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goldustwomun · 2 years

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take a chance on me (b.b.)

pairing: bradley ‘rooster’ bradshaw x ex! mother! reader

summary: your daughter stumbles upon a photo of you and a mysterious man, immediately noticing the similarities between him and her. nothing good can come from revisiting the past, especially one you’d hoped to avoid because you’d never gotten the courage to tell him, the man from the photo, that he’s a father.

warnings: major rip-off of the mamma mia! plot but this was purely for enjoyment so xxx; angst angst angst; swearing; allusions to sex; a lot of exposition so sorry ‘bout that

wc: 9.2k+

note: had so much fun messing around with this request (thank you by the way!!). listening to the mamma mia! soundtrack the whole time and now yearning for an island romance<3

ps. reader’s age is slightly hinted to being over 30 but that’s only if you do the math and i left the daughter’s age ambiguous (she’s a teen, over sixteen at least); also, daughter’s name is poppy!

pps. i probably won’t be writing a second part to this because i love the ambiguous ending; let your imagination run free lovelies :))

more of my work x

The summer heat was thick and just about everywhere, like sticky honey you can’t wipe clean off your fingers after spreading it onto a piece of too-burnt toast.

You were on the verge of giving up, trekking back home and collapsing onto the sofa with a stand-up fan aimed at your sweat-slick face.

Maybe the dungarees hadn’t been your best idea when it came to thirty-degree weather, but the utility of them, their pockets filled to the brim with spare screws, a cylinder-shaped glue for the hot glue gun you’d lost in your storage room a week back, a few hair ties for when the one currently holding yours up snapped for the third time that day.

Practicality over comfort, as was your motto for the past over-a-decade of your life. As it had been, since you’d found yourself pregnant after a one-night-stand (turned many, many night-stand) you’d yet to shake yourself free of).

You were never one to ask for help, and when it came to raising your child, things hadn’t changed. No matter how desperate you were, working two jobs on an island you didn’t speak the language of, an infant perched on your hip, whaling in your ears whilst you simultaneously cleaned the rooms of the little bed-and-breakfast you’d landed a job at.

When you weren’t taking care of your kid or working, you were thinking about one of those two things, or both.

And it wasn’t like you hated it entirely; she was the best thing to ever happen to you, could have arrived at a more opportune time, but she was your best friend if you’d ever had one. So saying she was a mistake or something you regretted– it was an unfathomable thought that had only crossed your mind once, sat in the doctor’s waiting room, pregnancy test wrapped in toilet paper, clutched tight in your trembling hands.

“Ma’!” she yelled now, your little Poppy with her chocolate-brown curls, sun-kissed skin from all the time spent at the beach. Remarkably like her Father, but you’d never tell her that.

“I’m here, I’m here!” you answered in a similar, exasperated fashion, bent over a crack in the intricately tiled mosaics that covered the floor of the plaza.

You still worked at that bed-and-breakfast, though now it was yours and had expanded to a vast number of the buildings at the centre of the island. Everyone helped out, whether out of kindness or a small fee, and you were grateful for the community, the small army, you had behind you, catching you every time you stumbled (far too often than you’d ever admit).

“Need help?” Poppy asked, amused, hands perched over her white-tiered skirt clad hips, looking like the stubborn replica of her mother, of you. Her head just about obscured the sun from beating down on you anymore than it already was, framing her with a halo of gold that tinted the edges of her hair.

“I’m alright, love,” you assured, heaving yourself straight with a pained groan. Poppy crowded you, arms going around your shoulders to help you up. “Why don’t you go help Esme. She’s in the storage room, looking for the hot glue gun.”

“Still haven’t found that thing?”

“No, I– fuck. Everything disappears around here. Swear we’ve got a ghost or something, the only logical explanation.” Poppy nodded along, taking your finger-pointing at the supernatural with a deathly seriousness.

“Makes sense if you ask me, ghost with a hankering for rusty tools,” she agreed, voice solemn. “Aaaand you’re sure I can’t help you here?” she asked again, murky brown eyes baring right into your soul. You brushed her off, nudging her in the direction of the sweet old lady, Esme, with her wonky English accent and pastries to die for.

“If you see anything you like, put it to the side!” you called after her retreating figure, shaking your head as she chucked a ‘thumbs up’ behind her back.

Not only was she the spitting image of her Father, or rather, the man who got you pregnant as you called him in your head, but she walked and talked with that same air of breezy confidence that got him into your pants in the first place.

You’d hoped a few more of your mannerisms (and none of your risky mistakes) would have brushed off on her as she grew up, but other than your resolute anger and little patience, she was nothing like you.

Always headstrong, sometimes teetering on the precipice of arrogance, but she usually relented and bugged you with her incessant chatter until you forgave her.

Would stare up at you, all watery and doe-eyed, hair curling around her chubby cheeks still splotchy from her tantrum, near ready for tears again until you were shushing her with a carrot stick coated in hummus (her favourite but you worried she’d turn into a chickpea or something close to it).

Even if she was part-chickpea, you’d love her forever.

Named her Poppy after the bunches of wild, scarlet-red flowers you’d seen breaking through the stones of the Acropolis when you were pregnant and needed a break from the island. Your Poppy was a lot like that; able to push past even the most inconceivable of hardships, past whatever unmovable stone that might be surrounding her, threatening to cage her in, until she was illuminating the world around her. Painting it a little brighter for everyone to enjoy.

Your very own field of flowers.

Poppy could admit that even with having grown up on the island, she could never get used to the heat or the muggy feeling of her clothes sticking to her like a second layer of skin. But she persisted, finding Esme with a cloth tied around her head as a make-shift hat in the barn they used for storage.

It was… falling to pieces, and still, that was an understatement.

The blue doors looked more grey than anything ocean-like, the junk crammed inside, stacks on stacks of unlabelled cardboard boxes she worried had a family of something disgusting in at least one of them. The ceiling had caved-in in places, allowing beams of sunlight to penetrate through, and acting as a door for the birds to fly in and build their nests.

So yes, the barn was falling to pieces, the entire hotel was, actually. But what worried her the most was that her Mother seemed close to the same fate despite being so young, so she’d persist where she had to.

“Little girl, come help me with this box would you!” Esme ordered from somewhere within the labyrinth of boxes. Poppy picked her way through, using the groans Esme exerted as a homing-beacon and eventually bumping into the older woman. She was caked in dust and dirt, but didn’t seem to care all that much if the grin on her face was any hint of her mood.

Esme was rather grumpy a lot of the time, so a smile like that, one that screamed mischief, and her eyes beaming with that all-knowing look she got sometimes after visiting the psychic on the other side of the island… Well, something told her this couldn’t be good.

“What’s in this particular box, May?” Poppy questioned, huffing as she pushed it onto the ground.

“You’ll see in a moment–” Esme tssked at her impatience, patting her back so Poppy would move into the light so they could see its contents more clearly. When it was in place, Poppy looked-up at her from her crouched position on the floor expectantly, still unsure of where this was headed.

“Don’t give me such a dumb look, little girl, open it!” she scolded, frowning so deeply Poppy worried her mouth would be stuck that way permanently.

Sometimes she thought it already was. “Okay- Okay– Stop calling me that,” she added under her breath, pulling back the hole-ridden flaps and immediately rummaging through, wondering what all the fuss was about.

“This just looks like a bunch of old junk, May. I don’t think the glue-gun is in here.”

“Keep looking,” she insisted, peering over her shoulder. It was only a few minutes later that her hand came down on Poppy’s shoulder, gripping tight enough that Poppy stopped shuffling things around, hand stuck on a tattered journal she’d never seen before. “That one– take that out.”

“This?” Poppy asked inquisitively, lifting it from the box and standing up so Esme could see.

“Yes, this,” she nodded with a relieved sigh, flipping open the first page. Inside, Poppy admired the elegant script, eyes widening at the name inscribed on the first page.

“This was Ma’s?”

Esme held it out to her, confirming her wild thoughts, doing little to halt the curiosity currently poking at her mind. “This was your Mother’s when I first met her. Maybe… younger than you, or the same age, I’m not sure. But she was beautiful, and hardworking, and very, very pregnant.”

A forced laugh stumbled past her lips, disbelieving as she carefully turned to the next page. A stray photo, not stuck down like the others, flew out of the bottom. Poppy scrambled to pick it up, not wanting it to get lost amongst the piles of stuff they desperately needed to sort out.

In it was her Mother, looking radiant with her head tilted back in laughter, flowers in her hair, an arm around her waist that belonged to an unfamiliar man. “And– this guy, who’s he?” Poppy’s heart was hammering now, knowing the answer before Esme could even respond.

He had her curls, unruly and deep brown. And something about him, the fluidity in his shoulders, the ease with which he carried himself, the look on your face. It couldn’t be…

“I’m not sure. I never knew his name but he was following your Mother around that summer, like a lost puppy. Very cute,” she murmured appreciatively, gaze fixated on the photo in your hand.

Poppy’s heart sank, hating the lack of answers, the not-knowing. She needed to know, could feel the fire stoked in the pit of her belly that would keep her up until she found out more, more, more.

You wouldn’t say anything. You were tightlipped about the ingredients in your famous pasta sauce, so anything about Poppy’s potential Father would be a no-go, a dead end she couldn’t get herself stuck in and clue you in on her snooping.

“What happened to him– the puppy man?” Poppy did nothing to hide her curiosity, knowing deep down that Esme had lured her to this box for a reason.

Everyone could see how you were wearing away, working yourself to the bone everyday for a dream that seemed just about unreachable. You needed someone, anyone, to help you, and Poppy wouldn’t always be there to do just that.

She knew you didn’t need a man, bursting into your life and fixing your problems. It’d have you biting at his heels until he was running off into the sunset. But a partner– a companion, maybe, who could support you when the job was brutal and rough and you were nearing a breakdown like no other– you deserved, at the very least, that.

Poppy would make sure of it. It didn’t take long for her to do the calculations, nine months minus her birthday and she had an approximate date to look for. She thumbed through the journal, marking the pages that mentioned any indication of when you’d written in it, and shoved it into the back pocket of your denim shorts to search through later.

She’d find him if it was the last thing she’d ever do.

Hopefully, it wouldn’t be, but she needed to see you smiling like you had in that picture. And Poppy had an inkling, a feeling, a certainty like no other, that the answer to all of your problems, maybe her’s as well, would be found with the man with the funny moustache and wicked grin.

The internet was a powerful machine, and one, Poppy thought decidedly, she’d be forever grateful for. It didn’t take long to hunt down the mystery man from the photo. She smiled, somewhat maniacally, really, at the screen as she read through the email she received from the United States Navy.

She’d gotten the idea after noticing the dog-tag around his neck, nestled against his bare chest. It was hard to see at first, what with the obnoxious printed shirts he wore in every photo, but Poppy was nothing if not thorough, meticulous, error-free.

Anyway, it wasn’t like the Navy had actually responded to her far-fetched cries for help, but she did find a help-centre that was rather effective in hunting down men who had gotten someone or the other pregnant while deployed internationally.

Poppy wondered how often this kind-of thing happened that they needed a whole department for it, suddenly trying to burn the image in her mind of a few more miniature him-with-the-moustache-s walking around the Earth.

But it couldn’t be, not with the way he had stared at you in that photo. And you’d kept it, all these years, so it had to have meant something.

Bradley Bradshaw. She scoffed, what a dumb name. And his callsign? Somehow worse– Rooster. She hoped eternally her maybe-Father wasn’t a proper moron now, and could still live upto the photos she had of him (of which she found many more hidden between pages in your journal).

He was quite attractive, almost two decades earlier. And you– well, even today, you were ethereal in Poppy’s eyes. Carefree and determined.

“Pops– hun, I’m going down to the post office, need anything mailed?” you asked from the other side of her bedroom door.

“Yeah! One sec,” she replied, frantically shoving all of the post-it notes and pictures back into a drawer in her desk, doing one last scan of her room to make sure she hadn’t left anything lying around before snatching up the letter– to Rooster– from beside her laptop.

Poppy opened the door to see you resting against the door frame, flipping through the letters (bills, probably) you had clutched in your hand. You held out your hand, waiting for her to drop it in your palm, but she quickly yelled out, “No!” which had you looking up from the dreaded envelopes with a raised brow.

“No…?” you asked, confused at her unusual outburst. “So you don’t have any mail?”

“No,” she repeated, dumbly, mouth forming words that never made it out. “No– I have a letter, but I’ll come with you. Drop it off myself,” she explained eventually, nodding along as if she was trying to convince herself.

You relented, sending another curious look towards your daughter but stomping down the stairs, creaks following, to the car. “I’m leaving now so put your shoes on!” you sang.

She sighed out of relief, shoving her feet into her trainers and barreling past you into the front seat of your Jeep. “God, Poppy– what’s gotten into you? Acting like a five-year old, I swear,” you grumbled, irritated and lethargic enough to have her wincing with guilt.

This was a good thing, right? Sure, you’d be angry– scratch that, furious, murderous, down-right irate, when you found out, but you’d understand. She was doing this for you.

“Sorry,” she appeased, kicking her feet onto the dashboard that earned her another withering glare from you. It did little to dissuade her as she continued talking. “Just giddy, that’s all.”

“Giddy? About a letter?” Poppy hummed in agreement, watching the ocean and mountain-side trees rush by, painting an array of abstract strokes across her vision. “Is it for a boy?” you asked, teasingly, side-eyeing her before returning to concentrating on the winding road ahead.

“Mmm, funnily enough, yeah,” she giggled, loving how you were entirely clueless.

“Interesting,” you murmured, then reaching across the console to squeeze your daughter’s bare knee. “Be careful, yeah?”

Poppy’s eyes flashed, chest-clenching painfully as she worried her lip between her teeth. Her hand moved to rest across yours. You’d never opposed her love-life, of her having one, but Poppy had always wondered why your own dating history was so sparse, time spent, instead, taking care of her or, later on, the hotel.

“Always, Ma’, you know that,” she made sure with a tight grin, praying you missed how it didn’t reach her eyes.

This was a good thing, she reminded herself. This was for you.

Poppy was jumpier than usual, like a skittish cat, you observed silently. Slamming doors and screens shut when you walked by. You didn’t necessarily care what she was up to until she was rambling off, a mile a minute, going on about an excuse you hadn’t asked for.

You were a good mother, one that didn’t pry or push when you wanted the gossip and highlights of your kid’s life. Had built a relationship, a friendship, even, with your daughter where she voluntarily shared the information without you ever needing to bat an eyelash.

So you tried not to worry, to let the mishaps distract you from the seemingly never-ending list of work you had tugging your attention elsewhere.

But that was another thing about being a mother; worrying was second nature, a muscle that unknowingly worked itself sore whenever your daughter was out of your sight.

She’d go off during the day, by the beach with her friends, at the dock helping with shipments or sailing into the late afternoon, returning only when the sun was sinking into the horizon and the sky was all shades of purple, pink, a burning orange.

She’d give you a soft, routine kiss on your cheek as you sat on the dinner table, skin sticking to the plastic cover you’d laid on the surface to protect the wood. Spew details of her day, who said what, who kissed who– though always failing to mention the letter from a month ago, the unknown boy she was secretly buzzing about was still unknown.

You hadn’t forgotten the letter, not recognising the address, some small town in America with little significance to you.

Poppy sat across from you now, talking around a mouthful of the sandwich you’d made the both of you with the leftover baguette from the bakery across the street, one that hadn’t sold that day so was priced cheap.

“--and then, you’ll never guess, but Dom was changing on the boat and basically flashed everyone. Tony and Riley included. I felt so bad, almost pushed the boys overboard and she was so red for someone who, basically, never got embarrassed.”

You snorted, stopping mid-bite. “Just because someone doesn’t make their emotions obvious doesn’t mean they don’t feel them. And I hope they’ll apologise to her.”

“Oh, of course, of course,” she agreed enthusiastically, eyes wide as if digesting every single one of your words. “And they did right after I threatened them. It wasn’t awkward for long, they’re not a bad bunch or anything. It was an accident, Dom said so herself.”

“That’s good,” was all you answered, now distracted by a letter in your hand you’d pulled from the pile as Poppy talked. She was watching you intently, burning a hole through the paper, and, being her Mother, you already knew she was dying to know who it was from.

“It’s for you,” you said eventually, putting her out of her momentary misery as she squealed and snatched it from your hand. You watched discreetly, touched by the sight of her mouthing the words as she read the letter. “Is it from that American boy of yours?”

“American?– what– I mean, how do you– how do you know he’s American?” she stuttered messily, mouth agape and ready to argue.

You reflexively held up your hands in surrender. “Hey, love– I just saw the sender’s address, that’s all,” you assured.

She collapsed back into her seat, mumbling an apology for getting all worked up.

It was now or never, you decided, finally sick of the anxiety coursing through your veins these past few weeks.

“Poppy, you’re… alright, right?” you asked, struggling to find the right words and sighing, forehead resting against your palm while the other crossed the table, holding your daughter’s hand, grip light and featherlike, in comfort.

“I mean– you’d tell me if you were in any trouble, or anything. I wouldn’t judge or–”

“Ma!” she scolded, sounding appalled by your line of questioning and roughly pulling her hand out of your grasp.

“Don’t ‘Ma’ me, Pops. You’ve been going mental for weeks now! I’m allowed to fret, I’m your Mother!” you retorted, standing up abruptly, chair screeching against the linoleum tiles as you dropped the plates into the sink.

“It’s nothing, I swear–”

“Is it drugs?” you asked suddenly, turning around to face her.

She looked completely aghast, arms crossed against her chest defensively and, what was likely subconsciously, pouting at you. “If it’s drugs, Pops, we can get help. I’ve got money saved up and I know a decent doctor on the mainland. I’ll get you an appointment tomorrow if you let me–”

“Ma!” she screeched again, parroting your earlier movements, walking right up to you, holding your shoulders firmly, and shaking as she spoke, or rather, yelled. “I’m not on drugs, don’t be stupid!” You scowled at her, pushing her off of you.

