#bradley bradshaw x gn!reader | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

auroracalisto · 1 year

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good enough

bradley "rooster" bradshaw x gn!reader, 8k words tw: MAJOR MISCOMMUNICATION TROPE. divorce, cussing (lots of f bombs at some point), lots of arguing, angst, at one point, reader is said to have had depression before. the reader and bradley are both idiots and neither one of them can properly deal with shit. macho man rooster ends up letting fear gets the best of him and he literally ruins his own life bc of it LMAO, possibly ooc if you squint, possibly questionable actions when it comes to friends, this is dramatic as hell (and i loved every minute of it), self-doubt, angry characters, regret is strong here, rooster fears death and makes it a personality trait™ a/n: based on the song "good enough" by maisie peters. sorry for all of the tws, but i just wanted to try and mark all the boxes. but fr i love bradley. this is purely a play on the song i named, and is just a piece of fiction. a dramatic piece of fiction. like literally take rooster and place him in some angsty romance novel, but cut out the smut. that's this. i am also so sorry for the length of this. i just... started going and i couldn't stop. LMAO

Your heart lurched to your throat as you stood there, his head turned away from your lips—he was avoiding your touch. He didn’t have to say it for you to realize it.

You hesitantly smiled, backing down. Maybe he just had a bad day. It happened pretty often, so taking it personally wouldn’t have benefited you in any way.

He was your favorite person, and you knew you were his. You two were best friends until the end of time. That’s how it had been since even before you two got married—that’s how it would stay.

The television that sat in the living room had long since been turned off. The fan perched in the corner of the room silently hummed along, providing little relief to the California heat that plagued your home.

"Rooster," you began, rubbing the back of your neck. Sweat stuck to the palm of your hand, and you grimaced as you quickly wiped your hand off on the seat of your pants. "How was your day? I know it's been busy—"

"—we need to talk," he said, cutting you off.

He didn't even give you a chance to question things as he walked past you, sitting down on the sofa in your shared condominium. You blinked slowly at your husband, but you gave a small nod. Your feet moved on their own accord as you sat beside him. You placed a hand on his knee, and he only pulled himself away from you.

You swallowed thickly, nerves getting the best of you. Had you done something to offend him recently? Did something happen with Maverick again? You had thought they were doing well—the videos Natasha had sent you were proof enough of that. It warmed your heart to know that he was finally finding himself in this crazy world.

Maybe it was just hot. Yes, that’s it. The heat was getting to him. It had been getting to everyone on base, and at work. It wouldn’t surprise you if it was the same thing here.

"Bradley…?" You said nothing more than his name, watching him with nothing but pure adoration behind your eyes. He meant the world to you. There was nothing he could say or do to change this, even if he was avoiding you.

The man looked at anything but you. His dark brown eyes stared at the black television, and then they moved to the grey carpet just beneath his boot-clad feet.

You must have just vacuumed. He could see the indentations, and that’s what he chose to focus on as he searched for the right words to say. But they never came.

"I want a divorce," he said.

It was so simple. Those four words.

And just like that, your world came crashing around you.

Where was this coming from? Did you do something to upset him?

The words swirled around in your brain, repeating over and over until it hit you like a freight train, knocking the air from your chest. He wants a divorce.

You sat on the edge of the black sofa, eyes fluttering shut as you took in a deep breath. Your hands rested in fists on top of your thighs as you wracked your mind for an explanation. You couldn't find one.

There was nothing that could justify whatever this was.

How long had he been thinking about this?

"Where… where is this coming from?" you asked. You just had to know.

"I don't want to talk about it. Just… please."

"What?" You looked up at him in disbelief. "You—you want to divorce me but you won't even give me a reason?" you asked. Your eyes burned as you held back your tears. You couldn't cry. Not now. If you cried that first tear, then surely, they would never stop.

"I have never asked you for anything, Y/n. Please, just say yes.”

"I don't understand where this is coming from, Bradley," you said, reaching forward to take ahold of his hand. "Please. Talk to me. I want to understand what's going on."

Rooster clenched his jaw, looking down at your hands. Your wedding band glinted in the soft glow of the light overhead. The beautiful piece glared at him as he fought to find the right words to say—but nothing he could say would make this better. Not now.

The words left him without a second thought.

"I don't love you."

Oh.

Oh, no.

No, no, no. He couldn't be serious. He couldn't be telling you the truth right now. He did love you. He married you! Why would he ever ask you to marry him if he didn't love you?

Why would you plan your life together if he didn’t love you?

But even though you could create more and more questions in your mind, trying to placate every emotion coursing through your veins, nothing made sense.

You pulled your hand away as your tears finally began to fall. If he didn't love you, you wouldn't force him to be with you any more than he wanted.

Rooster inwardly grimaced, but he wasn’t about to let you see that. He needed to be strong—he needed to save face and keep on digging in the same grave he had started.

"Just… just tell me when."

"When what?"

"When did this happen? When did you fall out of love? I—I thought you loved me, Bradley. I love you."

He pursed his lips. He seemed to hesitate as he allowed his eyes to meet yours. Rooster's blood rushed to his ears, and his fingers itched to grab onto something. To grab onto you. But he couldn’t. He couldn't even look at you properly when you looked so sad, but he forced himself to do so anyway. You deserved that, at least. You deserved to be looked at when he was ending the relationship you fought so hard to keep.

"I don't know. It just… happened."

He was lying. He had to be lying. There was no way he was being honest—he loves you. He loves you, and this was all just some bad dream. Some bad joke that Hangman put him up to. Maybe Fanboy was in on it, too. Surely, someone put him up to this. They had money in a bowl somewhere, waiting for your reaction so they would know who won. He’d whip out his phone soon and text them the result.

But the way he looked at you… you knew he was telling you the truth. He wanted a divorce. This was happening, whether you wanted it to or not. There was no cruel bet, no ulterior motive.

This was happening.

Every moment of the past three years pierced your brain—Bradley asking you out in the middle of the Hard Deck. Meeting his friends. Picking out your wedding rings. Becoming Y/n Bradshaw. The kisses you shared. The whispered conversations, the happy smiles, the—

He was your life. He is your life. You love him more than life itself.

But he loved you.

Loved. Past-tense.

He did love you. Something changed. What had changed?

You abruptly stood up, roughly wiping your tears away. You couldn’t do this. You couldn’t be near him right now. Your heart was far too heavy, weighed down by the immense burden of his confession.

"Alright," you said. "I… I won't force you to stay with me. I would never do that to you, Bradley. I would… I would never, ever want you to do anything you don’t want to do.” You held back a sob, fists balled at your sides. “We can get a divorce."

Relief spread across his face. He couldn't smile, though. This ended up being a lot harder than he expected it to be.

"Thank you," he said. He stood up, towering over you like usual. "I appreciate it."

You gave a curt nod, averting your gaze. Your tongue poked out, nervously wetting your lips as you cleared your throat. He appreciated it.

Were you just a joke to him?

"I will… I will make arrangements. I will leave by next week."

"What? You don't have to do that. There's no rush—"

"—I'll leave by next week," you cut him off, no longer looking at him.

What was he doing? You didn’t need this. You didn’t need him. As you took a step forward, the tears began to fall. Your husband forced himself to stay put as you rushed off to your bedroom, slamming the door shut behind you.

You found little comfort in the blankets that now surrounded you, tears wetting the pillow on which you rested your head night after night. You found little comfort in the place you spent with your husband, time after time, lamenting how much you loved each other. Planning the future of your life—of your family. Of your relationship that should have only grown in love.

The memories of this bed burned in the back of your mind. You could hardly breathe as the sobs plowed through your body.

This wasn’t fair.

This couldn’t be real.

Rooster slowly sat back down, burying his face in his hands. His elbows dug into his thighs, a choked sob catching in the back of his throat. He couldn’t believe he allowed himself to say that to you. It was far from the truth. But there was nothing he could do about it now.

This was for the best.

This would keep you safe.

As the sun peered through the grey curtains, setting just beyond the horizon, Rooster stood up. He wiped his tears away, instantly hardening. He had done this time and time again. He would hide, folding back into himself like a metal chair—he’d be there for people when he was needed, but he would be just out of the way until then. He wouldn’t bother you any longer than he needed to.

This was for the best—you wouldn’t have to live your life wondering what could have been.

If he died, that was that. You would move on, and he could rest peacefully in the afterlife.

His father hadn’t ever given his mother a chance to do something like that. He wouldn’t be making the same mistake.

Three years had passed.

Three, long and grueling years had inched by, taking your misery along with you. The New Year would pass over and over, and the only thing you would write on your resolution list was: Move on.

But you never could. That list ended up in the garbage only weeks after drafting it up.

How could you when the love of your life left as he did? How could you when you knew he was the only thing that kept you going, even if you were hundreds of miles away?

They would never say it out loud, but your friends never quite said anything about why he divorced you—why he fell out of love. But why would he tell them something like that? Rooster generally kept to himself. It wasn't something that he would have been very honest about, to begin with.

You knew they knew something more, but they never said anything. You never expected them to, either. They were your friends as much as they were his, and they had been his friend for far longer. You couldn't blame them. Whatever they knew—that was his business. But you kept silent, allowing yourself to wallow in self-pity for more than you should have.

But just like you couldn't blame them for keeping his secrets… who could blame you?

You had your own life before Rooster, yes, you did. You didn’t depend on him. You were independent, and you had your own interests and everything. You didn’t need him. But with his confession, it was as if everything you had ever known had been tossed out of the window of a speeding car in an instant, shattering against the run-down pavement. Pieces flew everywhere—you'd never be able to find them again, let alone put them back together.

You'd never have enough glue for something like that.

You would never be able to repair the gaping hole that was in your heart.

And you knew it was silly. You shouldn’t have ever let yourself trust someone so completely. But you never thought something like that would happen. Rooster was so easy to love.

He was such a happy person—he exuded confidence. He was the epitome of an amazing human being. And yet, he still fell out of love with you.

You never believed someone could just fall out of love so easily.

So, instead of remaining in the very place you felt like you were sinking in, you did what you thought was best. You packed your things and moved to Virginia. At least there, you'd be far enough away that he'd never find you. The mileage did little to comfort you, but it was something.

At least here, you felt like you could breathe.

Changing from the west coast to the east coast was drastic—but you adapted. You had to. You couldn't continue living in the very place that was threatening you at every given minute. You couldn’t continue on in a place where at every corner, something reminded you of him. It was driving you into a familiar depression—one that you had known before Rooster, and one that you would now know after Rooster.

When you left, Phoenix was devastated. Other than Bob, you were her closest friend. She never stopped talking to you—she never stopped being friends with you, even when you moved across the country. When Phoenix asked you to come in to visit, you hesitated. But then she promised you that Rooster wouldn't be there. That he would be visiting some family he had up north—his girlfriend's family. He would be using this free time to get to know them better.

You wouldn't say you were happy for him. Hell, that was far from the truth. Despite the fact you no longer wore your ring on your finger, it was always on a chain around your neck. Your heart still beats for him, no matter how many times you had tried to move on. And you did it all. You tried everything that Google said to do. One night stands, going out with strangers, having people set you up, hell, you even tried therapy. But it never worked.

Why would it? Rooster was the love of your life. He was the one you had seen yourself dying with—he was the one you wanted to grow old with. And he didn't want that in you. He didn't see the same things.

He didn’t see your relationship as a rising sun just beyond the mountain tops. He was already there with the setting sun, disappearing beyond the horizon. He had been there, at the end of your relationship, far before you even had a chance to find the middle. He had made peace with the end. You couldn’t even find peace in the beginning.

After much pestering and a FaceTime call from both Phoenix and Bob, you were convinced to join them back in California for a week. But your only condition was that Phoenix would be paying half for your plane ticket. She agreed in a heartbeat.

So that's why you stood here now, in front of the old dormitory in which you used to visit your friends in. You had already been to the hotel you'd be staying at, and you took a taxi to the base.

The grey building towered over you, making you feel far smaller than you actually were. Memories sat behind those walls, waiting for you to relive them, even if you didn’t want to.

It only took one text message to Natasha before she came barreling down the sidewalk, pulling you into a bone-crushing hug. Bob was not far behind, and Hangman was taking his sweet ole time. You didn't know he'd be around, but you felt better knowing he was—you had been close before Rooster sent in the papers. He helped you pack and get your things to Virginia.

You hugged Phoenix tightly, smiling up at her.

"It's been too long!" she nearly shouted, excitement running through her body. As she pulled away, Bob pulled you into a hug. He greeted you as he had so many times, with a hug and a simple ‘hello.’

Last but not least, Hangman sent you a smile. He pulled you into a hug, despite the fact he used to be one of the last people you would expect it from. You melted into the hug, unable to stop yourself from smiling.

