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sunlightmurdock · 5 months

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Blow By Blow | 1.4 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

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Synopsis: Bradley’s washed up before his career has even really begun. He doesn’t want to fill his father’s shoes and he doesn’t want someone else to either. Stuck in limbo, living the same way he always has, the opportunity to step up wanders through the door of his gym in a mini dress and heels that are a size too big.

Warnings: unspecified age gap, violence, probs boxing inaccuracies somewhere along the line. Smut and other 18+ content, minors dni, smut, really brief oral (f), trauma for both parties

…

You yawn into the sleeve of your sweater, rolling your shoulders back and pursing your lips slightly as you scroll through the local events page. One of the issues that Bradshaw’s faces, is that not many people seem to take notice of what it is. It’s been here for thirty years, and most of the neighbours just assume that there’s trouble inside and walk on by.

It’s hard to blame them, when you hear stories of what the place used to be like. Of what Bradley used to be like.

But downtown isn’t what it used to be, there’s a big community here now, and it would do wonders for the gym to be involved in that.

Maverick’s office smells like cigarettes, even though he gave up smoking ten years ago. There’s a lamp on each of the two desks that illuminates the room in an aged, amber glow. It’s completely quiet, and has been since the gym shut an hour ago.

Jake glances up at you from over by Maverick’s desk. “I heard a rumour about you, you know.”

You lift your chin to look at him. Your cheeks grow warm at the cocky smirk on his face as he leans back in his chair and tucks his hands behind his head, flipping the toothpick in his mouth.

“I heard a rumour about you too.” You answer back quietly, a smile creeping its way onto your lips. Jake chuckles, his cheeks dimpling across the room.

“You and the big guy, huh?” Jake raises his eyebrows at you, giving an amused shake of his head as he stretches his legs out under the desk. Paperwork is the most boring part of his job, gossiping with you helps the time pass along.

“You and Natasha.” You answer back, smiling softly at him before you turn your gaze back to the computer.

“Well, what can I say? — She can’t get enough of me. But who can blame her?” He shrugs. You snort at him, shaking your head. You both know she would hit him in the nuts if she heard him say that. “Who can blame you, either. Rooster’s a good looking guy. And he’s hung like a horse.”

“Jake!” You splutter, eyes going wide, face burning as you gawk at him across the office. This time, he really laughs, beaming at how easy you are to fluster.

He sits back in his chair and cocks his head at you, like he’s trying to piece together the complex little puzzle that you are.

“I’m just playing,” He smiles across at you. It’s strange, sitting here and having this vulgar of a conversation with Jake, and wanting to smile back at him anyway. “Is he being nice to you or do I have to say something to him?”

Your mouth twitches. He almost gets you to crack a smile at him. Instead, you twist your mouth into a stern but amused smile.

“He’s alright when he wants to be,” You answer him, earning another soft chuckle from the gym manager. “How’s… Natasha?”

Jake presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek and exhales, that smile still toying at his lips. “Alright. When she wants to be.”

You huff out a soft sound of amusement and turn your attention back to your work. Jake really doesn’t want to go back to his.

“Look, kid,” He swallows as he sits forwards and suddenly that smile is gone, his lips pressing into a line. “I’m happy for you. I am. And, call me selfish, but I like having you around here. I don’t want anything to ruin this place for you.”

Your nails tap away at the keyboard as you draft the email. “Anything… being Rooster, right?”

“He’s a big softie, I’m sure. But he’s a complicated guy.”

That seems to be everyone’s opinion of him. You know that it’s true. You’ve seen the scars that litter his body. You know that he’s afraid of being alone — his apartment has sat empty for most of his tenancy. It’s just that when he’s up close, and he’s looking at you with a soft smile on his lips and those endlessly deep big brown eyes; nothing really seems complicated at all.

“I’m sorry. I’m not trying to freak you out,” Jake shakes his head and scratches awkwardly at the back of his neck. Two little sisters and he still hasn’t figured out how to approach this conversation. “I just want you to be able to… talk to me, I guess.”

“I understand,” You nod softly, hitting send on the email and lifting your head to look at him. He tries at a smile. “Thanks, Jake.”

“Anytime, kiddo.” He shoots you a playful wink and tucks his chair into the desk, sitting upright as he starts to reason with the idea of actually finishing his paperwork so that he can head home at a reasonable time tonight.

“Alright, I’m gonna head in for the night. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Bright and early.” Jake confirms with a tired smile as you close your laptop and push up from the desk. You each separate with soft goodbyes, and you carry your laptop upstairs to your apartment.

Just as you’re expecting, the lights are already on and there’s a football game playing on your TV. What you’re not expecting, though, is to see Tank and Rooster’s heads pop up from over the back of the couch together.

“Hey, Bam— oof—“ Rooster grunts as the dog suddenly pushes to his feet, pressing all of his weight into his ribs and hopping down onto the ground before walking around the couch to greet you with a wagging tail.

“Hi, boys,” You smile, crouching down to kiss Tank’s nose and scratch and his shoulders, babying the sixty pound animal like he deserves to be. “Was he laying on you just then?”

“Yeah. I laid down with a beer and he wanted to join me, I guess.” Rooster informs you as you set your things down by the door and walk over to the couch, leaning on the back. He smiles up at you, one arm tucked behind his head.

You grin at him, pushing yourself over the back of the couch and down against his body, your thighs straddling his hips.

“I can’t believe you’re both finally getting along.” You tell him, leaning forwards and planting a soft kiss to his mouth. Rooster’s hand trails along your back, sipping slightly under your sweater.

“He’s not so bad,” Rooster shrugs his shoulders, lifting his head and chasing your lips as you sit up against him. You push your open palms along his bare shirt, wondering silently to yourself how he can manage to be so warm all the time. “You get all your work done?”

Your lips twist up into a smile. “Uh-huh.”

His brows draw together as he leans out and sets the beer on the coffee table so that he can grab at your hips.

“What’s so funny?”

“Signed you guys up for a couple of local charity events over the next few weeks. Think it’ll be good press for the gym.” You explain, trailing your fingertips along the lines in his toned torso.

“What kind of events?”

“I’m gonna tell everyone on Monday. Wouldn’t be fair if you got the down low before everyone else.” You could tell him, really, but you’re in a good mood and it’s fun to tease him. He chuckles softly and considers arguing, squeezing his hands around the soft flesh of your waist.

His lashes brush his cheek as he blinks, bringing you securely with him as he shifts his hips.

“Will you promise me something before your fight tomorrow?” You ask him, leaning forwards and bracing your palms against his shoulders. He smiles softly.

It’s been playing on his mind recently, when he holds you tight in his arms at night. Whether or not this life he wants, and the past you’ve faced, are compatible in the slightest.

He knows how timid you get. The way your muscles go rigid at a raised voice, and the devastating way your eyes go wide when he gets too close too quickly.

“Sure.” He tells you, rubbing his thumbs in soft circles over the waistband of your skirt.

“Try not to mess this pretty face up too much. Pretty please.” You lean down over him, slowly, and press a soft kiss to the bump in his nose from a bad break years ago. Rooster watches as you sit back up again.

Your hair is loose and strands fall forwards, adorning your face. Attempting to hide that sheepish little smile from him.

He hasn’t been called pretty ever. Jake’s pretty. Movie-star smile and blonde hair, an angled jaw and stroking green eyes. Bradley was always too tall, and too skinny, until he wasn’t skinny anymore. He’s got scars on his face, all the way down his body. His lips aren’t quite even. His eyes are dark and angry looking. He’s not pretty.

“You’re the pretty one, Bambi,” He tells her with a firm shake of his head. He wets his lips with his tongue. “You don’t need to be worrying about my busted face.”

“Busted?” You scoff at him.

“Come on…” He groans, checks flushing red as he turns his head back towards the television. He can always feel it when something gets him blushing, and he hates nothing more. He knows how dark and angry his scars look when his skin flushed red.

“Bradley,” You frown at him, placing two fingers against his cheek and turning his head back towards you. A muscle in his jaw ticks. “I think you’re really pretty.”

“Get real, kid.” He huffs, sitting up and hooking an arm around you, tucking his hand under your ass. He stands swiftly, taking you with him with an impressive ease.

“Hey! Where are we going? — I’m not done complimenting you.” You secure your legs around his waist and your arms around his shoulders, frowning as Bradley carries you forwards.

“I need to take a shower.” He tells you, pressing a soft kiss to your temple and planting your ass on the kitchen island. You wrap your legs tighter around his waist.

“… Um… By yourself?”

“Sorry, Bambi,” Rooster gives a heavy shrug of his wide shoulders, grabbing your ankles and unwrapping them from his waist, leaving you with a chaste kiss on the lips. “No sex before the big fight.”

Behind him, your mouth hangs open.

“Are you serious?”

His lips quirk softly as he pulls at the drawstring tie on his shorts, turning his head to look at you over his shoulders. “Unfortunately. It’s tried and tested. I fight better if I’m a little… frustrated.”

You just hum in response, watching him close the bathroom door behind him. As the door clicks shut, the idea drops into your mind. You get Tank his dinner, and head for the bedroom with a smile on your face.

Bradley secures the towel around his waist, stepping out of the shower with his hips decorated with fluffy white and pink pinstripe. He whistles the tune to Together in Electric Dreams as he combs his fingers through his damp curls and walks through to the bedroom he has spent more nights in than his own recently.

Then, he stops in the doorway. He glances back over his shoulder at Tank sitting on the couch, then back to you. Your brows drawn together, lips parted just slightly, your chest heaving.

“Bambi.”

Your eyes blink open, not so much as a whisper of surprise in either of your irises. Your lips twitch just slightly.

“Are you touching yourself?”

Your eyes squeeze shut again, purely because if you look at him for another second then you’re going to chicken out. “Don’t worry. I’m almost there.”

“But… I told you. I can’t — the fight.” Bradley stumbles over his words, reaching down and brushing the base of his palm over the stiffening tent under the towel. The sheets barely cover your waist, he can picture your exactly the way your legs are trembling right now.

Bradley swallows softly as you let out a contented sigh.

“You’re right. You can’t,” You tell him, trying to keep the smile off of your face as your fingers circle your clit. “Sorry. I thought I would be done before you finished your shower.”

That’s not true in the slightest. He knows you wanted him to find you, and he wishes he had a little more self-control. He’s already walking forwards, grabbing the covers and tearing them back.

You giggle as he drops his weight down on top of you, grabbing firmly at your hips and pulling you against him.

“Want some help?” He murmurs against your throat, sucking firmly at the sensitive skin there, knowing how it makes your brain just turn to mush.

“Yes, please.” You grin, reaching down between you, tugging swiftly at the towel wrapped around his hips and discarding it onto those chipped wood floors in this ancient apartment. Bradley grazes his teeth over your collarbone and shakes his head.

“No, no — I’m serious, until tomorrow, I’ve taken a vow of abstinence,” Bradley informs you calmly, rolling onto his back and grabbing roughly at your hips. “Now come here. Put this pretty face to use, huh?”

Your mouth drops open, eyes widening as he manhandles you over his chest and grabs two firm handfuls of your ass to drag you forwards.

“Rooster, wai— oh.” You hiccup, hands swinging forwards for purchase, just about catching on the squeaky metal frame of the bed. He buries his face between your legs, the freshly groomed hair on his upper lip, tickling the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs. “Oh, wow.”

His lips twitch. The way his smirk feels against your throbbing clit is something that will be etched into your mind for years to come. He lifts his hand and swats at your ass, groaning against you as the soft flesh ripples in his hand.

As much as he enjoys this, he had to get you back at least a little for trying to tease him. All it does, surprisingly, is spur you on. You gasp out, moaning as your grip tightens around the bed frame.

His heavy hands hold you in place, keeping you firmly against him, just about giving you the freedom to move back and forth. He moans happily against your sensitive flesh as you grind yourself onto his mouth.

It doesn’t take long. Literally minutes of his deep sounds, his big hands and his oh, so talented tongue. You cum hard, practically losing your balance, soaking his chin as he holds you upright. Then, he swiftly rolls you off of him and plants you on your back.

You fight to catch your breath as Bradley pulls you back against him and wraps his arms securely around you. His erection presses into the skin of your ass, grazing briefly against some of the excitement that has spilled out onto your thighs.

“Tomorrow night, you’re all fucking mine. Got that?” He whispers, smiling against your earlobe. You press back into his chest, humming contentedly.

Tomorrow night rolls around quickly. But, you’re far from being naked, and far from being in your bed with Bradley cursing in your ear like you would like to be. Instead, you’re picking awkwardly at your cuticles and following Phoenix through a crowded warehouse. Event space. Whatever they want to call it.

It makes your skin prickle to know that Bradley could be leaving this room bloodied and bruised. You should be excited for him. You’ve seen him training. You know how badly he wants this. More importantly, you know what it will mean for his career if it goes badly.

Heel-toe, heel-toe — you focus on whatever your mind can grab at as you march through the buzzing crowd between Natasha and Jake. It’s not enough. Your heart is thudding and your stomach feels funny. You start to wonder if you’ll ever feel comfortable in a place like this.

You lift your head and examine the ring. The ropes are taut and the canvas looks much cleaner than the surface back at Bradshaw’s. You bite awkwardly at the inside of your cheek as someone catches your eye on the other side of the ring. She’s watching Natasha. Tall, and blonde, with piercing blue eyes. Staring like she has seen a ghost.

“You okay?” Phoenix taps your waist softly with her elbow, her smile fading as she studies the expression on your face. It’s not one that she has seen on you before. She can’t quite place it.

“Is that her?” You ask quietly, your voice almost getting lost in the sea of much louder conversations. Natasha turns her head and looks around the crowd, trying to figure out who it is that you’re staring at. Finally, she locks eyes on the woman on the other side of the ring.

There’s a puckered scar across the right side of her face. A burn, maybe. Natasha knows that it’s a third degree that required a skin graft. Even so, she’s beautiful. Tall, with neatly styled finger curls, and high cheekbones. Natasha knows that face well. Still, Bradley wouldn’t want you to know that.

“Is that who?” Natasha tries.

“Emilia.” You answer instantly, and her eyes widen.

Her brows draw together as she stops walking, rounding on you with a stern expression. Jake almost bumps into your back, looking confusedly between the two of you. Natasha frowns deeply, “Bradley told you about Emilia?”

“Mav did.” You answer her sheepishly.

“Oh.” Natasha closes her eyes for a minute and thanks whatever divine power kept Bradley in that locker room so that he didn’t hear this conversation. “Bambi, that’s — that wasn’t his place. He shouldn’t have done that. There’s a lot that Mav doesn’t understand.”

“What more is there to understand? — She’s a monster.”

“I’m not disagreeing with you,” Natasha couldn’t disagree with you if she wanted to. She can’t pretend she hadn’t felt pleased when the news started to spread that Emilia had been in that fire. “But Mav doesn’t know the truth. He knows what the police told him.”