“Then what is it because I’ve been wracking my brain for what could possibly have my child on fucking edge and–”

“I found a journal!” she interrupted, voice loud and exasperated. You whipped around, pinning her down with a stare you’d mastered over the years. She froze on the spot, likely shocked she’d let it slip in the first place.

“You found a– a journal? Where? Who’s?” you asked succinctly, hiding your shaking hands behind your back.

“Uh– it was– Esme, she– it’s her’s, and she wanted me to help her find the name of this guy who’d visited her when she was younger. I reached out and it’s a letter from him, that’s it. I was excited for her,” she explained, but the way her voice wavered made you certain that wasn’t the whole story.

“Then why didn’t you just tell me?” you reasoned, still unbelieving. It was too convenient of an explanation.

“Because she told me not to! You’re– you’re a bit harsh, sometimes, a bit cynical when it comes to love,” she said, hesitantly, mouth twitching with a smile at how you were now the one pouting. “Anyway, you’re always telling me to butt out of people’s business so I thought it’d be best to just keep it to myself.”

The two of you, mother and daughter, stood in silence for many long minutes, bathed in the nauseating yellow glow of the kitchen lights, flickering bulbs casting ugly shadows across your faces. But it was home, the one one you knew, so you never complained, at least not out loud.

Not when Poppy was around to hear you. “Okay, I believe,” you relented, returning to the dishes, though Poppy nudged you out of the way.

“Why don’t you let me do this, huh? Go sit down for a bit, I’ll finish tidying up.”

You opened your mouth to protest but Poppy was quick to give you a look– the look. Same one you’d mastered after many years of dealing with her fits, and evidently, she seemed to have learnt it as well. You acquiesced reluctantly, hands raised for the second time that night, and fell back, fainted more like, onto the sofa.

Poppy stood, hunched over the sink, and you watched her from your position in the living room.

Something– a nagging feeling you couldn’t quite get rid off– poked at you, at your brain in all of its aching, slimy glory– that the story she fed you was just that– a story, fictional. But you trusted her, unlike some other mother’s who’d lecture you over the cabbages in the market about how you were too lenient with Poppy, how she’ll end up just like you.

You griped internally. She’d be lucky if she turned out anything like you. Your gaze returned to her, shoulders moving as she scrubbed at the dirty dishes.

Okay. Maybe not exactly like you.

He arrived on an assuming Tuesday, a single bag strapped to his back, all brown skin and smouldering looks hidden behind decade-old sunglasses. Poppy couldn’t believe it, not one bit, as she greeted the stranger while working at the pier.

He had her curls, unruly and deep brown.

“Can I help you?” she asked politely, lips pulled into a frown to hide the urge of flinging herself at him with no explanation at all.

“Yeah, I’m looking for this address–” he fumbled with a piece of paper, pulling it from his back pocket. It was a letter, her letter, and he jabbed at the address, her address, on the front of the creased envelope. “--or if that’s not familiar, Poppy? She said her name was Poppy. Do you know anyone like that around these parts?”

She snorted. What were the chances?

She’d almost bailed on her shift, persuaded by Ben and his pretty smile to sneak out to the hidden beach on a nearby island. You’d managed to coerce him into going another day, mumbling an excuse or two in between kisses as you rushed down to the dock.

And then there he was, looking a lot like the lost puppy Esme had described to you. He still had the same odd facial hair, though it fit him a little better, having aged well.

“Poppy? Yeah, I know her,” Poppy mused, pulling at her bottom lip in faux-thought, eyes darting between the letter and the confused man holding it.

“Right, well–” he cleared his throat, shifting his weight between his feet. “Can you direct me towards her?”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” you nodded vehemently, hoping he couldn’t see the grin threatening to take over your features.

He sighed defeatedly after waiting for you to continue, and after you failed to expand on the information, he shoved the paper back into his pocket. “Okay, thanks for the help”-- sounding not the least bit thankful.

Better put him out of his misery, she thought eagerly, looping an arm around his shoulder, having to lean up on the tips of her toes to reach. “It’s actually you’re lucky day, Bradley–” you began, that same grin winning its battle.

“How do you know–” he cut you off, then stopped himself, pausing as he turned to face you. “Oh…”

“Oh!” she mirrored, though a lot less like she’d had some sort of epiphany. more mocking and exaggerated.

“So you’re Poppy?” he asked, stupidly, bashfully, shaking his hair out of his eyes. They were slightly longer, the strands, than in the photos, but he had that same boyish charm you’d sensed.

“The one and only,” Poppy enthused..

“So you’re–”

“Her daughter? Yeah, that’d be me,” she finished for him, teetering towards something more serious, more solemn, bracing yourself for the moment of realisation as the both of them walked up to the road, identical gaits and hair and noses, where Poppy’s Jeep (or the one she’d borrowed from you) was parked.

It never came.

“And your Dad?”

You choked on a breath that never made it down the right pipe, halting in your steps. “My Dad?” you asked, bemused.

“Yeah– is he around? Would love to meet him, your Mother as well, of course. I was really surprised by the letter but I think–”

“My Dad isn’t around. Never met him,” she explained slowly, frustrated by how he really wasn’t understanding. Had she not been obvious enough?

Shit. Would she give him a fucking heart attack if she told him now?

She looked him over, deciding he wasn’t so old that an unannounced confession would kill him.

“I’m sorry about that, men can be real dickheads,” he stated, as if knowing from experience, not bothering to censor his language, and she liked him just a bit more for it.

He was perfect for you.

Poppy watched, unspeaking, as he settled into the passenger seat, admiring the interior of the car– probably the one thing you owned that wasn’t ripping at the seams. “So, where are we headed?”

“The hotel Ma’ owns, it’s at the–”

“Centre of the island?” he interrupted, staring distantly out at the unwavering landscape.

Bradley-- Rooster let out a shaky breath, one she tried not to notice, understanding that the two of you, meeting after all these years– it wasn’t going to be easy. Not when there was a significant part of his life he didn’t even know existed, one that came in the form of her.

“You remember,” you pointed out, surprised and sounding more like a statement rather than a question.

“Yeah, I mean– I remember everything. How could I not?” There was something beneath his words, a weight to them that had her shifting uncomfortably in her seat, foot colliding with the accelerator as they hurried home.

“So you’ll be staying here,” she announced, shoving her shoulder against the barn door and coughing at the dust that attacked her senses once she managed it open. Bradley– or Rooster, as he’d told her to call him– followed close behind, cautious with every step as he took in his dilapidated housing.

“Here?” he questioned out loud, pushing at the bunches of hay lining the floor with the toe of his combat boots. He was sweating like it was no one’s business and Poppy giggled to herself, finding amusement in his unspoken disgust.

“Yeah, here. The hotel’s all booked up–” a lie, she just couldn’t have you stumbling upon him before she’d planned how it’ll all go down. “So this was all we had left. I’ll find a spare mattress for you, and the bakery across the road– owned by a sweet, old lady–” another lie, it was Esme and there was nothing sweet about her. “--who can help you with showering, food, all the necessities.”

He stared intensely as she spoke, as if not really listening to a word she was saying.

“What is it?” she asked eventually, breaking free from his gaze as she busied herself, distracted herself, with collecting the boxes into a corner, out of the way to allow him some more room.

Rooster shook his head, convincing himself to look elsewhere, and smoothed his hair back.

“Nothing, sorry. You just– you’re so much like your Mother. It’s crazy, really.” She beamed at him, suddenly sitting on the floor opposite, and he joined her amongst the dust and hay.

“Really? You think so?” He nodded, laughing at her eagerness. “She said once, I don’t think she knew I was awake and I was really young, or younger,” she amended then continued. “She said I reminded her of my Dad, but I couldn’t ever tell you if it’s true or not.”

“Can’t say I knew him either–” Brilliant, it was all just brilliant. “--but you’re as… fiery, I guess would be an appropriate word, as she was.”

“And what was she like?”

He was ready to answer, not needing even a moment to think his response through, but your voice from outside the barn had Poppy’s eyes widening with fear, heart sinking low in your chest.

“Poppy! You in here?” You struggled with the door, pushing all of your weight into the crumbling wood.

“Fuck–” she cursed. “You need to– you need to hide, like– now.” He watched, perplexed, opening his mouth to question the sudden turn in events but she held up a finger, shushing him like he was a child and not her Father-who-didn’t-know-it.

“I’ll explain later just– please,” you begged quietly, urging him deeper in between the organised junk and out of sight.

She inhaled, exhaled, steadying her thrumming heartbeat. “Ma’! Y-yeah, I’m here, one second.”

Poppy pulled on the handle, hauling it open but the circular, metal ring broke-free from the door.

“Another thing to fix, I guess,” you noted, nodding at the rusted metal in her hand. “What’re you doing in here?” you asked, as if only now aware of where the both of you were.

“Here? I’m just– glue gun, yanno. Esme still couldn’t find it so I thought I'd try again.”

“Alright you flaky weirdo. I swear, you wouldn’t even need drugs to act all high and jittery, manage it just fine all by yourself,” you mumbled, dismissively pushing past her and heading straight towards the area Poppy had, moments earlier, shoo-ed Rooster towards.

“You can't go there!” she burst out, holding out a hand in front of you that you glowered at.

“Yeah, and why’s that?” you asked, voice tight and ready to pull the Mother card you never really enjoyed playing. You’d earned it, sure, but it was a little demeaning considering how old your daughter now was.

“Because– Because–”

Shuffling footsteps alerted your attention towards the disarray, squinting between the piles, searching for where the noise originated from. “Is there someone else here?”

“Yes! There is!” Poppy admitted, and your stare returned to her. She could see, right past your head, where Rooster was stepping into the light, assuming she was about to explain his presence, but she shook her head imperceptibly– not yet, go back, go back

You stared expectantly, waiting for a response. “It’s Ben,” she blurted, not sure, even herself, where she was headed. “And he’s– well, you see– he’s naked. Yeah, we were about to have sex and you walked in and he’s all embarassed.”

You sputtered, all but sprinting towards the door and unable to look behind you so you missed how Poppy relaxed minutely. “Oh– wow, okay. Just– that’s not what I was expecting,” you stuttered, palm shielding your eyes. “I mean, firstly– not here, gross, that sounds unbelievably unhygienic. And secondly– use protection.”

You didn’t stay any longer, escaping to the outside, and Rooster appeared beside Poppy almost immediately.

She turned, ready to barrage him with excuses and explanations she hadn’t thought of yet. “I’m so sorry, she’s–!”

“She doesn’t know, does she? That I’m here?” he asked, though he didn’t need you to respond to know the answer.

He groaned into his hands, bending at the hip and breathing raggedly. “Okay, so– I’m gonna go before she does find out. It was nice meeting you Poppy,” he said, all in one go with no room for you to interrupt.

“No you can’t– she’s just–”

“No, I really, really need to leave,” he bit out, not facing her as he strapped his bag to his back.

“If you just give her time–”

“You don’t understand!” he exploded, eyes fluttering shut as he visibly attempted to calm himself. “The last time she saw me– it wasn’t– it wasn’t good. And I left the next day, without a word of apology or justification or–” Rooster sighed as if he’d had this argument with himself countless times before. “--so no, I can’t imagine she’ll ever come around.”

He stopped at the boundary of the door, calling behind him. “I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

Then he left, again.

At least he apologised this time, she thought bitterly.

You were stepping down from the hardware store, or hole in the wall, really, when you saw him.

A flash of saturated colour, mind-numbing prints, and broad shoulders. You gasped, frantically searching around yourself as if questioning if anyone else had seen a ghost from their own past.

No. They seemed to be going about their day as usual– Johnny sweeping at the cobblestone directly in front of his store, Mia laying fresh fish on ice, ready to be sold, her six-year old daughter tugging on the bottom of her dress with tears in her eyes.

No one was phased, except you. You looked back to where you’d seen him, but he wasn’t there anymore, only an empty street corner with nothing particularly out of the ordinary.

What the-- You rushed forward, intent on finding out the truth as your boots slapped loudly against the pavement, dodging busy workers and locals, all, now, staring at your wild movements.

“Child– where are you in such a hurry to?” Esme yelled, head poking through her bakery window with a scowl at the abrasive noise you were making in your pursuit.

“I’ll explain later, May!” you hurtled back, not stopping despite the burning in your legs, your chest.

Still, you carried on, making it all the way to the edge of the city centre, rushing to a stop as you stared across the abandoned gravel road. There was no one there except you, and you panted, exhausted and head-pounding, as you scolded yourself for such a stupid daydream. The heat had never gotten to you like this before.

It felt so real, him.

“Hey,” a voice greeted, cautiously, from behind you. Your eyes closed, hands clenched at your side, before you turned to face the tentative owner.

“Hey yourself,” you answered, surprising yourself at how civilised and steady your voice sounded to your own ears.

Bradley fucking Bradshaw. It was real after all.

“Are you okay?” he asked, hurrying towards you and letting his bag drop to the ground between the two of you, pulling out a water bottle and holding it out in front of you. A peace offering of sorts.

You only stared at it, like it’d bite you if you got any closer. “Take it, sweetheart. It’s fucking miserable out here.”

The endearment had you flashing your eyes at him, fire or rage or something somehow hotter– the sun had nothing on you in that moment, but he stumbled back, remembering himself.

“What are you doing here?” you demanded between gritted teeth, chin turned up at him.

“Sightseeing,” he said simply with that reaching grin that had you melting years earlier.

You scoffed impatiently. Poppy really had gotten her knack for lying, or royally sucking at it, from him.

“That’s bullshit. Why are you really here?”

There must have been an edge to your voice that had him spilling the truth, because you were stunned when he explained.

“Poppy– you met Poppy?” you asked, forcibly nonchalant, arms no longer dangling stupidly at your side but rather picking at the straps of your dungarees, loose threading growing longer as you pulled at them.

“Yeah, she’s a good kid,” he said, nothing giving away– not in his words, his body language, the look on his face– that he knew. Knew she was his.

He sat on the edge of the pavement, right by your feet, and patted the burning space next to him. You blew at a strand of hair tickling your nose, hating how you listened, even then, and sat right next to him, shoulders brushing the slightest bit and you were scampering to put some more distance between the two of you.

He smirked, quiet, leaning his arms on his bent knees, and his head on top, turned towards you as he watched you fight yourself.

“So, how’ve you been?” he asked, waiting, patient, all things you could never be.

“I’m fine,” you grumbled dryly, accidentally meeting his eyes, Rooster’s smirk deepened, before darting away. “You?”

The mid-afternoon heat bared down on the both of you, colouring your shoulders darker and doing nothing to help the heavy thumping against your skull, like a jackhammer or a fucking normal hammer– whatever. It just hurt bad.

Rooster noticed, silently offering his water to you again which you reluctantly snatched from him, gulping almost half of it down before he decided it was safe to speak.

“Still get migraines from the heat?” he asked, though it was more an observation than a question. You nodded, placing the now-empty bottle between your feet.

“I’m fine, as well. After I left–” you visibly winced, glaring against the rays of the sun as you willed yourself to look anywhere but at him, not when the tips of your ears were burning, ringing, making you dizzy and woozy and about ready to throw up all over your worn boots.

“--I went back to training and was then deployed overseas for a long time. Been training new recruits for the past few years now. It’s–” he stopped, glancing at you momentarily, but decided to continue. “--it’s nice. Feels like I’m moulding them to be better versions than me because I sure wasn’t picture perfect by any means.”

“No, you really weren’t–aren’t–” you agreed, voice barely above a whisper.

“I know I never said sorry, and it seems pointless now but–”

“Bradley,” you said his name and his heart stopped. He was dead and even though it was you that had killed him, right there with your voice alone, it was also only you that could bring him back to life. “I really don’t want to hear this,” you begged, and you never begged– never.

What had he done to you?

“Please, sweetheart–” Again with the nickname. You bristled beside him, standing up all of a sudden as if you were about to run in the opposite direction of his familiar ruggedness. “I need you to hear this, just a second–”

“No– you don’t,” you growled out of frustration, tugging your hair free and pressing your fingertips into your skull, anything to soothe the ache growing there. “--you don’t get to need anything, you, you– fucking prick!”

He said nothing, baffled, shocked, certain nothing he said now would make this situation any better. It was downhill from here.

“You said you loved me– promised me the fucking world and a ring and a life together, and the next morning, you left! You fucking– you left!” You were yelling now, unafraid, unabashed, uncaring if anyone could hear. They couldn’t, and if they could, they wouldn’t clue you in that they were.

The people of this town loved to know the darkest, most confidential secrets of its inhabitants, all without ever showing their face. This wasn’t any different.

“I had to!” he insisted aggressively, pushing off the rubble and invading your personal space, leading you back, back, back– until you hit a wall. You held him at arm's length, hand pressed against his hard chest, holding him there.

If he got any closer– well, if the past was anything to go by, you wouldn’t remember to stay mad long.

“I had to!” Rooster repeated, desperately. You said nothing, so he went on. “I got a letter– they needed me back, I can’t– I can’t tell you why–” You sneered, typical. “--but, I was going to come back. I swear it.”

His breathing was loud, dense in your buzzing ears. It’s just words, nothing but words– you repeated to yourself, over and over again. Bradley stepped back, giving you space and himself, as well. But his despairing stare– it pierced something inside you, something you hadn’t thought was still there.

“I wrote letters,” he stated.

“I know, I got them,” you retorted acridly, slumping into the wall for support.

“You never responded.” Again, stating facts.

“I was busy.” Being pregnant.

He nodded, unable or unwilling, you weren’t sure, to argue. An emptiness stretched between you and him, the kind you don’t think any words, half-hearted i’m sorrys, or passionate confessions could ever fill.

He bent to pick up his backpack. “Is there anything, and I mean anything, I could say to make you forgive me,” he asked, voice dejected and the rest of him following suit.

You shook your head, words failing you.

Rooster, Bradley– he turned to leave, accepting defeat, and something roared in your chest, urging, begging, pleading for you to stop him.

You don’t know why you did it, or how you thought it would ever be even a half-decent idea, but it spilled past your lips before you knew what you were saying, confessing, like a foot jamming between a door, forcing it open for someone, anyone.

Bradley.