"It's… it's good to be back. I'm glad to see you guys."

"Coyote, Payback, and Fanboy are already at the bar. Said they'd just meet us there. You ready?" Phoenix grinned.

You were as ready as you would ever be. You gave a small nod to your friend, and before you knew it, you were on your way to the very place you met your ex-husband. The Hard Deck.

It was suffocating, standing in that corner all alone. Your friends played pool, and you watched as the different colored balls sunk into the pockets that lined the edge. Hangman stood off to the side, beating some stranger in darts.

Rooster had always been good at that.

Lost in your mind like you had been so many times before, the sound of a glass falling at the bar made you jump.

And then you saw him. Your own glass slipped through your fingertips, crashing onto the floor. Shards littered the wood floor. Phoenix yelped your name in surprise, coming to your side immediately.

"What's wrong?" she asked, placing a hand on your arm to try and comfort you. You continued to stare, and she eventually looked in the direction of your gaze. Her eyes widened in surprise, lips parting as she tried to find something to say.

He wasn't supposed to be here. He wasn't supposed to be anywhere near you.

And he was looking right at you.

"Y/n, it's okay, he's not—"

You pulled your arm away from Phoenix, taking a couple of steps back before you took off running in the direction of the restrooms. It was as good of a hiding spot as anywhere, and you'd be able to collect yourself before going back out there. You couldn’t possibly run past him—he’d stop you. Or at least, try to follow you. Phoenix would make him leave. Surely, she wouldn't just let him stay.

You locked yourself in a stall, sitting down on the toilet seat. You took in a deep, releasing a shaky breath as tears clouded your vision. A hand pressed to your mouth, elbows digging into the meat of your thighs as you tried to keep yourself calm.

This wasn't happening! She promised he wasn't here. Why would she lie?

Maybe she didn't know.

The bright light in the bathroom was far too much.

The dripping water from the sink struck the porcelain—plip, plip, plip.

The noise from the bar was deafening as you sat there, chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. Loud voices echoed through the building, striking your ears in an instant. But the more you cried, the more your sobs became the only thing you heard.

It had been ages since you cried over him, so why now? Why were you so triggered by just seeing him?

You tried to calm yourself down but to no avail.

You loved him. You love him. You never stopped. You couldn't just stop.

You tried so hard. You spent years trying to forget the man who ripped your heart in two with four simple words.

But the universe had a funny way of working. It seemed to work against you in every way possible, no matter what.

You could never win.

You would never win.

No matter what, you were never good enough.

You hadn't been good enough in school. You weren't good enough at work. And you hadn't been good enough for Rooster, even when you were married. You weren't good enough for him, now, either.

There was a knock at the bathroom door before you heard it creak open. Your breath hitched in your throat as you tried to keep quiet, choked sobs caught in your chest.

Worn shoes popped up underneath the stall door you found refuge in. Those same damn shoes you bought him once for Christmas, four years ago. He had been so excited—they were almost the exact same pair his mother had bought him one year for his birthday. His father's favorite brand—his favorite style of shoe.

God, you searched everywhere for those damn shoes.

And he kept them.

Silence enveloped the bathroom, save for your stifled sobs. You rested your shoulder against the old paneled walls, squeezing your eyes shut as you tried to ignore him. But he knew you were there. It was far too late, now.

Rooster stood there, fist raised to knock on the stall door. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. What would he even say? What would have been good enough?

Three years had come and gone without you. Three long years in which he felt as if he was drowning, just existing. He would have been better off launching himself into that ocean, the same as his father. His wedding band was stuffed away in some kind of pocket, always near him or on his person in some way. He tried to get over you—one-night stands, blind dates, even going as far as asking Hangman to find him a girl.

It worked, for a while.

He started dating Kristie—a sweet woman who worked as a nurse on base. But she saw right through him. She knew who he was, and what was going on in that head of his.

She wasn't mad—a bit disappointed, yes, but it didn't stop her from breaking up with him and canceling their planned vacation up north together.

She wasn’t you. She would never be you.

And he didn’t think he would ever see you again.

Rooster found himself in the middle of the Hard Deck, never once expecting you to be there. None of the Dagger Squad had said anything about you. He didn't know you were even going to be in town.

He felt like he couldn't breathe when he laid eyes on you.

The yellow lighting cast a soft glow on your skin. You were beautiful. You had always been beautiful, but damn, you looked even more beautiful now. Maybe it was just the years that had passed him by.

The walls of his small corner of the world couldn’t fall on him sooner.

The glass that crunched under your shoes became the only thing he heard until he watched as you ran back into the hallway.

In a split second, Hangman was beside him, obviously pissed.

"What the hell, man? Why aren't you with Kristie?"

"She broke it off."

Hangman clenched his jaw. He couldn't believe this was happening, but then again, Rooster had his head far up his ass more often than not. Hangman punched him in the arm, just enough for it to hurt.

"You need to leave," he said, watching as Rooster recoiled in pain.

"What?" Rooster looked at him in surprise. "No."

"Yes!" he exclaimed. Was this idiot really that much of an asshole?

This time, Phoenix spoke up, her arms crossed over her chest. "We promised you wouldn't be here. You're supposed to be up north. You're supposed to be far away from here!"

"You promised?" Rooster stared her down.

"Well, yeah, you asshole! You broke their heart. They didn't even want to come here in the first place. God, I should've just gone to see them instead of dragging them out here," Phoenix groaned, rubbing her forehead with the back of her hand.

Rooster hesitantly took a step forward.

"Rooster, get out," Hangman said, voice low.

He shook his head. He needed to talk to you.

"Rooster!"

He broke out into a run, and before Hangman could follow, Phoenix grabbed his arm.

"What the hell?" he stared at her in disbelief.

"Just let it happen," she said.

"Let what happen? Watch Y/n get their heart stepped on all over again?"

"Just… just let it happen."

Phoenix would wait for you to berate her, later. But for now, she could only wish her friends would try to make up. She could only wish that Rooster would gain a pair and grow up. Her heart ached for you as she watched Rooster run back to the bathrooms, knowing that she couldn’t ever take the pain away from you. The only one who could do that was Rooster, himself, and even then, she wasn’t sure if that would happen.

And now, he found himself standing there, the silence deafening in the small space. The light was bright in the enclosure—brighter than he remembered. His hand was still hovering, his arm growing heavy as he debated on knocking.

Should he just leave? Should he do as Hangman said and walk out? But he couldn't just leave. Not now. Not when he knew he made the biggest mistake of his life, telling you all that bullshit.

You used your sleeves to wipe your tears away as you shakily got to your feet. Your fingers struggled to even unlock the stall door, but when you did, you swung it open. Rooster had to back up just to avoid being hit with the metal.

The two of you just stood there, bright light casting shadows onto the old tile floor. Not a word was said as Rooster stared at you.

You were exactly as he remembered, if not better. You had changed your hair since the last time he saw you. He kept the mustache, and his hair was still cut the same. You kept the same style and the same makeup (or lack thereof).

You still looked at him the same… even if it quickly changed into one of anger.

You were still so beautiful.

His voice caught in his throat. He wanted to talk to you, but he couldn’t think of anything to say to you. Nothing he could say would make things better.

He was such an idiot.

You stepped forward, walking to the stark white sink. You grabbed a few paper towels and wet them before carefully wiping the remnants of your tears. You stared at your reflection in the rounded mirror, your lip caught between your teeth as you hiccuped.

"Y/n?" Rooster tentatively began. He raised a hand to touch your shoulder.

You immediately moved away from his touch, glaring in his direction.

His fist clenched beside him as he watched you.

You tossed the paper towels in the trash and pushed past him, quickly leaving the bathroom.

"Y/n," he repeated.

As you walked, he followed.

Your friends stood in their respective corner, knowing they should intervene. Yet they stayed, hoping that somehow, Rooster would fix his fuck up. They couldn’t keep watching the two of you fight some imaginary battle—they couldn’t watch the two of you wish your life away for something that was quite literally at the tips of your fingers.

Phoenix wasn't too sure if he'd be able to fix this. Hangman honestly wanted to hang a man.

You shoved the doors open, walking into the cool California night. It wasn’t like the cold in Virginia. Virginia’s winters were unforgiving—the snow that would fall would chill you to your very core. Virginia winters would put southern California to shame in an instant. At this very moment, you wished you were there, standing in the chilling wind, begging for some kind of relief—at least then, your body would become numb even if your mind was still running a mile a minute.

Nothing could have prepared you for what had transpired. Nothing could have prepared you for seeing the man you fought so hard to forget.

With no car, you continued walking. You'd call a taxi at some point. Right now, you just needed to breathe.

But you had yet to realize Rooster was still following you.

The man grabbed ahold of your wrist, making you stop in the middle of the damn parking lot. Cars and trucks alike littered the parking spots. A few people walked past you as they went into the bar, ignoring the tension that stood in the middle of it all.

You whipped around, jerking your arm away from him with wide eyes. "What's your fucking problem?!"

Rooster paused, body going rigid as he waited for you to continue.

You had never yelled at him, even when he asked for a divorce.

"Why the fuck are you even here? You're not supposed to be here! You have a fucking girlfriend. Get away from me. I don't ever want to see you again."

Tears sprung to your eyes once more. You tilted your head back, wishing they would just stop. The stars stared down at you, mocking you where you stood. The sky was so close, and yet so far away.

God, would this man ever make you stop crying?

"Y/n—"

"—just go away! I don't want you here!"

"Please," he began, "I need to talk to you. I need to apologize."

"Apologize?! Oh, that's rich! Just leave me alone. You did enough damage when you asked for a divorce. Just leave me alone."

"Y/n, please," he continued. "You… please just hear me out."

"I heard you out once, and it was the worst fucking time of my life," you said. "I'm not listening to you ever again."

You turned back around, set on leaving—this time a bit faster. But his words grounded you in your spot, heart leaping to your throat once more.

"It was a mistake!"

You stared at the gravel that crunched underneath your feet. You could feel your pulse rushing through your body, fast and unsteady.

Nothing could have prepared you for that.

"It was a mistake, Y/n," he said, his voice far quieter this time. "I never should have asked for a divorce. I never should have said anything. I should—I should have just—"

"—what, toughed it out? Let me realize you stopped loving me when you started cheating on me or some shit?"

His eyes widened in surprise.

"What? No. No, Y/n… I… I never should have said anything. I never stopped loving you."

What?

You couldn't breathe—your lungs constricted in your chest, your heart beating rapidly against your ribcage. Your body burned as you looked up at the night sky, stars littering the vast ocean of darkness. They still mocked you, but this time, dark clouds rolled in. Perhaps the sky knew just how you felt. The moon cast a soft glow on everything in its path.

Tears blurred your vision once more.

He never stopped loving you.

You let out a sob, turning to face him.

"What?"

"I never stopped loving you," Rooster lamented. "I… still love you."

"Then… then… why?"

"I couldn't do it to you."

"What? Do what?"

"I couldn't die! I couldn't die and leave you a widow. I couldn't end up with the same fate my dad had, leaving you just the same as my mom," he said.

"Well you're not fucking dead, are you?!"

Rooster paused, lips parting to speak.

"You're not dead. You're standing right in front of me, telling me that the reason you fucking divorced me was because you didn't want me to be a widow?! I would have been less upset if you had fucking died!" You took in a deep breath, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “You did not have to do that. You did not have to make me miserable. You did not have to make me feel like the one person who loved me was an entire lie!”

Rooster winced. Your words pierced his soul like a sharp bullet, ricocheting off the crevices of his very soul.

"Fuck off, Bradley Bradshaw," you said, fists clenched at your sides. "I never want to see you again."

"But Y/n—"

"—no! No, I'm over you, you bastard! I don't love you anymore. I haven't in years. You're still in love with me? That's great. Fucking deal with it. You deserve to feel the pain of not knowing. You deserve to lose yourself in everything you thought was yours.”

Bradley Bradshaw had never felt as if he wasn't good enough. When he was faced with adversity, he worked harder. When he felt bad about something, he did more to try and overcome that. He had never felt as if anything he did wasn't good enough. But in this very moment, he stood there, wondering how in the world he could have fucked up so badly.

He wasn't good enough. He wasn't good enough, for you. That much was evident as he watched you once again walk away from him, disappearing into the night.

His eyes fluttered shut and he held back his tears as he stood there, waiting for lightning to strike him where he stood. Surely, it'd be better than having to go back into the Hard Deck after a screaming match like that.

He deserved it.

A hand on his shoulder made him flinch. He opened his eyes, head darting in the person's direction. Hangman watched him for a moment before he patted his back.

"You fucked up, man," he began, averting his gaze. "Now you've gotta fix it."