“What more is there to know?” You frown at her. Jake shifts uncomfortably behind you, adjusting the top button of his shirt. Natasha grits her teeth.

“I can’t tell you.”

You turn your head to gawk at Jake, then look back to her. “Bradley wouldn’t tell me if I asked him.”

“Don’t ask him. It’s better if you don’t know.” Natasha’s voice is firmer than it has ever been with you. She’s serious, and suddenly cold. She cares for you, enough to be mean when it’ll keep you from getting hurt.

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@khaylin27 @fudge13 @slutford @averyhotchner @hangmanscoming @diorrfairy @thedroneranger @phoenix1388 @alm33 @perpetuelledaydreaming @princess76179 @cherrycola27 @wkndwlff @xoxabs88xox @galaxy-moon

#bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #miles teller #bradley bradshaw smut #jake seresin #rooster bradshaw imagine #rooster x you #top gun smut #blow by blow #bradley bradsaw x reader #bradley x you #bradley bradshaw x y/n

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thewulf · 7 months

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Like Me, Maybe Love Me? || Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw

Summary: Request - What about one where the reader is at the hard deck with friends and gets hit on by Bradley, she of course brushes it off as him being friendly and doesn’t really think she’s being hit on.... Read Rest Here

A/N: whipped this one out. LOVED writing this fluffy, sappy, cute ass piece. Not super edited, hope you guys enjoy! Thanks for the request @loving-and-dreaming

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Y/N

Word Count: 1.8k +

“Hey pretty lady. You look beautiful tonight.” Bradley’s voice spoke from your side. Turning your head, you saw Natasha give you a knowing smile. She’d been so adamant that Bradley had feelings for you. Which you’d concluded just wasn’t possible. Not Bradley Bradshaw. Not the guy that had charisma for days and could pull literally any beautiful woman that walked into the Hard Deck. Why would he like you then? Your brain just couldn’t comprehend the thought.

Giving him a playful shove, you rolled your eyes turning back to look at the beer in your hands, not at those pretty brown eyes that looked all too amused. Silently cursing Natasha for leaving you alone with him, you whispered, “Whatever Bradshaw.”

He waved down the bartender ordering himself, and you, a round, “I’m not kidding Bug, you look really pretty. I like seeing you in civvy clothes.” His smile could’ve made you melt then and there had you not been white knuckling the countertops for balance.

Bradley had taken it upon himself to give you the nickname Bug after he decided he didn’t like your callsign, Spider. He always claimed you looked like more of a Bug than a Spider, whatever the hell that meant. Not that you minded, you liked the attention from him. Who wouldn’t?

Thankful you did in fact put foundation on after debating it because your cheeks were surely a nice red color now, “Hmm.” You sighed quickly, “Thanks, I guess.” It was a mumble as you played with the condensation on your glass rather than look at him.

He knew you were uncomfortable. In the way you shrunk in on yourself and your extreme fear of accepting a compliment he knew what he had to do. He had to make you see exactly what he saw. The kindest, sweetest, most thoughtful, and truly one of the most beautiful women he’d gotten the pleasure of getting to know in Top Gun 2.0. He’d decided early on he was going to pursue you. For some reason that he couldn’t figure out, you didn’t see what he saw.

He continued knowing it was time. He’d been patient with you, but he’d seemed to hit a wall that he needed to climb over. He wanted you, the real you. Not the one that shied away when he came around. He was always so jealous when he’d see you throw your head back in laughter at a stupid joke somebody else told you. You were so animated in the way you conversed, and it only got more pronounced the more you drank. That was just one of the things Bradley had come to adore about you. You expressed yourself as an open book, so easy to read. Like right now, uncomfortable and shying away.

“As a matter a fact,” He set his glass down so you’d look at him. He smirked when it worked. His eyes traced your face noticing the rosy cheeks and almost afraid eyes, “You look beautiful everyday Y/N.”

Your eyes crinkled together in confusion. What in the hell was going on? Sure, you and Bradley were flirty from time to time. But you’d thought it was just a joke. He was going further than either of you had cared too over the last four weeks. Did Nat put him up to this?

“Oh, really?” You asked. Your voice was so small you wanted to slap the sense right back into yourself. Why couldn’t you just be normal and converse with the man? Why oh why did your brain have to do this to yourself?

His smirk softened down to a smile seeing as your brain was surely reeling. He needed to make you feel comfortable, not afraid of him like you were looking just moments prior.

A small nod confirmed your question, “Yes. You know I’d never lie to you. I think you’re so beautiful. Have from the second I laid eyes on you in class. Why do you think I sat down next to you pretty? I’ve only grown to like you more and more the more I get to know you.”

The look on his face gave way to the fact that he was indeed being sincere. But it just didn’t make sense. Not at all, “Why?” You asked as you looked back into his eyes, “Why me?”

Bradley really didn’t want to have this conversation at the bar. No, not with the music blaring. He didn’t want to yell his heart out to you. So, he nodded towards the door extending a hand to you. Offering to walk you to it.

Without a second though you put your hand in his. He grinned as he laced his fingers between yours. Gently, he pulled you towards the back exit onto the beach. Thankful it was a chillier night for a few reasons. One in that the back patio was almost empty. Two in that he could pull you close to him as soon as you started shivering. Which wouldn’t be very long by the way he judged the rapidly falling temperatures once the sun had set.

He didn’t give you much of an option as he pulled you onto the outdoor couch close to him. He knew you’d sit on the chair across from the fire pit rather than sit next to him. But he wasn’t giving you that option, no. Not when he knew how badly you had wanted this just as much as he did. He was ready to take the next step so long as you were too.

“Bug.” He started. You looked up to him slowly enjoying your hand still in his. He used his thumb to rub circles on the back of your hand trying to calm your racing heart.

“Yeah?” You asked not being able to take the silence from him.

He smiled seeing your brain working in overdrive. He had to put you out of your misery, “You have to know how amazing you are. You’re incredible.”

When you tried to look away he grabbed your chin with his free hand turning you back to him, “Can I see those pretty eyes?” He dropped his gentle embrace on your face leaving a trail of rippling goosebumps in its path.

Your nod let him know you were going to oblige to his request, but you couldn’t find the words to speak.

“Thank you my dear.” He grinned seeing that blush reappear rapidly, “Now, where was I?”

“I…” You gulped not sure what the hell to say to him. You truly were at

“Oh yeah, you’re incredible. You’re the smartest pilot I’ve ever worked with. Like, no joke. You’re the only one of us who’s gotten a kill on Mav. I thought I fell in love with you right then and there.” He snickered not seeing your face fully freaking out now. Bradley could love you? That just, no. You’d only known him for four weeks. There wasn’t a way. Not a damn way.

“You what?” You gulped not sure if you’d heard him right

His smile softened once he saw your panic, “Relax, Y/N. Just breathe.” He didn’t deny it though. He wasn’t going to lie to you. He did in fact love you. Sure, it had only been four weeks, but he’d spent almost every hour of those last four weeks with you. He’d gotten to know you. To see how incredible, you really were. Bradley was hooked. You had him in the palm of your hands and you didn’t even know it.

Another nod and a squeeze of your hand on his let him know you were fine, “I’m sorry, I just… I don’t know Bradley.” A sigh escaped your lips after struggling to find the words to explain it to him.

“Don’t apologize. Your feelings are valid. What’s going on up there?” He tapped on your forehead gently.

Might as well ask him. He was being so genuine with you, “Are you being serious?”

His expression to one of almost, hurt? But he shook it off nodding his head, “Yes Y/N. Why would I lie?” He asked you now, flipping the script back on you.

“I don’t…” You started before he placed a finger on your lips.

The shake of the head stopped you in your tracks, “I think you do. You can tell me.” He brushed your hair away from your face, “If you want. No pressure.” His smile let you know just how much he really truly did care for you.

“Nobody has ever picked me. I guess I just don’t get why you would.” It was so quiet you could hear a needle drop. Just the waves and Bradley’s stare on you.

“Nobody has ever picked you because you scare the shit out of them sweetheart.” He spit out before his brain could really process it. But it was true.

“What?” That was a new one.

He scooted closer seeing the cold starting to nip at your skin. He knew it was fine seeing the pretty little blush spread across your face, “You intimidate most men sweetheart. And the ones you don’t scare the living shit out of are brushed off. You’re doing it right now.”

“I don’t remember signing up for a therapy session Bradshaw.” You muttered out feeling a touch better at that admission from the man you’d been crushing on for so long.

He laughed feeling the tension slowly leaving the air. You seemed to have a new lightness to you after finally admitting what had been on your tongue for so long, “Love’s a therapy session.”

“You keep saying that word.” You replied quickly, almost as if your brain had lost its filter now that you’d admitted your fear to him. One that he brushed off so quickly it didn’t even seem reasonable to fear over.

His eyes quipped up, “I can stop.”

“I didn’t say that Bradley.”

He let out a soft chuckle, “Okay, I won’t then.”

“So,” You decided to make a move on him, might as well. He’d made every single move in the last thirty minutes. He was genuine. You closed the gap completely leaning into his side. He snaked an arm around your waist letting it rest on the top of your thigh. Your heart was hammering in your chest afraid you say or do something stupid.

“So.” He smile so big once you leaned your head down on his chest after having a battle with yourself on whether to do it or not. Without a second thought he began running a hand through your hair as if he’d done it a thousand time before.

“You like me, maybe love me?” You asked with a devious grin on your face starting to believe that the man was in face telling you the truth.

This time Bradley threw his head back in laughter. Once he began to calm he spoke with a look of love laced in his eyes, “Yeah, I like you. Yeah, I maybe love you.” He winked letting you decide what he meant.

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bradshawed · 6 days

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Bradshaw Household Birthday Rules

summary — some rules are meant to be broken..

warnings/tags — no use of y/n, brief use of gendered terms “girl” and “boy”, pet names, kissing, implied smut, fluff, birthday things, no swearing, Bradley being a tease, bad baking descriptions, coffee i forgot about

note — missed writing sm, thought i’d ease back into it with my first sneaky implied smut drabble. feel free to flood my inbox with any requests and lmk if you’d like more of this. hope you enjoy x

word count — 0.4k words

“Didn’t take you for a baker Roo.”

Bradley softly padded towards where you leant against the doorframe, wrapping you in his arms and greeting you with a kiss, “Mornin’, honey”.

He softly tugged on his your shirt with a smirk before placing a gentle kiss to your neck and moving to pour you a cup of coffee, just how you liked it.

Trying to be sneaky, you crouched down to peek through the oven door. Before you could get a glimpse of what your gorgeous boyfriend was making so early in the morning, a pair of arms wrapped around your waist, lifting you into the air and over his shoulder, before softly throwing you onto the couch.

“Sorry sweetheart, rules are rules, no peeking. Your pretty little butt has to stay glued to this couch.”

Your pout intensified, “And what rules might those be Bradshaw?”

“The Bradshaw Household Birthday Rules.”

“Mind telling me the rest of those rules handsome?”

Bradley knelt on the floor, his eyes in line with yours, “Hmmm well first, the birthday girl-”

“or boy.” You added, causing him to playfully narrow his eyes at you.

“Thank you honey, birthday girl or boy is confined to that couch, banned from doing any sort of activity that isn’t approved.”

His hands rested on your thighs, slowly inching upwards at your coy reply of “is that so?”

“Bradshaw house rules baby. You’re also not allowed to pay for anything on your birthday. Nuh uh- no complaints, let me spoil you. And that’s another one, no sad pouty faces on your birthday.” A flurry of kisses, everywhere but your lips, and your pout disappeared, “I need to see that gorgeous smile of yours at all times and hear your beautiful laugh.”

He was distracting you and he knew it, his fingers circling where you needed him most before disappearing. Two could play at that game.

“And what happens if I don’t follow your rules?”

“You know exactly what happens baby.”

You stood up from the couch, running your fingers through his curls as you walked around Bradley’s crouched form towards the kitchen, “Do I?”

He swung you back around with darkened eyes, pulling on the cotton of your shirt before slotting his leg between yours. The breathless kiss broken by the beep of the oven, the cake forgotten where it lay haphazardly on the rack.. it needed time to cool anyway.

#drew writes!#tgm #tgm fluff #tgm smut #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw drabble #bradley bradshaw fluff #bradley bradshaw smut #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x y/n #bradley x you #rooster x you

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girl-in-the-chairs-void · 1 year

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Bradley’s Sex tape

Pairing; Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x fem!reader

Word count; 2.6k

Warning/Tags; MINORS DNI, 18+, I am not even sure what you call these things but hey! I’m gonna lost as many things as I can…PORN. Unprotected sex, mutual masturbation, toy use, rope bunny (handcuffs), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, orgasm denial, begging/crying, sadism(?), pet names, degrading, exhibitionism(?), let me know if i missed anything

A/n; okay, maybe this is something filthier, I’m apparently a slit for The Bradshaw men…Enjoy!! i also hate the fact that its only 2.6k but i guess... let me know what you guys think!!!

Taglist; @roostersrooster @lovinglyeternal @bussyslayer333 @lovingbradshawafterdark @blue-aconite @theamuz @birdy-bat-writes @whoreforseresin @bradshawsweetheart @roosterbruiser @ohtobeleah @startrekfangirl2233 (tagging some horny mutuals<33)

Bradley couldn’t believe what flowed through his ears. The sweet sound of your voice that he admired so much- asking for something that was totally out of character.

He smooths his hands over the soft fabric of the shirt you were wearing- his shirt- a white button down that you had silently stole from his closet a while ago, a few buttons from the top undone, paired with nothing but your cute little cotton underwear. The length of your hair fell over your shoulders, sculpting and enhancing your appearance; your eyes resembling one of a touch starved puppy by the way they were blown out, completely taking over the colour of your iris’. You looked heavenly.

“Please, Brad..” you plead to him through thick lashes, burying yourself onto his lap further that he almost lets out a groan at the pressure you were putting on his hardening cock.

“You can record it with the camcorder I bought you for your birthday,” you whisper lowly, pressing your face closer to him, grazing your cheek against his, smooth skin against his rough stubble as you kiss your way down to that sweet spot under his ear. nibbling at his earlobe.

“Baby, are you sure? I know we’ve done some simple stuff, but-“

You pause your movements, fisting up a chunk of his collared shirt, pulling him by the material to smash your lips into his in a swift motion. his warm hands find their way under your shirt, massaging the soft- cold skin, you let out a soft sound of content, wrapping a free hand around the nape of his neck to deepen the kiss. You swipe your tongue at his bottom lip for access; which he gives you immediately.

The wet sounds of your lips working against each other is loud against the soft music that flows through the vinyl player in the corner of your shared living room. Your hands are caressing his baby hair that sit at the bottom of his neck carefully, softly tugging at them from moment to moment before he pulls away; your foreheads resting against each other, breathes mingling though open mouths.

“I’m sure, Bradshaw, wouldn’t want you to stop; even if it hurts.” You breath out.

That is all he needs before he is grabbing the flesh of your ass, hoisting you up and carrying you to your shared bedroom.

