. “Just thinking about how I want to spend the day with you.” Bradley presses a kiss to your sternum. “It’s my first day off with you in weeks. Maybe I want to spend the entire day in bed, order bad take out and remember all the ways I can make you cum.” “Sounds like a wonderful time.” You murmur softly. “Such a good boy.” You feel his breath hitch against your skin, the slow shiver working its way down his back. “Always so good to me. You know just how to touch me.” “I like making you feel good sweetheart.” “I know you do. Love the way you make me cum at least twice before you fuck me. You lick my pussy so well baby. When you use those gorgeous thick fingers.” He whimpers softly, face pressing tighter to your chest. “You’re so good to me baby.” Bradley whines your name, soft kisses raining down on your torso, your stomach. Gently you tug on his hair, drawing him back up your body. “Let me, please.” His eyes are dark, lower lip swollen from where he was biting it. “You’re one of the best men I’ve ever known.” You let your fingers trail down his cheek, along his jaw, tipping his chin up, those beautiful eyes looking up at you. “You’re gentle, and kind. Strong.” Your thumb passes over his chin and his lips part. “You make me feel so safe. You’ve given me a home just by being here.” He trembles, shifting his weight above you. You can feel how hard he is through the baggy gray sweats. “Oh, sweet Bradley, you’re a wonder.” His eyes flutter closed and the sound that slides past parted lips makes your pussy clench. His mouth closes over yours, soft and needy. Your hands slide over his bare shoulders, tracing along the defined muscles in his back, feeling the golden skin ripple under your hands. His cock twitches against your thigh, and you smile against the kiss. “You like hearing how much of a good man you are?” He ducks his head, burying it in the curve of your neck. You caught a glimpse of the flush rising on his cheeks. Your hand slides between the two of you, sneaking under the waistband of his sweats. His cock is so hard, heavy and hot in your hand, pre-cum leaking from the tip. “You fuck me so well.” Bradley’s moustache scrapes against your sensitive skin. “Fill me more than I’ve ever been filled. Nothing feels as good as this gorgeous cock in me.” His hips rock thrusting into your hand. “When you’re gone and I have to fuck myself, it’s not as good.” “Baby,” he groans raggedly. “I found one that’s close, so close to your cock, but it’s not enough. Not as good as you.” You press a kiss to his temple. “You gonna cum like this sweet boy?” He nods against your neck, whimpering as he continues to rut into your fist. “I want to watch you cum. I want to see how good my words make you feel baby. Come on please, let me see my good boy.” Bradley lifts his head, his cheeks dark and flushed, eyes half lidded. He’s panting, needy sounds swallowed by your kiss. It doesn’t take him long to spill into your hand. With a soft smile, you lean in and kiss his forehead. “There’s my good boy.”

#wsbkink #kinktober2022 #Bradley Rooster Bradshaw/Reader #Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw/you #Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x reader #Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x you #Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw #shelly writes #top gun maverick