"But how?"

"For fucks sake, Rooster," he groaned. He ran a hand through his perfect hair, musing it from the stress of his friend. He couldn't believe he'd ever thought Rooster might actually be a pretty smart guy. This dude was dumber than a box of rocks, and this just proved it.

"They still love you, you know," Bob said, arms crossed over his chest. "We heard what they said, but they're just hurt. You really did a number on them."

He glanced over his shoulder. The Dagger Squad stood there, all watching him as he stood there, in the middle of the parking lot.

This… was all his fault.

Those four simple words should have never left his mouth. He should have been spending the last three years with you, not trying to forget you. Because if he were to have died in that time, it would have at least been with you and not with the overwhelming ghost of you haunting his every waking move. He could have at least left you behind knowing you were loved instead of wondering if he ever truly loved you at all.

Time passed slowly in the month it took you to finally calm down from the emotional rollercoaster Rooster had you on. You were back in your apartment, the east coast calling your name (even though the west coast screamed for your return; the sandy beaches and the salty water just weren’t the same, here).

Your heart ached—every romantic thing you saw made you want to cry. It all reminded you of your ex-husband, and now, there was no changing things. In your anger, you had told him you never wanted to see him again—that you didn't love him. You made sure he knew that when you left him standing in the middle of that damned parking lot.

What a lie that was.

But if he could tell lies, why couldn't you? Why couldn't you force him to live with the idea that you didn't love him, just the way he did that to you?

Regret became you.

You wondered if that’s how he felt all this time—regretful.

Did Rooster even have a bone in his body that was capable of feeling anything other than pride?

Maverick would know.

Did he know about all of this? He had been Rooster’s best man at the wedding. Surely, he knew something.

Your arm rested over your eyes, blocking out the sunlight that peaked through your curtains. Saturday mornings never got easier for you. Hell, no morning did. Getting up was a constant chore. You had already gotten ready for the morning, but you slipped right back into bed, not wanting to deal with the idea of being a live, somewhat functioning adult at the moment.

Your phone began to ring, loud and in your ear as you lay in bed, staring at the back of your arm. With a groan, you rolled over and picked it up.

Phoenix was calling you.

You answered after a moment of your fingers hovering over the bright buttons. You didn’t really want to talk to anyone.

"Hello?"

"Y/n? Hey! So, uh, quick thing, and I promise you I didn't know about it until Bagman just said something, but he gave Rooster your address."

Silence enveloped your bedroom as you processed what she had just said.

"What?!" You immediately sat up in your bed, gripping your phone with unforgiving strength. "What the hell!"

"I know," she continued, voice laced with worry—she didn’t know how you were going to take this. "I know, and I'm sorry. But, uh, he said that Rooster is probably gonna show up within the next hour or so. He caught the earliest flight out there."

"Why?"

"Why?" Natasha echoed. "Y/n, why do you think?"

You fell silent. You stared down at the blankets that pooled at your feet.

Day after day, you wondered if Rooster would show up, begging you to take him back. But the sun continued to set, day in and day out, and nothing changed. Nothing ever changed.

"Y/n, I know he's an asshole,” Natasha said. “I know he broke your heart. But… Rooster's been through a lot. He might not have realized how bad of an idea it was until he went through with it. He’s… he’s done nothing but regret it ever since.”

"I know he's been through a lot," you said, voice far quieter than it had been. "I know he has. But… but that's no excuse. We were married. I was his partner. He took that away… he took that all away.”

"There's no excuse for him," Phoenix said. "I’m not making one. You’re… you’re my very best friend. But if he shows up and you don't know what to do, you have two options. Turn him away, or… hear him out. Whatever you do, I’m here one hundred percent of the way.”

You swallowed thickly. Without saying anything else, you hung up the phone, tossing it onto your bed. You buried your face in your hands—it seemed to be the only thing you could do recently that would actually allow you to catch your breath.

And then, your doorbell rang.

That was far less than an hour.

The shrill ding of the bell resounded in your brain. You would have to get that changed to something less annoying.

Getting out of your bed and walking down the hallway was the easy part. It was opening the front door that made you want to die as your hand slowly grabbed onto the knob.

You can just turn him away. It'll be okay, you told yourself. He will leave if you want him to.

With much hesitation, you opened the door.

Rooster stood there, worried he had gotten the wrong door and Hangman had given him some shit directions. But as you appeared in the doorway, relief spread across his features. He was dressed in those same shoes you had given him. He wore a pair of jeans, and he wore one of those stupid Hawaiian shirts that he loved so much.

You still had the pink and yellow one you had stolen before you left him in the top left drawer of your dresser. It still smelled like Rooster… but the laundry detergent you had was the same exact one you had used when you were married to him.

Everything you owned reminded you of him.

"Y/n?"

"Bradley."

His eyebrows furrowed as he watched you. He nervously wrung his hands together as his eyes looked anywhere but you. This wasn’t that confident, macho man you knew. This wasn’t Rooster.

This was Bradley Bradshaw, in the flesh.

His heart was on the line, and he could only hope that the universe would grant him one last wish—let you believe him. Let you understand him.

He would understand if you turned him away. He would leave, and he would never bother you again. But he hoped that you’d accept him for who he is—for everything he has been.

Again.

Even though it took him so long to realize his mistake. Even though he made so many mistakes just to find himself trying to take it all back.

Rooster never thought he was perfect, but hell. The universe really didn’t give him the benefit of the doubt, did it?

"Listen, I know you said you didn't want to see me," he began. "But I can't… I can't keep doing this."

You stayed silent.

Bradley was a lot of things. Stupid, funny, a great, flaming ball of firey anxiety. And still, the love of your life, even now.

Nothing would ever stop that from happening, even if he shoved his hand in your chest, pulled out your heart, and crushed it right in front of you.

Even now, after all this time, you knew you loved him.

He took your silence as an invitation to continue.

"I love you," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I never stopped. I just… fucked up. God, Y/n, I fucked up so bad. I never should have asked you for a divorce. I never should have said any of that shit. I thought I was protecting you. But the only thing I ended up doing was hurting you more, and I never wanted that to happen.

"I love you, so much, Y/n. I never stopped. I… you are the love of my life. But… but even if I loved you, it wouldn't stop life from standing in the way. My dad died. He left my mom all alone. I couldn't do that to you. I couldn't bear the thought of you suffering, all alone, wondering what the hell you could have done to make things different. I couldn't let you have the same fate as my mom."

You stared at him, hands gripping the door.

"Why didn't you just talk to me?"

"I… I know I should have."

"So why didn't you?"

"I had already made up my mind…"

And once Bradley Bradshaw made up his mind, that was that. Most of the time, anyway.

Silence enveloped the two of you once more. Birds chirped in the background, cars honking in the backed-up traffic on the interstate not too far from your home. Life was still going on, just like it always would. Life would continue to find a way, even if someone left it behind—even if someone felt as if their world was crashing to an end.

Three years ago, if Bradley Bradshaw had shown up at your door, telling you he had made a mistake, you would have believed him. But watching him as he stood at your door this very moment, you weren't sure. You had every right to slam the door in his face, burning the image of his scared self in the back of your mind. But as you stood here, hands dangling down by your thighs, you knew you couldn't.

Were you stupid for what you were about to do?

Maybe.

But so was Bradley.

"I've started seeing a therapist," Bradley spoke, breaking the silence. "He said it would be good for me to at least… try to tell you why."

"Why you left me?"

He gave a small nod. "Yes. And… he made me realize it never should have happened. It was my fault. It was never yours."

You rubbed your eyes out of frustration, unable to stop yourself from sniffling. A groan escaped you, and he frowned in response.

"Y/n, I… words can't even begin to describe how sorry I am. I can't take back what I said. I can't change the fact that I asked you for a divorce because I was terrified of dying and leaving you alone. But… but I can do this," he said, licking his lips as he watched you.

You tilted your head in confusion, not sure where he was going with this.

Time moved slowly—just as slowly as it had when your world came to a startling halt.

He suddenly held out his hand, locking eyes with you once more. Dark brown eyes peered into yours; those same brown eyes you used to watch until you fell asleep in his arms. Those same brown eyes you stared into when you first said, “I do.” Those same brown eyes you looked into when he asked you for a divorce.

"Hi," the man said, a small smile appearing on his mustache-clad lips. "I'm Bradley. Bradley Bradshaw."

Your eyes widened, your heart leaping to your chest once more, but not because you were scared to face him. But because you couldn't believe this was really happening.

He… was starting over.

You were starting over.

Hesitantly, you took his hand, firmly grasping it before you shook it.

"It's so nice to meet you, Bradley Bradshaw," you said. Your eyes were still red from your tears, but you began to smile, pushing down the pain and regret of the last three years. It wasn’t worth it. The utter buffoon standing in front of you was worth it. "I'm Y/n Bradshaw," you continued with a grin. "Quite a coincidence, huh?"

Bradley just smiled, tilting his head to the side. You had never changed your name. In fact, you stayed the same, despite the icy shield around your heart. Not that he could blame you.

You were his Y/n. The love of his life—the reason he continued on, and the reason he believed in love, despite the fear that sucked the rational thinking out of him.

Because even when death knocked at his door, he knew you would be there. You would be there, just like his mom was for his dad.

Nothing could change that.

Not the divorce, not his lie that lasted for years. Not the untimely “confession” that left the two of you reeling for each other.

Nothing could change how he felt for you.

And with one instant, you knew your world was mending itself. You'd have problems—that you were sure. You’d have to work on communication; on both sides. But as you moved out of the way for Rooster to come in, you knew it would be worth it.

Love, no matter how much it hurt, was worth it.

Good enough or not.

"Why don't you come in, Mr. Bradshaw? I think we have a lot to catch up on."

He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek, taking ahold of your hand.

"Only if you'll have me."

"Of course, I will."

This was a start. A new start.

A good start.

You were both starting over. And although you wouldn’t ever say it out loud, a part of you was starting to realize that you may have always been good enough—sometimes, fear was stronger than anyone’s resolve. Fear could make even the bravest people pause; it could cause stupid decisions and brash opinions that change everything a person knows. Minds were a powerful tool that could hurt everyone in its path.

You lived it.

You were still living it.

But like any great thing, sometimes starting over is the best way to go. Sometimes, opening your heart back up is the only thing you can do to move on.

Those same brown eyes you fell in love with peered down at yours, and for once in the past three years, you finally felt at peace. You were good enough. You always had been.

And Bradley Bradshaw was a good man. A great man, even. But even great men can fall short. Even great men can make mistakes. It takes an even greater person to face those mistakes head-on, and an equally great person to forgive and continue on loving, even if they never stopped, to begin with.

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lovelybucky1 · 2 years

Text

Kinktober Day 26- Exhibitionism

warnings: gender neutral!reader, accidental voyeurism, exhibitionism, caught, fwb!hangman, best friend!rooster, teasing, 18+ minors dni

kinktober masterlist

main masterlist

You were expecting Jake to stop after Rooster barged into your apartment without knocking. You usually tell Rooster to come in whenever he wants because you two are close friends, but you also don’t usually fuck his rival in your living room, right in front of the door.

You heard the door unlock and your head whipped over, immediately making eye contact with Rooster once the door was open far enough for him to see inside.

You gasped and your mind was scrambling for ways to explain, but Jake didn’t seem to feel the same embarrassment. He continued to thrust up, hitting deep inside you with every stroke just as he had been before you were interrupted.

“Jake-” You gasped, trying to get his attention.

You looked over to him and he seemed well aware of Bradley’s presence, but he didn’t seem to care that he was caught in the act. Typical Jake, always looking for a reason to show off.

“In or out, Bradshaw,” Jake said, nodding his head towards the door that was wide open behind him.

As if on autopilot, Bradley stepped inside and shut the door, all without taking his eyes off of you. His mouth hung open in shock, but he hadn’t yet said a word.

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you to knock?” Jake asked mildly, pace still unwavering.

“I, uh…”

“It’s alright, Bradshaw, you can watch. I’m not selfish enough to keep them entirely to myself,” Jake smirked, but he said it while looking into your eyes. “You want him to watch, too?”

You hesitated for a moment, but you eventually nodded while biting your lip. You’d always liked Bradley, but you would never do anything to jeopardize your friendship. This wasn’t really the same thing, right?

“You heard them,” Jake said. “Sit down and keep your hands where I can see them.”

Apparently Bradley is good at following orders, because he sat down on the arm chair facing the couch, and put his arms on the armrests.

“You wanna put on a show for him, baby?” Jake asked, a smirk on his lips and a wicked gleam in his eye.