He enters the bedroom in full stride, throwing you onto the mattress with little to no effort, it never ceases to amaze you how strong he is but then again- he works for the navy.

You let out a small squeak as your ass hits the bed, using your elbows to support your weight as you look up at Bradley with your lips parted. his and your eyes hold such lust them; longing after your time apart. and your idea was probably only going to fuel into his need to fuck you into the morning.

He walks backwards, keeping eyes contact with you until he reaches his closet. Opening it to pull out the small Sony camcorder you had gotten him for his birthday. He hasn’t used it yet, but the thought of you being the first person recorded on the thing, laying on his bed, legs spread, wearing his shirt, it is dizzying.

But there was one thing new about this. The vibrator and pair of pink feather handcuffs on his bedside table.

Now, Bradley knew he didn't own one, but, you did. It’s not a purchase you had made a while ago though, you’d bought it for tonight, and when it arrived on your doorstep this morning, wrapped up in pastel pink packaging. You knew it was time.

He walks back towards you, setting up the camcorder on the table that sits in front of your bed and starting it. The red light comes on as he comes to stand in front you, fully naked of any clothing except his black boxers.

“Strip” the order is curt as he stands near the bedpost, watching you like a hawk.

You teasingly tug at the buttons of his shirt, looking into the camera.

“Eyes here, sweetheart.” You try taking your sweet time but the look on his face- so stern-has you working a little faster for it to be called teasing. You rid yourself of the cotton short and bra, only leaving the soft lace of your panties around your pelvis.

Rooster is at awe at the sight of you, naked, on all fours, crawling your way towards the machine. But he is on his way to it in an instant. Snatching it out of your grasp before your can even start it.

“Did I say you could take that thing of yours?”

Your eyes are wide, pupils blown as you look up at him through thick lashes and nibble at your wet lips. It makes the ever growing bulge in his boxers strain against the fabric, becoming a little more painful to hold in.

"Roos.." you coo, sweet and seductive.

You crawl towards him, lifting yourself on your knees to grab his shoulders but he doesn’t let it. Instead, moving forward to let you fall on your back on the bed, spreading your knees out so your lace panties, such a deep red with a patch of wetness where your sweet hole is meant to be.

He grabs at the fabric. Ripping it with a single tug and discarding somewhere near the bed. He doesn’t care about that. But seeing you, naked on his bed like that has him gong feral.

He moves to settle on the small seat across the bed, having a perfect view of you splayed out in front of him like an art piece at the exhibition.

“Touch yourself.”

You feel intimidated by the man in front you. Not in a bad way of course. But this...this Bradley is different. The lust in his eyes is evident and the way he is palming his cock through the thick fabric of this boxers, you’re sure he won’t last long.

Slowly you trail a hand down your body. Feeling the hardness of your nipples, squeezing and tugging at the flesh as you let out soft moans of Bradley’s name, closing your eyes in pleasure before trailing the hand further down to your bundle of nerves that’s soaked in your wetness already.

You circle the tiny thing, moaning at the movements, imagining the man in front of you was using his tongue to make you come on it.

Bradley isn’t doing well either. His cock is stood proud on his hand, running his fingers above the head, flicking at it. As he moans at your sweet sounds.

The vibrator isn’t exactly abandoned. You’re midway into your orgasm, pretty sure that you’re going to cum if you keep flicking at your clit like that before you hear shuffling. Bradley…

The low hum of the vibrator hits you as you feel the it work right above your clit. You jump slightly at the sudden contact of the cool silicone, but Bradley’s large hands grab harshly but not too strongly at your hips, keeping you in place.

He shifts you towards the left, putting you parallel to the camera so it would have a perfect view of your tits, naked on the bed with Bradley between your legs.

“Such a good slut, aren’t ya’? Who would’ve thought, such innocent face,” he holds your face in his, smooshing your cheeks-a tight grip on your chin. Heavy lidded eyes making contact with his big brown ones, “holds such filth. Might show the team this, huh? What would they think of you?”

You whimper, loudly. Hands coming to rest on his stomach, feeling his toned muscles, his lean stomach and- fuck. There is a sweet pain that comes with this amount of pressure on your clit and it certainly isn’t there to keep you quiet.

You’re so lost in your pleasure that you don’t notice that Bradley has taken the feathery little bracelets and has started tugging at your wrists, locking your arms above your head.

“Brad…”

It’s the first coherent thing that’s fallen out of your pretty mouth in a while and his name sounds so intoxicating spilling out of those lips that it makes him up the intensity of the machine in his hand. Pressing it further into your tender flesh that already overstimulated.

“Fuck-ohmygod-“

“You like that, baby? Look at you, all fucked out f’me. Haven’t even made you cum yet,”

You’re clenching around nothing. He hasn’t even given you his fingers while he abuses your sensitive flesh with the pink thing. You’re sure you could cry, your vision is already blurry with hot tears brewing at the corner of your eyes. Threatening to overflow.

“Please, Brad, ple-“ he increases the level by another and a loud moan escapes your pretty lips, mouth open wide to let out a scream of pleasure.

“What, baby? Tell me what’s got you begging at my fingertips. Didn’t you want this?”

The neighbours will definitely complain about this.

But you don’t care right now, no. It’s all too much before you feel his hands crawling their way into your core, wandering over the flesh of your thighs. He hooks them over his shoulders, biting and softly nipping at the skin as he moves

You’re overstimulated to a point where you’re unconsciously grinding and thrusting your hips towards his mouth.

And he’s lapping up your juices like a starved man. Tonguing into your clenching pussy. He swears under his breath as you close around him.

“Fuck- Brad, I’m-“

“did I tell you that you could cum, doll?”

You shake your head nervously. The tone of his voice is stern and commanding, there is no doubt that he isn’t the soft Rooster you know.

He shifts on his knees, moving the small vibrator away from your sensitive clit. He stands tall over you, towering. His hard cock is smothered in pre-cum, leaking onto the sheets.

Getting off the bed, he moves towards the camera on the table, taking it in his hands to bring towards you, a perfect view.

He brings two fingers to the tender flesh, running his fingers through- spreading the slick and you finally let the dam break. Leaking into his fingers as you cry out in pain and pleasure.

“Tsk, tsk..” he coos, “I told you not to do that sweetheart,”

You know he’s recording all of it. Every small movement from you. The closeups of your pussy dripping onto his p fingers to the way you’re struggling to get your hands out of the soft grasp of the cuffs.

It’s a blur, one moment his fingers are sliding in you, the other he is is straightening up and aligning the top of his cock with your dripping pussy.

You’re screaming. You’re sure that if he keeps thrusting in and out of you with such intensity you will not last. Slowly pulling, before thrusting back in, you an feel him in your abdomen.

“Such a good girl, takin’ me in so good,” He places a hand on the bottom of your stomach, feeling the way it rises up as the top of his cock hits deep within you. The bump is noticeable and it makes Bradley spiral with thoughts. Something that he’s thought about before with you.

“Look at that, baby. Y’ look so good with that bump of my cock inside you.”

You’re fucked out of your brain that all you can mutter out is a low hum.

“Y’want my baby in you, doll? Want you walking around with a swollen belly with a kid of mine-fuck,”

He’s so good to you, and the way he’s been praising you, you can’t do much but nod at his request. He’s close, the way his thrust are getting faster and his cock is twitching inside you, you know he’s close.

“Want- want your baby in me, please..Roos,” you plead, and the moan that follows that string of thought is vulgar to say the least. Pornographic. The way he has your legs hooked to his shoulders, vibrator long forgotten. Your arms hurt from being tied above your head for so long but all you can think of is the way he is hitting that one spot- so sweetly- in you.

“Fuck baby,” his hips stutter, movements faltering as he bottoms out one last time, thrusting back in as he spills inside you with a string of curses following.

“Gonna watch this thing again, look to the camera baby, wanna see you look at me when I watch it again.”

Your eyes flutter open at the command, look up towards Rooster and the camera lens right below him. You hear him coo at the tears spilling out of your eyes, setting the pink thing aside to smooth out the hair from your sweaty face.

“Roos…it hurts, please,” you breath, your voice is hoarse, cracking as you shake your hands that are tied above you, the feathers reducing no amount of bruising being caused around your wrists.

“This is gonna hurt a little bit, okay?” The heads up catches you mildly off guard, but you don’t pay much mind as he slowly pulls out of you. Letting out a soft sigh, you already miss the stretch of cock, the way it hit your sweet spot just minutes ago.

He dips his hand between your entangled bodies, gathering up the thick ooze and bringing them to your mouth.

“Open up baby,” he slides the fingers into your mouth, expecting tour tongue to lap up the juices and you do. Sucking on it’ll the digits until they are pressing on the father part of your tongue-making you gag on them.

“Fuck, baby, you look so good like that,” he praises, admiring the way you suck on his fingers. He runs his hands up and down your body, feeling the warm skin heat up with his touch a little more; the way your hard nipples are perked, begging for attention; the way there is a thin sheen of sweat forming over your forehead and torso, and Bradley has the obscene need to lick it off of you. It’s dirty- downright absurd, but the way you’re making him feel- god fuck you’re beautiful.

He sets the camera aside. On the bedside table, still on. He kisses your pelvic, bending down to eat off your leaking cunt. you let out soft whimpers as he does so, he does it so softly that you feel like a porcelain doll in his grasp.

"Roo..." you plead again, "the cuffs- fuck it hurts" there are tears staining the bedsheets, and Bradley almost loses and just thrusts back into you again before he restrains himself.

Lowering your lifted pelvic, he reaches forward, resting one hand beside you and unlocking the straps before letting your writs lose. He brings them forward, kissing the redness already starting to form.

"I'm sorry, baby, should've told me I did them too tight." he apologizes, softness already seeping back into him.

"No," tugging your hands away from his grasp, you reach forward, pulling him into a kiss. its soft, tender. “I liked it-just,” you let out a small sniffle, “got too much..”

He swear he could melt this very moment. The way your naked body is say on him, his hands on your hips, feeling the way your body has been sculpted in the shape of a literal goddess. He kisses between your breast, licking and nipping his way up the valley, he kisses your neck- oh so gently; he kisses his way up to your neck, your jaw until he finally reaches your lips again. Moulding them into his own, capturing your bottom lip between his teeth. He connects your lips again in a hurry, tongue against tongue.

He pulls away, a sting of spit between the two of you. Foreheads resting against each other.

“Wanna go again?”

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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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empress-simps · 1 year

Text

Danger Meter [2]

》Crash《

▪︎Pairings: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader

▪︎Pronouns: She/Her (Fem! Reader)

▪︎Warnings: Language, also probably some inaccuracies

▪︎Genre: Soulmate Au! Angst and fluff

▪︎Synopsis: Your soulmate rarely seems to be out of the High risk zone according to your mark, which makes you worry. Oh well— you already know that the same goes for him.

Note: Thank you for the likes/reblogs/comment! I couldn't help myself so here is part 2!

》 Masterlist 》 Bradley's Masterlist

》 Previous 》 Next

"Crash watch yourself, there's a-"

It was probably your fault, you were to pre-occupied thinking about what happened last night that you processed Hangman's warnings a little too late.

"Shit! Birdstrike! Birdstrike!" You yelled, looking at your controls. "Left engine is on fire! Climbing!" Hangman looks at you, growing worried about you by the second. "Don't tell me she's gonna try to fucking save it." He mumbled, keeping a close eye on you.

You'd try to save the plane even though you're literally about to nosedive into the ground. Hence the callsign 'Crash'.

"Throttling back! Shutting off fuel on left engine, extinguishing fire!" You informed Maverick and Hangman. Maverick can only utter an 'Oh my god' while Hangman could do nothing but watch worriedly.

Bob felt like someone dumped an ice bucket on him as he and his fellow naval aviators listened to the radio to know what's happening on air. His insides were twisting as he wanted to do nothing but to hurl and cry.

Everyone semmed to still as they continued to listen to the radio. "Bird strike..?" Payback mumbled.

"I think I'm going to be sick." Bob uttered, he can feel his head spinning and his hands get sweaty. Pheonix shot a worried glance at him.

Rooster, who was sitting in one of the chairs looked at Bob. "Crash's your girl, Bob?" He tried to read Bob's expression. Coyote intervened, "I think now is not the right time for you to be asking that, man."

Roster nodded as he muttered out an apology to the Weapons System Officer who was intently listening to the radio. As Rooster further observe Bob, he realized two things: Bob deeply cares for you, which makes him think you know each other personally, or you're both romantically involved. And the other one is-

He sure hopes that you and Bob aren't a thing.

Rooster was pulled away from his thoughts, hearing your voice on the radio. He felt a pit forming on his stomach as you yelled, 'Right engine is out! It's still spinning-"

'Crash! You can't save it!' Hangman's voice was heard through the radio. All of them perked up, they never heard Hangman scared before. Not even once, and the fact that he was worried for another person— considering he's Hangman, he'll leave you out to dry.

Rooster's worry grew by the second for his fellow pilot. He ran his hand through his hair, an action Coyote noticed, and without fail he saw something he thinks that's hard to believe.

Rooster's mark was an angry shade of dark red.

Coyote was stunned, his eyes widening as he tried to process his thoughts over yours, hangman's and maverick's shouting over the radio.

"No fucking way.." He breathed out, aviators beside him thought he was talking about what's happening over the radio. Boy were they wrong.

'I can't control it! I'm going down! I'm going down!' Panic and terror laced in your voice, Rooster can feel his chest tightening as he looked down and laced his hands together, finally noticing something wrong with his mark.

The stripe was almost black.

It can't be, what's happening? He looked at it, and looked back to the radio. His head was racing different thoughts per minute. He felt his breathing got labored as he tries to calm himself.

"No.. no.." Bob mumbled, clearly distraught as Pheonix offered a comforting squeeze on his shoulder.

Right, you and Bob are probably soulmates. He needs to put that into consideration, maybe it's just a coincidence? But, having your soulmate's danger meter almost turn black is rare. He read about a study that found out people who's soulmates have a high risk job (i.e being in the military) are reported to be the one experiencing red and black marks.

You— a naval aviator who's about to crash, and him, who's mark is almost black.

'You can't save it! Eject eject!' They heard Maverick yell as Hangman told the same thing. 'Crash! don't you dare join your jet crash!'

'Eject eject eject!'

Taglist [Closed]: @auszimbo

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wild-lavender-rose · 1 year

Text

I’ll Come Back

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x fem!reader

Category: One-shot

Summary: When your best friend Bradley is called back to Top Gun, you fear that you’ll never see him again. It’s that fear that prompts you to reveal a secret you’ve kept from him for years...

Warning: Steamy kissing, brief mention of drinking, mild language

A/N: This is so all over the place and doesn’t really flow very well, but I don’t feel like tinkering with it and thought I would just go ahead and post. Enjoy!

“I don’t understand.” Bradley shook his head at you. “I’ve left a million times,”

“But not like this. You’ve never been called back to Top Gun.” You stared at him, willing him to listen. “This is different and you know it.”