“Poppy,” you said, loud enough for him to hear. He stopped but didn’t face you. “Poppy. She’s– she’s yours.”

His bag– the poor thing had been rattled all day– fell off his shoulder, and he spun, in slow motion, questions discernible on his face but struggling to make it out of his mouth. “How– We didn’t– I used–”

“What’s that thing they say– ninety-nine percent effective.” You shrugged blandly. “Guess we were the one percent.

It was strange having a man in the house, but there he was– Bradley Bradshaw, or Rooster, sat right at your kitchen table looking a lot like a man you’d once loved but hoped to forget.

There’s this story you loved to tell Poppy when she was young, dealing with the realities of bullies and snarky kids with nothing else to do but poke fun at her absent Father and questionable living circumstances. It was ironic, really, because it wasn’t like they were exactly well off, but kids were mean and you were sick of seeing your daughter upset everyday when there was nothing you could do.

So you told her the story of Pandora’s Box, or Jar, actually, as she corrected you, having read about it in the library but still entirely enchanted by your way of storytelling. It was like letting her in on a secret only grown-ups knew and Poppy was downright bewitched to be a part of the club.

It was never the whole let-out-everything-awful-and-wrong-with-the-world part of the story that was your motivation for telling it, or her love for hearing it, but rather, the ending.

After all the evil, poverty, greed and general nasties had escaped, tainting the world and the humans that inhabited it– out came hope, fluttering on its weak wings but beautiful all the same.

At the time, you’d believed hope to be this beacon of light, something to keep you going when nothing else could, when the bullies had you down bad.

Now, however, you saw hope as a cruel joke.

That after all of this negativity that had made mankind wrought with sin and selfishness, hope lingers about for no reason other than to yank your chain, keep the wheel of capitalism turning, the public nothing but a lot of pigs with hope dangled in front of them like an out-of-reach carrot.

You’d admit it’s a pessimistic take on the story, but it wasn’t long after Poppy was born that you realised hope was a sweet lie fed to the ignorant.

The proof of it sat right in front of you, looking exactly the same except for the way in which his hair tickled the tops of his ears, having grown out from his previous military-ordered buzzcut.

“Can I get you something? Tea? Water?” you asked, words maddeningly courteous as you yanked the fridge door open, searching for something to offer your guest.

He hadn’t said a word since you’d blurted it out an hour ago, instead, guiding him back into town, to your house, Poppy nowhere insight (likely hiding out until she’s certain you’ve cooled down, though unluckily for her, the very sight of her would have you revved up and raging whenever she dared make an appearance).

Rooster stared at a single tile on the opposite end of the kitchen, fixated and motionless like a statue and nothing like the passionate, begging man from earlier.

“Helllooo?” you asked again, waving a hand in front of his face that snapped him from whatever trance he’d been under. He blinked at you, face blank enough to unnerve you. He should’ve said something by now, right?

“Water would be good, thank you,” he answered eventually, hoarse like he hadn’t spoken in years. You nodded, pulling a glass from the cabinet and letting the sink run into it before placing it on the plastic-topped table in front of him.

You sat down on the only other usable chair that happened to be right next to him, the other two with the unstable legs and missing backrests having only been kept to make your kitchen look a little less incomplete.

You both sat in silence, one that seemed just about never ending and had you gnawing on your lips and nails like a mad man. He looked over at you, noting your anxious state, and pulling your hand away from your mouth. It was infuriating, the way he acted like no time had passed.

Well it had if your daughter was any indication. A whole lifetime had come and gone, for you, at least, and he couldn’t ignore it away, not like the rest of his problems or like he’d done with you. You were about to say as much, going off like you’d been itching to since you’d set sights on him, but he beat you to it.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He wasn’t looking at you, but you didn’t need to see him to hear the distress in his voice, and beneath that, a restrained sort of anger.

“I had nothing to tell,” was all you offered him, and his gaze snapped to you in the blink of an eye, his temper apparent on his features as that one vein at the top of his forehead stood proud, face going scarlet as he held himself back.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he spit out, unbelieving. “Nothing to tell?” he repeated. “I have a daughter, for Christ’s sake! One I would’ve loved to know about if you’d done me the courtesy of actually letting me in!”

Your hands clenched into tight fists, fingers twitching. “What? Like you were any better when you up and left?”

He was shaking his head at you, unwilling to hear anything you were saying, and you were no different. “It’s not the same fucking thing, you know that. I had to leave. It’s my job, my duty, to my country and to–”

“Well what about me, huh?” you bellowed, reaching decibels you didn’t think were physically possible. Yet there you were, defying all odds. “What about your duty to me? To us? You promised–”

“I know what I promised you, but how could I give you anything– a life, a home, a family, a future– if I was broke and unemployed. Money doesn’t grow on trees, sweetheart, not here in the real world.”

You couldn’t take it, exploding out of your chair. He didn’t know, couldn’t know, what you’d been through, what you’d fought past. But he followed close behind, grabbed you by your wrist until you had no choice but to face him.

Rooster’s breaths escaped him in hard bursts, and you looked no better with the flush creeping up your neck and the scowl permanently etched to your face.

“That’s pure coming from you, the same man who was throwing away his life to join the army, giving up a paying job, all because his ego wouldn’t let him work for his Dad.”

Bradley recoiled like you’d slapped him.

“You weren’t around to see me working two, sometimes three if I could manage it, jobs– for years, Bradley, years. It was hard, so fucking hard, but I did it because I had someone dependant on me. I wasn’t alone, living like some unattached bachelor. I worked myself to the bone for her– for Poppy.” You were close to sobbing by then, the weight of it all finally registering. “Because if I didn’t, no one would.”

He looked like he wanted to argue more but thought better of it in the end, letting go of his hold on you and moving to lean his forehead against the wall in the living room. You watched, not wanting to move lest he remember you’re still there and end up going for a second round. You couldn’t, yearning for respite of any kind.

And his head turned from where he was, catching the chest of drawers nestled in front of the window with photos of you and Poppy adorning every inch of its surface. He walked over, wordless.

You joined him where he stood, hand brushing against his, by accident, you’d tell yourself later, but when you tried to move away, he slipped his fingers through yours, squeezing hard.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, though there was no one else to hear it, no one but you.

You nodded, accepting his apology, then realising he wasn’t looking at you, you said, “Me too. I’m sorry.”

He reached forward, picking up a photo of Poppy at age two, hair in pigtails, chubby knees covered in sand at the beach. It was the first time she’d gone into the water and you wanted to live in that moment forever, freeze it and hold it close to your chest. It had seemed like the biggest milestone at the time, and you remember wishing he was there to treasure it as well.

“I know why you did it,” he admitted, and you faltered from where you stood. “And I’m not going to stand her and pretend like I would have dropped everything, put everything on pause, for the two of you. I can’t guarantee that, knowing who I was back then.” You inhaled shakily, eyes glassy from barely-held-back tears.

Bradley turned to you abruptly, hand sliding out of yours to hold your face instead, close and intimate. Like nothing had changed.

You didn’t fight it, savouring the feeling of being held, of relinquishing control to someone else, if only for a second. “But that’s not who I am anymore. I don’t care about what happened and what didn’t. I’m here now, and, if you’d let me, I’d like to stay. Learn a little more about you, and about– about Poppy, as well.”

You searched his face for any hint of a lie, that innate urge to protect your child at all cost threatening to label Bradley’s confession as pretence. It’d be easier if it was, you thought, if things weren’t so complicated and you could just say no.

But no matter how hard you looked, how long as well, you found nothing, only love and a sincerity you couldn’t possibly fault, even if you were still broken and bruised from years of delayed burn-out.

So you did the only reasonable thing one could do. You nodded, complimenting it with a watery smile he chuckled lowly at.

“Yeah? Gonna take a chance on me, sweetheart?” he asked, needing confirmation but unable to hide his budding rapture.

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Okay, okay. I think– maybe, we can work something out.”

He grinned and fuck– was he a vision. No matter how you framed the past, it was all going to be both of yours’ fault for what happened, and how it did. His for leaving and yours for keeping the child you shared a secret.

And it wasn’t like the road ahead was going to be at all easy, you’d accepted your fate already. But maybe, and you might have been overstepping or consumed by an unexpected wave of euphoria that impaired your judgement– but maybe a family was worth fighting for.

After all, the best things in life, the things truly worth having and celebrating, were never meant to be easily acquired, otherwise you’d just take them for granted.

You didn’t take this for granted, and you didn’t let the hassle deter you.

For the first time in a long time, you had hope, and there was nothing cruel or funny about it.

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heartsofminds · 9 months

Text

at least i let the light in (i).

"No one was more responsible than Bradley. No one was more reasonable than Bradley. No one was more mature than Bradley. No one else had life figured out the best they could like Bradley had. . . But no one knew how deeply sad Bradley actually was." or Bradley is on a downward spiral and Natasha doesn't know how much more she can take or the unofficial sequel to 'cause no one breaks my heart like you.

A/N: well guys, here we are! months after publishing 'cause no one breaks my heart like you, i decided to write my ass off and truly deep dive to the bottom of bradley's heart the best i knew how. while I'm not an expert and don't know everything, i am super proud of the work I've done and cannot wait to share more of it in the weeks to come. so for now, enjoy this small tidbit of the series and prepare yourselves to ride this rollercoaster with me! also, a special shoutout to jordan (@gretagerwigsmuse) for letting me ramble about this and reading over the millions of screenshots and drafts I've been hoarding over the past six months! i could not have had the courage to continue to write this or publish it without you!

After - Three Months

Maybe Natasha was mistaken; a phenomenon that did not occur very often.

She’s one of those people who’s a lucky guesser. Precisely the kind of person who could say “fuck it,” roll the dice of whatever was being talked about, and always come out victorious, and if not entirely correct beyond a reasonable doubt, was as damn close to right as anyone else could get.

But she’s not a boaster.

Sometimes being right is embarrassing and she never seemed to like the attention it brought; making people roll their eyes when asked for her opinion or always lucking out in a money pool whenever a bet was placed amongst her friends. She likes being right but she doesn’t necessarily like the reputation being right gives her, so she closes her mouth, nods her head, and tries to put on her best poker face whenever a bad idea is uttered from the mouths of her colleagues.

Watching people blow their own bullshit in their faces is comical and she and Bob get an absolute kick out of it whenever it's on Jake’s dime.

But this time it isn’t Jake or Javy or Maverick or anyone she would giggle and be in stitches over looking silly and distraught.

This time it’s Bradley, and from the iron flavor in her mouth from where she had been biting her lip the entire night, she knows that this is bad.

This is really bad. This is super bad. This is fucking horrible.

In hindsight, Bradley had a little bit of a problem. In hindsight, it was a stupid idea to let him have as much as he did. And in hindsight, it was downright imbecilic to let him get that wasted, play a game of pool with Jake (who loves to engage in smack talk), and not tell Jake about the breakup which resulted in Bradley leaping over the table and trying to beat the absolute shit out of him for making a joke about his girlfriend whom everyone else had yet to establish was now his ex-girlfriend.

Maverick, who watched the entire thing go down from the bar stools, practically begged Penny on his hands and knees not to throw them out and she obliged but only after tasking Mickey and Bob with taking Bradley to the bathroom and letting him calm down in there before he was ready to come back out.

And Nat knew that they all should probably head home and that Penny had every right to kick them out for the evening (and probably should), but she remained quiet while trying to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach. Her careful eyes caught wind of Bradley’s incapacitated disposition as he stood slumped between Mickey and Bob as if he was an anchor ready to sink to the bottom of the ocean.

Their gentle arms held him steady while their faces wore desperation. The chunky wet spot of acid on Bob’s pant leg told Natasha everything she needed to know and from the way Bradley’s head hung, he was down for the count.

If she was being truthful, Bradley had been down for the count for a long time; much longer than anyone had ever really taken notice of, and the seed of anxiousness planted in her torso only bloomed with each assisted step he had taken toward her.

Natasha was mistaken, and letting him tag along tonight was an incredibly bad idea.

“Hi, Nat,” he slurs with reddened cheeks and a boyish grin on his face. Part of him looks like the boy she had gotten to love like a brother all those years ago in flight school; way before the stupid mustache and the muscles and the “slight” drinking problem he’d developed over the past nine weeks.

“Hey, dumbass,” she snides back. She’s so overwhelmed that irritation is the only feeling coursing through her veins.

“We had a bit of an. . .” Mickey looks toward Bob who looks as if he’s about two seconds away from passing out, “incident in the bathroom. He really needs to get home, Nix.”

She sighs deeply; the likeness of a sleepless night and a massive headache in the morning a premonition burning bright behind the heavy blinks of her eyelids. Her hands hold her hips and her shoulders slump. She and Bradley had ridden with Jake to Hard Deck tonight, and she’s sure that the debit card saved to her Uber account would not appreciate a twenty-five dollar fee for an eight-minute straight shot up the road.

But asking Jake for a ride home after he’d been sat icing his left eye with a Heineken bottle isn’t ideal either.

Her eyes dart to the watch on her left arm; an old Cartier with a white face and hands that were always ten minutes off the hour. If she remembers right, multiplying the drive time by two would get her an estimate of the walking time, and if they jay-walk on Jasper and Kinnecky, they could shave off four minutes and be at her front door in about-

“Twelve minutes?” she looks up at the triad of men and flashes a small smile in the process, “Do you think he could make that long of a walk?”

Bradley tries to straighten his legs to stand on his own, but his knees buckle before he can even put his full weight forward. He giggles to himself; the sound childish and carefree. He attempts to lean his head on Bob’s shoulder but slams his forehead down too enthusiastically and knocks heads with the sheepish brunet instead.

“I’m gonna be so honest with you, I don’t think he can tell you what color shirt he has on. It’s a miracle he’s even standing right now.”

Natasha groans and puts her face in her hands.

Fucking hell, Bradley.

“Don’t be mad at me. Please don’t be mad. Don’t be mad,” Bradley speaks up. His voice is whinier than usual and it’s one of the few phrases he’s bothered to utter tonight. His weight still remains supported by his two friends and for a moment, she feels guilty for even being frustrated with him at all.

The warm hazel of his eyes peer into hers and she can almost feel his sadness and solitude. Bradley always liked to operate like he was angry, but anyone who dared to get close enough to him knew that the anger was how he felt about himself; a mirage of explosives made up of pure loneliness and hurt.

“I’m not mad —”

“Oh my fucking, God!” Bob screeches.

A slosh of yellow vomit exits Bradley’s mouth faster than anyone can manage to process. The warmth of his stomach acid mixed with the various types of alcohol he had shoved down his throat throughout the night makes everyone around them wrinkle their nose, and it’s in that moment - the one with Bob dropping Bradley’s arm in shock and Mickey being left to support his weight alone and succumbing to his friend’s heaviness sending them both straight to the floor in the puddle of puke - does Natasha accept the fact that this was a mistake and that Bradley had no business being anywhere but on a bathroom floor with a cup of water next to him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Mickey groans, his arms pushing himself up. He grimaces as he stands and examines his hands; the chunks of what was in Bradley’s stomach (which isn’t much besides alcohol, he figures) sitting warmly on his palms and making its way between his fingers.

Bradley grunts from the ground and is almost an afterthought due to the catastrophe taking place in front of them. Javy and Jake jump from their spots near the pool table and help him up.

Natasha can feel the headache brewing in her temples. She turns to look around and take count of all the watchful eyes. Even though she’s beyond mad at him right now, she always finds herself looking out for Bradley. After a quick sweep of the bar with her gaze, she figures that he’s not embarrassed himself too badly to never show his face around again.

Her eyes catch Penny’s sympathetic look. She mouths an apology while Penny nods and slowly starts to make her way to the supply closet in the back. On her way out from behind the bar, she pushes Maverick’s head with her hand a little bit harsher than what could be considered playful, and Maverick simply gives a sheepish grin in return.

“M’soooo tired,” Bradley garbles some more. His head hangs as if his neck isn’t attached to him.

“No, no, no, no. You can’t go to sleep right now!” Javy discourages. He pulls Bradley’s arm tighter around his shoulder. The brunet is properly jostled and Jake grumbles beside him.

Jake sends a sharp glare to his best friend at his sudden movement and for a second, he feels a wave of sympathy wash over him. It’s no secret that Bradley and Jake had been each other’s least favorite person for much longer than they had been friendly, but the fact that they can call each other that now - a friend - makes this taste so much sourer in the blond’s mouth now.

“But I’m tired!” Bradley croons. His body starts to go slack again as if his bones were made of rubber.

“But you can’t go to sleep, man!” Javy tries to reason.

“Why not?” Bradley continues to whine. His eyes squeeze shut and he stomps his foot like a toddler.

“Because – fuck, dude – because you just. . . can’t!”

“Why,” his foot resounds on the ground to punctuate his word, “Not!” The force of its landing causes him to stumble back a little despite the hunkering support on both sides of him. The room spins slightly and he chokes back a gag.

“Penny hates sleepers and you’re already skating on thin fuckin’ ice with her,” Javy snaps, “I suggest that if you don’t wanna lose a hangout spot, you try and get it together.”

Bradley attempts to mock him, but the effort it takes to remember what was said proves itself too great. He gives up after his third attempt at unscrambling his words and instead sticks his tongue out.

A frustrated puff of air leaves Jake’s mouth before he turns to Natasha. The face he makes is something Nat likes to call his “bitching face,” which everyone knew he made when he had something to say (which was all the fucking time, so he would often argue that it was just his face). She rolls her eyes to mentally prepare for the bullshit that’s about to come out of Hangman’s mouth.

“So what’s your plan, Phoenix?”

She hadn’t expected for his statement to be so tame, and for the first time tonight, the pressure of having to be right pinched her nerves like a thorn. For once in her life, she doesn’t really have a plan, and the realization startles her.

“Shit. I – I don’t know–” she stammers.

She feels a sharp pain in her thumb and glances down to see the side of her nail torn to shreds and spewing crimson. She curses herself internally. Picking anxiously at her skin was a habit she thought she had kicked after flight school.