You wanted to say know, you knew you should have. This could put your whole friendship at risk, but Bradley obviously wanted to watch, and you couldn’t deny the butterflies that fluttered in your stomach at the thought of Bradley getting off to watching Jake fuck you.

“Yes,” you said breathily.

With a grin, Jake pulled you off of his cock and turned you around so you were facing the chair. Your entire body was exposed, and you moved your hands to cover as much of yourself as possible.

"No, sweetheart, let him see," Jake said, grabbing your wrists and moving them down to your sides. "How do they look, Rooster?"

"Better than I ever could've imagined," Rooster breathed.

His voice was gravelly and rough, and it made your skin burn with pleasure. You never thought you'd be in this situation, but you're thankful you were.

Jake fucked into you again, his hips thrusting up and smacking against your thighs and ass, filling the air with slapping sounds. His hands gripped tightly on your hips, keeping you in the position he wanted: spread open for Rooster to admire.

“Is he hard for you, sweetie?” Jake whispered in your ear.

Your eyes trailed down Rooster’s body until they find the impressive bulge in his denim shorts. Your mouth watered at the thought of tasting him, of being allowed to touch him in any way.

“Yes,” you said.

“Yes, what?” Jake responded, just to torture you.

“Yes, he’s hard for me.”

Jake hummed, low and satisfied in your ear. “Too bad he can only look.”

if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging. engagement had been down recently due to tumblr’s new censorship of fanfiction that includes smut, and i want to be able to share my work with as many people as possible. if you want to be tagged in future fics, fill out the form for my taglist found on my pinned post. thank you for reading <3

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aestheticpearl · 1 year

Text

— 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬

[𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫] bradley bradshaw

we broke up

you stare at the text from bradley for a solid minute before realizing that you have to respond.

oh no i’m so sorry :(

you are anything but sorry, his ex girlfriend was a complete bitch and didn’t even try to hide it. you’re still very unsure of what he saw in her.

can you come over?

of course, On my way!

ew auto correct omw*

you quickly get out of bed and scrabble to grab your sweatshirt and keys before practically tumbling out the door to get to your car. you definitely went over the speed limit considering you got there in twelve minutes and it’s a twenty minute drive.

you unlock the door with the key he gave you and open it to find him sitting on the stairs waiting for you. his eyes are red and puffy, he’s clearly been crying over this.

“hey” you join him on the stairs and wrap an arm around him. “what happened?”

“she cheated”

“bitch, you were too good for her anyway”

“if i was too good, why did she still cheat?” he sniffles. you hate seeing him so upset like this, especially over someone who isn’t worth it.

“cause she’s insecure, she wanted to cheat cause she was scared you’d realize how much better than her you are and then you’d leave her”

bradley stays silent and nods before leaning into you.

“hey i know what’ll make you feel better” he looks up at you questionably. “the beach, but more importantly the ride to the beach.” you stand and hold out your hand to help him up.

“come on rooster, let’s clear your head”

he looks at you then your hand and then you again before responding.

“i hate when you call me that” he says taking your hand. you practically squeal and pull him outside to your car.

drives like these are the only reason you own a convertible. nothing beats the san diego breeze late at night, it’s warm but not ridiculously hot and it feels so nice to get fresh air. you glance over at bradley who seems to enjoy feeling the wind blowing through his hair.

“feeling better yet?”

“a little” you lean over and nudge him lightly. “hey what was the for?”

“she didn’t deserve you, i’m sorry she cheated” he face softens

“thanks—”

“she was also a huge bitch and i’m glad she’s gone, hope nothing bad happens to that expensive car of hers”

“no need to worry cause nothing will happen, right?”

“can’t make any promises big boy”

bradley shakes his head and you pull into the empty beach parking lot.

“what did you even see in her?” you finally ask.

“believe it or not in the beginning she wasn’t a huge bitch. she actually reminded me a lot of you, before the bitch part”

you’re stunned with how easily he just admitted to liking you.

“you confessing bradley?” you ask was a shit eating grin.

“and if i am?”

you think for a moment.

“if you are confessing, i will let you kiss me” you say getting out of the car. “if you can catch me before i reach the water”

“oh you’re on—” you sprint off before he can finish. “no fair!” he shouts after you.

“come on rooster! you’re a naval aviator, i need a head start!”

the wind carries the scent of the salt water in the air which would be comforting if your weren’t being chased by bradley.

the sand is soft and hard to run in, but as you grow closer to the shoreline it becomes easier. that is until bradley grabs your waist and finally catches you.

“i got you now you have to give me a kiss” he laughs as you wiggle in his strong grip and he turns you to face him. “play fair and pay up or you’re going in the water”

you turn your face away from him playfully.

“suit yourself” he says before picking you up easily and carrying you into the water.

“ah! bradley okay okay! my pants are getting wet and not in the good way!” he ignores your pleads as he falls back into the water, drenching you both.

you can’t help but laugh when you break through the surface.

“what happened to kicked puppy bradley i found on the stairs huh?”

“he realized that you liked him” you smile and kiss him. “if getting cheated on means you finally get with your best friend that you’ve been pining over for years, maybe i should’ve gotten cheated on sooner”

you laugh and shake your head before pulling in to kiss him again.

please reblog to show support ✧·˚ ༘ * ༄

i am so sorry the midnights series is taking so long so here is something to hold you over

.love always <3 pearl

.masterlist

#top gun maverick #top gun #top gun imagine #top gun fic #top gun fanfiction #top gun x reader #rooster top gun #top gun one shot #top gun bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw fluff #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw imagine #top gun bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x gn!reader

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beachbabey · 1 year

Note

teasing Bradley until he’s crying 😈

i really do need to write more for Bradley, it's those chocolate button eyes, they have me weak🥺🥺🥺 (gn!reader)

he’s lying flat on the mattress, the tip of his cock is a dark, cherry shade of red. and he can't help but cry out when you stop the motions of your hand as the telltale signs of him getting close appear, his breathing gets choppier, his eyes get droopier and he can't keep that fucking tongue of his in his mouth.

a small giggle leaves your mouth when he yelps out of frustration, a hearty grumble through gritted teeth, trying to control his breathing, clenching his stomach as hard as he can. Bradley begs until his voice cracks. you deny him a further five more times before the tears start.

"you look so pretty like this bubba, look like a bitch in heat"

"yeah?" he asks with his eyebrows raised, that spark of defiance that got him in this situation in the first place returning again "you gonna take advantage of me like this then?" the cocky tone instantly bleeding into desperation as your hand returned to his cock, quick twists and pulses driving him to the edge again before removing your hand once more

"oh absolutely" you croon, leaning in to brush your lips over the shell of his ear, taking his earlobe into your mouth "just a couple more rounds and then you can cum until morning darling"

#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw smut #rooster smut #bradley bradshaw x gn!reader

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carters-things · 2 years

Text

Saturday Sunrise

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x GN!Reader

Summary: You accompany Bradley to the beach for weekly dog-fight football.

Tags: Just a self indulgent fluffy fic! No gendered pronouns or bodily descriptions used for reader, minimal pet names "Honey" and "My love" each used only once.

Masterlist

*Not Rooster in the gif I know, lets not talk about it...*

Every weekend Bradley and the rest of his crew mates meet at the beach to play dog-fight football at sunrise. Somehow, they were able to convince Admiral Simpson to accept it as one of their required FTX. In all honesty, he was probably just happy to have the break and get that wild bunch off base and out of earshot. Watching all of them break away from the stress of work for a short time was a sight so very rare, there is no way you would miss it. So every Saturday morning you got up with Bradley to accompany him down to the waterfront.

You have grown close with the rest of the squad, which there really wasn’t any other option with how much time you spent with them all. They have even given you your own honorary call sign, “Bounty”. You never once felt out of place with them, or like an outsider being “just a civilian”. Luckily since you were dating Bradley, you didn’t have to look for an excuse to spend more time with everyone.

“There they are!” Phoenix called out to you and Rooster as you both stepped into the sand. Hand in hand you made your way down to the empty chair that waited for you every week. Facing the ocean, and front row to the show.

“It’s about time! Someone hit the snooze button today?” Hondo teased. Bradley already had his shoes kicked off and was hastily pulling his shirt over the back of his head. He threw it down in the sand, kissed your cheek, and took off running towards the group. Your eyes took in the wonderful sight of your shirtless boyfriend. His back toned and defined, the sun glimmering off the slightest bit of sweat already forming on him. You laughed and shook your head at the act of Bradley tackling Coyote to the ground upon reaching him.

There were a few exchanged smiles and high-fives as everyone split into teams. You pulled out a book, but in reality knew you would end up watching the game more than reading the book. The first whistle blew and all members took off running and shoving each other, even Bob getting in the middle of it.

As the first few rounds went by of dog-fight, Bradley's team won every round. Continuous, exasperated groans came from Phoenix and the rest of her team, as their sportsmanship began to get lost as the games dragged on.

“Bounty!” She called out, snapping you from your boyfriend ogling, daze. “We need backup! Come join!”

Bradley flashed Phoenix a look, one you couldn’t quite decipher, but you know it wasn’t one of approval. The chance to challenge that look however, piqued your interest. You tossed aside the book you had never even opened, and jogged up to the crew. You bumped fists with a couple of the guys, and phoenix flung her arm around your shoulder. Bradley’s hands had found his lower hips, as he shook his head, the slightest joking scoff coming from his chest.

“You’re a traitor, you know that?” He joked. You laughed at him as both teams took the lineup, Bradley standing face to face with you. “You’re really gonna make me do this? I can’t rough up my love.”

“I can handle it.” You smirked at him, crossing your arms in front of you. He shook his head at your weak attempt at intimidating him. “Come on, Rooster… Don't tell me you're actually a chicken?”

A collective “ohhhhhhh” roared from the rest of the crew, even a whistle came from Hondo. A smirk spread across Rooster’s face as he bent down, hands mixing with the sand. He dropped his chin just enough to flash his big brown eyes at you over the rim of his aviators. You bent down matching his pose and winked, a smug grin forming on your lips.

“Alright then…” Bradley pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose into place, and dug his foot into position in the sand. “Bring it, Bounty.”

Hondo blew the whistle and both balls snapped. Yells of directions and names were thrown all around you as you lunged after Bradley. He easily maneuvered out of your way, your own momentum almost throwing you to the ground. You stumbled around and caught your balance as Hondo blew the whistle again. Another point for the opposing team. You all realigned, this time choosing your place in the back line. Every round getting blocked by Bradley, and losing another point.

You were determined to beat him and his cocky attitude. This time when the whistle blew and the balls snapped yet again, you took off around the left, and ducked behind Hangman. Payback was too busy trying to take him down he didn’t notice you slip by. Just as you were crossing into the endzone to open up for the pass, Bradley came running up behind you. Subtly he scooped up a small handful of sand in one palm, and his free arm snaked around your waist. He pinned your back to his chest, inciting a startled yelp from you, and smeared the sand all over your cheek. You bent over to escape his grip, but before you could get away both of his arms met around your waist and spun you into the air. “Nice try, Honey!” He teased, before finally putting your wiggling and giggling body down. He kept his hand wrapped around you, and kissed the side of your neck that wasn’t covered in sand, with a few quick gentle kisses.

“Hey! That’s definitely cheating!” Phoenix called out.

“It’s dog-fight! Anything goes!” Rooster yelled back, throwing his arms in the air. You dropped your head and laughed, trying your best to wash the sand off your sweaty face. As you made your way back to your team, you couldn’t help but stop and take in the amazing view of the ocean. The sun was starting to peak over the clouds, the sky filling with a bright pink hue that reflected off the peaks of the waves.

“Bounty! You coming or what?” Hangman shouted, your attention turning back to the huddle.

“Geez! Someone is in a rush to lose again!” You chirped back at him as you jogged into the lineup. This crew has given you more than just friends, but a family, and Saturday sunrise will always be your favorite part of the week.

Flight Crew!

@someplace-darker

@nelleicrain

@murrdxcks

@sobachka-korol

#bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster x you #rooster x reader #rooster x gn!reader #bradley bradshaw x gn!reader #rooster top gun #top gun: maverick #top gun 2 #top gun maverick #top gun #rooster bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw fluff #rooster fluff #carteranne #bounty bradshaw

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multimuseficreblogs · 11 months

Text

𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐠𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ❅ all gn reader ❅ gn reader smut ❅ gn reader fluff ❅ gn reader angst

𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ❅ all male reader ❅ male reader smut ❅ male reader fluff ❅ male reader angst

𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘

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𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐂. 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐌𝐒

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𝙶𝙽 + 𝙼𝙰𝙻𝙴 𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙳𝙴𝚁 𝙽𝙰𝚅𝙸𝙶𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽

· pedro pascal & oscar isaac characters · marvel · misc. fandoms

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chaostheoryy · 1 year

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In My Darkest Hour [Bradley Bradshaw X GN!Reader]

Summary: Despite his positive attitude and immeasurable confidence as a pilot, Bradley Bradshaw is prone to nightmares about his rocky past and dangerous lifestyle. Fortunately for him, you’re always there to make sure he crawls his way out of the dark.