“How? Every mission has a risk, it’s part of the job,”

“But not like this!” You growled and turned away, running an anxious hand through your hair. “Look, I’ve got a bad feeling about this. I think...I think you should break your leg or, or just, I don’t know! Just don’t go.”

“Honey, that’s not how the military works.” Bradley smirked, causing your anger at his ignorance to burn. He was always doing that, teasing you, calling you pet names, pretending that the two of you were still kids. But you weren’t kids anymore. This, Bradley’s mission, was big and scary and you didn’t want him to go.

But Bradley just didn’t seem to understand. “You’re acting childish.”

“Bradley,” you squeezed your eyes shut against the overwhelmed tears rising within you.

“It’s only three weeks, then I’ll come back and you’ll have someone to call at three am when you’re drunk at the bar or god knows where,”

“Bradley, stop.”

“What then? What do you want from me?”

“I can’t.”

“You can’t what?!”

“I can’t lose you!” You whirled to face him, anger and pain overriding your fear as the tears finally began to fall. “You’re not going, it’s not happening, I can’t lose you.”

Bradley stared at you, the words hanging in the air between you. His eyes widened. “Honey,”

“No! No, this is not up for debate. You’re not going and I don’t care,” the secret was coming, rising to the surface, threatening to spill out into the world. “You’re not going, it’s not happening, I can’t lose you.”

“Baby.”

“Tell them that you can’t fly this mission, tell them it’s impossible.”

“Baby,” Bradley crossed the space between you and touched your arm.

“No!” You jerked away and looked up at him, choking back a sob. “I love you, okay? I love you and your stupid smirk and your stupid mustache and I love how every time I shut you out you always come back for more. I love you, you dumb jerk! And I couldn’t live if you didn’t, you didn’t-,” you cut yourself off with a cry of pain.

“Stop it, honey, stop.” Bradley pulled you into your arms and kissed you deep and hard. The kind of kiss that consumed all other thought. You slid your hand through his hair and pulled him closer, closing your eyes as you kissed back.

Bradley’s hands slid around your waist and pressed his body against yours. His tongue slipped into your mouth and you allowed him entrance, desperate to get close. Desperate to do anything. Stay, you thought. Stay stay stay.

You tugged at his hair. Bradley groaned and picked you up, head tilting back as he wrapped your legs around him just above his waist. You broke the kiss and gasped for air. Bradley supported your back as you grasped at his shoulders, peppering your face with kisses as you forced your breathing to slow and the tears to stop.

“I love you too.” He whispered.

“Please don’t leave.”

Bradley looked up at you like he was memorizing your face. His eyes searched yours, desperate and torn and ready to become consumed by you again and not come up for air. You touched his neck, his jaw, his scars, his hair. It was so new, so warm, so perfect. You couldn’t lose this.

“Three weeks.” Bradley nodded. “Three weeks, then I’m coming back.”

“And then?”

“Then I’m going to ask my girl out,” he eased you back to the ground. “And I’m gonna pray that she finally says yes.”

“Promise you’ll come back.” You slid your arms around him. “Promise this won’t be your last mission.”

“I promise, baby.” Bradley kissed the top of your head. “I promise. I’ll come back.”

You stretched up to bump your forehead against his. “I love you.” You breathed.

“I love you so much.” Bradley wrapped you up tight in his arms. “You know how I know I’ll come back?”

“Because you’re a good pilot.”

“That, and, I’ve got someone to come back home to.”

You squeezed your eyes shut against the tears and held him back with everything inside you, willing yourself to believe him.

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wild-lavender-rose-musings · 2 years

Text

Thinking about coming home from work with a bad headache and Bradley guiding your head down onto his lap to massage the aches away. Sighing and thinking about how good his fingers would feel, scratching gently at your scalp, whispering sweet soothing nothings as he made the pain melt away

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waklman · 10 months

Text

In The Stands

summary: bradley makes sure you know that you're his biggest fangirl.

pairing: bradley bradshaw x female reader.

warnings: no use of y/n. fluff, mentions of sex. bradley is a biter idc!! 18+ blog in general.

olympic swimmer au

take your marks masterlist.

While you would love to say that you were Bradley’s biggest fan, you were well aware that it was a title you had to earn rather than be automatically granted as his girlfriend.

Though you had to admit, it was definitely a struggle to stay afloat in the rocky waters comprised of Bradley's fangirls. After all, they were always a bit extreme when it came to exhausting their free time towards deep-diving into your boyfriend’s life.

The unwavering adoration they had for their favorite swimmer propelled them to know even the most obscure details about him—from which energy drinks he chugged before a medley to which brand of underwear he wore.

Anyone would have fallen to your knees like you did after finding out other girls knew of your boyfriend’s love for Calvin Klein.

So what better way to take your righteous title as his number one fan from under their noses, than to corner the athlete after practice—demand said athlete to surrender unfounded information about himself—and transcribe every single word that leaves his mouth right into your notes app.

Rest assured, Bradley was more than pleased to have you perched on his muscled thigh while he was drying off on the rest bench. Enough so, that he started to run a line of kisses from your shoulder up to the familiar spot behind your ear as he diligently attends to your flurry of questions.

“If you could switch bodies with anyone for a day, who would it be? And what would be the first thing you do?” You make sure to specify, thumbs eagerly hovering over your phone’s keyboard.

“Easy, Seresin. And I’d hop out the nearest window,” he quietly hums, trailing his nose along your shoulder blade before capturing a piece of your flesh between his teeth, out of boredom.

Too engrossed with the task at hand, his actions all go unnoticed by you. Luckily for Bradley, the rest of his team coming up for air at the starting blocks are also oblivious to it.

“…Seresin,” you absentmindedly mutter to yourself, eyes searching for ‘S’ on your keyboard. Hearing that, Bradley’s mouth latches onto an untouched spot near your pulse.

Instead of acknowledging the intentional nip, you hastily pound the backspace button to correct your misspell of ‘nearest window’ with a huff.

About twenty minutes into your interrogation, the frustration stitching your brows together gradually lets up with Bradley’s cooperation. And between each question, the swimmer leans back, face glowing with a grin as he surveys the marks scattered across the right side of your neck.

Readjusting yourself in his lap, you let out a relieved breath. “Okay, last one. What’s your favorite thing to do when you’re bored?”

Bradley smiles against the curve of your neck, sheepish response weighing down his tongue. “M’ not sure if you wanna know my answer to that sweetheart.”

Stuck in interviewer mode, the insinuation goes flying right over your head and you twist your neck to shoot him an offended look.

“Yes I do! Did you know your fans on twitter have baby pictures of you that I haven’t even seen before?! I’m like, the worst fan ever!” You complain, accidentally veering off on a tangent.

At the mention of your rank in his fanbase, Bradley sighs, playful expression fading from his face. “Bubbles, is that what this is all about?”

Instead of answering him, you quietly remain seated on his leg like some empty ventriloquist doll, wooden legs stiffly hung over his knee and hinged mouth clamped shut because that’s exactly what this is all about.

Taking the nervous dart of your eyes into account, Bradley pries your fingers off your overheated phone, dropping it inside the mesh swim bag by his feet.

Sometimes, Bradley forgets that you’re unaware of his disinterest for things like that—the special attention from journalists, the throng of girls gathered outside venues to see him, and the endless clamoring for his signature. Because a part of him assumed that you already knew that.

It was in moments where his head broke the surface of the water, that Bradley knew he never needed fulfillment from other people—not when he instinctively searched for your proud face in the stands, rather than checking his own team’s placement on the scoreboard.

Turning you in his lap to face him, Bradley leans in to kiss your nose, making it scrunch under contact. “I don’t know why you think you got competition. I’m pretty sure you’re the only girl I take up to my room after a win,” he lightly teases, poking your shoulder.

Slowly, a shy smile makes its way to your face. “I’d hope that I’m the only one. If not, we're gonna have some problems,” you playfully warn, kicking his ankle.

“Uh oh. We might have some problems on our hands,” Bradley shrugs, struggling to contain his laugh in his throat.

“Hey! That’s—that’s not funny,” you break out into a fit of giggles, prompting him to join you with a slap to his bare chest.

With you bending forward to simmer your laughter, Bradley takes the chance to extend his arm back into his bag, plucking your phone from the mess of swim caps and snacks.

All you do is confusingly look on as he types in your passcode, large thumb swerving to open the camera app.

“What are you—”

The words instantly die on your tongue when he flips your phone, and you notice the litter of bite marks on your neckline.

“You did not!” You shriek, hand flying to touch your bruised skin in disbelief.

“Oh but I did Bubbles, for my biggest fan,” he settles with a shameless grin, clicking the side of the device to snap a picture.

note: i will say although i sprinkle random swimming analogies in all the fics for this au i had the most fun doing it here hehe. as always, thank you for reading, and reblog are greatly appreciated!

join the taglist for this series here or follow me on @waklman-library and turn on notifs to be notified when i post!

tags: @Genius2050@eli2447 @katieshook02 @mak-32 @domeafavour505 @s-u-t @averyhotchner @et-homephone @sgt-barnesveins @olymosity @wkndwlff @diorrfairy @cruelmissdior @eternallyvenus @laneylovesglen @queerqueenlynn @taytaylala12 @sushiwriterhere @ravenhood2792 @Natdrunk @theweekndhistorybook @goosterroose @Moon42flight

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roosterforme · 6 months

Text

Wrong Number | Rooster x Reader

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

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

Length: 4700 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pretty Girl: Are you naked in these photos?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He texted you back.

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

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

CALL FROM Pretty Girl

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Just okay?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Totally naked."

"Fuck."

"Send me another one?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah. It's Rooster."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Pretty Girl."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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thewulf · 7 months

Text

It Takes Time || Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw

Summary: Request - Maybe where you're Iceman's daughter and assisting Maverick with teaching the daggers and everyone's respecting you. But due to everything in him telling him to not do it, Bradley Bradshaw falls for you and you resist him... Read Rest Here

A/N: 3 x 1 – the three times you and Bradley nearly cross the line and the one time you do. Changed up the request a bit, hopefully you don’t hate it. I love a good comfort, especially when its Bradley Bradshaw.

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Y/N

Word Count: 4.5k +

One – The Meeting

“And your teachers for this mission, Captain Pete “Maverick” Mitchell, and Captain Y/N “Sunny” Kazansky.” Cyclone introduced the two of you. Your father had called in a favor and got you stationed back at Top Gun out to help your fathers longtime friend out. Mav was like an uncle to you at this point. With your recent promotion to Captain, it was time to test the waters out as a more senior leader anyway.

You heard the murmurs. You were sure they were all curious as to who the two of you were. They all likely knew about Mav. You’d flown under the radar as much as possible. Your eyes darted around the room until they landed, and stayed, on the handsome looking brown curly haired pilot with doe eyes who was staring right at you. You subtly looked back at Maverick careful not to look back at the unashamed pilot. He, however, couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. He’d heard about you. Just as ruthless as your father in the sky but as sweet as could be on the ground, hence your callsign Sunny. You’d all but managed to draw his attention away from Maverick, the man he swore he would hate for as long as he lived.

What Bradley wasn’t expecting was your sheer beauty as you stood next to Mav. You’d moved up through the Naval rankings quickly and everybody talked about that, but nobody had mentioned just how fucking pretty you were. Sure, he’d seen pictures, but you’d always been covered by a helmet or bandana. Now that you were standing him front of him he was at a loss from words. He had a hard time drawing his gaze away from you even as Mav called on him. He gulped knowing he was in grave trouble.

“Captain Kazansky, how’s your father doing?” The blonde pilot sitting towards the front asked before Maverick could get into the spiel he had planned. You cocked your eyes towards the pretty boy. Why was he asking? Did he know your fathers cancer was back and more bitter than ever? Or was the pilot simply just trying to make a name for himself? You knew who he was, but you didn’t know how he acted. That was the only problem with learning about a person through a sheet of paper.

“He’s wonderful. Thanks for asking Lieutenant.” You didn’t give him a smile nor a frown, emotionless. You studied him as he studied you. You saw Mav give you the side eye, a break in your voice indicating that was anything but the truth. Mav decided he wouldn’t push you right now, not when you looked like you were going to break down. Only he could know that though. He’s known you your entire life. He knew your tells. You’d never flown with the pilots in front of you. They were none the wiser to the giveaways. But Mav knew. Admiral Kazansky was not alright. Maybe, just maybe, that’s why he was here.

Mav cleared his throat letting the class know he meant business now. He started his speech with the overdramatic manual throwing. You told him he was being over the top. He clearly disagreed and went with you. He got the reaction from the class that he wanted with that stupid little Maverick smirk spread across his face. While you were watching Mav and thinking of the blonde boy and his angle Bradley had kept his eyes trained on you. He couldn’t get enough of you. Not even with Maverick standing right there next to you. He didn’t seem to matter.

When Mav dismissed the class you hung back waiting for the room to clear. You were doing the coaching and teaching from the ground today while Mav taught in the air. Not paying much attention as you put the chairs back in line you hadn’t noticed Bradley hanging back with you. He wasn’t selected in the first group to go flying so what’d he have to lose? He had time to change and get ready.

“You’re the admiral’s daughter?” He spoke breaking your concentration. He shied away seeing you jump out of your skin.

Spinning around on your heel, you weren’t aware you had an audience, “One of them, yes.” You nodded eyeing him over. Bradley Bradshaw. You knew everybody in the class already. You knew his dad flew with Maverick. You knew he and Mav were in rocky waters right now after Mav pulled his papers all those years ago. You knew so much about him, but he knew nothing of you. It almost felt like you were cheating a bit.

He gave you a curt nod, “I’ve heard a lot about you.” Your eyebrow raised at that one, studying him, he’d heard a lot about you huh? You could’ve said the same, for much different reasons. Fortunately, he didn’t seem to have a clue though.

He continued on seeing as your curiosity didn’t falter, “People talk. A lot. Especially about the admirals daughter who is actually good. Almost as infamous as Maverick.” His tone of voice changed to one of a bitter man once he referred to his long-lost father figure he’d grown to love throughout the years.

“I’m taking that as a compliment, Bradshaw.” You smiled taking a step towards the much taller man. His picture really didn’t do him justice. While the blonde pilot was pretty, Bradley was strikingly handsome. Exactly your type. You swore off pilots long ago though, you knew who they were through and through. You were one of them. You knew exactly how they thought. How the job came first, the job always came first.

Enjoying his surprised reaction, you simply waited for a reply. He seemed a little tongue tied as you eyed him. You didn’t notice his stuttering as you were taking him in, all of him.

He nodded his head rapidly once your eyes landed back on his, “You should Sunny.”

Two – The Time You Knew You Liked Him

“Whatcha reading there Sunshine?” Bradley’s voice made your eyes tear away from the page quickly. It was your usual lunchtime ritual. Get your stuff and head outside for an hour to eat and read. The only time you could get away from the chaos of the day.