Jake’s lips form a straight line of dissatisfaction with her answer. Bradley utters something incomprehensible to the sober ear and Javy shakes his head, pretending to understand what the brunet is saying when he truly has no clue if it was even English.

“I don’t feel good.”

Despite the confession being whispered, the world stops turning as if it were screamed from the rooftops. Bradley’s face pales. Javy can feel his chest squeeze with a sense of dread. Jake’s grip on his friend’s shoulders tightens.

“I need you to tell us what we’re doin’ before he starts blowin’ chunks everywhere!”

Natasha just stands still with a God’s eye view of the scene unfolding in front of her. Had you gone back in time and told her this would be her life three months ago, she’s positive she would’ve laughed in your face.

No one was more responsible than Bradley. No one was more reasonable than Bradley. No one was more mature than Bradley. No one else had life figured out the best they could like Bradley had.

But no one knew how deeply sad Bradley actually was.

And no one knew that this is exactly where that deep sadness would land him.

“What’s the plan, Phoenix?” Jake’s voice booms and bounces around in her ears.

Her hands come up to push the flyaways from her French braid back. Natasha’s face feels hot and the mugginess of the bar feels like a wet paper towel trapping her movements beneath its paper tendrils.

Think. Think. Think. Think!

“You need to make a decision –”

“I don’t fucking know!” she screeches.

Time stands still and everything seems to be moving in slow motion.

Penny whips her head around to see the commotion; her eyes wearing worry. Bob straightens his back due to her sudden change in cadence. Javy shifts uncomfortably on his feet. Mickey and Rueben give each other wide-eyed looks while Jake’s lips mold themselves even further into a straight line.

Even the music playing over the speakers seemed to quiet down.

It all makes her want to cry.

Her breathing is rampant and her heart beats raucously inside her ears. Her pulse is in tune with it and she can feel the blood coursing through every single vein in her body. Her hands shake and her body feels electrified from all the adrenaline.

Making a choice isn’t doable right now. And making the right choice is a task that remains an unsolvable dilemma with a bright red “danger” sign at its conclusion no matter the option.

“Fine,” Jake grumbles. He turns his body slightly to face Javy. “He’s comin’ with me.”

Javy widens his eyes; his thoughts formulating what he wants to say before he can even come up with the words to express it. “He can’t even stand straight. How in the fuck are we gonna get him into that stupid ass lifted truck –”

“Can you just shut the fuck up and help?”

Javy rolls his eyes and lets out a puff of air that he hadn’t even realized he was holding in. Jake is lucky that they had been best friends for over a decade and Bradley even luckier that Javy has a soft spot for him.

Natasha’s mouth feels stuffed with cotton and her limbs molded by concrete as the two men breeze past her to lead Bradley out of the front doors of Hard Deck. She could almost convince herself that the entire scene was a dream had it not been for the whiff of cologne and the slight tang of Bradley’s vomit hitting her nostrils as they walked by.

She slaps down a fifty-dollar bill on the bar top near the cash register before jogging into the sandy parking lot with the sky-painted indigo and violet above them.

By some miracle, Bradley is dragged (not without any hiccups or the impending fear that he would start projectile vomiting everywhere) all the way to the floor of the backseat of Jake Seresin’s black Ford F-150.

“Lard ass,” Jake mutters as he slams the door of his truck closed. Javy slides into the backseat with Bradley and another hollow sound of metal shutting can be heard.

Jake rips open the front passenger door for a meek Natasha, whose arms had yet to move from their crossed spot over her chest. Despite the dry summer heat nipping at her body and her damp arms showing evidence of her sweating, she feels cold.

Shocked.

Numb, is the word she’s looking for but can’t seem to find.

Her thumb rubs over her watch band and her purse hangs stagnant near her belly button. She looks as if she had seen a ghost. Her fingernails leave small scratches where blood had been drawn from her nervous picking.

Jake swats at her hand gently; telling her to let go. Telling her that this is okay. That this is under control.

That she needs to let go and let him help.

They stand silent in the hollows of the bar’s parking lot and Natasha can recall very few times where she had felt like this.

There was a weariness that grew in her whenever she told her dying grandmother that she would get to see her walk the stage at her high school graduation. There was a need for protection when she had broken up with her boyfriend before getting her first deployment assignment. There was a loss of hope whenever she looked at Bradley’s pleading eyes in her living room tonight, begging to let him tag along and carve out what he wants to say but can never manage to utter; “I’m lonely and I need help.”

Dread.

Impending doom.

Knowing the outcome despite trying to convince yourself that if you pray hard enough or ask God kind enough or are a good enough person or try your best or whatever the fuck you believe in doing – that this will work out and that you’ll come out on top.

But all that does is set you up for your grandmother to die two nights before high school graduation and for your boyfriend of three years to admit that he was cheating on you for two and a half of those.

All it gets you is a drunken best friend with demons and night terrors that still swallow him whole with fear despite sleeping on her living room couch and being thirty-seven years old.

“You coming?” Jake’s voice cuts through her downward spiral of thoughts.

She gulps down her feelings of decay. She makes a mental note to bring this up to her therapist this week even though she knows she’ll skate around it and they won’t get to unpack it for at least three more sessions.

“Y– yeah. I am,” she wipes at her forehead with the back of her hand, “Thanks.”

Jake gives a sharp nod of his head to her. Despite being a major shit-talker, he doesn’t really have much to say outside of the realm of having a good time or riling up some trouble.

He and Natasha aren’t close by any means of the word, but his appreciation for her had doubled the size since seeing all that she goes through dealing with an obliterated Bradley. Most friends don’t stick around like she does.

He sure as hell wouldn’t.

She throws herself up into his passenger side seat and closes the door before Jake can get to it. He’s already taking her and Bradley home, she figures. He can’t keep doing favors for her.

But then maybe shutting my own door is rude.

And then the thought spirals into why she doesn't think anyone wants to do nice things for her and how she’s undeserving of the good deeds she’s been dealt and then realizes that this thought pattern can wait because there are much bigger problems in her rear view.

Natasha turns her head to peer into the backseat. Bradley lays with his head in Javy’s lap and his legs folded in some miraculous knot. Javy doesn’t seem to mind and sits with his arms spread across the backs of the seats; scrolling away on his phone and checking his March Madness bracket to see exactly how much money he should be collecting at work tomorrow morning.

“How’s he holding up?”

The sound of her own voice surprises her. It comes out soft. Less assured. Less assertive than it usually does. She thinks that she sounds like her mother in a way before she discards the thought. She’s always hated the sound of her mom’s voice and –

Bigger things, Nat. Way bigger things.

Javy lets out a sarcastic chuckle. “Pretty shitty,” he looks down from his phone and turns his neck to the side, “Can’t even hold that big ass head up on his own.”

Natasha lets out an airy snort. Her eyes continue to drink in the sight of the two men behind her before her attention snaps to the sound of Jake climbing into the driver’s seat.

He lets out a soft groan before shoving his key into the ignition and the engine roaring to life. His hand finds the button for the stereo and clicks it off before any sound can come from it.

“How you holdin’ up back there, ‘Yote?” he asks, right arm behind the back of the passenger seat as he begins to back out. He whips the gear into drive and guides the wheel with the palm of his left hand.

“Haven’t had to play EMT yet if that’s what you’re asking.”

Jake’s eyes catch Javy’s face in his rearview mirror. The idea of saying something sarcastic crosses his mind, but he doesn’t indulge in it; not now when shit has hit the fan and there’s seemingly no end in sight.

There’s a time and place for his snide comments, he thinks.

See, I’m learning. . . .God, these people have made me soft.

He wrinkles his nose and checks his periphery for Natasha. She sits solemnly at his side like a child who knew they were in for it once they got home. Her hands sit in her lap; fingers busied doing God knows what (probably picking, Jake would guess, but he’s too focused on trying to get everyone home without someone dying to actually look to confirm). Her mouth is set in a deep frown and her face competes with the moon for how pale it is.

Jake had never really looked at Natasha before, but he’s seen her enough in quick glimpses and fond flashbacks to know that she’s never appeared this hollow.

Something is weird.

Something is off.

Something is wrong, and Jake starts to wonder how anyone could have missed it at all.

He opens his mouth to comment on it before he’s interrupted.

“Turn left up here,” she whispers. Jake has to blink a few times to prove to himself that he had actually heard her voice come out like that and hadn’t dreamt it up.

A simple nod and a turn much wider than he would have liked it to send them to the driveway of a charming California bungalow. Natasha’s car sits outside the garage parked next to the God-awful and constantly falling apart Ford Bronco that everyone and their mother knows belongs to Bradley Bradshaw.

Jake fixes his wheels to be parallel to the lip of Natasha’s drive before throwing the vehicle into park and killing the engine. He throws the door open and hops out to help Javy pull Bradley’s deadweight out of the truck to take him inside.

“Up you get, dumb fuck.”

Bradley lets out a soft groan before being fixed across both men’s shoulders. His feet drag on the ground and his eyes remain closed. His brain is absent of any thoughts and the possibility of him remembering a single detail about this tomorrow is slim to none.

Natasha jams her house key into the lock and switches on the hallway light. She doesn’t bother taking off her shoes before she’s turned the corner to her kitchen to fetch some Ibuprofen and a glass of water. Javy and Jake silently struggle behind her, and she tries to ignore their hushed comments of “Oh shit!” after a loud thud fills the house, which she presumes to be them accidentally dropping Bradley on the ground.

Her feet feel like they’re stuck in buckets of cement as she stands before her kitchen sink; idly watching the air pocket bubbles of water fill the glass she holds beneath the faucet. The thought of getting Bradley water from the Brita filter in her refrigerator briefly crosses her mind, but then she remembers that she’s angry with him, and at the very least, he doesn’t deserve filtered water.

It’s a childish attempt at getting even, she knows, but she can’t express her annoyance any other way without feeling as if she was a raging bitch.

Her hand mechanically slaps the lever on the faucet to shut it off and her throat tightens when she hears the sound of her coffee table being scraped across the floor and Bradley mumble a whiny “Ouch!”

Natasha takes a deep breath and attempts to count to ten.

One. Bradley is okay. Two. Bradley is okay. Three. Bradley is okay. Four. Bradley is okay. Five. . . He’s fucking killing himself and you’re not even trying to help. Six. What kind of fucking friend are you? Seven. You should be ashamed of yourself. Eight —

With a wobbling lip and starry eyes, she forces herself out of her kitchen and into her living room where she finds two of her friends huddled around her other one; trying to position him on his side so that he can properly fall asleep.

“You fucking – you fuckin’ dropped me!” Bradley cries, his limbs flailing around like a baby’s.

Jake rolls his eyes. “Don’t cry over spilled milk, Bradshaw,” the lightbulb to say something shitty goes off in his head, “. . . S’not even milk you’re gonna remember spillin’.”

Bradley wordlessly slides himself deeper into the couch and smushes his face up against a throw pillow. Natasha watches from behind and makes a mental note to go ahead and plan on taking that pillow to the cleaners tomorrow.

It would be by God’s grace if she came to the living room in the morning and the cushion was absent of vomit.

“Don’t be a dick, Hangman. He’s already down bad enough as it is,” she speaks, brushing past him to set the water cup down on the coffee table. Her fast hands move the small waste basket hidden by her lamp near Bradley’s head. Her palm lingers on his head; fingertips ghosting the space where his hairline meets the back of his neck.

She sits down on the loveseat adjacent to the couch with a ‘plop.’ All that can be heard is the buzz of the cicadas outside and the anchoring, rumbly snoring exiting Bradley’s mouth. Javy shifts his weight between his two feet. Jake chews on his lip.

No one speaks.

The elephant in the room has gotten harder to ignore.

Natasha senses the ball forming in her throat before she feels it; the scary, dark monster of angst that everyone seems to want to will away. Its claws dig themselves deep into the crevices of her throat and tear every part of her to shreds. The stinging prickling of her eyes becomes harder and harder to blink away. Her nose begins to run; leaking the secret anguish she had been keeping to herself for months. Her limbs feel as if they had been injected with pure lead and she can’t will herself to move.

Because this is it.

This is the end.

This is the official cry for help that she had never wanted to make.

It’s crazy, she thinks, how your body can betray you even harsher than your worst enemy could.

Jake knows she’s crying before Natasha knows she is. Growing up with four sisters gave him a special radar for hidden emotions. The knowledge startles him a bit because never did he ever think that she had it in her to be so. . .broken. His eyes widen when her chest begins to wrack with sobs.

He and Javy share a wide-eyed gaze as if the scene playing in front of them could be any less real. Both men had never been great at comfort because they never had to deal with it, and as she tries to stifle her cries in an attempt to not wake Bradley and to not freak out Javy and Jake, she wonders if the anger she holds in her heart for Bradley makes her a bad person.

It’s insane, she thinks, that in one of her darkest moments, she can’t help but be horrified of being an awful human being.

All she had ever known was sacrifice and she can’t help but want to throw in the towel. To stop fighting so hard. To stop caring so much. To stop loving so deeply.

But she can’t.

I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.

And thus the tears continue to fall while she wipes furiously at her eyes. Through a blurry lens of reality, she looks down and sees marbled red between her fingertips, but says nothing. The metallic stench of her own blood dripping out of her nose isn’t enough to stop her frenzy of thoughts beating her feelings into those of self-doubt. If anything, the blood attracts the emotions of worthlessness like sharks to live bait.

“Shit,” Jake hisses. The sound of his boots tendering his steps toward her makes her cry harder. “Shit, shit, shit. It’s okay. It’s alright.”

His hand moves in slow motion to reach out and touch her, but he snatches it back before it makes contact with her body.

Although he’s good at detecting sob fests, he’s never been good at resolving them.

“Holy shit, that’s so much blood,” Jake whispers louder than he intended. He sits on his knees in front of her and tilts his head to both sides of her face to get a good look at the geyser of blood spewing out of her nose.

Javy sends daggers toward him before making a plan in his head. “You take her to get cleaned up,” he instructs, “I’ll stay with tilt-a-whirl to make sure he actually makes it to the trashcan.”

Jake opens his arms in offense and opens his mouth to make a complaint before Javy stops him, “Blood or puke, dude. Your call.”

The blond’s lips form a straight line before he quickly makes a decision. He ushers Natasha up and gently guides her to the bathroom down the hall. She can barely see with the rate of tears building up in her eyes and though she would rather die than show weakness, the vulnerability sat revealed on the cushions of her loveseat.

There is no tough guy act available for her use anymore.

As she sits on her toilet seat lid with her head tilted forward over a wastebasket, she determines that Jake Seresin isn’t the most atrocious thing she has ever encountered and has a slight appreciation for his detached demeanor.

He doesn’t ask any questions. He doesn’t push her to say anything. He’s more than content with the silence and sits on the ledge of her bathtub with his elbows digging into the tops of his thighs.

In any other circumstance, they would be ripping the other a new one; trying to embarrass each other by coming across the other’s faults with a fine toothcomb. In another world, Natasha is somewhere teasing him about being a softy. In another world, Jake is rolling his eyes at whatever she was saying and dismissing it with a nasally, “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” In another world, he never sets foot in her house and in another world, she doesn’t fall apart at the seams like this.

But in this world, the one with an entire box of bloody Kleenex filling the waste basket she has her head over, they don’t say anything because they truly don’t need to.

The thing no one tells you about hating someone’s guts is the way that you’re so accidentally in tune with them.

You know how they think. You know what nasty little habits they have. You know exactly what makes them tick.

And you know precisely what faces they make when they want you to spill your guts.

Natasha tries her hardest to ignore his wandering eyes and looks down at the mess beneath her instead. She can feel his stare slicing through her body; layer by layer: skin, fascia, muscles, organs, bones, and all.

“He’s been putting vodka in his coffee every morning.”

Jake quirks his eyebrows together. His stomach drops at the idea of what her admission may reveal.

“I suspected it for a while. He’s never been a Yeti cup kind of guy,” she lets out a sarcastic laugh, “So one day I went over to his desk and took a sip. I figured he wouldn’t mind.”

She shifts uncomfortably and her tears begin to slide down the apples of her cheeks like a waterfall once again.

“You know the shitty part about being right no one ever tells you? That it applies to dumpster fires too. Like, I didn’t wanna be right about my best friend drinking on the job but. . .”

Silence fills the air. Jake’s heart starts to race. This can’t be good, he thinks. This isn’t good, he knows.

“But?” he leads, leaning forward more to make sure that his ears don’t miss a single word that falls out of her mouth.

“Went by his desk every day for a week straight and sniffed his cup. I was right.”

Night and day pass before Jake can let the idea – no. The fact that Bradley had been showing up to work drunk settle in his stomach. It spreads like a thick goo that he can’t swallow down.

“How long?” he asks quietly. Gently, like a parent whispering as they hold their sleeping baby to their chest.

She licks her lips. The wetness of her tears help mend the dryness her mouth had encountered.

“Three months.”

The admission is dropped like a bomb. The effects of both of them knowing changing the intricate thread of life as they know it instantaneously. Jake’s chest starts to heave with a feeling that he doesn’t recognize.

Hurt. Anger. Disgust. Care. Sympathy. Hatred.

All of these things that he has never felt at one time. All of these things that he doesn’t have a name for.

His mouth moves faster than his brain. “You know you have to report him.” He says it with such finality and although he knows it’s the right thing to do, it certainly isn’t the right thing to say.

Natasha narrows her eyes at him. “You think I haven’t thought about it? You think it’s just that easy?” she scoffs, anger making her cheeks crimson red, “Fuck you, Jake!”

He knows that he shouldn’t take any offense to her words, but the weight of the events of tonight has taken a toll on him, and her words plant a seed of irritation in his heart.

“He’s coming to work drunk, Natasha! Screw me for wanting to keep people alive.”

She takes a deep breath. Her knuckles whiten around the rim of the trashcan she’s holding as a means to try and calm herself down.

“Look,” she speaks through gritted teeth, “I know this is horrible –”

“Horrible? Just horrible?” his words sound sharper than he intended them to be, “Horrible is your dog dying or losing a bet or staining your white couch with a fucking nosebleed.”