Rating: Teen+

Warnings: Nightmare imagery including mentions of blood, death, and canon-typical violence (i.e.: dogfights, fist fights, etc.)

Word Count: 3.4K

A/N: It took me a thousand years to write this for some reason (probably because work has been very, very busy) but hey, it’s finally finished. Enjoy the angst. And, as always, no beta reader. I choose a warrior’s death.

He’s alone.

So alone.

Surrounded by darkness, there’s nothing to orient himself. Not a sound or a smell or even a feeling to guide him. Up is down. Left is right. Right is wrong.

And suddenly, from somewhere in the darkness, he hears crying. Soft, muffled whimpers start to echo in this seemingly endless space and coax him into exploring the void before him. He can’t figure out where the sound is even coming from but he is determined to find its source nonetheless.

Two steps become three. Three steps become twelve. Twelve become too many to count so he just stops keeping track. It feels like he’s been walking for an eternity and yet, at the same time, it’s as if he just took the first step.

The crying is getting louder now. It sounds like he’s getting closer. There’s a clearer quality to the sound, less reverberation.

It’s a woman, he realizes. Somewhere in the expanse of this shadow world, there’s a woman crying. Even though it sounds as if she is close-by, her sobs are quiet. It feels private, as if she doesn’t want anyone to hear.

As if she doesn’t want him to hear.

One blink of the eye and now there’s something aglow. A streak of warm light that breaks through the darkness and gives him the first inkling of hope that this strange eternal gloom is not all that remains of the world he thought he knew. There’s something out there. Something that will change the course of this journey.

The closer he gets to the light source, the heavier the darkness feels. It weighs on him in a way he doesn’t understand. It feels like dread.

He doesn’t know how it’s possible for him to know, but something is wrong. The woman that’s crying shouldn’t be in this kind of agony. It’s not like her. She’s supposed to be laughing and singing and making him smile like the sunrise.

Why does he know this? Why does he know her? He can’t even see the face of the woman who sheds these unseen tears. Everything about her is a mystery and yet he feels it deep in his gut that he knows her. It’s engrained in him. It’s in his blood, in the very fabric of his DNA. He’s returning to her the same way that salmon feel the pull to fight their way upstream. Or the way that birds know to fly south in the winter. He doesn’t think about it. He just follows the instinct that encourages every creature to find comfort in the safety of their home.

Home.

He’s going home.

The laws of nature are not at play in this mystery realm because now, without moving any faster or looking any harder, he is pushing some unseen force to enter the sliver of light before him.

A door opens and he steps through to find himself standing in the dim light of a bedroom, one that he swears he has seen before. It’s so familiar. He’s been in this room so many times and still he can’t remember a single moment where he’s occupied the space.

The crying is so painfully clear now. It’s no longer distorted by closed doors or vast, empty space. The sound is in this room. The woman whose suffering has brought him to this sacred unknown bedroom is somewhere in here with him.

“Oh, honey, what’re you doin’ up?”

He turns and finds himself looking at the tear stained face of his mother.

Her eyes are red and the messy blonde hair atop her head is even more unkempt than usual. Never before has he seen her like this. Carole Bradshaw doesn’t just break down in tears, even when she’s struggling through a brutal low. It takes an entire army to break through the barricade of her exuberance.

“Mommy?”

His voice is so much higher than it should be. It sounds shrill. Innocent. It sounds like…A kid.

No longer is he the sturdy, mustached pilot he stares at in the mirror every morning. He’s that goofy little blonde boy with the chubby cheeks and crooked teeth that he’s seen in old family photos. The kid that wanted nothing more than to fly jets and touch the clouds just like daddy and Uncle Mav.

“Why are you crying?” He asks as he crosses the room to where she’s slumped on the floor beside the bed.

She tries so hard not to break. Her lips quiver as she forces a smile but it doesn’t last more than a second. A soft whimper seeps from her lips in place of the violent sobs her body wants so desperately to expel.

“C’mere, baby,” she whispers. “Give mama a hug.”

He does as she asks and sinks into her open arms. The soothing heat of her body envelopes him like a cocoon that he never wants to leave.

He’s missed this so much. The safety of her embrace. The warmth of her love. No matter how much time has passed and no matter how hard he tries to forget the pain of his childhood, he will never let himself forget this.

A jingling sound rings in his ear, drawing his attention to the hand holding him at his stomach. There’s something metal wrapped around her fingers. He’s seen that silver chain before.

Like any curious child would, he reaches down and grabs it. One little tug and he can see there’s something hanging from it. It’s made from the same material as the chain itself and has tiny indentations scattered across its surface. A closer look and he can see those indentations form letters.

At the time this memory happened, he’d been far too young to understand what it all meant. He didn’t know that the tears in his mothers eyes were the tears of a woman in mourning. He didn’t know that the metal necklace in her grasp was a dogtag that bore the name of his father. And he most certainly didn’t know that Nick Bradshaw, beloved husband and father, was dead.

But he knows now.

He knows it all too well.

The dogtag in his palm is immeasurably heavy. Far heavier than a piece of sheet metal should ever be. And it stings like the singe of hell fire against his skin. Surrounded once again by the darkness of the netherworld he first found himself in, the tag is the only thing he sees. He reads the engraving over and over again:

BRADSHAW, NICK

“GOOSE”

U.S. NAVY

There’s an unbearable burning sensation in his eyes as tears threaten to break free of their organic reservoir. He doesn’t want to cry. Not anymore. He’s spent too many hours crying over the death a man he has so few memories of.

But the pain is too much. Even after all these years and all of the new memories he’s made to fill the gaps where his father should have been, he still suffers. It’s an agony he can’t describe, one that leaves him cold and shaking, even on the hottest days of the cruelest summers.

And still he refuses to cry.

So he drops to his knees and settles for a scream.

“Rooster! Evade! Evade!”

With a gasp, he suddenly finds himself back in the cockpit of his F-18. There are tears in his eyes still but they’re no longer a product of his mourning. These are tears of unadulterated fear. The kind of fear a man feels when he’s on the brink of death.

He can’t breathe. His heart is beating so violently in his chest that it feels like it’s going to burst right through his sternum. Alarms are going off all around him and Maverick is shouting at him through the comms with a desperation that makes it impossible to even process the words coming out of his own mouth.

“I can’t shake ‘em! They’re on me, they’re on me!”

Fingers wrapped tight around the joystick between his knees, he tries his hardest to avoid the incoming missile. The F-18 may be fast and agile, but the enemy missile that has locked onto his tail is even quicker. There’s only so much a pilot can do to try and outmaneuver one and he’s exhausted every last attempt.

The mission may have been a success, but he now he’s going to pay the ultimate price.

Just as he prepares for the impending missile strike, a shadow soars overhead and he looks up to find Maverick’s jet coasting backward above his cockpit. Flares shootout like big red fireflies and intercept his deadly pursuer. An explosion rocks the sleek metal frame of his plane. He comes out unharmed.

But there’s more smoke in the air.

A second missile strikes the tail end of Maverick’s F-18 and sends him careening toward the snow-covered earth in a flurry of flame and black fumes.

“Mav, no!”

Instinct and years of training drives his body to maintain the course but not a single thought in his head is telling him to return to safety. Even when he sees the wreck of Maverick’s jet crash into the rocks and hears his teammates begging him to let go, the desire to survive the dogfight is not enough to allow his mind to accept the loss.

He can’t do this. He can’t lose the only family he has left.

Please, he thinks as he prepares to turn back, Don’t do this to me. Losing my parents was enough. Don’t make me lose you too.

In a series of snapshots, images of his life’s most painful memories—both real and fantasized—start flashing before his eyes.

His mother crying on the bedroom floor. Blood soaked dogtags in the palm of a child’s hand. Green smoke tainting the sea as two pilots—one alive, one dead—float helplessly in the water. A gravestone with his father’s name etched into the marble. Maverick’s bomber jacket draped over the dining chair where Nick Bradshaw once sat. His mother’s hand on Maverick’s shoulder while he stares with bloodshot eyes at a photo of the best friend he can no longer take to the skies in his back seat.

Rejection. A room full of future aviators celebrating their acceptance into the Academy while he sits in the corner and wonders why he isn’t among them. Shouting. Arguing. A fight that separates him and Maverick for years. His fist striking the infamous Captain in the jaw while Maverick just stands there and takes it. A hand reaching for his shoulder in an attempt to make amends only to be shoved away before it can even make contact. Hazel eyes that are normally so bright and full of optimism, now soiled by guilt and brimming with tears. An old red and black Kawasaki driving off while he stands there suffocating in a cloud of his own rage.

Coffin’s corner. The blinding fear that overtakes him as he narrowly clears the peak of a snowcapped mountain. Alarms blaring in his ears. Missiles flying through the air towards him like white, metal cobras ready to strike. His fist slamming the flare button. The countermeasure release mechanism firing nothing but air. A moment of panic. A shadow falling across his cockpit. Maverick’s F-18 soaring overhead to take his place and embrace the SAM’s wrath. Fire and smoke and the unmistakable sight of a broken jet falling to the earth. The bright flash that comes with an explosion fueled by circuitry and petroleum. The visor of Maverick’s red, white, and blue striped helmet blood stained and broken atop a blanket of snow.

Three graves standing in line amongst the fading cemetery grass. Nick and Carole Bradshaw are beside each other just as they should be. But on the other side of his father’s headstone, a freshly laden patch of lawn covers the plot of a newcomer. Black lettering carved neatly into the marble reads:

IN MEMORY OF

PETE “MAVERICK” MITCHELL

CPT

U.S. NAVY

JUL 3 1962

MAR 27 2022

Kneeling down, he places Maverick’s now polished helmet in the grass beside an array of flowers and folded letters. There’s a picture of him there too. Its edges are worn and the color has faded but he can clearly see the face of the man within its white borders: an overbearingly hopeful, young Pete Mitchell flashing him one of those big, charming grins.

He touches the photo gently with the tip of his finger, wishing he could feel the warmth of his skin or the crushing weight of his embrace. But all he feels is the gloss of photo paper.

So instead, he places a hand over the smooth crest of the headstone and presses his forehead to the marble just above Maverick’s name—the only remnant of the man who gave his life to prevent Bradley Bradshaw from taking his place in the grave beside his parents.

***

A violent shout startles you awake.

Despite the initial jolt, the groggy haze of your exhaustion keeps you still. But the sudden realization that the bed is moving pulls you right out of your sleepy stupor. Something’s wrong.

Propping yourself up on your elbows, you finally see the cause of the commotion. Bradley is thrashing in his sleep, fighting off a nightmare that has left his face covered in a mixture of sweat and tears. He’s gasping and groaning, his brow furrowed so deep that it’s threatening to give him an eternal headache.

With his military history and childhood trauma, nightmares aren’t anything new around here. Most of the time, he jerks awake in a cold sweat and wanders to the kitchen to grab water or decompress in the living room by watching a comfort movie. Then, when he feels confident that the wave of bad dreams has passed, he crawls right back in bed beside you.

But something about this nightmare seems particularly terrifying. The way he’s clutching at the sheets and grinding his teeth as he jerks his head tells you that he’s not going to get out of this on his own anytime soon. He needs help.

He needs you.

“Bradley,” you murmur quietly as you reach out to place a comforting hand over the curve of his shoulder.

But the gentle touch is not enough. Whatever lurid imagery is plaguing him seems to worsen as the fearful jerks fade into heart-wrenching sobs.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles breathlessly between the cacophony of whimpers, “I’m so sorry…”

Okay. That’s enough. You need to get him out of this now.

You lean over and cup your hands over his cheeks, holding his head as if it were the most delicate jewel ever unearthed.

“Bradley, wake up, baby.”

You can see his eyes lurching from side to side beneath the cover of his eyelids—a surefire indicator that he’s still lost in the current of REM.

Dammit.

“C’mon, babe, you gotta wake up,” you say sternly.

He doesn’t.

The time for gentle persuasion is over. Sliding one hand behind his head to raise it up off of the pillow, you start patting his cheek with the other.

“That’s enough, baby. Get up. Bradley. Bradley!”

The final shout of his name is just loud enough to break through the veil of sleep. He stops shaking beneath you, eyes slowly fluttering as he starts to regain consciousness. Then, as if he’s been stabbed directly in the chest, he gasps and jolts upright.

You sit back and watch in a state of utter confusion as he fights to catch his breath. He’s murmuring to himself, more tears brimming in his eyes as he buries both hands in his hair.