Closing the book you handed it to him, “Pride and Prejudice?” He asked turning the worn-down book in his hand.

You hummed, “My favorite.”

He sat down next to you on the picnic bench you were sitting at, “Why’s that?” He asked genuinely. You were opening up to him and he’d take anything. He wanted to know anything and everything about you. The more he knew the deeper he fell. It was inevitable really.

You thought for a moment before answering, “Because love is messy, fucked up and not always up to just the one you love. It dives into so many different messed up scenarios and navigates through them flawlessly. Lizzie is just, she’s the perfect narrator for her own story.”

He looked awestruck at your answer. He knew you were smart, but you were eons ahead of him. No wonder you’d risen to Captain so quickly. It just made sense. You were truly the whole package. Smart, beautiful, funnier than he could’ve ever thought. He liked you a whole lot and he was on a mission to make you like him just the same.

“Have you read it before?” You asked all too curiously.

He shook his head looking at it, “No, mind if I borrow it after your done?” He didn’t miss a beat. If it was your favorite he was sure as hell going to go stop by the bookstore and pick up a copy on his way home. He’d read the whole damn thing tonight if it meant he’d see that smile tomorrow when he talked about it with you. He was smitten. And he was completely fine with it. You’d managed to do it without even trying too. He knew it was over for him.

Beaming up to him you simply nodded, “Take it. It’s yours to borrow. Treat her well though. I’ve had that copy since college.”

He held it down to his abdomen tightly, “Consider her protected, at all costs.”

You grinned playing along with him, “I expect nothing less B.”

“B?” He cocked his head towards you. He had to admit it sounded damn good rolling off your tongue.

“Yeah, for Bradley. Get it?” You smirked this time playing along with him.

He shook his head while pinching your hip. A small yelp and a shiver of goosebumps erupted from his touch. Damn. Your body was reacting to him now? It might have as well been over for you too.

“Yes Sunny. I get it.” He leaned over whispering in your ear, “And I love the way it sounds coming from you.”

“Fuck off Bradshaw.” You pushed him off biting your lip to stop the smile that was forming.

“Yes Captain.” He just knew how to get right on under your skin didn’t he?

“You’re so annoying.” You laughed loving the time you got to spend with him. He made it so damn easy.

You made it easy for him too, “You love it though.”

“Maybe, just maybe, I do.”

Three – The Moment You Fell In Love With Him

The Lieutenants had just finished up Mavericks bastardized game of football on the beach. You opted on watching from the sidelines, far too much testosterone on the beach for your liking. You couldn’t help but to have your eyes drawn to Bradley’s chiseled frame. God, he was fucking hot, and he knew it. The way he walked around all cocky had you feeling some type of way. Who would’ve thought you’d have a thing for a guy with a cute ass mustache anyway?

“You should really look at somebody else if you didn’t want to make it too obvious Y/N.” Penny smirked walking right on up to you.

A light blush was surely rising on your cheeks, “What are you talking about Penny?” Pursing your lips, you turned your eyes away from his perfectly sweaty body that was literally glistening in the setting sun. Fuck, you were toast.

Her smile was one of a woman who knew more than she was letting on, “Bradley Bradshaw is what I’m talking about Kazansky.” Her cool smirk let you know she knew exactly how you were feeling.

“Am I making it that obvious?” Knowing you weren’t going to be able to talk yourself out of this one you just leaned into it.

She shrugged, “You’ve been eyeing him like a candy bar for the last twenty or so minutes.”

“Can you blame me?” You bit your lip in sheer frustration. Why him? Why a pilot? Why did he have to hate Pete? Why’d it have to be so damn complicated.

A soft laugh came from your longtime family friend. Growing up in San Diego meant that you’d spent your fair share of time with Penny and Amelia. You’d babysat Amelia while you were in high school and she was just a baby.

“He’s not the one I’m looking at.” Wiggling her eyebrows she laughed once more seeing your disgusted face.

“Please don’t talk about Pete like that to me.” A fake gagging noise came from your mouth at the thought

Her laughter continued drawing the attention of Bradley. He grinned seeing you and Penny on the sidelines having your own type of fun. He’d tried relentlessly to get you to join the game, but you were adamant about sitting this one out. Getting trucked by a bunch of six-foot men just didn’t sound super ideal to you.

When you looked back over to him you caught his eyes on you. You flashed him a bright smile while giving him a nervous wave. You’d caught him but he wasn’t looking away, no. No, he was looking right into your damn soul with those eyes. Even from that distance away. You were thankful the sun was out, and you could just blame the blush on the sun.

When Mav blew the final whistle Penny said her goodbyes before finding her boyfriend. Shaking your head and turning away you weren’t expecting Bradley to be right behind you, but here he was. Certainly not shy.

“Bradley,” You laughed off your nerves, “You played well out there.”

He smirked loving the fact that you were watching him, “You think?” He was fishing and he knew it. He loved it when he could break you out of your tiny little shell. He knew he made you nervous, in a good way of course, and he had to figure out how to lean into it. Keep that feeling but calm those nerves just a bit.

Rolling your eyes you shoved his arm playfully, “Yes Bradley. You played great.”

“Thanks honey.” He winked knowing that’d surely throw you for a loop. When your eyebrows raised in sheer confusion he only smiled harder wanting so desperately to grab for a hand but there were far too many prying eyes for that.

“Honey?”

He nodded, “Would you prefer pretty? Darling? My dove?” His smile only grew in size when he saw your scowl.

“Shut up Bradley.” You knew he was messing with you. He always did.

But something was different this time. His tone of voice? The way he looked at you when he spoke? “I’m not kidding Sunny. I won’t call you that if you don’t want me too though.” So Bradley, leaving the choice up to you. Always making sure you were

You spoke far too quickly in response, “I didn’t say that.” It was like word vomit coming out of your mouth.

It made Bradley far too happy, “Alright darling.” He leaned down closer to you making sure nobody was here, “If we were alone right now I’d ask to kiss you. But since we aren’t we’re just going to have to save that for later, yeah?” He was all too sure of himself now. Especially when he saw the way your mouth dropped a little and eyes shot right to him with nothing but lust in them. He’d done it. He’d won you over.

Before you could answer though a much different voice interrupted your conversation, “Hey mister.” A small hand pulled on Bradley’s much larger one. Both of you looked down at the much smaller child.

“Hey kid.” He smiled warmly to the young boy. So easily he shifted his focus away from the heated exchange and to the boy.

“Uhm, can you play with us?” Your heart about melted right then and there. The soft little doe eyes from the small boy got you. The kid motioned to the football in Bradley’s hand afraid he might say no.

You weren’t sure what he was about to say. You wouldn’t blame him if he found some excuse because he was tried, hungry and wanted to cuddle up on the couch with you. But that wasn’t him, no. That wasn’t Bradley at all.

“You betcha.” He smiled down to him, “Go long.” He waited for the kid to sprint off before throwing the ball down the beach towards him.

“Have fun.” You giggled to yourself seeing the happiness in Bradley’s eyes.

“You know it pretty. Wait up for me, yeah? I can drive you home. Go get yourself a beer. I’ll buy it for you.”

You nodded quickly at his suggestion, “You know where I’ll be Bradshaw.” You smiled waving him off as you walked towards The Hard Deck. Oh boy, Penny and Pete were about to have a field day with this one. You were a goner that was for sure. Turning around and watching him run around with a bunch of eight years old’s made your heart swell ten times. Goner for sure.

Four – The Morning Mav Knew There Was Something More

You weren’t really ready to come back. But you had to. Your bereavement time was up and you didn’t have any vacation to spare. Your father was gone, and you had to accept it. The world continued spinning and so did your life. It didn’t make it any easier though. You’d gotten to work and just sat in the room waiting for the class to trickle in. You were there hours early. Sleep was hard to come by these days for you. It’d only been two weeks since he passed. Two weeks on this earth without your dad. It felt far too fucking lonely without him here.

The mission was only a few days away now. You were back in time to see this through. You weren’t ready though. Not in the slightest. You didn’t know how long you were sitting there staring at the white board in front of you before hearing the door open and close.

Not turning towards the sound only looking forward you were surprised hearing Bradley’s voice, “There you are.” Your head snapped up seeing his exasperated gaze, “You weren’t answering your texts or calls. I got worried so I went over to your place. Didn’t see your car so I came here. Had me scared shitless Y/N.” He was frowning as he slipped into the chair next to you.

“I’m sorry Bradley.” You looked down and away from Bradley feeling all too uncomfortable with his upset gaze on you.

He shook his head afraid he upset you, “Are you alright?” He brushed his fingers under your chin turning your head towards him. His lips pursed when he saw the trail of tears falling down your face. Clearly, you weren’t alright.

Despite all that you still nodded your head, “I’m okay.”

His frown only made the tears continue to spill, “Honey.” And that was all it took for the waterworks to commence. Full on sobs racked throughout your body as you let yourself finally breakdown in his arms. He pulled you onto his lap, annoyed by the small seats. Cradling you close he just let you cry it out. He, of all people, knew exactly how this felt. How suddenly empty you felt. Even if you had all the time in the world to prepare. You’d never hear his voice again. See his face. He was all but memories now, fading at that.

Bradley watched the door making sure nobody saw you in such a fragile state. Not here. He cradled you in his arms while whispering sweet nothings in your ears trying to ground you back to the present. It was hard. Impossible. You’d only lost him two weeks ago and here you were, back to work. Bradley couldn’t imagine that.

“I’m so sorry.” You mumbled once the tears stopped flowing and you’d successfully soaked through his uniform. Not bearing to look at him you kept you head buried in his chest.

“There’s nothing to apologize for pretty.” He kept cradling you, so long as you wanted it. So long as you needed it. So long as you clung to him so desperately.

You took long deep breaths not in the mood to argue with him. Bradley just watched as you calmed yourself down. Clearly embarrassed by the outburst. He knew it was the first of many. You’d have good days, and you’d have days far worse than this. He knew. He was ready to be there for you.

As shitty as you were feeling the cute little terms of endearment he used to calm you down did make your heart sputter as your finally processed his words, “Thank you Bradley.” Mumbling into his chest you couldn’t bear to break the embrace he had you in. It felt too damn good with him holding you like you were the most precious treasure in the world.

His hand brushed down your hair and back in a steady rhythm, “Anytime. Any day. Any minute. Any second.” He leaned down giving your forehead a light kiss. The shiver that ripped down your body might have been a dead giveaway at how you felt when he did so. That’s as far as he’d go though. He couldn’t push you now. Not when you were grieving and broken. He knew he needed to step up and be your comfort now. Hold you when you needed. Let you cry it out even at the weirdest hours of the day. Grief was a bitch, and he had a front row ticket to it. His life seemed like nothing but grief. He knew how to handle it.

Bradley was so focused on you. And you were so focused on hiding from his gaze that neither hadn’t heard the door open and shut. Pete walked in silently, as he always did, not expecting to see the scene before him. Bradley gently rubbing your back as your body was curled into him. It didn’t surprise him per say. He’d noticed the two of you had gotten closer over the last few weeks. Pete paused thinking of what he should do. He could walk out but that risked somebody else catching the two of you. Relationships weren’t forbidden they were just… highly frowned upon. And Ice would be awfully mad at Mav if he let his daughter get in trouble for something so stupid. Especially when you clearly needed it. More now than ever.

Pete did all he could think to do, he coughed. He watched at you shot up from Bradley quickly backing away from him. Pete’s heart could’ve broken right then and there seeing your tear-stained cheeks and disheveled hair. You looked broken.

“I’m so sorry sir. I just…” You gulped rubbing the haziness out of your eyes. You didn’t have an excuse. Bradley was just looking at you with sorrow in his eyes. Pete looked at you with pity.

“Why don’t you take the day Captain?” Pete suggested instead of acknowledging your apology.

You shook you head, “I can’t, I don’t have the time.”

Pete walked over handing you your coat off the top of the desk it was resting on, “I’ll cover. Go. You too Lieutenant.” Pete looked at Bradley giving him a curt nod letting him know it was fine. Mav knew you needed Bradley.

He looked a little shocked but stood from his seat, “Mav, are you sure?”

He nodded, “Take care of her.” He nearly whispered as he walked away from the pair. He walked right on out of the room giving you the space you needed. You could’ve broken down right then and there again had Bradley not pulled you from your thoughts. You felt all the love from your pseudo uncle, so thankful he was in your life.

Bradley pulled you towards the door gently, “You wanna change or just go home?” Bradley asked softly careful not to startle you.

“Home.” You looked up to him afraid you’d run into Phoenix or Halo in the locker room. They’d never judge you. It was just easier to avoid it altogether though.

Giving your hand a squeeze, he smiled right at you, “Let’s go home then honey. We can watch some trashy reality television and order some disgustingly greasy food if you want.”

For the first time in a long time a small smile came to your face, “That sounds perfect B.” He smiled even brighter at that. He adored it when you’d used that nickname on him. If he were honest he’d fallen in love with everything about you. Your laugh. Your smile. Your personality above all else. You were truly like nobody he’d ever met before. He’d be damned to let that slip away from him, not without a fight.

“Follow me out. I’ll drive us home.” You nodded doing as he said. Keeping your face hidden until you got to his truck. The ride home was silent. Bradley talked occasionally breaking you from whatever fucked up thoughts were coursing through your even more messed up brain. It was driving you crazy how much of prisoner you felt your very own brain. You wanted to be happy, to smile but it just wasn’t coming. Not until you fully accepted his death. Your dad wasn’t coming home. Never again. That was a hard cross to bear.

You cuddled up to him on the couch once you got back to your place and the two of you changed. Bradley promised to stay for as long as you’d have him. Joke’s on him though, you’ll never kick him out.

“Can I ask you something?” You questioned him once the two of you had settled on Vanderpump Rules and some pizza. Your favorite comfort food.

“Anything.” Once again he brushed your hair with his hands knowing it calmed you instantly.

“How’d you do it? Losing your mom? Your dad?” You’d asked the question you’d been so afraid to ask before. But y

“Time.” He answered you truthfully, “It takes time.”

You sighed knowing that was likely the answer he was going to give you but not the one you’d wanted to hear, “I was afraid you’d say that.” Your voice wobbled, on the brink of another fresh set of tears.

Bradley pulled you closer, “But I’m here. I’ll be here through everything. The ups, the downs, the bumps. It all. You have me. You have your siblings, your mom. You have people here for you pretty.” He kissed your forehead once more.

You felt a few tears fall at that. Looking up to him you had to ask, “Why? Why are you being so kind to me?”

Shaking his head, he used the pads of his fingertips to wipe the fresh tears away, “I like you. A whole lot more than I really should.” He admitted, laying it all out there for you, “You’re Incredible Sunny. The most incredible woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. I’m here for you. If you’ll have me.”

Ever the gentleman he was. Always leaving it up to you, “You like me?”