A sarcastic laugh leaves his mouth as he stands up to leave the bathroom. “He’s gambling with life, and he of all people should fucking know better.”

“Because using the dead mommy and daddy card against him is soooo fucking rich, Jake. What else is new? Huh?” She shoves the wastebasket to the side and stands up to look him in the face.

“You gonna pull the dead grandma card on me? Cheating ex-boyfriend? Oh let me guess. The female pilot who belongs in the kitchen and not the Navy?” With each word, she gets closer and closer to him.

“Don’t let the fact that I have a heart and actually try to do the right thing make you forget that I’ll fuck your life up beyond repair. You’re absolutely the last one to talk about gambling with life when you tried to kill your team and didn’t even feel an ounce of sympathy. Being number one means nothing when you kill all your competition, fuck face.”

The dried blood around her nostrils leaves a scarlet film in its wake. Jake takes a few deep breaths to remind himself to calm down. He knows that she’s right. He knows that he hasn’t quite redeemed himself. He knows that despite everyone having a chummy attitude with him, he is still considered a person who cannot be trusted.

Because he does bail. He does cut people down to make himself feel better. He does eliminate his problems instead of facing them.

“I know that he’s your best friend. I know that he means the world to you, but what he’s doing is dangerous, and you helping him hide it will only bite you in the ass in the long run,” he exhales softly, “You need to tell.”

She rolls her eyes and reaches past him to flip the light off. She stomps past him back into the hallway that leads to her living room.

“You still don’t fucking get it. You’ll never fucking get it!”

Her gaze finds Bradley sleeping softly on the couch and Javy curled up on the loveseat fast asleep before she decides to lower her voice. She turns on her heel to face Jake once again and takes a deep breath to calm herself down.

“You don’t have to get it or understand or even pretend like you give the smallest ounce of a fuck about him, but I do. I care about him so fucking much, Jake. And I know that it’s fucked up and I know that I’m not doing the right thing, but I can’t rat him out because betraying him when he’s like this would hurt him even more than getting in the cockpit wasted.”

“Nat –”

She holds up her hands to his chest and distances herself from him. The tears start to form again and she wonders if she’ll ever stop crying.

“I can’t take this away from him. I can’t take the only thing he has left away from him and you can’t make me. . . . Because this time, he might just hate me enough to dig the hole so deep that he won’t be able to climb back out.”

The collage of versions of Bradley she had gotten to know and love so well over the years of their friendship blind her with sorrow and sadness. She truly knows him in a way that no one else ever will, and while part of her takes pride in that, another part of her wishes there was someone else to help share the load because she’s tired.

She’s so fucking tired and there seems to be no relief in sight.

“And I’d rather him rot away on this couch knowing that someone loves him than get a phone call that he—that he killed himself because I helped everything get taken away from him.”

She zips past him to her linen closet to grab a blanket for Javy. “So yeah. You don’t have to get it but I do, and I’m gonna continue to stick by him regardless because that’s what friends do.”

Jake stands dumbfounded in the dimly illuminated doorway as she carefully unfolds a blanket and gently lays it on Javy. He watches as she turns to Bradley and puts her finger underneath his nose to ensure that he’s alive and breathing. Her eyes refuse to meet him as she walks into her bedroom and shuts the door.

And when she wakes the next morning to find Jake fast asleep in a chair alongside Javy and Bradley, she knows that there was nothing but truth to the words he had uttered to her last night.

When they wake, they separate and leave for work like the events of the evening had never happened.

Like Bradley hadn’t projectile vomited at the bar the previous night or that Javy hadn’t dropped him on his ass in Nat’s living room. Like Natasha hadn’t cried so hard her nose bled and that Jake hadn’t had the chewing out of his life given to him in a bathroom at three in the morning. Like everything is fine when they all know that it’s not – the textbook definition of burying an issue beneath a rug.

Natasha almost tricks herself into pretending like the entire evening had never happened until she spots Bradley’s black Yeti cup on his desk. She stares at it with wonder and hatred and she doesn’t even realize how long she had been standing there until she feels the warm drip of blood seeping from her nose slide down her face and onto her chest.

Natasha Trace was a person who was very rarely mistaken, but now she can say that her mistakes run large when she is.

Because Bradley Bradshaw is fucked, and there is absolutely nothing she can do about it.

136 notes · View notes

callsign-cree · 1 year

Text

trainwreck || bradley "rooster" bradshaw

synopsis | it was never meant to be, and all she needed was confirmation.

warning | cheating, arguing, swearing, afab!reader + use of she/her pronouns

genre | angst

wordcount | 1.1k

note | sooo, heres a little rooster angst because i need to get back into the groove of writing. hope you like it!

------

maybe it was better this way. to watch him from the sidelines in his life, always being the bridesmaid, never the bride. there were times when it could’ve been the opposite. yet, chances are given too often to the point they weren’t chances anymore but expected. growing weak and melting at the sound of his voice when all it did was hurt more. she hated it.

sitting in the living room, y/n held a photo in her hands. a picture that had been through thick and thin, curving in at the edges and creases all along its face. it had been years since the photo was taken. everyone in the academy, smiling and laughing, the first time they had gone to the hard deck. faces innocent of war and naive about what they were getting themselves into. bradley’s arm around her waist. the simpler times when the only contest was fighting each other and getting a new record. now, it was much more difficult than that.

“i’m back.” said bradley, his tone much of the same he had given her the past week. it was hollow, that warm, familiar feeling leaving without a trace. there was no nicknames. no ‘love you’ or endearing comments. not like before.

y/n hummed in response, wiping the stray tears with her hand, shoving the photo back in her wallet. putting her feet up on the coffee table, she opened her laptop, hoping that rooster wouldn’t notice. not like he has for the last week.

“what’s for supper?” asked bradley, an audible sigh leaving his lips once she heard him enter the kitchen. there was nothing. it wasn’t her job anymore.

y/n stiffened once she heard shuffling coming into the living room, she didn’t turn her eyes away from her laptop. continuing to type out her documents, she stared at the title in the corner. relocation. it was the last option she had, if she was going to be the best, she had to have no distractions. and she couldn’t do that with bradley.

feeling a dip beside her, y/n ignored it. bradley settled down on the couch beside her, hands resting at his sides. laying his head on the back of the couch, he moved it slightly to look at y/n before staring up at the ceiling.

“you can stop pretending now.” said y/n, not looking away from her screen. the first words she had spoken in the last five minutes, and she had enough.

“what are you talking about-”

“this! bradley.” said y/n, throwing her arms and gesturing wildly around them. bradley raised his head, looking at her with furrowed brows. he opened her mouth, but was quickly cut off by her.

“this silence. this…this…this-” said y/n, raising her voice, “whatever the fuck you want to call this! jesus, bradley its been nearly a week and not even a ‘love you’ or anything! i know-”

bradley jumped up from the couch, looking down at her in confusion and rising anger.

“y/n! i have no idea what the fuck you are talking about! i walk in here every fucking day, greeting you as usual but all i’ve ever gotten back is silence-”

slamming her laptop closed, y/n pushed it onto the coffee table, not caring anymore. standing up, she looked up at bradley.

“don’t treat me like that, you asshole. i know everything! alright!” said y/n, moving closer to bradley, her finger poking into his chest.

bradley moved closer to y/n, “what do you know? huh? what the fuck do you know that grants you to act like this?”

“what do i know?” y/n scoffed, smile dropping fast, “you want to know, bradshaw? you want to fucking know? okay fine, i know about memphis.”

bradley stared at her. y/n saw something flash across his eyes, the realization coming and going just as fast. that was all she needed. he let his guard down and it cost him.

letting out a dry laugh, y/n backed up and shrugged lazily. “wow…so it is true. this is what i get for giving you chances. this is what i get for letting me love you with my whole being and everyday for the past week, i called myself crazy.” resting her hand on her forehead, she turned away from him, “i told myself i was just overreacting, that you’re just having a bad day at work. that you’re just having a rough time adjusting to your new position. but no, how wrong i was…”

bradley stood quiet, letting his eyes fall to the ground. y/n laugh soon became a sob, tears falling freely. smiling, she wiped the tears from her eyes, looking back at bradley.

“...i knew it was too good to be true. you finally loving me back, but now i see. that’s not it at all. it was pity. you still see that girl in the academy. the one never drinking, the one no one ever asked to come party. the one no one dared to love. i was an easy target, wasn’t i?”

“no, y/n listen-” said bradley, walking up to her and grabbing her arm. pulling her arm away harshly, y/n shook her head, holding out her hand to keep distance between bradley.

“no. don’t touch me. don’t fucking touch me.” bradley let his arm fall back to his side, but still kept close to her. “just answer the goddamn question…did you ever love me?”

bradley looked at her, face softening. y/n clenched her jaw, and stared at him. she could see the gears turning. the emotions flashing in his eyes like a movie. after a few seconds, bradley sighed, shaking his head. that was it.

y/n dropped her arm to her side, looking at the floor below her. of course, everything was a lie. one big fucking lie. and for what. shaking her head, y/n chuckled dryly before making her way toward the door. bradley stood in the dark living room, watching as she left.

coming to the front door, y/n pulled on her shoes and threw on a coat, before grabbing the door knob. closing her eyes, she let out a shaky breath. it was better this way, he did this. this was his fault. turning her head, she looked over to bradley. his back facing her, she knew the answer.

twisting the doorknob, y/n walked out, slamming it shut. maybe it was better this way. watching his life from the sidelines. at least it wouldn’t hurt. not as much anyway…and that’s enough for her.

#bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #rooster x you #rooster x reader #top gun one shot #top gun imagine #top gun maverick #angst #rooster bradshaw angst #top gun

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halfway-happyyy · 2 years

Text

shiver and shake (rooster bradshaw)

AN: the one where rooster keeps a huge secret from his girl and lives to regret it for most of his days. under a cut due to sexual content and very angsty feelings.

warnings: vaginal sexual intercourse, rough language, allusions to a major accident

characters: rooster bradshaw x female reader (she/her pronouns)

musical inspo: shiver and shake - ryan adams

He was discharged from the hospital a week ago today.

The only indications that he had been closer to death’s door than any other time before, are in the stubborn lacerations to his face and arms that refuse to heal in a timely fashion.

She watches the steady rise and fall of his golden chest in the indigo morning light. Before the accident, it was enough to feel the warmth of his sleeping body beside her. It was enough to watch him sleep and to know that in this particular moment- he was safe.

But then his FA/18 plummeted from the sky over the roiling Atlantic Ocean and when she finally found out about it, she assumed her next visit with him would be through the confines of a wooden casket.

Taking a deep breath, she ghosts a feather light fingertip down the prominent bridge of his nose; and while she doesn’t want to wake him just yet, she does want to commit every part of him to her memory before its too late.

Rooster Bradshaw stirs under her touch, and his eyelids slide open to reveal breathtaking hazel orbs- like top shelf whisky.

“Hi kid.” He smiles, sleepily.

A lump swells in her throat and she takes cover from the heat of his gaze in the hollow crook of his neck.

“What time is it?”

His large, warm hands traverse the dips and valleys of her lower back with the expertise one can only glean from having known her as long as he has.

“It’s too early, go back to bed.” She mumbles.

Except he doesn’t listen to her. He taps her shoulder gently and says, “Look at me, kid.”

She pulls herself from his neck hesitantly.

His gaze searches hers and she knows without a doubt that he can tell something’s wrong.

“Where are you? You feel light years away.”

“Kiss me, Rooster.”

And it isn’t the answer he’s looking for- not even close, but he's always had a difficult time saying no to her so he does as he’s told and the soft, languid pull of their lips helps to ease the ache in her heart for the time being.

When he pulls away, it’s to murmur earnestly- “Come back to me, kid.”

“I’m right here, Rooster.”

I’m right here.

“I want you,” he whispers.

And she can give him this.

She will give him this.

“I am yours, Rooster.”

And it’s true. In every sense of the word, she is his. Even when tomorrow comes, and he’ll waken to the void spot beside him, her side of his bed devastatingly cool to the touch- she will still be his.

She moves to straddle his thighs, and he takes the hem of her top and slowly lifts it over her head, discarding it to the hardwood floor beneath them. His skilled fingertips roam over her exposed body with purpose; like somehow he knows this is the last time, too. He marvels openly at the goosebumps that bloom over her skin where he touches, watches in unconcealed awe as her nipples harden beneath his calloused fingertips.

“You are so beautiful.” He whispers.

And she knows that he means it; he’s never treated her like anything less than a priceless piece of art. Something to be hung in a museum somewhere for the entire world to watch and wonder at.

She doesn’t trust the words that threaten to tumble from her lips, so she bends down and captures his in a kiss that is as needing as they are for each other. He taps her ass twice and she lifts up without breaking contact so that he can position the achingly hard shaft of his cock beneath her now-soaked entrance.

“Want you to ride me, baby.” He mumbles and all she can do is nod against him as she sinks herself onto him. Rooster throws his head back, cursing at the sensation of her all-encompassing heat around him. “That’s it,” He gasps.

She will miss this too. How perfectly they fit together; like they were meant to be joined like this since the beginning of everything.

“Fuck, Rooster.”

She drags her bottom lip between her teeth, and bites down hard enough that the subtle metallic twinge of blood fills her mouth. Leaning down over him, she presses kisses to the mass of angry scar tissue that cover the expanse of his left shoulder blade, and Rooster whimpers into the feeling, fucking his hips harder into her. When she pulls back up, his fingertips dance along the softness of her lips- a wordless request for entrance, and she opens them for him, sucking two of his digits into her mouth.

“So fucking good, sweetheart.” He groans, loudly.

And she will miss this connection the most when it is gone; the notion that she knows his body better than anyone else’s on the planet. She has no intention of learning someone else when the dust settles from this; Rooster will always be it for her.

His fingers fall from her mouth where they leave a wet trail of saliva down her collar bone, her nipples, her stomach. The slow push and pull of his cock inside of her makes quick work of the fire building rapidly in her lower abdomen, and she clenches around him involuntarily as a wave of white-hot pleasure washes over her. They move together like lovers unencumbered by the heavy weight of grief or loss; there is this moment and this moment only. A desperate moan claws its way out of the base of her throat, and she tilts her head back as his achingly skilled hands traverse her hips, her ribs, her breasts, her neck. If she didn’t know any better, she would think he was memorizing her as well.

There is something about being with him like this that never ceases to feel like it’s the first time all over again. She watches his face with a hooded gaze; watches perspiration glisten on his forehead and cheekbones, watches a rosy blush flood the apples of those cheeks. His mustache twitches as his mouth falls slack, and she can tell by the way his cock throbs inside of her that he’s not far off from release.

“You take me so damn well,” Rooster praises, breathlessly. “Only you can make me feel this good, sweetheart.”

And she wonders briefly if he can feel her heart splinter under the weight of those words.

“Not going to last much longer.” He gasps and his hands are everywhere now.

She fucks him faster, harder- clenches around him to help get him there and it works because a string of incoherent sounds tumble from his mouth, and she wants to be as close to him as she can when he finishes because that signifies the beginning of the end. And she’s not ready to let go just yet.

Resting her head in the warm crook of Rooster’s sweat-damp neck, she slows her pace to a crawl, lifting her hips almost all the way off him, and then sinking them all the way down and she commits the sounds he’s making to memory. Pressing her lips to the soft skin of his neck, she urges him to come for her. He doesn’t hold back; his entire body arches off the bed beneath him, hazel eyes dance beneath blue-veined eyelids, mouth open in a slack o. He gives it all to her, every last drop, and when she lifts herself off him a minute later, the sudden loss of fullness is almost painful. She misses it the second it’s gone.

It’s mostly silent in the room while she tries to regulate her breathing; the only other sound is the slight pitter-patter of drizzle on the glass panes, and the odd police siren. Rooster turns on his side and gestures for her to turn over too so that he can curl up around her and she obliges him for the last time. Sleep comes for their spent bodies fast, and when she wakens hours later, the drizzle from before has turned to a downpour. Rooster lies on his back, and the steady rise and fall of his chest tells her that now is the time. Lifting the duvet from her body, she exits the warmth and comfort of the bed to make quick work of getting dressed and collecting the rest of her things.

“Where are you going, kid?” Rooster’s voice pierces the silence, catching her off guard, and causes her to drop the empty wineglass in her hand. It hits the glossy hardwood floor with a muted tinkle and explodes in a mess of shattered crystal.

Swallowing hard, she turns to face his sat-up figure fully. His burnt-umber hair is wild and unkempt from sex and slumber.

“I’m leaving, Rooster.”

He gives his head an almost imperceptible shake; the sudden guarded and disbelieving look in his eyes speaks novels and causes her heart to break further.

“What do you mean you’re leaving?”

Clearing her throat, she gestures to the few bags at her feet. “I’m going home.”

He nods his head in understanding this time and scrubs the palm of his hand down his face. “Right- but you’ll be back…” It comes out as a statement but morphs into a question in the still air before them.

She shakes her head; tears prickle threateningly in the depths of her eyes. “I won’t be.”

Making for the brass doorknob a few feet away, she turns from the glare of his piercing gaze, but he’s already out of bed and throwing on a pair of boxers. He reaches for a sweater pooled on the floor next to the bed and throws that on too.

“What is going on here, really? Where is all of this coming from… I was just inside of you for Christ sakes.” His tone is equal parts venomous and distraught, and it stings like a fresh wound.

They’re stood before each other now, her arms crossed defensively over her chest. “I don’t know what to say except that I can’t pretend like these last couple of years with you haven’t been some of the best of my life.”

But also, the worst.

She wants to look anywhere but at him, but like the night he first waltzed into her life, her gaze is implicitly his. “I’m not sure I can do this anymore, Rooster.”

He leans back against the wall, eyes wide and entirely ensure. “And to that I will repeat myself. Where on earth is this coming from?”

Sighing heavily, she closes her eyes and tries in vain to ignore the pinch of looming tears. “You lied to me.” It comes out more broken than she was hoping for- the depths of the betrayal she still feels rival that of the deepest ocean. They regard each other silently; her words hang heavily in the damp bedroom air. “And it wasn’t just a small omission of the truth- you lied to me about what happened to you on your mission.” Anger rises like thick smoke in her throat. “I had to find out how close you came to death from Hangman.”