He whispers to himself. “I killed him. It’s all my fault…I shouldn’t have let him…It should be me, not him.”

Like a tamer approaching a dangerous and jumpy wild animal, you reach out slowly and touch his shoulder again. He twitches at the sudden contact but immediately settles when he looks over to see you next to him.

“It’s okay, baby. I’m here.”

The hand at his shoulder slides over to rub his back in soothing circles. Even through the layer of cotton that separates your palm from his skin, you can feel the tension in his muscles. His breathing is still labored.

“Please tell me it’s not real,” he finally murmurs when his heart rate starts to calm down. “Tell me he’s still alive.”

“Who?”

“Maverick.”

His voice cracks when he says the name. It’s a name you’ve heard a million times in a million different contexts. Pete “Maverick” Mitchell: the man who saved Bradley’s life. The same Pete Mitchell who flew with his father when he was young and helped raise Bradley after the tragic training accident that killed Nick Bradshaw. And Pete Mitchell, despite his recklessness and passion for dangerous aviation techniques, is still very much alive.

You nod and brush the loose hairs from his sweaty forehead. “Of course Maverick’s alive. Why wouldn’t he be?”

Relief washes over him like a tsunami. A shaky breath escapes his throat and the muscles in his shoulders finally start to loosen. But the tears pricking at the corner of his eyes don’t cease.

You know it’s risky to ask, but the question comes out anyway. “What happened in your dream, baby?”

“I…” He hesitates, his focus on you immediately fading as he starts to replay the images in his head. “I saw my mom. On the night she…The night I found out about dad’s accident. She was holding his dogtag. And when I grabbed it, I saw that it was…stained with his blood.”

The tears welled in his eyes start to make their escape, sliding down his cheek toward the corners of his mouth.

“I saw dad’s grave. And I saw the fight I had with Mav after he pulled my papers. I shouldn’t have hit him but I did. I was stupid and angry so I punched him. I said the most fucked up things to him and treated him like dogshit the entire time we trained for the mission and he still…”

He clenches his fist. You can tell he wants to hit something so badly, to let his emotions out in the same way so many other young men do. But he abstains, settling instead to cross his legs and hug his knees. It makes him seem so small. So…helpless. Never in your relationship have you wanted to hold him more than you do right now.

“In my dream he didn’t make it. Maverick. He took the hit in his F-18 but he didn’t survive. After all the crap I gave him, after spending years of my life hating him…He still didn’t hesitate for a single goddamn second to give up his life for me. And I know what I saw wasn’t real but I just—“

His lip quivers as he bites back a sob.

“I didn’t deserve it.”

Your heart shatters right alongside his composure. All the sorrow and guilt that has been slowly eating away at him finally breaks free from its containment to feast like wolves. Pressing his forehead to his knees, he cries harder than you’ve ever seen him cry before.

Instinct and love pushes you forward. Wrapping your arms around him, you pull his head to your chest. He may be the hero risking his life to protect his country but it’s not the country that protects him in return. It’s you. You are the one who’s here to protect him. And the way he instantly melts against your torso tells you that he knows fully well that’s true.

With his face buried in the crook of your neck, you stroke his hair and whisper sweet nothings to settle his frazzled mind. You murmur affirmations of adoration and support against his brow, telling him just how much he not only means to you but to Maverick as well. No matter what his brain has tried to get him to believe, you reassure him that the people he loves most see nothing but the best in him. Bradley Bradshaw is, and will always be, worth saving.

After several minutes of soothing whispers and caresses, his sobs fade away. The labored breathing that had left your collarbone hot to the touch is finally easing to gentle exhales. The weight of his body pressed to your chest is even heavier now—not because he’s actively digging deeper into your embrace, but because he’s actually relaxing. This is the weight of relief. The weight of love and trust.

“Thank you,” he murmurs as he presses a lazy, tender kiss to your jaw.

Smiling softly, you place a gentle hand on his cheek and tilt your head just enough to steal a kiss with your lips. “Of course…Whenever you need me, I’ll be here. I promise.”

#Ngl this nightmare sequence is one of the coolest things I've written in a while #I would pay money to see a short film of it #I do love to make grown men cry #RIP Bradley's mental health though #Bradley Bradshaw X Reader #Bradley Bradshaw X GN!Reader #Rooster Bradshaw X Reader #Top Gun: Maverick #Top Gun Fanfiction #Reader Insert #My Fic #GN!Reader #Top Gun Reader Insert #Miles Teller X Reader

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moonbeamoclock · 5 months

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Hot take that shouldn’t be a hot take:

my biggest pet peeve is when people tag something as a x reader but it’s actually an oc…..i got to the last chapter of a fic only for the description of the ‘reader’ to be of a white person.

then the author got nasty with me after i called her out about it but that’s whatever

it takes an extra 2 mins to have a generic description of a person rather then give the details of their appearance but some of y’all are just too lazy to do even that

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jaidens · 8 months

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all you have to do is call my name, and I'll be there on the next train

pairing [s] : bradley bradshaw x reader

warning [s] : nothing

a/n [s] : for the sweetest @daltopia 🫶

When you woke up with a pounding headache and couldn't breathe out of your nose, you immediately recognized you were sick. Your head felt foggy and you could barely feel your body when you would stand up. You moved to the couch after a while of laying in bed, contemplating life.

Suddenly, you remembered the fact that Bradley was supposed to come over at 12 to get lunch and shop for a bit around town. Begrudgingly, you picked up your phone and texted him. “hey. we're gonna have to cancel. im pretty sure im sick.” Sending the message you groan and put your hand on your throbbing head. You can't stand to look at your phone as you turn the television on.

A random show plays before you lose your attention to your runny nose and itchy throat. You hear the door opening and your name being quietly. It's Bradley and the sound of plastic bags crinkling. “Brad honey? What are you doing here?” He walks over to you and his hand goes to your forehead.

“You said you were sick. I came over with some things.” Bradley tells you and gives your head a gentle kiss before walking away. “I bought Tylenol and Ibuprofen. I wasn't sure what you needed.” He brings the bag over with a Gatorade and two bottles of pills.

You smile at him and sneeze once more. He frowns and opens the bottle of Gatorade and the pills. You take two pills and a sip of the Gatorade to swallow them. When you finish them you lay against the pillows on the couch. “Thank you for coming over. I'm really sorry I had to cancel; I mean I totally almost forgot.”

“Of course love. I'll stay over tonight to make sure you're alright. Maverick held me off for the week.” Bradley tells you and sits down next to you on the couch. His hand lays on your leg while you stare at him.

“Can’t believe I got sick. I'm cursed I swear.” You joke and try to hold back your laugh whenever Bradley doesn't laugh. His eyes are on the television.

“I know. It sucks.”

No matter throughout the sneezing, coughing, and groaning: Bradley stays and helps you with things you need. The kiss he plants on your lips surely would make him sick tomorrow, but he can't help but to not care.

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auroracalisto · 1 year

Text

imagine: deciding to get married to each other.

tw: one singular cussword, gn!reader a/n: idk i have a few drafts i've been working on but nothing substantial so here's this

You wrapped your arms around his neck, a smile shining bright as your lips inched dangerously close.

"You know, Lieutenant," you said, quickly pecking his lips. "I think Y/n Bradshaw has a lovely ring to it."

He smirked softly, leaning forward. His nose gently pressed against yours, eyes fluttering shut as he breathed out.

"Let's do it, then," he said. "Just you, me, and the courthouse. How's that sound, baby?"

His hands rested on your hips as he pulled back, smiling all the while.

"That sounds like a plan," you grinned. "I don't have to wear anything fancy, do I?"

"Hell no," he chuckled softly, clearly just happy that you agreed.

He didn't need a fancy ceremony; he had no need for a big buffet or a glorified banquet. As long as he had you by his side, he needed nothing more than a ring and a piece of paper that signified your union. He loved you more than anything; planes had nothing on you, and he'd stand by that until the day he died.

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make-me-imagine · 2 years

Text

Torture

Plot: Rooster makes a bet with Y/n that if he can beat Hangman's flight time on a new training course, he gets a kiss. Y/n agrees, but this means no kisses for Rooster until he wins.

Requested Prompt: "You owe me a kiss." Requested By: Anonymous

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x GN!Reader *Reader is referenced of having the call sign 'Caelus' (Roman God of the sky)

Warnings: Kissing, if that wasn't obvious from the description lol

Words: 1.3k

Your eyes glanced over the other pilots as they ran past, completing their workouts for the evening. You silently thanked yourself for having worked out earlier in the day rather than now after a long day of flying.

Hearing the padding of footsteps coming from behind you, you assumed it was just another student on a run, until you felt large arms wrap around your waist suddenly.

You let out a gasp as you were lifted off the ground, followed by a familiar laugh.

You held in a laugh as you groaned out "Put me down Bradley!"

As you were placed not so softly back down, you were spun around and pulled into Bradley's chest. He grinned down at you with a dopey smile that you couldn't help but smile at in return.

"Hey sunshine." He said softly as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

Still smiling, you pushed him away with a fake grimace "Ugh, So sweaty!"

He let out a soft laugh "Oh come on, it's not that bad."

You let out a soft giggle as he pulled you towards him again, his arm slung over yours shoulders. As you began waling towards the barracks, you wrapped your arm around his back.

"I hope you're going to the showers."

"I just happen to be, why, wanna come with?"

"You wish."

"Yes, I very much do." He replied quickly with a smile as he looked down at you and wiggled his eyebrows playfully. You rolled your eyes, but let out a soft giggle.

"Hey Rooster, Caelus!" You and Bradley both looked over as Coyote ran past "You hear that Hangman beat the record on the new training course?"

"What time did he get?!" Bradley called out.

"Three fourteen!" Coyote yelled back as he continued running.

You looked up and saw Roosters contemplative face. Looking down at you he nodded lightly "I can beat that, easy."

You squeezed his side "Sure you can big guy."

He looked down at you with a face akin to offence "You don't think I can?"

You let out a soft laugh "I know you could. And, I know you are going to try your hardest, but, not because you want to get a good time, but just because you want to beat Hangman."

"Yeah, and whats wrong with that?"

"You get flustered when you get competitive."

"So,I make mistakes?"

"I did not say that!"

He smiled teasingly before he nodded "I bet you, I can beat him."

Reaching the barracks you stopped at the door "Oh we're betting now are we?"

"Oh yeah." He took a step closer and leaned down a bit "I bet you a kiss I can beat him."

You shook your head as you smiled at him "And if you don't beat him?"

"You get to say I told you so."

You hummed "Nah, not good enough."

"Okay, I'll buy you dinner."

You let out a dramatic gasp as you placed your hand on your chest "He knows me!"

He chuckled as he stepped closer, pulling you towards him "So we got a deal?"

You eyed him, before an idea popped into your head. "Okay, you got a deal." You gently pushed him away "Now go shower before you attract the wildlife."

He let out a small bark of laughter "Okay, okay."

Before he left, he started pulling you closer again, leaning in for a kiss. Lifting up your hand you placed it on his lips, stopping him.

You saw his eyes dart from your hand to your eyes, his brow furrowing. Stepping away from him you repressed a grin, pulling open the door behind you.

"Sorry Roost, but no kiss until you win the bet."

You saw his lips start to curl into a smile before he paused and his face dropped. "Wait, seriously?"

As you stepped inside and let the door go you nodded "Seriously"

Seeing the look of offense and shock cross his face just as the door shut between you, you were unable to hold back the laugh that bubbled up. 'That should motivate him' you thought to yourself as you headed towards your quarters.

--- --- ---

You sat with Phoenix, Coyote, Hangman and a couple other students in the training room, eyes on the screen at the front of the room as Bradley began to start the training course.

You had gone earlier in the day, getting three minutes twenty three seconds, and scoring third in the class so far, only two seconds slower than Phoenix. You hoped for Bradley's sake you'd be fourth at the end of his turn, and that he'd be first.

Glancing over at Hangman, you saw a cocky grin on his face. Looking over, he locked eyes with you and winked. You rolled your eyes before looking back at the screen. You hoped Bradley would wipe that smug look off his face.

More than way through the course, you were hopeful, and Hangman was clearly nervous. Bradley was already three seconds ahead of Hangman's time, but you knew he could lose that lead quickly.

"Come on Brad." You whispered to yourself.

Another minute later and your cheering, Phoenix is clapping beside you, both of you relishing in the angry look on Hangman's face, as the time on the screen read three minutes and ten seconds.

"He got lucky." Hangman offered as he began to leave.

"If that's what helps you get to sleep at night Bagman." You said over your shoulder as you headed out the doors to meet Bradley.