He laughed, throwing his head back in amusement, “I think I’ve been rather obvious Kazansky. But yes. I like you. A lot.” He didn’t want to throw the L word out just yet. That was far too soon. But he knew he loved you. He loved every single inch of you. He knew he’d love you for a long, long time to come to. He’d truly, never felt so sure

“Oh,” You grinned feeling the tears dry up, “Then please stay. Stay for a long time.”

He brushed the stray strands of hair out of your face, “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I like you too. A lot.” Squeezing his hip with your hand you hid your face in his chest feeling all too exposed at that admission of your feelings. It never came easy.

He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, “Y/N Kazansky, you just made me the happiest guy in the world.”

“Yeah?” You peaked up at him with a grin on your face. Red face of exposure be damned.

“Oh yeah baby.” He cradled you close feeling every joyful emotion course through him. He got you. He fucking got you. He wasn’t going to let this one slip. No. It may take some time to figure it out but that’s what life was about. Time.

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sometimesanalice · 7 months

Text

Bedside Manner

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

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Length: 8K

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Normally.

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

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

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

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

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

It was supposed to be a fun day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You had been blessedly and devastatingly spared the choice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Respectfully, of course.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he’s never made a move.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The game coming to an immediate and conclusive end.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck off, Bagman-” Rooster snaps.

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

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

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

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

Just not like this.

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

Your group of eight now downsized to a trio.

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

Nat bends down to help gingerly glide your feet into your sandals, “I’ll grab the rest your things and drop them off at your place and then one of the boys will drop off your car later. We’ve got it all covered, ok?”

“Thanks, Nat,” you say quietly, trying to hold back a wince as she slips the left one on, your ankle pulsing in tempo with your heartbeat.

“Best friends don’t say thank you, they just do,” she says matter-of-factly as she stands. It’s the same thing you’d told her after you’d dumped a carton of strawberry milk on Carly Radke for outing Natasha your freshman year in high school. It was only time you’d ever gotten detention, but it had been worth it.

“They just do,” you repeat with a small smile.

You’re so grateful that your friendship with her is one that has spanned years. That you’ve been able seen one another grow and change and come into their own, but that you haven’t outgrown each other. She’s the person you want by your side and having your back. There is no one quite like Natasha Trace.

She turns to Bradley and you watch him stand a little taller under her sharp eyes, your straw tote still dangling from his forearm.

“You good?” Nat asks him with a look in her eye that you can’t place. And you’re reminded that even though she’s your best friend, that he has also earned a spot as one of her closest friends. Their relationship built over years and experiences that you could never fully understand. Different, but just as deep.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got her. I’ll take care of her,” Rooster promises with a stiff nod, as he gives her his word. It might have made your heart beat a little faster if you didn’t feel like such a burden. That it’s simply a twist of fate and three less drinks than everyone else for the reason that he’s the one to look after you. That he’s the one stuck with you.

“I know you will,” she says softer now, patting his shoulder, “Keep me posted.” Nat presses a kiss to your cheek and gives you an encouraging smile then heads off to go rejoin everyone else.

You watch her go with longing. The cheerful beach set up with its colorful blankets and umbrellas looks more like a desert mirage now. The sweet coconut scented potential of what the day could have been now forever out of reach.

And then it’s just you and Bradley and the sound of the waves and cries of seagulls.

The two of you silent and motionless.

You feel one wrong move and the fragile attempt of the stiff upper lip you’ve cocooned yourself in will crack open and all the soft parts of you will seep out into the sand beneath your feet.

His expression is shuttered closed as he bends a bit like he is going to pick you up.

“Woah, buddy, what are you doing?” You’re squinting into the sun as you look at him. You’d step into his shadow to block it, since you’re now in need of a new pair of sunglasses, but that would mean moving to the left which isn’t an option with your ankle.

“Buddy,” he grunts under his breath, slipping off his sunglasses and carefully putting them on your face, being mindful of stinging scrapes and wad of soft cotton you’re holding to your head. “They’re definitely going to have to run concussion protocol on you,” he mutters more to himself than to you, “I’m taking you to the Bronco and then we’re going the ER, remember?”

“Yeah, I know, Rooster,” you grit out, even rolling your eyes hurts, “But I don’t need you to carry me.”

Everything about this was excruciating and embarrassing enough without him being the Clark Gable to your Vivian Leigh. Maybe you could lean on him and hop over to his car? Like a six-foot-one pair of crutches with good hair.

“Take a step without wincing and I’ll think about it,” he says firmly, pointedly calling your bluff. There’s an expectant look of go on then, whenever you’re ready on his face. Because he knows he’s right, and you do too.

You don’t even bother to make a move, but the way your lower lips wobbles speaks volumes.

“That’s what I thought,” he says quietly, almost like pains him to be right.

He bends a little to hook his arms around your knees and back to lift you up, and this time you let him. Your free arm automatically wrapping around the back of his neck. And he starts off towards the winking windshields of the parking lot.

You’ve thought about what it would be like to be wrapped up in Bradley’s arms, how good it would feel to be pressed closed against him. And now you are and it’s nothing like you’ve imagined, because there isn’t anything sweet or swoon-worthy about how you ended up in them. You’re his duty, you’re not his desire.

All your sandcastle hopes have been washed away by the tide.

You’re so frustrated. You’re frustrated by the day, by yourself, by him.

This time you can’t blink back the tears that well up in your eyes. They flood through your tear ducts carving hot trails down your sun-tinged cheeks.

You want the Bradley from earlier.

The one who stole your watermelon with warmth in his eyes.

The one who dozed next to you in the sun like a cat, his features soft free of the tension he now holds in his shoulders.

You want your Bradley.

The one who’d whispered cheeky comments in your ear whenever the team got into lighthearted tequila fueled arguments about things like whether a hot dog was a sandwich.

The one who’d always go up to the bar with you on busy nights at the Hard Deck and make sure you didn’t get bumped into on the way back to your friends with your freshly refilled drinks.

You’re aching, aching. Everywhere.

For a brief moment, as you swipe at your tears, you’re happy for the throbbing in your head and ankle, so that way you don’t have to think about the stinging in your heart.

“I know, I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I know you’re hurting,” Rooster says gentle and low as you sniffle, but you can hear the thickness of the words in his throat. The term of endearment is the sweetest of nothings, making your tears come faster. Where it should ease the heartache, all it does is make you angry at yourself for giving your emotions away. “We’re almost to the Bronco. It’s ok, we’re gonna get you taken care of, I promise.”

We.

You wanted that with him.

You want to press both of your hands to his cheeks to make him look you in the eyes to ask him is it going to be you and me together? You’ve been a fool for love before, but you didn’t know if could take another hit-and-run with your heart.

The salt of your tears makes your cheeks feel tight and itchy as the summer breeze dries them on your skin.

Bradley carries you like you weigh nothing, but cradles you like you’re the most precious things he’s ever held. He’s mindful of any dips in the sand and gives wide berth around the college kids playing volleyball close to the entry back to the parking lot.

When he reaches the Bronco, he sets you down gently, making sure both of your feet are planted on the asphalt before letting go of you to unlock his car. He tells you to wait a moment when you move to open the passenger side door.

“I never know when I might get called up for an emergency deployment, so I like to have some extra clothes just in case,” he explains as he digs around in the backseat, pulling out a pair of gray athletic shorts.

“Oh.” And you realize you’re still just clad in your striped swimsuit. “Thank you for sparing me from the hospital germs,” you say lightly, an attempt at a joke to break the ice. One that doesn’t land, since instead of cracking a grin he just presses his lips together in a firm line and nods.

Bradley crouches low in front of you and you put a hand on his shoulder for balance as you lean against the Bronco, still trying to keep as much pressure off your left ankle as possible as you step into them. He’s looking up at you and even through his sunglasses perched on your nose, you swear his brown eyes get a shade darker as he eases the shorts up your legs. You’re touched by the effort as he ties the strings in a lopsided bow, even if things are feeling tense between the two of you.

“Think this’ll be easier,” he mumbles shrugging off his light blue button up. You’ve always liked this one, with its soft pastel pink and minty green watercolor prints of net fishermen and hula girls and palm trees.

He holds it open for you, helping you thread your arm through it, and then takes over holding Jake’s now ruined shirt to your head so that you can get your other arm past the sleeve. It smells like him, citrus and amber. Your fingers brush against each other when you reclaim the makeshift bandage, and he adjusts his shirt so that it hangs over your shoulders just right.

It’s an awkward kind silent as Rooster helps lift you into the Bronco with his strong hands around your hips. He is all smooth efficiency as he buckles you in with a click. You pass him back his sunglasses the same moment he hands you your tote bag, and it almost feels like a hostage exchange.

He says nothing as he hauls himself into the driver’s side. The car rumbles to life when he turns the key in the ignition and a cheery song from the 80’s station on the radio comes on. Bradley quick to turn the volume down low. His thumb brushing your shoulder as he sets his hand on the back of your seat to look behind him as he carefully backs out of the spot.

It’s never felt this strained with him before.

It’s so painfully obvious that the two of you are walking on eggshells around each other. You can almost feel the wall that’s gone up around him. The white noise of the radio drowned out by the hum of the road as he drives in near silence.

Your day has been most effectively ruined by a chunk of sedimentary rock, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t still recoup what’s left of it.

He could still have the perfect summer afternoon.

He could still go back to your friends and their perfect beach set up and laugh with them as Coyote keeps accidentally setting marshmallows on fire. He could still catch the bold oranges and soft pinks of the sunset with all the satisfied contentment he deserved to experience.

“You can leave me and go back, you know. I’ll be ok if you just want drop me off and then head back to the beach,” you say looking down at your fingers as you trace the stitching of his leather seats.

When he doesn’t answer right away, you glance over at him. The vein in his neck is standing out boldly against the column of his throat.

“Do I seem like the kind of guy who would leave someone at the ER alone?” he asks, his voice rougher than sandpaper.

“No. No, of course not,” you say emphatically, “That’s why I’m giving you permission.”

“Permission?” he scoffs with a shake of his head.

“Yes, permission,” you say, clipped.

You’re giving him an out, why doesn’t he get that?

He heaves a big sigh and grunts. “Is it… Would you rather have Bob- with his big hands- here instead?” Bradley asks, frustration leaking out around the edges of his words.

“Bob with his big hands?” you repeat baffled, “What does Bob have to do with anything about this?”

“That’s what you said earlier, sweetheart. I’m just citing the source. Or I can call Phoenix? Or…” he pauses glancing at the t-shirt pressed to your head, “Or even Seresin. Once we get you checked in I can call any of them an Uber or something, and they can be there with you, if you don’t want me.”

“No, Rooster, I don’t want anyone else.” You wince at the implication and hope it doesn’t read into it further than the current situation to two of you are wading through like quick sand.

“Ok, good,” he grumbles.

“Great,” you lob back.

His hand tightens on the steering wheel, the knuckles turning white, “Then where is this even coming from?” The action makes his thick forearm flex in this most delicious of ways that you’d appreciate more if you didn’t feel the anger simmering low in your stomach.

“It’s pretty damn clear that you’d rather be back there, Rooster. Or literally anywhere else right now.” You flip down the sun visor with more force than it deserves, regretting that you gave him his sunglasses back when the bright California sun in your eyes turns your headache into a full-blown migraine.

“Of course, I’d rather be anywhere else!” he says hotly, tossing his sunglasses back in your lap, “Do you think I like that you’re hurt and that we’re on our way to the hospital?” You shove them on your face with an angry huff.

A car speeds by blaring their horn as they pass by.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Fuck off,” he grunts but speed of the Bronco doesn’t change, “Asshole.”

Bradley’s driving five miles under the posted limit, and you know for a fact he religiously drives at least ten miles over. And his turns have been smoother than butter, as if he is trying not to jostle you anymore than you’d already been today.

You are so tired of this hot and cold thing that he’s doing. His words and his deeds weren’t going hand in hand. He keeps giving you the cold shoulder, but is also so in tune with your every movement and need.

Gingerly, you angle yourself in your seat to look at him better, resting your tired left arm on the back of your seat and taking in his strong profile.

“Why are you being like this?” you demand, waving your free hand in a vaguely in his general direction.

“Like what? I’m not being like anything,” he retorts, making the same vague hand gesture as you did a moment earlier.

And oh, if that doesn’t fill your chest with hot indignation. That low simmering anger has turned into a full roiling boil as you shift in your seat trying to get your ankle in a position where it doesn’t hurt.

“Seriously, Rooster? I can feel tension rolling off of you in waves. You’ve been like this since everything turned to complete shit on the beach. I didn’t mean to ruin your day, I’m just trying to figure out how to make things better,” you bite out unable to keep things bottled up anymore.

He sucks in a sharp breath, “Are you kidding me right now? You think you ruined my day?” He glances from the road to you and back again, his brown eyes wide and searching.

“Yes?” Or so you’d thought until you’d seen the shock written all over his face, but now you weren’t so sure. It’s like you’ve dumped ice water on him instead of simply calling him out. “I feel like you’re taking it out on me and I don’t know why.”

“Jesus Christ,” Rooster swears under his breath, shaking his head. “I’m so damn sorry, sweetheart. I’m mad at myself, because I ruined your day. I should have been more careful, I should have been looking out for you. It’s not like you’re hard to miss in that swimsuit.” Your cheeks heat up at the comment, but you choose to ignore it.

Misery drips from his words like spilled ink off a page. You knew he was upset, but you didn’t realize he was upset about that. That he’s shouldering this fluke of fate as if it is his burden to bear. Some of the anger you’ve been feeling leaves your body like the tide washing out back out to sea. You’re still upset at him for how he has been acting up until this point, but you’re not mad at him about that.

“Bradley, no. It was an accident.”

“Yeah, an accident I’m responsible for,” he says hoarsely, rubbing roughly at his forehead. “God, I can still hear the sound it made when you hit that rock and it makes me feel sick. I would give anything to undo that moment. I need you to know that.”

He is being so hard on himself and your heart squeezes, this time in sympathy rather than hurt. He didn’t place that rock in the sand, the both of you were victims of circumstance.

“It could have happened to anyone. It could have been anyone,” you press delicately, trying to get him to hear you, shifting in your seat again still uncomfortable.

The sunshine bounces off of his slumped shoulders as he sighs raggedly.

“But it happened to you and it’s my fault. You’re bleeding, you’re in pain, and you’ve been crying. And it’s because of me.” He reaches down with his right hand and lifts up your leg so that you can rest it on his thigh, some of the ache alleviating immediately. He asks quietly, “That better?”

“Yes, thank you,” you murmur. He looks so upset, and all you want to do is curl into his lap. You want to hold him and you want to be held by him. “You know I don’t blame you, right?”

You expect him to move his hand back to the steering wheel, but he keeps it on your leg. His thumb stroking your still slightly sandy shin. Your cheery toenail polish at odds with the color blooming around your ankle.

Bradley’s throat bobs as he swallows hard, “Yeah, I do. I know that. But I still blame myself.”