“I tried to protect you.” He murmurs, lowly.

And she’s already shaking her head in disbelief.

“Don’t do that, Rooster. Don’t you dare do that. You need to give me a little more credit, here.”

“I know how much you worry when I’m gone- and I know how painful it is to watch the partners of friends pick up the pieces after an accident.” Rooster’s hoarse voice fizzles out. “I couldn’t bear to put you through that.”

She takes a deep breath to steady herself. “Do you know what it’s like to know that you’re the last one privy to news that your significant other almost died? To not know whether you’ll be bringing him home in a pine box or not?”

Rooster is speechless.

“I’m sorry.” She finally says. “But I can’t do it, Rooster.”

“So that’s it. You’re leaving.” His voice is defeated, broken. She opens her mouth to say something, but his eyes flash dangerously and the right words fizzle and fade. “You of all people…” A flash of yellow on the streetcorner below causes her heart to sink lower; her taxi is here. “Jesus, you could have said something- anything before now.”

A painful lump swells in the hollow of her throat, and she offers him a defeated half-shrug.

“I couldn’t bear to watch you die, Rooster.”

Her fragile voice cracks and breaks then, and a single tear cascades down her check, drops from her face, and gets lost amongst the jagged shards of glass beneath her.

Rooster clears his throat, thick and cumbersome with unspoken emotion.

“Yeah, well. I can’t bear to watch you leave.”

Because everyone always does.

A car horn blares impatiently in the distance and Rooster’s face drops at the realization that the end is near. “Please don’t go- I love you.”

Numbness seeps into her bones the moment she steps out into the damp morning air. One by one, she loads the last of her belongings into the trunk of the taxi. Sliding into the cracked leather backseat, she turns just in time to see Rooster step out onto his front porch, with tears racing steadily down his face. He hugs his arms up tight around his body and the urge to leap from a moving vehicle has never been more pressing.

Three words that still surprised her when he uttered them; she was never sure he knew how to articulate something so finite and personal. Tears flow freely from her now as she hugs her arms tighter to her frame. “I love you too. With every fiber of my being.”

“But you're breaking my heart.” Rooster's anguish rolls off of him in palpable waves- and she knows exactly what he means because she's breaking her own heart in the process.

But there is a version of her in another life.

She is wondrous and full of millions of particles of light, and she never has to wonder how it feels to let go of the love of her life. Because he is there, has been there all along, and he is so happy about it.

#sorry friends #rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley 'rooster' bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster bradshaw smut #rooster bradshaw angst #angst #smut #writing #top gun: maverick #miles teller

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gxdsfavgal · 2 years

Text

Rear View Mirror

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x fem!pilot reader

Warnings: 18+, call sign is “Ghost”, flirting, praise, piv sex, choking, fingers in mouth, authority kink, not drunk fucking just a lil drinking

Summary: basically… you’re called back to Top Gun, you go to the Hard Deck and see old friends, you see Roos, you have some fun with your old bestie! ;)

A/N: i love this plot so I think i’m gonna do one for Hangman and Bob! Also, in all of my Top Gun content, readers call sign will always be Ghost

I don’t know how long it’s been since my last time at the Hard Deck, but here I am dressed in the skin tight khaki uniform. My last name stitched onto a patch along with other Navy and Top Gun patches.

I took a deep breath of the salty hot air as I opened the door to the bar. The air was even hotter in the Hard Deck due to all the bodies crammed into the small bar.

My eyes looked side to side, trying to find at least one person that I knew. That was until my eyes locked on the familiar dark brown slick bun and a tall-cocky-blond.

“Phoenix!” I practically screamed when I saw her playing billiards.

Before she took a shot at the ball she scanned the room and found my eyes. We ran up to each other and jumped like little girls.

“This is a sight to see” Hangman smirked at he leaned against the table.

“It’s nice to see you too Jake!” I playfully rolled my eyes before I opened my arms to pull him into a hug.

I quickly said my hellos to everyone and gave quick introductions before I went to Penny to order myself a drink.

“Where’s your best friend?” Penny asked as she was fixing up my drink.

My eyebrows furrowed until I was able to comprehend it.

“I don’t know where Roos is. Hell, he might be across the world right now!” we both chuckled.

I thanked Penny and went back to the group who was talking to Bob, something about his boring call sign. We all were talking about what his callsign meant, Bob and I more into it than the others since I was one of the pilots who gave him the name of Baby On Board.

Phoenix, Hangman, and the others go silent, pausing the conversation with Bob. Bob and I look at each other confused until we follow their eyes to the man that just arrived.

I quickly hand my drink to Bob and fast walk to the man at the entrance.

“Here we go.” I hear Hangman mumble behind me but I ignore it.

“Bradley Fucking Bradshaw always making a grand entrance!” I weaved through the sweaty bodies.

“You know I had to” he rolled his eyes behind his aviators. “Come here Ghost!”

His arms gripped my waist, hugging me and pulling me off of the floor. My arms tight around his neck, my fingers toying around with the collar of his Hawaiian shirt.

“Missed you Roos!” I mumbled into his neck as I took in the familiar scent.

He put me down and dusted my shoulders to make me look pristine again.

“It’s not nice to lie Ghost.” he playfully said.

“C’mon let’s bring you to the gang!” I grabbed his hand and pulled him through the crowd, he gave waves and smiles to other familiar faces.

After I bring him to the team, Roos catches up with everyone and slides in some bickering with Jake just like how it was a few years ago.

I quietly sneak off to get Roos a beer from Penny, taking my time since I know she is going to be asking questions or making assumptions.

“You know he’s happier when he’s with you.” the blonde said as she was shaking a drink.

“No, he’s happy whenever he is in the air.” I smiled as I sipped my drink.

Bradshaw has been my best friend ever since we met each other at the Naval Academy a few years back. I knew that Maverick pulled his papers and how he holds him accountable for Goose’s death.

I’ve always thought Roos was an amazing person, I’d be lying if I said that I never imagined a future with him. He’s my best friend though, gotta keep it that way.

I was pulled out of my thoughts when I hear the sound of slightly out of tune piano keys, everyone beginning to crowd the old rustic piano.

Penny slides me Roos’s beer and I make my way to the piano, pushing through to see that the one and only Bradley is doing his little performance.

“You shake my nerves and you rattle my brain!”

I stood behind Phoenix with my free hand on her shoulder as we all start to sing along.

“Too much loves drives a man insane!”

Roosters eyes met mine, his hands never failing on the ivory keys. His head motions for me to sit on the bench with him. Phoenix lightly pushed me into the circle, and I playfully flipped her the bird.

I put his beer on the top of the piano and took a seat on the rickety bench next to Rooster. His body moving along the piano made the bench unstable, the wooden legs ready to unscrew from the movement.

“You broke my will, but what a thrill!” he sang out, his head tilting back.

The sun beamed perfectly on him though the window, the sweaty glow on his face and chest made him look godly.

He quickly took his hands off of the keys and cupped my face. “Goodness, gracious, great balls of fire!”

He went back to playing and singing his heart out for the crowd. All of us Navy’s and military were singing along with him. I was distracted by how fast his fingers were playing and how his sweat traces down his veins on his neck.

This man was a beauty and he knows it. I’m pretty sure he saw me admiring him the whole song.

Just like that, the song was done. The crowd cheered for him, patting him on the back and girls swooning.

He turned his body towards mine, our knees touching. I about to overheat in my uniform.

“Did you like it?” he asked, extending his swole arm to grab the beer I’ve gotten for him.

“Hmm. I think you were a little pitchy.” I sarcastically shrugged my shoulders.

“C’mon you love it when I sing to you.” he put his arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer to him to the point where he rests his head on top of mine.

“Maybe you’re thinking about some other Navy gal.”

He pulls his head off of mine and brought his lips to my ear.

“I only think about you.” his voice went an octave lower before leaving a peck behind my ear, his mustache tickling me.

I was used to this, we always talked to each other like this. Always little flirty remarks like we were teens. It made me blush, he made me feel like I was a high school girl sneaking out with one of the bad boys.

“Sure you do Roos.” I sent him a wink before I stood up off the bench, leaving him to use the bathroom.

When I was leaving out the bathroom, Roos snuck up behind me. He looped his fingers around the belt loop on the small of my back as we walked back to the crowded bar.

It was always the little gestures that he did, that got me the most.

I saw that Bob was now playing pool with FanBoy so I led us there. Roos sat down on a wooden stool and pulled me by my belt loops between his widened legs.

His arm wrapped over my collarbones and his hand resting on my shoulder, while he tips his beer back in his other hand. I can feel his chest rise and fall against my back.

Phoenix came up to us with a surprised look on her face. “Did you guys know that Bob was in the same TopGun class with us the whole time?”

The others were agreeing with the question she had just asked.

“Yeah I know Robert.” I said as I sent him a wave before he hit his ball.

Everyone was dumbfounded.

I felt Rooster’s chest vibrate from his chuckle.

“Hey. How about we go on a drive?” he whispered into my ear.

“What car did you bring?” I asked with a smile that he couldn't see.

“You know, just that lovely blue Ford Bronco that you love so much.” his voice was deep, trying to keep quiet so none of the others can hear.

I turn my head to face him, smile wide on my face.

“You know I love rides in the Bronco!” I leaned off of him and grabbed his hand, pulling him out of the bar.

The cool salty air hitting my face was refreshing after being in tight and sweaty Navy uniforms.

Once we reached his blue Bronco, I leaned against the rear looking up at Rooster with heavy eyelids as he smiled down at me.

“You drive since you only had half a beer!” I pushed his chest, running to the passenger side.

I heard him sigh in sarcasm knowing that he would never let me drive his car, it was like one of his most prized possessions. I swung my legs up and sat in the leather passengers seat.

My fingers traces around the modern interior that matched perfectly with the vintage exterior. The cream leather seats were warm from the setting sun.

“Where to Ghost?” he closed the door and started the engine, also checking to make sure my seat belt is on.

“Depends on how much gas you got.” I joked, leaning my seat back just slightly and taking off my shoes so I can rest them on my seat.

“Anywhere it is.” he started exiting the parking lot, turning on some music and rolling down the windows.

The sunset was absolutely gorgeous on the horizon of the water.

I turned my body to look at Roos who kept his eyes on the road and his fingers drummed against the steering wheel.

“What you staring at?” he asked, giving me a quick look.

“Just admiring.” my chin rested on my hand on top of the center console.

I can feel that the few drinks I had were getting too me, I can definitely feel the confidence that it usually gave me.

“What you admiring?” he asked, his signature smirk was plastered on his face.

“Your hair and how I want it between my fingers, your lips and how soft they would be against mine.”

“Oh yeah?” he shifted in his seat, his shorts getting uncomfortably tight for him.

“Yeah and your lap, and how I wanna get off on it. Your fingers and how I want them in my mouth.”

Damn, alcohol can really get to you.

“Get in the back.” I didn't even notice that he parked. We were in a secluded area off the road that looked over the beach.

I nodded at him, unbuckling my seat belt and eagerly crawling over the center console to the back seats.

He was still in the drivers seat, adjusting the rear view mirror to see me.

“Take off everything but your panties and tank top.” he demanded.

I listened and stripped down to my tank top and underwear, throwing my clothes to the front passenger seat.

He got out of the drivers seat and opened the back door to me, getting in with me.

“Look at you, listening so well.” he chuckled, his callused hand rubbing against my ass, giving squeezes here and there.

“Yes Lieutenant.” he groaned at the ranking.

He grabbed my hips, lifting me up and sliding his body under mine. The middle seat gave us the perfect view of the scenery. His large hands pushed down the top of my back, my chest against the center console and my ass up in the air.

I can hear the clanking of his belt and his fingers struggling to pull down his shorts and boxers. I peek under my chest, getting a few of Roos fisting his cock.

It was thick, veins all over, and it was eager. The head was almost purple and it stood tall and proud. His groans were pornographic.

His free hand traced up my inner thigh and to my clothed entrance. His finger rubbed against the slick of my lace.

“Who got you this wet?” his voice was low and his eyes trained on his fingers playing with the juices soaking through.

“You did Lieutenant.” my moans were quiet.

“Are you good with this Ghost?” he was talking regular now, making sure that I had a choice to back out if I wanted.

“Im sure Roos.” I reached my arm back, rubbing at his knee to assure him.

He wrapped his arm around my collarbones, pulling me up against his chest. “Good.” Our eyes met in the rear view mirror, his lips against my neck.

His mustache scratching and tickling my skin, his mouth nipping at my skin and littering it with marks.

The tip of his cock rubbed over my slit, nudging against my opening. He pulled me down against him, his cock slowly filling me as I sat on his lap.

“Fuck, it’s like you’re made for my cock. Such a snug fit.” he groaned out, my body still adjusting to his thick size.

I circled my hips, begging for him to move. He got the hint and began to thrust from under me, pushing me up then pulling me down on his dick. We were in sync.

Our moans filling up the car.

My ass bounced on him, rippling with every time I was pulled down to meet his skin. His eyes trained on his cock disappearing inside of me and the string of juices.

“Cmon Lieutenant. Fuck me rough.” I rasped out, my throat raw from all of the moaning.

He bent me over the trucks center console, his fingers making their way into my mouth, and his eyes trained on mine through the rear view mirror. His lower lip trapped between his teeth as he focused on the feeling.

“Right there!” I mumbled out through his fingers. My saliva spilling out of my mouth, onto my chin and down his wrist.

His hips were snapping roughly into me, the sound of skin slapping. His cock me raw from the dragging inside me.

“Look at you. Got my fingers all soaked and my cock too.” he smirked at me through the mirror, my mouth lips plump and eyes teary.

He took his fingers out of my mouth, bringing them down to my clit. My saliva mixing with my slick as he rubbed on my puffy sensitive nerves.

“Fuck fuck fuck.” I wailed, the tears running down my cheeks and staining them. My legs closing from the intensity.

I clenched down on him, my orgasm so close.

“Almost there. A-almost.” his voice stuttered and so did his thrusts.

With a few more snaps, my vision went white and my moans were loud. My legs and body shaking from release and adrenaline. His groans were deep, being vocal in my ear.

“Good girl.” he groaned out in pleasure, pulling out of me.

I whined at the empty feeling, his cum spilling out of my abused hole. His hand rubbing at my back, trying to get me to calm down.

“Fuck Roos.” I panted, my slick back bun now messy and drenched in sweat.

“Let’s go back to my house and get you all freshened up.” he hummed, using his shirt to wipe up our mess.

#gxdsfavgals masterlist #Bradley rooster bradshaw #Bradley rooster Bradshaw smut #Bradley rooster bradshaw fluff #Bradley rooster bradshaw angst #rooster smut #rooster fluff #rooster angst #rooster top gun #top gun rooster #rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw smut #rooster bradshaw fluff #rooster bradshaw angst #top gun #top gun maverick #top gun smut #top gun fluff #top gun angst

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saltsicklover · 8 months

Text

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw Master List

₊˚⊹ Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw ₊˚⊹

˖⁺‧₊ Key₊‧⁺˖

♡ xFem!Reader

☁︎ xDisabled!Reader

ꨄ︎ Soulmate AU

One Shots

Vienna (Hurt and Comfort)

Red can't keep Bradley from his dreams, from Vienna.

So Romantic on the Borderline (Part 2 to Vienna, but can be read as a stand alone) A game of operation and some laughs. (Coming Soon) Requests Open!

Series Broken House ~ A Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw Mini Series Pete Mitchell left his baby girl, and then had a falling out with Bradley after the Uranium Mission. Bradley and Honey broke up after a misunderstanding. The team is getting recalled. Now they all have to confront each other at the worst time, during a party at the Hard Deck. Slamming Doors (ANGST) Open Windows Mud on the Floor (Angst, Fluff, Angst sandwich)

Not A Cyclone, But a Monsoon (Completed!)

Y/N Monsoon Mitchell faces an awkward dinner party turned the worst in history, a recall to Top Gun and the Uranium mission.

Part 1

Part 2

(Coming Soon) Requests Open!

#bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw x y/n #rooster x you #rooster x reader #rooster x y/n #bradley rooster bradshaw imagine #bradley rooster bradshaw fanfiction #rooster bradshaw angst #rooster bradshaw fluff #bradley bradshaw #top gun maverick imagine #top gun maverick fanfiction

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princessmisery666 · 2 years

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Save Your Love - Part 3 - My Girl Mini Series

Summary: Bradley gets called back to Top Gun, and the dangers of the Dagger Mission make him realize his one true regret.

Warnings: fluff, angst, slow burn, break-up, argument.

W/C: 2.8k

Characters: Bradley Bradshaw, OFC (Bailey) Small Parts/Mentioned: Nick and Carole Bradshaw, OMC (Sean).

Pairing: platonic Bradley Bradshaw x OFC, OFC x OMC.

Notes: set before the events of Top Gun: Maverick

Betas: @deanwinchesterswitch // all mistakes remain my own

Graphics: made by me on canva. Dividers: @writercole

Master Lists: My Girl - Series // Top Gun: Maverick // Main

Save Your Love

(Years later)

Knocking on Bailey’s door, every bone and muscle screams with exhaustion after almost fourteen hours of traveling - cab, plane, train, and another cab. I’m about dead on my feet, but when Bailey pulls the door open, the wind swishing her hair like some shampoo commercial and the watery smile she greets me with, every last drop of weariness falls away.

“Bradley,” she gasps, shocked, before launching herself at me. I don’t have time to drop my bag before I have to catch her, so I wrap my free arm around her and hold her close. I can feel the desperation in how she clings to me.

“Hey, baby girl,” I say into her hair as she buries her head in my shoulder.

“I missed you.” It’s all she manages to say before she breaks down, and cold tears dampen my shirt. I lift her and carry her into the apartment, kicking the door closed. Dropping my bag, I help her readjust; legs now wrapped around me. With how upset she is, I figure she hasn’t slept any more than me since we talked and head toward her bedroom.