As you walked across the tarmac, you could see the grin on Bradley's face from a mile away as he came out of the hangar. He spread out his arms before he spun around in celebration. You let out a soft laugh as you bowed jokingly.

"Now was I good or was I great?!" He called out.

You smiled and nodded your head, allowing him to gloat "You were great." He grinned as he stopped in front of you "I just wish you could have seen the look on Hangman's face when you beat his time."

He groaned "Oh God I bet that was great."

"His ego definitely took a hit."

"Eh, he'll shake it off, unfortunately." A grin spread across his face. "Now, if I am correct, which I know I am. You owe me a kiss. Actually, scratch that, you owe me four."

"Oh do I now?"

He nodded "Yeah you do. Since you decided no kisses until I won the bet. Last night, no good night kiss, that's one. This morning, no good morning kiss, that's two. Before I flew the course? No good luck kiss, that's three. And now, number four because I beat the course. And I think four works great, seeing as that's how many seconds-"

You let out a laugh before you leaned up quickly, grabbing his face and pressing a kiss to his lips. You felt him freeze for a second before he melted into the kiss. Pulling away you giggled softly as his soft eyes gazed at you.

His lips curled into a bright smile "It was torture not kissing you, you know."

You smiled up at him, your hands still holding his face "Was it?"

He nodded "Absolute torture. I live off those kisses."

"Then I'm sorry I deprived you of them."

He nodded "You should be."

Pulling his face down lightly, you kissed him again. His hands gently grabbed your waist, and as you pulled away he softly hummed. "Two."

Another kiss, this time his arms wrapped fully around you as he pulled you closer. When you pulled away he kept his forehead pressed against your own as he brought his hand up, caressing your face "Three." He muttered.

You wrapped your arms around his neck as you kissed again, the fourth owed kiss. He squeezed you closer as he deepened the kiss, briefly lifting your feet of the ground as he did so.

Finally pulling away, a little breathless, he cupped your face. "I love you sunshine."

"And I love you Bradley." Pressing another quick kiss to his lips before pulling away from him, you smiled "That one was for free."

xx End xx

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domesticcaboose · 2 years

Text

“Hey, it’s Bradley”

Fandom: Top Gun, Top Gun: Maverick

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw/Gn Reader

TW: Cursing, like a lot of cursing

A/N: it’s my first time actually posting my writing on here so pls be nice! Also, feel free to mention anything we need to fix grammatically. Proofreader and coauthor is @lunamoon1744

“Hey, uh, it's Ro-Bradley. It's Bradley. Fuck it’s probably late where you’re at. Sorry, I just, fuck, look, I’m sorry. So fucking sorry. I loved you, love you, still love you and I know this is a shitty way to go about it but there’s a mission and I don’t know whether I'm going to make it back, but I was back at Top Gun for a few weeks, and God, all I could think about was us, you, and how much I love you and how much I fucked you over and I’m sorry. God I'm so fucking sorry an’ I’m not asking you to forgive me but I can't die without apologizing, without letting you know that leaving you was the worst decision of my life and if I could go back I’d-, fuck I’m running out of time, I just, I love you so fucking much and I, I gotta go, fuck, I’m sorry, I love you.”

Bradley Bradshaw. Rooster. God, you loved him, and he had broken your heart. It’d been a few years since the breakup, and honestly you're surprised he still knows your number. Lord knows you had to look back into your contacts to figure out whether he called you through his phone, or someone else's. It was probably the ship's phone, seeing as you still had his cell number in your contacts.

It probably doesn't matter by now. If he went on the mission right after he called you, that would have been 15 hours, 48 minutes, and approximately 56 seconds ago. You begin pacing back and forth across the house. If he was going to die, he’d already be dead, and if he was going to live, he’d already be back on the carrier. Plus, there was no guarantee he was even going back to Top Gun, he could be going straight to his next assignment. You stop dead in your tracks. He could be dead.

Then again, that was the problem wasn't it? It didn't really matter, you would go to the ends of the Earth if he had asked you to, if he had so much as implied that he needed or wanted you to. Maybe that's why you had already finished packing, bag already by the door, heart already knowing what your head was trying to figure out.

Leaning over the kitchen island, you pull out your laptop and start looking for any possible flights to anywhere even remotely close to San Diego and Top Gun. A few hours that pass over your nerves like shitty tap dancers, about 50 tabs, and a coffee or three later you finally come across a flight. It's expensive, significantly more than you would ever pay normally, and through an airline you've never used before. It's also leaving in an hour from an airport 49 minutes away. Taking a deep breath, you say fuck it and start typing your credit card numbers in, because you are tired and desperate and you just need to be there in case he did come back.

God, you hope he's alive.

It was a seven and a half hour flight and a two hour drive, having booked the first flight you found to anywhere close by. You had a bit of a drive to get to Top Gun, but you honestly can’t remember much of your trip. How can you? For all you know, you're doing all of this for a funeral that you're not even sure you would be invited to.

You're not completely sure how you ended up in front of the Hard Deck. Well, that's a lie. You know damn well why you stopped here before trying to find a hotel. It's an aviator's bar. It's where the aviators go after work. You’d been here with him the first time around. When you were dating. When you thought you were going to marry him.

It's stupid, and emotional, and childish to stop. It’s been a little less than two days since he made the phone call, and if he is alive he'd still be on the ship, or in a hospital somewhere. That didn't stop you from walking in, from looking around, from ordering a drink, from sitting down and waiting on some distant hope that he'd pop through the door. You haven't actually figured out what you're going to do when you see him again. But fuck if that didn't mean you still wanted to see him.

It was another three days of watching and waiting, of sitting at the bar with Penny, of wondering whether or not the last actual conversation you will ever have with the love of your life was when you broke up, when he told you he never loved you.

It's your fifth day in San Diego, when you see his Bronco in the Hard Deck parking lot. You know that fucking car anywhere and you know for a fact that if it was here then Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw was alive. Which means he could have damn well called you and informed you of such!

Taking a deep breath, as to not preemptively jump to conclusions, and to not kill the first person that looks at you wrong, you hurry up and force your way through the Hard Deck’s doors, making a scan for tall, brunette, and mustached.

It's not hard to find him. He is standing by a handful of other pilots and Penny. She's under who you assume is the pilot named Pete’s arm, looking very amused by your entrance. Bradshaw, on the other hand, is laughing lazily with his friends, like you hadn't thought he might be dead for the better part of the week.

“BRADLEY FUCKING BRADSHAW!”

The sound of pool balls clinking stops almost immediately, and you hear whispers arising from some of the pilots scattered around the bar. The man of the week looks in your direction, and while his eyes light up, his face falls as you start marching across the floor towards him. “...y/n?”

You feel multiple eyes on you as you stomp across the bar, and out of the corner of your eye you can also see a few heads turn. “What in the ever loving fuck is wrong with you? The fuck was that phone call?” You come to a stop right in front of him, jabbing your finger into his chest. “Have you been landing too hard it’s starting to fuck with your head?” there's a snort on your right, coming from some Ken-doll-looking motherfucker. “Because that shit-”

“Y/n?”

“Is not okay! At all! You don't call someone, and tell them you love them, and that your sorry, and then just fucking disappear! Honestly! Give me one good fucking reason I shouldn't hit you upside your head, I swear to god-”

He interrupts you by pulling you into a tight hug and holding you against him, and you use every ounce of self control to not hug him back. He leans slightly back, looking into your eyes, and opening his mouth to speak.

“You came?” …you came? YOU CAME? What in the ever loving fuck did he think you were going to do after he called, go to brunch and have some fucking mimosas? Chill at the beach? Not lose your absolute goddamn mind?

“OF COURSE I FUCKING CAME!” You struggle in his arms before giving up and grabbing his shoulders in order to pull him down a bit so your eye level. “We may not have left on the best of terms, but I still fucking love you! Honestly, you could have called me at any point and I would have shown up because that's what you do when you love someone! And maybe that wouldn’t be my best discission but, fuck, I've never had a doubt that you would-”

“You still love me?” Maybe it was the way he said it, sounding like he was going to cry, or the way he looked like he was in complete shock over the fact that you still love him, even though he’s the one who walked away, but it makes your anger fade from the loud and explosive kind to the tired and worried one.

“Jesus fucking son of a fuck I swear to-” deep breaths, homicide is illegal and there’s witnesses, lots of witnesses, because almost everyone in the bar has turned to stare, nosey fucks. “-Yes. I love you, I loved you when we were dating, I loved you when we broke up, and I love you now, but, if you say one. More. Stupid. Fucking. Thing. I'm going to drown you in the ocean-” and it's true. You do love him. But it's also true that if he doesn't stop interrupting you, you are going to try and throw him in the ocean. It wouldn't work, you've tried it before, but it would make you feel better.

He smiles like a dumbass, eyes lighting up like a Christmas tree. He puts his hand on your cheek, leaning down and pressing your foreheads together. “I love you too.”

“Yeah, I’m aware, but I swear to god if you interupt me one more fucking time-” which, he of course decides to do by kissing you. Which, not to say that you are complaining, but it's hard to stay mad when he's kissing you like it's all he's ever thought about. Putting both of your hands on his chest, you lightly push him away. “-we’re not in a movie. Kissing me’s not gonna get me to shut up-”

“What if I kiss you multiple times?” And isn't that a tempting offer? But, as much as you love him, that phone call was the worst possible way of getting in contact with you again.

You narrow your eyes, the corners of your mouth twitching ever so slightly up. “You can kiss me everyday for the rest of our lives, but it’s still not gonna stop me from thinking you're an idiot and calling you on it.”

“Promise?”

You can't help but to shake your head and smile. “Goddammit Bradley, I'm trying to be mad at you, you inconsiderate asshole. Yes, yes I promise, for as long as your dumbass wants to keep me-”

“Forever then.” And there it was, that stupid fucking smile that you loved. The one that made you stop yelling, at least for the moment, because he was alive, and he loved you, and he wasn't going to walk away this time. Sighing as you lean into him, the exhaustion of the week finally starts to catch up with you, but at least you know that he's safe.

#bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x y/n #bradley bradshaw fic #gn reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #top gun #topgun maverick #top gun fanfiction #top gun fandom #top gun fic #rooster top gun #rooster x y/n

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twistnet · 2 years

Text

stacked claim [ bradley bradshaw ]

⋯ KINKTOBER PROMPT ; day 10 [ creampie ]

⋯ WARNINGS ; gn!reader, smut [ creampies, fingering, finger sucking, unprotected sex, jealous//needy!bradley, slight breeding kink, cum, dirty talk ] + mature language

⋯ NOTE ; this content is strictly for those 18+ ; any minors // ageless // blank blogs interacting with this post // masterlist will be blocked

bradley bradshaw wasn’t jealous. sure -- if you had asked anyone else in the hard deck to describe the intense look that had come across his face the second jake seresin’s hand came skimming along your hip in a flirtatious manner, the quick and probably most accurate answer would have been jealous.

no, bradley bradshaw wasn’t jealous, but he sure as hell was protective of what was his. and maybe that’s why he had quickly whisked the two of you out of the bar without so much as a goodbye to the rest of the aviators he flew with.

he was oddly quiet throughout the ride to your shared home. only keeping his eyes locked on the road ahead of him with a tight grip on the steering wheel. you had tired to get a conversation started, trying to gauge the emotions that were running through him in the moment, but it seemed useless as he gave simple one worded answers.

once his bronco was parked in the driveway, you followed him up to the front door. only just crossing the threshold before the door is closing behind you and bradley is crowding you up against the wood.

his lips press roughly against your own, tongue slipping into your mouth at your sudden gasp of surprise. you melt back against the door, hands moving to tangle through his hair as his own grasp at your hips to keep you pressed between him and the door.

hands eventually begin to roam, sliding from your hips up the length of your torso to palm and grip at your chest, pulling whimpers from your lips as you break from the kiss, head dropping back against the door with a thud.

bradley takes advantage, moving his lips down to your jaw -- leaving little nips and licks behind as he trails down to your pulse point and the sweet spot that he just knows makes you see stars.

“roos...” you moan, eyes slipping shut as bradley chuckles against the skin of your neck. already in the process of mouthing another mark into your skin, “that’s right, baby... it’s me who’s making you feel good. definitely not jake fucking seresin, hm?”

oh. that’s what this was about.