The Bronco rolls to a soft stop at the light. There’s enough traffic that you know you’ll be here for a bit, and so does he since he turns in his seat to look fully at you. You take his sunglasses off, tucking them into the pocket of his shirt that rests above your heart, so nothing stands between his brown eyes and yours.

“So, you’re going to keep beating yourself up over it and icing me out? Making me feel worse? For what, Bradley? Because you’re a glutton for punishment? That’s not fair to me or to you.”

“Shit,” he mutters, his left hand running through his curls. “You’re right and I’m so sorry. I’ve been in my head feeling so damn guilty that I’ve been such an asshole. Can you forgive me?”

You’re about to answer him that when a horn startles you, making you jump in the leather seat. You see the light is green, the car that had been in front of you is gliding through the intersection passing under a blue sign pointing the way to the hospital.

“Bradley, the light.”

The car behind the two of you honks their horn again.

“They can wait. This is important, you are important. Do you forgive me?” There’s an underscore of need that punctuates his question.

“Yes, of course,” you say easily and sincerely. There’s so much remorse in his eyes, you would have forgiven him with that look alone.

“Thank you,” he breathes out in relief. And then he smiles at you for the first time since the beach and that ache in your heart is completely soothed, bandaged by that soft way he is looking at you.

Atlas no longer, he can simply be Bradley.

He takes his foot off the brake and by some miracle he’s able to make it through the light before it turns red again. You can see the tall structure of the parking lot near the hospital poking out above the line of the treetops.

The destination is closer than ever, but there are still things on your mind.

“And you aren’t an asshole, Bradley. But your bedside manner could definitely use some work,” you tease with a smile of your own.

“Baby, I’ve been trying to show you my bedside manner, but you keep holding me at arm’s length,” he groans dramatically.

The idea of experiencing Bradley Bradshaw’s bedside manner makes you feel all kinds of weak in the knees, even as you’re seated in his Bronco with your leg propped up in his lap, his big hand skating up and down along your shin comfortingly.

“How can you even say that with a straight face? You’ve never made a move!” you exclaim incredulously, “I was even the one to ask for your phone number, if you remember.”

“What the hell are you talking about? I hit on you all the time,” he argues with your favorite brand of Bradshaw banter, “I’ve been waiting for you to give me the green light, sweetheart.”

“I thought you were supposed to be pretty and smart,” you smirk.

He barks a laugh and the last tendrils of all the tension and all the pressure that had been swirling around you like a marine layer evaporates.

“You saying I’ve had the green light this whole time?” He looks over at you with a boyish smile, you like the way you feel when he looks at you like this.

“What I’m saying, Bradley, is if you’d have actually asked me out I would have said yes.” You press your toes into the muscle of his thick thigh and immediately regret it, wincing as pain ripples around your ankle.

He makes a sympathetic sound deep in his chest, “Sounds like I’ve been an idiot.”

“A very pretty one,” you allow, leaning your aching head back against the back seat.

“At least there’s that,” he concedes good-naturedly as he pulls into the parking lot, turning on his blinker for a spot opening up near the entrance to the Emergency Room by some twist of fate, one that’s in your favor this time.

Bradley pulls into the empty spot and kills the engine turning to you. He gently eases your foot back down onto the sandy floormat of the Bronco and leans into unbuckle your seatbelt.

He’s so close now looking up at you from under his eyelashes, and your breath catches in your throat. He moves closer, you can see the bits of hazel that surround his pupils. Your eyes flutter close and you tilt your head up, lips parting at the anticipation of his kiss.

There’s no holding back the noise of dissatisfaction you make when his lips press a tender kiss to your cheek. You lean into him wanting to feel, wanting him to give you more. His warm breath coasts over your skin as he chuckles. You can feel the way his lips are pulled up into a smile.

“I’m a gentleman, sweetheart,” he says as he pulls away, his eyes lingering on your lips. “My mom raised me not to go for the kiss on the first date. Or ones with head wounds and potential concussions.”

“Some first date,” you lament jokingly, looking in at the fluorescent lights awaiting you inside the hospital. You’d rather skip over this part entirely, but you’re ready to be done with holding Jake’s shirt to your head. “Nothing like insurance cards and scrubs to really set the mood.”

“Mmm. How about this, after we’re done here, I’ll take you through whatever drive-thru you want-”

“In-N-Out,” you cut in without a second thought. The novelty of it still hasn’t worn off on you, even if the fries are terrible.

“Ok,” he grins, “I’ll take you through in In-N-Out and get you your number two combo with mustard and grilled onions with a vanilla shake.” He pauses waiting for your nod of approval, looking more than pleased with himself when you acknowledge he got your order right.

“I like the sound of this so far,” you hum.

“Well that’s good. Since it’ll be our first date, I want to set that bar high,” he says giving you a wink. And there are those butterflies again, this time you don’t try to catch them with a net. They’re free to flutter around as they wish.

“If you really want to impress me, you’ll also take me through the McDonald’s drive-thru for their fries,” you muse.

“Done.”

“I was kidding,” you laugh, shaking your head at him disbelievingly and thoroughly charmed.

“Well, I wasn’t. So after we get you fed, give or take some fries, I will bring you home. I’ll get you whatever you need, I want to make sure you’re comfortable. Think you might be on crutches for a bit, sweetheart,” he says softly, playing with the ends of your hair. “And then in the morning, if you’re up for it, I’ll take you out for breakfast. Or bring you breakfast. Whatever you want. We can call that date number two.”

“And then you’ll kiss me?”

“And then I’ll kiss you,” he promises, offering you a crooked pinky finger. You beam and you wrap your own around his.

He slips out of the driver’s seat leaving you to contemplate the terms of his offer as he rounds the front of the Bronco. The nurses are going to get an eyeful of him in only those snug jean shorts and thin white tank. You make a mental note to avoid looking at him if they have to connect you to a heart rate monitor, he doesn’t need to know the effect he has on you. Not yet anyways.

“I have counteroffer,” you announce turning your body towards him as he opens your door for you.

“Let’s hear it, baby,” he says with a grin that almost makes you forget how bad your head and ankle hurt, “Shoot.”

“We still go to In-N-Out, but then in the morning you make me breakfast in bed with some of those famous Bradshaw pancakes I’ve heard about,” you say, as he steps in between your legs, “Seems like a good way to work on that bedside manner of yours.”

“I think you’re going to like my bedside manner, sweetheart,” he murmurs, stroking his thumb over your cheek.

You tilt your head at him, taking in the sunkissed strands in his hair and the affection in his eyes, “I guess we’ll have to find out.”

“Guess we will,” he rasps.

Rooster drops another sweet kiss to your cheek, whispering for you to stay put, and then he struts off towards the automatic doors of the Emergency Room. Leaving you alone with the butterflies in your stomach and the hope in your heart.

You dig your phone out of your straw tote and check the time, doing the math in your head.

There are a few messages from Nat and other people on the team already checking in, but you know you’ll have time to reply to them later as you wait with Bradley sitting by your side.

You look up and see he’s got a wheelchair now and is making his way back to you, wearing a soft smile on his face just for you.

Only seventeen more hours until you get to kiss Bradley Bradshaw and you can’t wait.

You’ve got that forever feeling about him.

Oh, oh, oh.

Thank you for reading! Rock on. Oh that joke was schist, I'll see myself out.

This was written as part of @roosterforme's Rocktober Playlist! You can check out all the other great submissions here!

The song that inspired this story was Paula Abdul's "Straight Up"

Taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

#bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #top gun imagine #top gun fanfiction #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw x female reader #bradley rooster bradshaw imagine #bradley rooster bradshaw fanfiction #rooster x reader #rooster x you #rooster x female reader

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tongue-like-a-razor · 1 month

Text

Hotter Than Texas | Part I

(unofficially: Brother's Worst Enemy)

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x F!Reader

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

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

Aka it's a road trip, strap in.

CW: swearing, age gap (10 years)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck. He’s fucking fucked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

“How do you like it?” he asks.

“With a pinch of salt.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Read Part 2

Tag List

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

@joaquinwhorres

@katiemcrae

@sehnsuchts-trunken

@toomuchfluffs

@wintercap89

@lonelywitchv2

@callsign-jupiter

@rosiahills22

@olliepig

@coffeeaddictedmay

@boringusername3

@ratedtvpg

@mak-32

@annedub

@jules-1999

@black--lightning

@j-velvet

@xoxabs88xox

@cyanide-cryptid

@callsignvenus

@artemissunn

@gcldtom

@atarmychick007

@callsign-sunshine

@shanimallina87

@birdy-bat-writes

@wkndwlff

@chaosmxlcolm

@iminlovewithenchilidadas

@daniibzz

@avis15

@valhallavalkyrie9

@ijustwantedplums

@hal3ynicol3

@avengersfan25

@hallecarey1

@nik2blog

@kpopgirlbtssvt

@lilianashomaresparza

@lovingperfectionsblog

@bblpbb

@Elenavampire21

@SometimesAnAlice

@risingtripletaurus

@adaydreamaway08

@mattyskies

@desert-fern

@catsandbooksandstuff

@Topguncultleader

@avengers-fixation

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tip-top-cloud-surfer · 9 months

Text

Bumping Beach Bikini - Rooster

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw / Wife!Reader

Word Count: 0.8k

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

Warnings: Pregnancy; References to Sex/Suggestive Jokes; Flirting; Use of Second Person POV “You,” No Physical Description of Reader (Minus Pregnancy), No Y/N

Summary: Rooster admires the view of his pregnant wife on the beach.

Master List

Bradley had a mental list of the best outfits that he had ever seen you in. There wasn’t a set ranking, just general levels of appreciation.

There was a step above your normal beauty and allure, which mostly included random casual outfits that for whatever reason just got him going. Like the yellow sundress that you wore when it was exceptionally hot out that was super easy to slide his hands under. Or those jean shorts that he loved to slip his hand into the back pocket and give your ass an appreciative squeeze. Or anything of his that you chose to wear.

And the step above those were your slightly dressier outfits that got him even more excited. The backless black dress that you wore out in Vegas when the two of you went out with the Dagger Squad. Or the blue floor length dress that you wore to Maverick and Penny’s wedding that looked like it was literally sculpted for you and your figure. Though he did rip the zipper on that one.

Then there were the more special outfits. Your wedding dress mostly, since he literally burst out into tears the second that he saw you step out in it. The photo of you that he kept in his cockpit was from your wedding day with your veil spread out around you, giving you a completely angelic appearance. And, well, Rooster was also very fond of the matching white lingerie set that you wore underneath it that night too. He did rip that one too though.

And at the very top of the pyramid of his favorite outfits was, of course, your birthday suit. Nothing would ever top that one.

But seeing you in a maternity bikini with one of his Hawaiian shirts wrapped around your shoulders and your baby bump sticking out from between the folds of his shirt—now that was a sight that he ingrained into his mind for the rest of his life. That one really challenged your birthday suit in his mind.

“What?” you laughed, shooting your husband a look as you applied more sunscreen. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You’re glowing,” Bradley praised, still taking in your beauty.

“With sweat,” you giggled, rubbing in another layer of sunscreen. “It’s only spring and I swear I’m melting already.” You set down the tube of sunscreen and shot your husband a playful look. “You just had to make sure that I was heavily pregnant during the hottest months of the year in Southern California, didn’t you, Bradshaw?”

“Maybe you should have done the math before you begged me to get you pregnant,” Bradley replied, a bit smugly.

“I don’t beg,” you scoffed, shooting him a look. “And besides you offered about fifty times before I let you. If anyone was begging, it was you, Bradley.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Rooster mused, smiling over at you.

There was one rule to surviving with a heavily pregnant wife—it was to let you win. On just about everything. Anything health or safety wise, he would argue back, but Rooster took a rain check on all of the little things. And frankly he got more satisfaction out of seeing you happy than being right.

“Do you have enough water?” Rooster asked, sitting up some more.

You reached over and lifted your giant water bottle into the air. Taking a long sip from it just to prove your point to your husband, you set your water bottle back down on the sand.

“I’m fine. Just need some time to relax,” you replied, leaning back in your seat. “Before it all really sets in.”

Reaching down to pick up your ankle, Rooster started to massage your foot, earning a sigh of relief from your lips. Practically melting into your chair, you turned to your husband with a small, thankful smile as you curled your toes a bit.

“I could get used to this.”

“I’m sure you could,” Rooster chuckled, rubbing the back of your calf.

“There’s only one thing that would make this better.”

“What?”

“Take your shirt off.”

“Mrs. Bradshaw,” Rooster jokingly admonished, causing you to smile wider. “Be careful suggesting that. I knocked up the last woman who asked me to take my shirt off in that tone.”

“I’ll take the risk,” you replied with a smile, rubbing your bump slowly.

“So long as you understand the risk,” Rooster returned with a wink.

“Jesus Christ, the rest of us are trying to eat here,” Phoenix cut in, sounding annoyed.

You and Rooster turned to the other Daggers, Maverick, and Penny, who was hiding an amused smile behind her hand. Maverick turned to Penny with a similar expression, shaking his head. But most of the other Daggers, those who were single anyways, shot both you and Rooster somewhat disgusted looks.

“Sorry,” you called sheepishly, waving to them.

“I’m not,” Rooster replied, reaching up to take his shirt off.

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songbirdsingingthings · 2 years

Text

Birds of a Feather 》 4

❀ Back to Navigation ❀ ❀ Top Gun Masterlist ❀

Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x F!Reader

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

WARNINGS: Enemies to Lovers, Angst, Cursing, and Fluff!

Summary: The days since your reconciliation with Rooster have been tough -- the training is extreme and the requirements are near impossible to meet. Right before you and your group mates are at the verge of defeat, your instructor plans a fun day out in order to raise morale, increase the team spirit, and, unexpectedly, spark feelings.

A/N: Part 4! Part 4! This part was so much fun to write since it holds a lighter, more fun tone than the rest. I hope you all enjoy <3

Word Count: 3.5K

The days that had followed that evening on the beach were, more or less, grueling. There were early wakeups, hours upon hours up in the air, and even hitting as high as 9 Gs, creeping in on the 10 that would be required for the mission. Every day was more of the same. Practice and nail the turns, fall behind on speed. Finally get the correct speed but breach the flight ceiling. Keep a low ceiling and crash into the simulated cliffs. It was frustrating and humbling, sending each and every one of you back to the locker room feeling less and less confident about the mission.

It frayed your fitness, both mental and physical, leaving you with droopy eyelids and a craving for a piece of tranquility. Each flight felt like a punch in the face to both you and Bradley, sending the two of you into a slight descent to madness as you stayed up late in the common rooms, pouring over the F-18 manual and previous mission archives to see if there was anything more you could do. Most nights, it ended up with one of you falling asleep and the other having to shake them awake, throwing the towel in for that evening.

It was like your first weeks of Top Gun all those years ago – the second you returned to your dorms, you barely had enough energy to grab a towel and shower, more or less change into sleep clothes. Your body just gravitated towards your bed and collapsed upon it, your flight suit still on.