The bed is littered with used tissues, a testament to my assumption. She’s probably been crying since we hung up the phone yesterday, which makes me angry.

Sean, the latest in her line of bad decisions, dumped her. I’ve met the guy three times. He seemed like an okay guy, but Bailey followed him around like he was some kind of god. He lifts her up only to knock her down and then stops calling. So clearly, he has a fucking screw loose to let this perfect woman go. She tried to hide it when we FaceTimed yesterday, but I could see her drowning, wanting to disappear. I want to do right by her, as she’s done for me, be her shoulder to cry on, dry her eyes, but it kills me every time I have to watch her fall apart over some asshole who doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air. As hard as she tried to convince me, I knew she wasn’t fine. So I took some leave and continued moving until I reached her, and will stay until I know she’s okay.

I sit on the edge of the mattress, but she doesn’t let me go, so I have to awkwardly unravel her, pushing tissues onto the floor as I move us up the bed to lie down.

Here I am, in her bed again, but for all the wrong reasons. I stare at the ceiling as her tears wet my shirt, sobs wracking her shoulders. She feels so small, so fragile, like I’m the only thing keeping her from shattering. All I can do is hold her as tight as I dare without hurting her. I desperately wish I could wrap her up in cotton wool and never let her feel this pain again.

Pain that I feel partly responsible for causing. If I’d had the balls to kiss her when I had the chance, I’d be in her bed for the right reasons, and she sure as shit would not be crying over me. Or maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I wouldn’t be here, and she’d be crying because of my absence.

God, I’ve missed her. We talk every day when I can, and I check in as much as I’m allowed when I’m on deployment. Bailey, being the amazing person she is, sends me a text every morning and the last thing at night, even if it’s an emoji. She comes to every family event the navy allows, but it’s been months since I’ve had her in my arms. My chest aches, and my throat goes dry because the thought of leaving her never gets easier, and I only have a few days.

Stop! Be in the moment, idiot.

“What’s wrong with me, Bradley?” she sobs.

Anger rolls through me that she even asked the question. Smoothing down her hair and kissing her temple, I assure her, “Nothin’ darlin’. There is absolutely nothing wrong with you.”

“So why does everyone always leave me?”

Cause we’re all dysfunctional, fucked up assholes? It’s not really an answer, but she’s not really asking.

“Cause they realize you’re too good for them, and they can’t handle it.”

She sobs even harder, shaking her head as if she doesn’t believe me. It breaks my heart to see what this asshole has done to her.

“Bailey, I’m serious,” I tell her sternly, tipping her chin up to look into her eyes. “You’re perfect. I’ve never met a better person than you. And we lesser creatures are terrified to try to make you happy and fail. So we sabotage everything.”

“You’re not a lesser creature,” she insists tearfully, her voice cracking.

“No, sweetheart, trust me. I’m not as good as you. I never have been,” I whisper. “I was just lucky you took pity on me and let me be your friend.”

She scoffs, “please; you were so popular at school. I was lucky to have you. Everyone hated me because you were my friend.”

Now I’m perplexed. How does she even think that? I swear this woman’s view of herself is so inaccurate and low it’s infuriating sometimes. “No one hated you. You were the prom queen.”

“Really, after all this time, you’re still gonna pretend you had nothing to do with that, Mr prom king?”

“I swear I had nothing to do with it.” I didn’t, except trying to rig the vote by putting a load of ballots in the voting box, but I got caught, and they were all removed. So our classmates genuinely voted for her. “I have seriously failed as a friend if you don’t know how amazing you truly are.”

“I do know it, sometimes,” she says meekly, “but I like hearing you say it.”

“Then I’m going to keep telling you till you believe it all the time!” I kiss the crown of her head, sealing my vow.

We lie in silence for a while, and as I feel myself drifting off, Bailey whispers, “You wanna grab dinner?”

“Nope,” I say and tighten my grip on her. “I just wanna fall asleep with my more than amazing best friend, who deserves the fucking universe.”

She chuckles, pressing a kiss to my cheek before snuggling into me and getting comfortable.

Bailey is in the kitchen when I return from the coffee run. She seems surprised to see me, a look of mild shock in her eyes, “I thought you’d left.”

Why does everyone always leave me? Her question rings in my ears, and her watery smile breaks me a little.

I kiss her head as I sit down at the table with her. “Went to get coffee. You always have the cheap shit.”

She takes the cup from me, pulling it to her nose, inhaling deeply and humming.

“Bails,” I start, and immediately she’s intently staring at me, setting her coffee on the table.

She plays with the locket. It’s a nervous habit she seems to have picked up since I gave it to her. I’m not sure if she’s even aware of it, but she holds it when she wants comfort.

“You are leaving.”

“I got a call. I’m needed back at Miramar.”

“I need you here.”

“I know, I'm sorry.”

“I should be used to it by now,” she shrugs with a mirthless smile, “yet it still hurts every fucking time.”

“If I could stay, I would. It's my job,” I add weakly.

“You have to leave, I know.” She nods as if she understands, but I don’t believe her.

It’s not anger she feels; disappointment is written in every aspect of her demeanor, downcast eyes, slumped shoulders, and labored breaths to keep from crying. I know she wants to be angry, to blame someone, but she knows it's futile. She’d never blame me, though I guess, technically, she should. I signed up for this. In order to serve my country, I have to let down the people I love. Time and time again. She supported me in every decision - was the one that encouraged me to follow this path - but neither of us knew the reality would be so devasting so often.

“It’s not like I asked for the assignment, Bails,” I sigh.

“It’s fine,” she says, but it's sharp and short.

“Please, don’t be like that.”

“Like what? Am I not allowed to be sad that I have to say goodbye to you again? When you literally just got here?”

It’s killing me that I have to do this with her again, and I feel the need to explain. “It's a time-sensitive mission. Not like I can tell them no.”

She nods along but doesn’t say anything.

“Maybe I should stop coming if it’s too hard for you.” I regret it as soon as it’s in the air between us because I know she will misconstrue it. I don’t want to cause her unnecessary pain. She has enough on her plate without me piling on top.

“Maybe you should,” she snaps, abruptly standing up, toppling her chair. “Save yourself a wasted trip next time,” she throws over her shoulder as she marches out of the room.

There’s a knock on the door as I rise to follow her, hanging my head as she moves to answer it. I can’t see who it is from where I’m standing, but I hear him.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” Sean pleads, “I hate it when we fight. Please forgive me.”

A sneer curls my lips, and I wait for a beat, praying that she’ll slam the door in his face, but when I step into the hallway, she’s hugging him.

Shock and anger roll through me. “Seriously!?”

Bailey turns to face me, a deep scowl creasing her brow, “Bradley, don’t.”

“Don’t?” She squares her shoulders as I stride toward them. “I’ve spent the last six hours holding you as you cried over this asshole, and then it’s a simple ‘I’m sorry, baby’, and all is forgiven?”

“Hey, fuck you, man,” Sean pipes up, but I ignore him, glare locked with Bailey’s, waiting for an explanation.

When she remains silent, I snarl, “He’s bad for you, Bails. You have to see that. You deserve so much better.”

“And what? That’s you?” Sean scoffs as he takes a step toward me. Dumb move, man.

“Maybe, maybe not,” I shrug, “but it sure as shit ain’t you.”

He moves within arm’s reach, and I brace myself to dodge the punch, but he doesn’t have the balls. “What would you know? You don’t know me, and you don’t know us.”

Standing nose to nose, I growl, “I know enough, and I know her. I know you stifle her, shove her down, try to make her into something you think you want, and when she balks, you leave until she’s ready to try to be who you want her to be. But it’s never enough, is it?”

“Bradley,” she warns, wedging herself between us, but neither of us back down. “Sean, maybe you should leave. I’ll call you later.”

“You’re seriously considering this?” I’m pissed now. We both know the number of times she’s called me crying over this asshole. Shame flashes in her eyes before she hangs her head.

She pushes on Sean’s shoulder, urging him away. “Sean, please.”

“Don’t bother,” I say, shaking my head, and I know she can see how disappointed I am. I wait until she makes eye contact and then spit, “Definitely a wasted trip.” before I shove past Sean and out of the door.

“Bradley,” she calls after me, but I don’t listen.

If I go back there, I’m gonna hit him and maybe say something that should not be said. The door opens as I reach the elevators, and an elderly couple steps out. I rush in, jabbing the ground floor button, turning in time to see her staring at me from where she stands in the middle of the corridor.

“Don’t call me when he fucks up again,” I say.

“Don’t leave like this, please,” she begs as the doors slide closed.

Two Weeks later.

It’s been years, and I still think about that night on my Bronco, the morning after in Bailey’s apartment. How different things could be now. Things were strained between us for a while. Until the first time I came home for the holidays, it was as if I’d never left.

I did leave, though. And every time I went back, it would leave her crushed when I left. My love for her is the one thing that time and distance haven’t changed. I love her the way my mom loved my dad. Mav’s told me the stories, theirs was a love that never dies, and I feel the same about Bailey. It’s a weight I carry with me everywhere I go. It holds me back from flying like Maverick. It makes me hesitate because I don’t want to leave her in the same tragic way my dad left my mom.

I saw my mom’s grief. The tears she rarely tried to hide, every goddamn day. She never got over it; time made little difference. I couldn’t do that to Bailey. Every time I go on a mission, there’s a strong possibility I might not make it back.

Like tomorrow, tomorrow’s the dagger mission. The stakes are the highest they’ve ever been, and all I can think about is her. I should be focused. I should be studying the map of the terrain or sleeping. But all I can think about is her always being by my side. Even when I left her behind, she never complained or made me feel shitty for it. She never called me out on my shit for how I acted that night on the hood of my Bronco. She never asked for an explanation for my behavior the morning after.

If tomorrow is my last day on earth, that’s my biggest regret - not spending my life telling Bailey how much I love her, making her see her true worth. I regret that I’ve never told her.

I can’t sleep. I know it's not fair of me, but I call her number. She won’t answer; the woman could sleep through a hurricane.

“Hey, it’s me,” I tell her voicemail. “So…um, tomorrow I’ve got to do something, and I might not come back from it. So I just need to say something.”

Fuck, this is insane, but I need her to know. I steel my nerves, take a breath and spew my emotions into her voicemail.

“You’re worth more than you know. I’m sorry for the way I left, but you know Sean isn’t good for you.” The image of her crumpled and crying in her bed makes my jaw tick. “Fuck,” I blast out. “I wish there was someone worthy of you. I’m sure there is, but it ain’t him, and deep down, you know that.”

I hope she does anyway. I really do because if I don’t make it back tomorrow, there'll be no one else to tell her that.

“I hate watching you fall apart, and you’re grown enough to make your own decisions, but we all make mistakes. I wanna do right by you. Be a shoulder to cry on, dry your eyes, but it kills me to do it when it’s ‘cause of some asshole who doesn’t know how special you truly are. What I’m trying to say is, if I don’t make it back, please save your love for someone who's never gonna run, who loves you for the amazing person you are, not someone who wants to change you.”

“But if I do make it back…” My voice catches, and I have to clear my throat. I need to wrap this up before it cuts me off.

“The day I left... fuck before that... our road trip. I know it was leading to something more, something that would have been incredible. But I was so afraid of hurting you… leaving you. I couldn’t put you through that. You never pushed it, so I figured it was like you said, that we were just clinging to something to dull the sorrow of being apart. No. That's a lie. I… I knew you wanted more. I wanted more. I want more.

Shit, this is all wrong. I’m not making sense. Sorry. I should have fought for us. I’ll always regret being too much of a coward to cross the line between us. We should have at least tried. Maybe we still can, but if the worst happens, I need to know that you know that I love you. And I don’t mean that in the BFF way we always say it. To be clear... Bailey, I’m in love with you.”

Part 4 - Words Unspoken

Master Lists: My Girl - Series // Top Gun: Maverick // Main

#bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster #top gun maverick #bradley rooster bradshaw x ofc #ofc #rooster x ofc #best friends to lovers #rooster bradshaw fluff #rooster bradshaw angst #bradley bradshaw fluff #bradley bradshaw angst #flangst

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warnersister · 16 days

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Personal Space

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x reader

Summary: you love your personal space. Unfortunately, Bradley also loves your personal space.

You never understood why Bradley stuck around. Since the academy you’d preferred to stick to yourself; get your head down and get the job done. Especially with a surname like Mitchell. You didn’t want your father and grandfather’s reputation to negatively proceed you, and by the time people had put two and two together as to whom loins you came from: you’d made your own reputation so Maverick never made much of a difference to it.

But still, having dinner in the mess you’d sat down, when someone came and thudded down next to you and began eating themselves. “I’m Bradley” he said when you finally looked up at him. You raised a brow “Bradshaw?” You ask and he nods: you recognise him from the photos your dad pinned up in your two’s hanger. You hum “and you are?” He asks “not important.” You reply, deciding you’d lost your appetite and stood to clear your plate “good talk!” Bradley said, but you were already walking away.

He’d next encountered you when you were running around the academy, early morning; before any naval training would take place. He hummed and decided it was perfectly acceptable to interrupt your jaunt with his presence. “Hey! Up so early?” He asks as he tries to match your pace from a standstill “could ask you the same.” You reply bluntly “well I wanted to get a run in before-” “well there’s your answer.” You reply, cutting him off. “You run really quick.” He says as you try to keep your pace increasing to shake him off “goodbye, Bradshaw.” You say, pulling your sunglasses over your eyes and taking off at a pace he couldn’t sustain. He just stops and shakes his head smiling, you were funny.

Eventually, you’d both gotten up in the air and were quick to earn your callsigns “Rooster” and “Hen”. Bradley earned his because he was up before the chickens, you’d earned yours because the chicken kept fucking following you around like you were his mother. You were sat on the aircraft carrier, your trainee group learning how to land on a ship deck and you’d finally gotten a moment of peace that evening. You sat on the edge of the deck, feet dangling over the edge as you watched the sunset, not moving when you hear someone slip into the space between the barriers beside you.

“Oh look my chick is back.” You mumble sarcastically and Bradley laughs loudly at you. “You love me really” he says, looking at you as if he wanted to you agree with him “you seem to keep telling yourself that, don’t you?” You hum, turning to watch the sea lap against the grey metal. You can feel him fidgeting beside you, as if antsy to say something. “What?” You ask, finally turning to look at him. “What?” He repeats, looking at you with raised brows “you want to ask me something. You’re fidgeting.” You point out “so ask me or fuck off” you say, turning away again. “Your last name is Mitchell” he says and you roll your eyes “you can read and hear. Two things I’ve learnt today.” You huff, again, with sarcasm. “Are you related to Pete Mitchell?” He asks, looking at you and nearly holding his breath “you finally put two and two together?” You ask and he lets out the breath.

“Yeah, he’s my dad.” You say after a while “I was a whoopsie baby my mother didn’t want anything to do with” you tell him. “He used to fly with my dad.” Bradley almost whispers, voice just a few octaves above. “I know” you nod “he’s practically wallpapered all over our hanger.” You say “so are you” you eye him. “He pulled my papers” he says, again after a few moments of silence “I know” you say “do you know why?” He asks “yes.” You reply, and he could tell you weren’t going to elaborate. “Y’know I’m not a fan of your dad, but I really like you.” He says and you just look at him with a blank face. “Yup” you hum to yourself and he raises a brow “just as Mother Goose was described” you say, and Bradley’s face immediately lights up with a huge grin, stretching and arm around you and pulling you into his side.

“Get off me.” “Yup, yep, sorry.”

For your first deployment, the academy set it up that you’d at least be with one person from your training squadron, and today the list of names were coming out; they were scribbled on the back of a napkin and pinned to a notice board.

“1. Haywood & Solomons, 2. Hughes & Shelley & Omaha, 3. Cooper & Parker & Cromwell & Smith, 4. Bradshaw,” you crossed your fingers as someone read out the names, then yours was read alongside Bradley’s “oh for god’s sake” you grumble, turning to see Bradley practically jumping for joy. “This is great! Me and you, Hen!” Rooster cheers and you just stare at him “should’ve called you leech cause you’re acting like one. Calm down.” You instruct and he tries to chill out, but the cheeky smile on his face was indiminishagble.

He only became more unbearable then, with you every working hour, your wingman on the missions you’d fly, inseparable despite your complaints. “Where’s your boyfriend?” Hawk asked you, as he came to sit with you for lunch. You shush him loudly. “Woah woah I only asked where he was.” “Speak his name and he shows up. I’m trying to hide.” you say in a hushed voice “plus he isn’t my boyfriend” “sure” he scoffs but the daggers being shot into his head silenced him easily.

“Hey Hen! Hawk” Bradley greets as he sits down. You grunt and point an accusatory finger at Hawk “this is your fault, jackass” you say and he laughs at you, him and Bradley engage in conversation as you just eat, having learnt the skill of drowning him out. “What about you, Hen?” Hawk asked, drawing your attention away from your plate and up to the two men alongside you, you raise an eyebrow - letting them know you were insinuating that you weren’t listening to their conversation.

“Do you want a family?” He ask and you just nod “really?” Hawk asks “that’s cute, didn’t take you for a family gal” he jokes and you harshly kick his leg under the table “kids and everything?” He asks after the pain subsides. “Yup.” You say and Bradley hums “I didn’t know that” he says and you just look at him “you never asked.” You reply simply, and that was true: he hadn’t. He was quite prepared to spend the rest of existence chasing after you, whether that meant giving you your first kiss on your deathbeds.

The two of you even went to Top Gun together, training to be the finest naval aviators of them all. And boy, you two fought to be the best; tongue and teeth, blood sweat and tears, everything. The decision came down to one final dogfight. “May the best aviator win” Rooster jokes, sticking out a hand to you. You eye it and internally question if you were insane, before leaning up to peck his cheek. “Prepare to loose, chicken.” You say, leaving him frozen in his place while you head to your plane. That day, Bradley was seriously off his A-game, and you came out on top.

A Mitchell finally Top Gun.