“never...” you swallow harshly, “only want you roos...” the words seem to please him as he backs away from you enough to look into your eyes, “you have no fucking clue how fucking hot that sounds coming from you... fuck! i gotta have you...”

then, he’s gripping your hand, shooting you a suave smile over his shoulder as he pulls you towards the bedroom at the back of the house. and even if bradley hadn’t grabbed your hand, you still would have eagerly followed after him as this man always seemed to have some trick up his sleeve that he was more than eager to show you.

once in the safety of your bedroom, he quickly spun you around. pulling you against his chest and guiding you back until the backs of your legs hit the mattress behind you. and then, ever so gently, bradley laid you back and guided you towards the pillows.

he hovered over you, hands stationed on either side of your head as he peered down at you with a soft smile, “god... can’t believe you’re all mine...” he mutters, before swopping down to capture your lips once more.

hands tugging and grasping at the your clothes, pulling them off and out of the way so he can feel the softness of your skin against his rough and corse hands -- built from all those years of flying around in f-18s. but he knows just the scrape of his fingers against your skin is enough to drive you wild.

and it has the reaction that he’s looking for, as you arch up into his touch with soft little whimpers escape through the seam of your lips and wild eyes watching his every move.

they trail down the length of your body until they reach your hole, a shuttering groan on his part as he watches you clench around nothing and he's quick to sip two fingers into his mouth -- soaking them throughly, before pressing a single finger into you slowly.

you mewl, hips jutting up to take more of him in as he coos softly at you. spare hand caressing the outside of your thigh before lips press against the inside of your knee with a soft hum, “who’s got you all worked up, baby? tell me...”

“you do, roos...” the answer brings another proud smile to his lips, head nodding in agreement as he drops another kiss to the inside of your knee, “damn right, baby...” his words followed by the press of a second finger into your tight hole.

he works you open, padding at the sweet spot along your walls, wanting you nothing but ready to take his cock. and he’s taking in every little movement you make, committing it all the memory and filing it away with all the other moments the two of you have shared together -- giving him something to always remember when he goes away for long periods of time. all things jake seresin will never get to see.

the thought has his jaw tightening, and a harsh breath pushed from his nostrils before his slipping his fingers from you. hastily working himself out of his own clothing, cock springing from the confines of his boxer briefs. he gasps lightly at being exposed to the cool air, before he’s giving himself a few good strokes.

“god... i could come just like this... fucking looking at you all fucked out from just my fingers...” he mewls, but shakes his head clear of the thoughts before a hand settles at your hip, the blunt and large head of his cock pressing against your entrance and begins to gently ease himself in, “fuck! how are you always so fucking tight?” he mutters in the room, not expecting an answer.

“god, you always take me so fucking well... like you were made for this cock. my cock.” he coos once he’s fulled seated inside of you, relishing the soft cry you give as his hips tentatively swivel and let you adjust for a few moments. then, he’s slowly sliding out and back in. his hands nicely grip your hips, pulling and pushing you to meet every one of his thrusts. the pace only quickening when you give a happy keening sound and he practically slams into you.

“look at you... so pretty and all for me.” bradley grunts as he thrusts into you, working to set a swift pace and taking great enjoyment in how your face goes slack from pleasure, “let me hear how good i’m making you feel...”

his words are met with soft, small and desperate moans that rapidly increase with each quickened thrust of bradley’s hips. you’re starting to grab at him now, arms already hooked around the back of his neck, tugging him in almost impossibly close with blunt nails biting into the upper part of his shoulders.

you’re heads tossed back against the pillows, a blissful expression already dawned across your features as unabashedly moans leave your lips. yeah, jake seresin wishes he could see you like this.

“tell me...” he huffs, hand reaching up to grasp at your chin and pull you down to look him in the eyes, “tell me jake seresin wouldn’t be able to fuck you like this...” he growls, lip curling into a snarl as his hips continue to fuck into you with added fervor.

“he could try... but he can’t make you cum like i do...” bradley grunts, the grip on your hips tightening as he smiles down at where the both of you are joined, “his cock won’t stretch you out like mine does... he doesn’t know how to make you feel good, or what turns you into a crying, pathetic mess. only i know how to do that...”

“you’re mine... aren’t you baby?” he questions, looks up at you this time. wanting to hear you say it -- wanting to let your words chase the doubt away, “all yours, roo.” you gasp out, face twisting in pleasure as he repeatedly rams against your sweet spot that has your toes curling.

bradley nods, “that’s right, baby... all mine.” it feels like the air has been pushed from bradley’s lungs and he’s aware of the pulsing feeling that’s running through his system. and in moments, drops his head against his chest as his hips pick up in speed to the points he’s hammering into you.

“god... baby, will you let me cum in you? fuck. let me stuff you so full...” he whimpers out, hips rutting into yours almost frantically. his chest is flushed a bright red, and sweat is always heavy at his brow -- meaning he’s so close to coming it’s not even funny. however, he gasps harshly when you clench around him, “you want that, baby? let me fuck you full and have you feeling me for days? please say you want that...”

“i want it, roos! fuck! i want it!” you sob out, eyes twisting shut as your words seem to open the flood gates and bradley moaned loudly as he came, thrusting to a hilt as he pumped your hole full of cum. you own orgasm following seances after, with your walls squeeze every little bit from him that you could.

the second bradley was able to catch his breath, he sat up and gently pulled himself from you. rubbing your thighs when you gasped at the sudden loss of him before his eyes trailed down to your hole and a smile appeared on his face, “another thing jake seresin couldn’t do even if he tried...” he mutters, mostly to himself but you hear it clear as day. opening your mouth to question him when two fingers swipe the come leaking from your hole and push it back into you.

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carters-things · 2 years

Text

Fly Away With Me

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x GN!Reader

Summary: Date night with Bradley in the stars

Tags: No gendered pronouns or descriptions of physical appearance used except the line "his fingers getting lost in your hair". Just some sweet fluff!

Masterlist

You sat on the bay window with your knees tucked to your chest, your feet rubbing circles on top of each other. The cool breeze from outside drifts in through the open glass, running down your skin leaving goose bumps behind in its trail. You pull the throw blanket off the back of the couch and over top of you, being careful not to spill the drink in your hands in the process. You take a sip of your drink as the sun starts to set. You leaned back against the window frames, closing your eyes and basking in the light of golden hour.

Your mind started to drift as you listened to the sound of the seagulls in the distance. You thought about Bradley. Being in a relationship with someone in the service wasn’t easy. There were more nights spent apart from each other than together. Never have a guaranteed day off, or date night, and plans almost always being moved at least once before they eventually fall through. Occasionally Rooster would be able to make it home, but it was always long after you were asleep. He would crawl into bed next to you, pulling you as close to him as he could, never wanting to let go. Sometimes he could only spend a few hours in bed sleeping with you before having to return to base, but he would soak up every second of quality time he could get. Loving Bradley was worth all of the sacrifices, but peaceful nights like tonight still left a small ache in your chest as his absence.

The growing volume of music slowly draws you back to reality. Jazz trumpets ring softly from outside. You toss the blanket to the side, a cold shiver rolling across your lap in its absence. You place your drink down on the side table as you examine the empty backyard trying to find out where it’s coming from.

Come fly with me, let's fly, let's fly away…

The lyrics ring in your ears, bringing a smile to your face. Bradley always loved this song and sang it to you on your quiet nights in the house. His chest pressed to your back as he stood behind you, his chin resting perfectly on top of your head. His hands would rest on your hips, slowly swaying the two of you back and forth as he would sing softly. This song being his subtle way of asking you time and time again to be his.

As you made your way through the house to the front door the music grew louder.

Once I get you up there, I’ll be holding you so near, you may hear, angels cheer, ‘cause we’re together…

You open the front door to see the love of your life before you. It took a second for your mind to process that he was actually here. Leaning against the front porch pole, wearing a half cocked smile, a small bouquet of flowers held carefully in his hands. The aviators sat down his nose just far enough to get a peak of his beautiful brown eyes, a small speaker sitting beside him on the railing. Your hands covered your heart as you took in the entirety of the moment.

“Bradley…” You started to get choked up as you watched his smile grow larger with each step toward you he took. He set the flowers down on the ground before wrapping you tightly in his arms. You buried your face in his chest, relishing in his scent and warmth. He kissed the top of your head before pulling back and taking your face in his hands.

“I’ve missed you so much, honey.” He pulls your face closer to his, your lips colliding with the same electricity as the first time he kissed you. You melted into the taste of him, his fingers trailing along your jawline towards your ears. Bradley’s hands flattened out against the side of your head, his fingers getting lost in your hair, as the two of you kept from parting lips.

The need for air finally breaks the moment. Heat rushes to your face, as you let out a small chuckle. "What are you doing home? I didn't think you'd have any time off this week."

"They had to do surprise maintenance on the jets, so they gave us the night. I have a surprise for you." He said taking your hand in his. You didn't question him because you already knew he wouldn't tell you.

He opened your door before aiding you, even thought you didn't need it, into his bronco. He shut your door before kissing your cheek through the open window.

With each turn you tried to figure out where he was taking you. The sun has since set, making it harder to figure out his plan in the dark. His hand rested on your thigh, your hand snaked around his wrist to rest on top of his hand in return. The closer you got you realized he was actually taking you to Maverick's hanger, before surely enough pulling onto his road.

"What are we doing here?" You asked him puzzled.

"You'll see." He gave your thigh a little pat as he parked the truck beside the building. He hopped put and again opened your door, taking your hand to get you safely to the ground.

His fingers intertwine with yours as he leads you both towards the runway. You can see a blanket laid out on one of the two tarmacs, candles in Mason jars spread out all around. There was a basket of food, glasses, and a bottle of sparkling cider.

"Honey! I love it!" You stood on the tops of your toes to kiss his cheek. The two of you took your place on the blanket as he set out plates for you both, serving the finger food meal for each of you.

You spent the next little bit laughing and talking, eating and sipping in the drinks, just soaking in every minute of this rare quality time you get together.

Bradley looked up to the sky before sighing softly. "I wanted to give you a meal under the stars, but apparently that didn't work out…"

You joined his gaze at the sky to see some light clouds had rolled in, covering the shining lights. You rested your hand on his before turning his face towards yours.

"It's still perfect darling. I love it, and I love you.” You kissed his lips softly, brushing away a fallen curl from his forehead as you broke apart. A mischievous grin lands on his face, yours wearing a concerned look to match. “What…”

“I have an idea so you can see the stars. Come with me.” He pulls you up to your feet, his pace just short of a jog as he brings you to the bay doors of the hanger. He pulls them wide open to reveal Maverick’s plane, amongst all of his other belongings.

“You can’t be serious…”

With little to no effort Bradley pulled himself up onto the wings and seated himself in the pilot seat of the plane. It started up with no problems, all lights and gauges reading perfect, so the two of you began to taxi onto the empty tarmac.

“Maverick is on a sailing trip with Penny. He’ll never know!” Before you could argue

Bradley was already over at the plane, pulling the cover off. As skeptical as you were of his plan, the idea of seeing the stars in the sky, from the sky, was so exciting. So, you helped Bradley get everything prepped before he helped you climb into the backseat. He helped you secure your harness and headset, checking the mic and audio to make sure you could hear him and vice versa.

“Are you sure you know how to fly this thing? It’s not the same as your fighter jets!” You called hesitantly into the com.

“I helped Mav fix this thing up! I’ve flown it before, don't worry honey.” He did some final checks of pressure levels, flipping switches that you were sure didn’t even do anything except make him look sexy, before the plane began to make its way forward, picking up speed rapidly.

“Remember what I taught you!” He urged just before lifting off the ground. You were reminded to watch your hands, making sure not to grab anything you shouldn’t out of reaction. As you ascended into the skies you were quickly swallowed by the fluffy clouds. Your heart lurched at how all vision of direction and sense of surroundings was lost, taking in a small sharp breath.

“It’s alright Honey, we’re almost there.” He reassured, “Ready?”

You tilted your head up to the canopy just as the rounded barrier broke through the clouds. The night sky opened up to reveal every constellation you could imagine. The clouds below blocking out any light, you could have sworn you were in space.

“Oh my God! It’s amazing!” Your gaze searching all over the sky, never landing in one spot for too long. Rooster laughed over the radio at your amazement, pointing out the handful of constellations he knows. You could have stayed in the sky for hours, but after a while it was time to return to the ground.

After a graceful landing, and a short taxi, you pulled into the hanger to see Maverick sitting in one of his chairs. He stood to meet you both as you deplaned, the wonder and amazement still flowing through you.

“So you’re stealing planes now?”

“I learned from the best!” Maverick crossed his arms and let out a soft chuckle. He couldn’t be too mad seeing as he “borrowed” a navy property F-18 to take Penny on a joy ride back in the day.

He gave Rooster a look, but after seeing the way your face lit up, he dropped his tough guy act. He laughed and patted Rooster on the shoulder, before leaving the two of you to finish closing up the plane. This night was everything you could have hoped for and more.

Flight Crew

@someplace-darker

@nelleicrain

@murrdxcks

@sobachka-korol

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