Your alarm blared at that same time in the morning; too early. You stretched, rubbed your eyes, and rolled out of bed – only to find a little slip of paper that had been slid under the crack of your door. Perplexed, you pluck the thing from the floor and unfold it, revealing a message written in messy handwriting.

Meet at beach behind The Hard Deck at 1 p.m. – casual attire is required, rest of the afternoon’s yours.

- Mav

Apparently, the weary smiles you gave Bradley, and the rest of your squad, did not go unnoticed by your instructor. You felt like you could cry of happiness and you kissed the paper, throwing it up in the air and letting it flutter down. You found home in your blankets again and reset your alarm for 8:30, finding sleep again easily.

Pulling on a pair of athletic shorts, a sports bra, and an old t-shirt, you slipped your feet into some sandals and made your way to meet the rest of the crew. Rides were arranged between those of you who had cars, resulting in you, Phoenix, Bob, and Fanboy piling into Bradley’s car.

“I call shotgun!” you pronounce, darting between your squadmates and leaping into the seat beside Bradley’s.

“Seriously, Swan? Just because you and Rooster are friends again doesn’t mean that you always get to have the front seat.” Phoenix says, amusement dripping from her words.

“Yeah, she does.” Rooster says simply, making you grin and stick your tongue out at Phoenix. The windows were rolled down and the sweet summer breeze lulled you into a trance as the pleasantness mixed with the sweet tones of the radio, one of Bradley’s own playlists creating the perfect soundtrack for the trip. As the previous song dies down, the starting tones to the next one begin. And just from the first chord of the piano, your eyes shoot open. And of course, so does Bradley’s.

“Oh please don’t tell me you added this to the playlist.” Phoenix groans. It’s like alarm bells go off as the man driving tries to fiddle with the buttons in order to skip the song.

“Oh my god it’s my song.” You breathe, a mischievous smile spreading across your face.

“No, no it’s not, it’s just a random song we’re skipping-” Bradley begins, but you grab hold of his wrist to prevent him from altering the playlist.

“What’s the matter? I mean, it’s just Celine Dion, right?” Bob asks. Phoenix turns in her seat and Bradley looks at him through the rearview mirror. Chuckling and shaking his head, Rooster finally relents.

“Alright man, just know – you let this happen-”

“Baby, baby, if I kiss you like this! And if you whisper like that! It was lost long ago, but it's all coming back to me!” You belt, picking up where the song had accidentally skipped to after Bradley’s attempt to skip the song. Groans are heard from the backseat, but you’re just facing Bradley and singing towards him, leaving him with nothing to do but laugh and join in.

“If you want me like this! And if you need me like that! It was dead long ago, but it's all coming back to me!” The two of you sing together, him alternating from facing the road to facing you.

“We’re going to die because Rooster can’t keep his eyes on the road,” Fanboy snorts. You laugh and lean your head back, your head coming close to the window, causing your hair to whip around you.

“C’mon guys, you know you wanna join in.” You say, fixing the three in the backseat with puppy dog-like eyes. Phoenix rolls her eyes and leans her head against the headrest.

“It was gone with the wind, but it’s all coming back to me.” She sings, pretending to hold a mic, then holding it in front of Bob.

“It's all coming back, it's all coming back to me now. There were moments of gold and there were flashes of light!” Bob chimes in, metaphorically handing the “mic” to Fanboy.

“There were things we'd never do again, but then they'd always seemed right!” Fanboy sings, clapping Rooster on the shoulder.

“There were nights of endless pleasure, it was more than all your laws allow!” Bradley croons, holding out his hand for you. You grab hold of it, feeling the spotlight turn to you again.

“Baby, baby, baby!” You belt, garnering grins and laughter from the rest of the car, your own grin consuming your expression. It was only a couple more minutes until the beach, but the rest of the ride was full of singing and laughing and views through the lens of your Ray Bans.

“Welcome, to dogfight football.” Mav said, standing in front of your group. Behind him, waves crashed and pulled away and the sun was shining bright. A perfect day. Even one of your other supervisors had joined him, wearing a football jersey and a whistle around his neck. Murmurs flitted around until your instructor held up two waterproof footballs in his hands. “You’ll be playing this in teams, working on both offense and defense on the time. Each team will be hiking the ball to themselves at the same time and it’s your job to stop the opponent – while also getting a touchdown at the same time.” A grin worked its way onto your face as you looked up next to you to see Bradley. He was looking at your instructor with an indifferent expression, one that you understood instantly. While things had miraculously been patched up, and sewn even stronger, between the two of you, his grudge against Rooster was still there. Waning, ever so slightly, but still there.

You were split into teams easily, the two team captains being Rooster and Hangman. You gave Phoenix a frown as she trudged over to Hangman’s side since she was his wingman, and that was one of the rules. And, before you knew it, the game had started. While it was difficult to strategize at first, both teams started to develop ways in order to master both offense and defense. Sometimes it would sway in your team’s favor and sometimes it would go the other way, but above all, you were having fun.

The sun eventually got unbearably hot, so everyone ditched their shirts, creating an unforeseen distraction. Bradley Bradshaw was ripped. Not in the sense of him sporting just a six pack… oh no, he had the abs, and the back muscles, and his arms. Coupled with the fact that it was reaching the upper nineties, which meant everyone was sweating, you didn’t stop to think about whether it was fine or not to be staring at him. You just did. Unfortunately, though, he catches on.

“Hey there Swan, something catch your eye?” You wrench your gaze from his torso to his face, finding his smug expression. Immediately you felt your whole body flush as you shake your hands in front of you as well as your head.

“No, nope. Nothing. Nada.” You sputter, turning around to take your own shirt off.

“Reaaally?” He drawls, laughing and walking closer to you, “cause I think you’re full of shit.” You huffed and turned around to face him again, but this time, it’s him who can’t stop staring. You sported a simple black sports bra now and crossed your arms in front of you.

“Something catch your eye, Rooster?” You say to him, verbatim of his previous taunt. He swallows and shakes his head, making him turn around and walk back towards the game.

“Nada, nothing. No. Nope.” You laugh and follow him back to where the sand was damp, prepping for another round of football.

The weather was still warm even as the sun was setting on both the evening and your game, capping off what was, essentially, the perfect day. Yes, you were covered in sand, caked onto your body as it stuck to your sweat, but you were breathless and happy and feeling free. You felt the game, not only working to increase your already heightened sense of awareness, but knit your team closer together. In the end, Rooster was dancing around like an idiot as he got a touchdown, Hangman had basically graduated into friend status, and Bob was lifted into the air as he got the final points of the game. Bradley and Mav had even shared a moment. However fleeting it was, it was most definitely a step into the right direction. As Mav and your other supervisor left, the group of you was left to your own devices, which inevitably led to trying to dunk one another into the ocean. You had succeeded in submerging Fanboy and poor, unsuspecting Bob. Your first and only mistake, though, was letting your guard down. You were chatting with Phoenix by the shore about the mission, random things, everything – but what you didn’t notice was the glint in her eyes and the subtle look over your shoulder. Suddenly, you felt a tight grip around your waist and your eyes went wide, making Natasha erupt into a fit of laughter. You scream as you’re lifted over the person’s shoulder, your face facing towards the beach and your friend.

“Have a nice swim, Swan!” She chirps. You look down, finding your captor’s long jean shorts and immediately, you give him a not so playful slap on the back.

“Bradley! Oh my god, put me down, or I swear to God.” You hear him chuckle as he tightens his grip on you, beginning to wade deep into the waves. “Seriously, I will give you anything!” He stops pace for a second.

“Anything?” He asks, amusement obvious in his voice.

“Yes!” You confirm, kicking your legs. He’s silent for a moment.

“Nah, I’m good!” And in a flurry of motions, you’re tossed into the icy waves. The water’s a shock to the system, and after you find your footing, you stand up. Smoothing your wet hair behind you, your eyelids flutter open to reveal a grinning and satisfied looking Bradley.

“Oh, you are so dead.” Your plan of revenge was enacted as you leapt forward, tackling him into the water, submerging you both. Your laughter is in sync with his, producing bubbles under the water as you’re looking at each other. Eventually, you make your way back above the waves and so does he, only to reveal there was no one at the shore anymore. Your eyebrows knit in confusion as you splash your way out of the water, finding that there were no vehicles left in the parking lot for the Hard Deck except for Bradley’s car.

“Probably time we should head back, huh?” He says, a certain calmness in his voice that you haven’t heard in a while. You nod and wring out your hair, trying to make sure you didn’t get Bradley’s car too damp. You hum a tune while the two of you wander back to his Bronco, buckling yourselves in before he hits the brights and changes his playlist. This time it’s piano instrumentals – sweet seranades and symphonies that, if you could, you would fall asleep to.

It’s late when the two of you get back, trekking sand and leaving wet footprints in your wake. He walks you to your dorm, wishing you sweet dreams as you open the door. Only, you can’t. Sucking in a deep breath and slamming your palm to your forehead, you curse yourself for being so forgetful. Your dorm key was with your wallet. The same wallet that you put in Phoenix’s bag, with her permission, to keep safe and dry. The same bag that was probably locked away in her room and one that you could not retrieve in fear of waking her up.

“What’s the matter?” Rooster asks, leaning up against the wall. You close your eyes and lean your forehead against your door, fatigue wrapping you in its arms.

“I left my keys in Phoenix’s bag.” Bradley chuckles and shakes his head.

“Well, I guess you have no other option than to bunk in with me.” He says, making you peek up at him.

“I’m not taking your bed away from you.” You mutter, crossing your arms and staring at him.

“Yeah y’are.” He says, a certain twang making its way into his voice. It’s cute, you think, that when sleepiness is winning a fight against Bradley it makes him not care about his hidden accent.

“Nah, I’ll just sleep out here. That’s what soldiers are trained for – to sleep anywhere.”

“We’re naval aviators, I don’t think we were given that training.”

“It’ll be fine.”

“No it won’t.”

“Bradley.”

“Y/N.” He says, his voice bordering on a whine. “Seriously, you’re bunking in with me. If you stay out here, it’ll just keep me up worrying if you’re able to get sleep or not. You’re my wingman and my best friend, it’s my responsibility.” He states. You sigh and let your head fall against the door, knowing he’s won the argument. That, and you’re too tired to come up with another reason not to follow Bradley Bradshaw to his room.

“Fine. Lead the way.”

The trip to his room was short, since his dorm was just a hallway down. He fiddles with his keys and opens the door, letting you walk in first. Looking around, you smile. Where your dorm’s walls were bare, his were full of pictures, pennants, and everything in between. It was just so ‘Bradley’ that it made you giggle. When you turn around to find him, he’s digging in his wardrobe, producing one of his t-shirts and a clean pair of boxers.

“Here,” he says, handing you the bundle of clothes. Your face heats.

“O-oh, I’m okay in this.” You say, looking at your clothes. Your shirt and shorts were damp with no chance of drying before you went to bed, and Bradley cringed at the thought.

“No, it’s going to be so uncomfortable for you. It’s no problem, really, I have another pair of sleep clothes I can wear.” His drowsy smile makes you cave, taking the clothes and motioning for him to turn around. Peeling off the sea-soaked clothes felt great, but putting on his clothes felt even better. They were dry, warm, and smelled of him – mahogany and teak wood, you think, and something else.

“Okay, all set.” You murmur, letting him turn around again. He sucks in a breath and nods, quickly finding his own clothes to change into. You give him the same treatment he gave you, turning around so that he had the privacy to change as well. He gives you the green light to move freely, but both of your eyes go straight to the bed. Navy cots were always something you dreaded sleeping on, but the thought of two aviators trying to both fit was a nightmare. “If you have an extra blanket or something, I’ll take the floor.” Immediately, Bradley shakes his head.

“No, no way. You’re taking the bed, I’m taking the floor.” You roll your eyes and yawn, sitting down on the springy mattress.

“This is your room. I'm not taking the bed. There’s also no way that both of us will fit, so…” you say, trailing off. Bradley thinks for a moment before opening up the covers, laying down on his back. Your suspicions were correct – his body took up basically the entire thing, there was no way that you’d be able to fit beside him.

“Here, you can just… lay on me?” He suggests, hesitance clear in his tone. Your heart rate was now through the roof and your mind was saying ‘oh, Y/N, this might not be the best idea,” but was soon overridden by your feelings and the need for sleep. So instead of protesting, you agree.

“Okay,” you murmur, making your way onto the bed.Resting your head on his chest and letting your arms kind of hug him, Bradley wraps the two of you in covers, his own arms twining themselves around your waist. His heartbeat and breathing combines to make the most effective lullaby on earth. Bradley finds the light switch next to the bed and the room is enveloped in darkness. You’re tired, so sleepy, and was barely able to register his hands starting to play with your hair. But you do. You hum, the gentle tug on your head providing a massage-like feeling.

“Hey, Y/N?” He whispers.

“Hmm?”

“I, uh… I had a really great day today. The first great one in a while.”

“Me too.” you say, and then laugh a bit, “although I think Mav had a better one. I saw the way he was looking at Penny.” Even with the mention of the older aviator’s name, he chuckles.

“Yeah. You think they’re in love?” His question catches you off guard.

“Hmm. I think so, do you?” You feel him nod his head.

“Probably. I dunno, I can’t really tell.”

“Can’t tell when someone’s in love?” You ask.

“Nah, I know when that happens.”

“Tell me.” His chest rises, and your head does as well, when he takes a deep breath.

“Well…” he begins, “it feels like when you’re free falling in a jet. Like, you’ve entered a descent, but have completely abandoned the engine.”

“Sounds scary,”

“Not if you know what you’re getting into. Not if you know them like the back of your hand.” You freeze a bit at his comment, your heart begging to jump to a certain conclusion.

“Bradley?”

“Y/N?”

“Are you in love?” A few seconds pass.

“Yeah, I am. Are you in love?” Your breath stutters, but you keep your head laying on his stomach.

“Yeah.” Without any more words, his hand goes to cup your cheek, holding up your head softly and slowly.

“Tell me.” He says. “Tell me to stop and I will, I’ll forget this happened, I won’t bring it up again.” Your hand goes to limply hold the one that’s holding your face.

“Aviator, you’ve got the go ahead.” The second those words leave your lips, his own are on them. It’s soft and slow and in no way rushed, like he could spend the rest of eternity just like this. The gentle push and pull of the way he exchanges his breath with yours, holding onto you so delicately. The kiss doesn’t last long, only a few moments, but it’s enough for right now. There are no more words spoken as the two of you drift off to sleep. None are needed. In your deepest feelings and at the bottoms of your hearts, you knew you loved each other. Today was perfect. The sun was shining and there was laughter accompanying every step. But you knew tomorrow that would change. Four pilots and two WSOs would be chosen to participate in a near impossible feat, most likely resulting in death. So instead of speaking, you just held onto each other, knowing that tomorrow may be uncertain, but the present is known – and it is so damn lovely.

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