“Congratulations!” Bradley says excitedly on graduation day when you victoriously lifted the trophy above your head. You turned to him and he leant down slightly - you weren’t stupid, you knew what he was intending to do. “Thank you, Brad.” You say, turning to walk over to where your father was stood - knowing that was probably the only time Bradley wouldn’t follow you. That was the first time you’d ever called him anything short of Bradley Bradshaw.

“I’m so proud of you honey” your dad says, hugging you tightly and you embrace him back, smiling widely “thank you, dad” you respond and he looks behind you where Bradley was stood a while back, watching the ordeal. “Is that-” “yes” you tell him and your dad just looks at you “I wouldn’t get all teary he follows me like a lost puppy” you grumble but he just grins “he’s a good kid, hon.” He says and you shake your head “he’s definitely something”

“So how does their relationship work?” Bob asks Hangman, watching Bradley talk your ear off and you just staring ahead into space, blankly. “You see Bobby my boy,” Jake begins “Hen loves her personal space” Bob nods “Rooster also loves Hen’s personal space.” Bob nods again, now understanding. “Haven’t they done everything together though?” He asks “I think it’s more the fact that Hen does something and Rooster just kinda goes with it” Phoenix said and Bob hums, as Bradley continues to converse one-sidedly with you.

“He means well” you hear from beside you as you stare out from the hanger, turning to see your honorary uncle Tom walking towards you, you run towards him as he embraces you tightly “hey Ice” you smile, sweetly. “Hey sweetheart” he croaks. “I mean what I said.” He states and you raise a brow “he means well” he nods towards the man doing his required push ups on the ground with Hondo. “I know, Ice.” You tell him. “No, I don’t think you do” he hums and you raise your eyebrows at him. “The kids in love with you. You’ve either got to let him in or tell him to get out.” He says, “you’re living together for goodness sake”. “It was cheaper” you argue “we both know the accommodation is subsidised.” He states, matter-of-factly, patting your shoulder as he turns to go talk to your dad when he walks into the room.

It was true, you and Bradley were sharing accommodation. “Hey Hen, they’ve offered us shared accommodation back in Miramar” Bradley says, coming over with a pamphlet. “Why?” You ask, taking it out of his hands. ‘Married couple accommodation’ it states and you raise your brows “you getting ahead of yourself, Bradshaw?” You ask and he shakes his head “the guy assumed our callsigns were cause we’re a couple” he tells you and you just hum. “Well I’d rather stay there than in an apartment.” You say simply, giving him back the leaflet and refocusing on the plane you were working on repairing. “Seriously?” He asks, voice overly hopeful. You look at him and shrug “just go get the damn house, Bradshaw. Before I change my mind!” You say and he grins, turning and breaking out into almost a jog to head to confirm your living situation.

You take a moment of hesitation, before loudly groaning and heading out onto the tarmac, getting down and doing push ups alongside Rooster. He turns his head and looks at you and you just raise your brows at him. “Hey honey” he grins “hello Bradley” he nudges your hip with his own. “I’ll drive us home.” You tell him, and he raises his eyebrows “Home?” He asks and you huff “okay, Bradley I will drive the two of us back to our shared accommodation that we accidentally got given.” You say and he laughs loudly “home sounded better.”

Then after the mission, the whole Dagger squad got permanently stationed in San Diego, other than deployment, so they urged the new additions to the base to buy their own properties closer to base rather than on it. You and Bradley were sat in the Hard Deck, a long time before it was open, the rest of the Daggers spending time on the beach while the two of you were scouring Bradley’s laptop for a property. Well, Bradley was.

How about this one? He turns his screen to you. You shake your head “I want grass in the garden. I want to plant flowers” you say as you point at the paved back of the house, explaining that it’s a waste of money to have it ripped out. Bradley nods “Mkay, garden” he says, moving back to look again.

“How about this one? Beach front, close to the running track for you. Only a walk from the Hard Deck. White picket fence, really” he hums, turning the laptop again “garden?” You ask and he nods “garden.” He nods with a grin. “Shall we go look?” You ask and he raises a brow at you. “You said it’s a walk from the hard deck. Let’s go.” You say, putting the address into your phone and immediately recognising the street name, Bradley quickly falling into step with you as you walk towards the property.

You look at it and place your hands on your hips. Bradley was right. Pretty damn perfect. “Can I help you?” A lady asks, walking outside of the house, clipboard in hand. “Oh no, we’d just seen this property online and wanted to take a look.” Bradley tells her. “Well I’ve had a no-show on a viewing. How’d you like to take a look?” She suggests, motioning to the open door. “Okay” you nod, following her into the house.

“Obviously the kitchen, living room, even a deck out back with a huge garden and high fences” she says nodding out the window and you hum. “Out the side there’s an entrance straight to the beach” she motions, then starts heading up the stairs “three bedrooms, attic space, bathroom” she says “I’m guessing it’s just you two at the moment?” She asks “oh we’re not-” Bradley begins “yes, just us.” You confirm, shutting him up. “Okay, so there’s a large room for your bed and then if any new additions are to join, you have the space for them” she smiles and leads you back out front.

“It’s not cheap, it’s California. So I understand if you’re not prepared to pay that much money, do you mind me asking what you do?” She asks “we’re naval aviators.” Bradley says “stationed here?” She asks and you both nod “ah! I get why you’re looking for a property here!” She says and Bradley looks at you. “I really like it, Roo.” You say, and Bradley has to stop his jaw hitting the floor at your nickname. “It’s your call, honey” he says and you look at the lady and smile as she offers her hand “we’ll take it.”

“How shall we split the payment?” You ask Bradley as you walk back to the Hard Deck after organising a meeting with the realtor to actually finalise all the kinks and bumps. “I don’t mind doing the down payment then we’ll take it in turn paying the loan” he suggests “we can get a joint bank account and do it that way” you say and he agrees as you settle back into your seats at the Hard Deck. “Where’ve you two been?” Hangman asks “we bought a house.”

One evening, after you were all moved in and were hanging out at the Hard Deck after a long day or routine flying, you were sat outside with Rooster; watching the sunset. “When are we getting married then?” You ask and he spits out his beer “what?” He asks, eyes wide and getting progressively more giddy. “Well we live together, we have a joint bank account, and Jake keeps telling me we’re practically married. So when are we getting married?” You ask as he hugs you tightly “whenever you want, baby” he says, kissing the top of your head and pulling a ring out of his pocket to get on his knee. “Will you marry me?” He asks and you raise a brow “didn’t I just say that?” You ask bluntly “just say yes, please” he begs and you nod “yes. Yes I will marry you, Bradley Bradshaw.” You confirm as he kisses your lips gently.

“Okay get off of me now.”

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bloatedandalone04 · 8 months

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If It Makes You Happy - Part 1

➪the one where you give bradley your heart and he breaks it.

Warnings: smut, angst, fluff, unprotected sex, age gap, 18+, swearing, alcohol consumption, hair pulling, small pain kink ig, jealousy

Word Count: 5.3k | Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡

“God, you feel so good,” Bradley’s deep voice sent chills down your spine. Your hands trailed up his back and gripped his shoulders as his hips hit yours over and over again. “Fuck, baby.”

His words, mixed with his raspy voice, went right to your core, where you greedily sucked him in deeper.

Bradley groaned loudly, dipping his head down to suck on your collar bone. He wasn’t usually one for hickeys at his age, but he found himself loving to both give them and receive them ever since you and he first started this whole situation.

“Just like that,” you whimpered, squeezing your eyes shut tightly when you felt his lips pepper kisses all over your neck.

“Like this?” He mutters as he fucked into you, making you see stars behind your closed eyes.

“Yes,”

One of his hands reaches down to wrap your leg around his waist, making him reach even deeper in you. “You like that, baby?”

“Yes,” you say again, sliding one hand up to tug on his hair. “Please.”

Bradley grunted at your relentless tugging, the feeling of your fingers threading through his hair adding to the overall pressure currently building within him. “Fuck, you’re so hot,”

If he thought you were hot, he must not be aware just how damn near edible he is.

He continued to suck mark after mark onto the skin of your neck, all while his hips rocked into yours with a friction that had you digging your nails into his bicep. One thing you both discovered was that Bradley had a bit of a thing for pain. He loved when you marked his skin with your nails or bit on his bottom lip whenever you kissed, but the thing he loved most was when you tugged on his hair in a death grip. The sore scalp and minor headaches he’d endure later on were so worth it.

So, as you raked your nails down his arm, Bradley just grunted against your neck, driving himself impossibly deeper into your inviting walls. “Yeah,” he breathed out, lifting his head so his lips brushed against yours. “I’m close, too, baby.”

After doing this with you for nearly half a year, Bradley knew your body like the back of his hand. He knew how to get you off in every way possible, and he knew when you were close to that sweet peak of relief.

Using the hand that wasn’t keeping him propped up above you, he presses the pad of his middle finger against your clit, which was still swollen from when he went down on you earlier.

The added stimulation had you crying out, your fingers tightening in his hair as you came for the second time since you arrived at his house. “There you go, give it to me,” he muttered and his words somehow managed to prolong your high. “So good, letting me fuck you when we’re supposed to be with our friends.”

As he continued to fuck into your warm and inviting core, you keep your hand tangled tightly in his hair and tug a bit harder, knowing that it would add to his pleasure.

You were right, as he groaned against your mouth, a mantra of “Fuck,” leaving his kiss swollen lips when he came.

He fucks his release deeper into you, your greedy walls taking everything he gave, before he comes to a stop and lays his body gently down on top of yours.

You release his hair and softly massage the top of his head, smoothing out the messy strands. As you bask in the afterglow, Bradley presses kisses to your bruised skin, a faint smirk on his lips at the sight of your hickey covered neck.

“I’m gonna miss this for the next six weeks,” he confessed and you had to calm your racing heart before it jumped to any conclusions.

“What? Fucking me?” You ask with a quiet laugh, moving your hand to trace your fingers along his sweaty shoulder.

“Fucking you,” he confirmed with a nod, making your smile fade a bit as he continued, “Kissing you, falling asleep with you in my arms. Just you in general.”

That made your smile reappear, and you moved his head so he was looking into your eyes. “You’re going to miss me? Or my body?”

Bradley pressed a chaste kiss to your lips. “You,” he answered before he was standing up and holding his hand out to you. “Come on.”

You take his hand and let him pull you up and off of his comfy bed. “Where are we going?”

He steadies you in his arms, a proud smirk on his lips at your inability to stand up on your own because of the number he did on you. “Since we’re already half an hour late, why don’t we make our friends wait a bit longer?”

You smile up at him, letting him guide you towards his bathroom. “What did you have in mind?”

He kisses you deeply, his free hand tangling into your messy hair. “Come join me in the shower and find out,”

You and Bradley showed up a whole hour after your promised arrival time, but neither of you cared too much.

After your shower, you complained that you didn’t have anything you needed at his house, and his reply was one that you were still thinking about now, “You know, it’d be a lot easier if you just kept some of your stuff at my place. You’re here all the time, yet you’re still always unprepared for these kinds of things,” he was referring to your complaint that all of your makeup was at your house, and you had just scrubbed your face clean of the natural look you applied before you got there.

“What, you’re okay with me keeping my makeup all over your bathroom counter so I can reapply it once you’re done fucking it off me?” You had asked, half joking and half totally serious.

“I don’t care, I’m barely in there, anyway. The room could use some personality,” was his response, and it had your mind thinking about things you didn’t usually allow yourself to dwell on for too long.

Nearly six months you’ve been sleeping with him. Six months.

And it’s been five months since you broke rule number one and fell for him.

It was simple, easy, casual.

You started out as nothing. You were a friend of Jake’s, and that in itself was a surprise, so it wasn’t much of a shock when he invited you to go with him to the Hard Deck. When Bradley arrived at the bar a few minutes after you and Jake did, he didn’t pay much attention to the girl under the blond’s arm.

Jake was definitely a ladies man, so to see him with his hand wrapped around a girl’s waist wasn’t all that surprising. He played pool with Nat for a bit before making his way over to the bar, barely acknowledging Jake as he ordered a beer. “Hey, Rooster!” The man greeted, his own beer sloshing around in the glass as he moved towards him.

“Hangman,” Bradley muttered, hoping Penny would hurry up and hand him his drink.

“I want to introduce you to my friend, Y/n,”

That had Bradley turning his head in slight curiosity, a little shocked to hear that the girl currently stuck to his side was only a friend. When his eyes meet yours, his stoic expression drops.

You were beautiful, to put it simply.

He sweet talked his way into getting you to play pool with him, and later ended the night with you sprawled out on the back seat of his Bronco. He found himself under you, on top of you and in you several nights out of the week after that, and now the whole arrangement was about to be hitting the half a year mark.

It started out casual; he’d be there when you needed him, and you’d be there when he needed you.

The decision to not label it was a mutual one as you both believed it would be the best way to go about things.

Only a month in was when you offered to sleep together without protection. You confessed that he was currently the only person you were seeing, and he also admitted that he wasn’t sleeping with anyone else as well.

As the months went on, Bradley began getting more affectionate with you, especially in public and in front of the other guys. While you were sure you were falling for him, he had also been acting as if he was more than just a friend with benefits.

He offered you to sleep over every time you found yourself underneath him well into the night, and he woke you up each day with a good morning kiss and smile.

He lets you wear his clothes, use the appliances in his kitchen and even asks you to stay for dinner most nights.

All in all, he was the perfect boyfriend, but he wasn’t your boyfriend. He just acted like it.

There was a bit of an age difference, with you being twenty five and him pushing thirty five. While he had never explicitly said it bothered him, and he sure as hell never acted like he had a problem with it, you assumed that was why he had yet to make it official with you.

You weren’t reading too much into this, right? You couldn’t be.

He was all over you when you were around, and texted you constantly when you were away from him. He wanted you to feel comfortable wearing his clothes, didn’t care if you ate the leftovers he was saving, and had told you on more than one occasion to start keeping some of your things at his house.

And you had started to, kind of.

Your phone charger was plugged in next to his, a few of your shirts and jeans were currently in the washing machine along with his own, and your beloved hoodie you got from your uni days had a seemingly permanent place on the left side of his bed.

There was no way you had been given the wrong impression, right?

Right?

As soon as you entered the crowded bar, your face makeup free and one of his old vintage shirts tucked into your jean shorts, Bradley was pulling you with him to where Nat stood next to the pool table. “Hey, Rooster,” she greeted as she handed him a cue, nodding in your direction. “Rooster’s girlfriend.”

You expected him to correct her, but he surprised you by just shaking his head and laughing quietly, pulling you closer to his side. Your face heated up as you met Jake’s eyes from across the room, and he smiled as he waved you over to where he was sitting at the bar.

“Hey, I’ll be back in a sec,” you tell Bradley, and he leans down so he could hear you better in the loud bar. “I’m going to go get a drink, you want one?”

“Just one,” he answered before placing a kiss on your lips. “Hurry back so you can watch me kick Nat’s ass.”

Nat slapped his arm as you walked away, a dumb grin on your lips as you made your way to the bar. Jake welcomed you over with an arm around your shoulders and a kiss to your cheek.

“Hey, Jake,” you say as you rest your hand on his chest.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he answered, eyeing something behind you with a sly smirk. “Don’t look now, but your guy friend is glaring at me as if you’re his girlfriend or something.”

Despite his words, you turn and look at Bradley anyway. His brown eyes were on the two of you, furrowed and clouded over with what you think is jealousy. You held back a forming grin, your face heating up at the fact that he was getting jealous at the sight of you with another guy. Maybe it made you seem selfish, but you loved that he didn’t want you to be around other guys in the way you are currently with Jake.

“He does realize that I’m the one who introduced him to you, right?” The blond asks and you just shake your head, leaning over the bar and ordering two beers. “You’re not official, right?”

You clench your jaw at the reminder and shake your head, “No,”

Jake takes a swig of beer as he runs his hand up and down your back in a friendly kind of gesture. “Then I don’t understand why he’s coming over here right now,”

At that, you turn just in time to see Bradley step into your space, his hand on your arm as he tugged you away from Jake. “Hands to yourself, Hangman,” he says coldly, eyeing the other man with a suspicious glance. “We both know I’m the one who’s taking her home after this.”

His words dripped with a sense of possessiveness, and the whole thing had a surge of lust flow through your body. “My intentions are pure, Rooster,” Jake winked at the two of you as Bradley pulled you into his side. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

“Is that right?” Bradley questioned but didn’t really care for the answer.

“Relax, Bradley,” you murmur, handing him one of the beers. He didn’t take his eyes off Jake as he blindly took it from you, the cool bottle a nice contrast against his heated skin. “I came here with you, remember? That means I’m leaving with you, too.”

That had him meeting your eyes with a proud smirk on his lips, seemingly satisfied with your words. He gives Jake an over exaggerated shrug before pulling you along with him. “Later, Hangman,”

He tugged you over to the pool table once again, his hand sliding from your arm to your hip, where he squeezed slightly. You settle against his side, this position feeling more like where you were supposed to be than just an embrace.

Staying true to his word, Bradley took you back home a few hours later, and you spent the rest of the night wrapped around him in more ways than one, and giving in to his quiet plead of, “Stay with me tonight,”

It was the fifth night in a row he’s asked you to do that, and the fifth time you’ve said yes without hesitation.

The next morning, Bradley woke you up by going down on you until he had you coming twice. He didn’t ask you to return the favor, simply muttering something about “Needing his fix to start the day,”

You help him pack any last minute things, before driving him to the dock in your car. This would be his second deployment since this whole ordeal started, and this time you were completely in love with him. You weren’t sure how you would cope with not seeing him for six weeks, and you wanted him to know that you’d be thinking about him the whole time he was gone.

As you stood with him on the dock, you gazed up into his brown eyes with a sense of longing. “Thanks for coming with me this time,” he spoke quietly, making you grin up at him.

The first deployment was just two weeks into your situationship, and since you weren’t really all too familiar with everything that made up the marvel of a man named Bradley Bradshaw, you stayed home and sent him a simple text that wished him luck.

“Of course,” you reply, inching closer to him when his hands found home on your waist. Your eyes trailed over the scars on his cheek, and you refrained from reaching out to trace them with your finger. “I’m going to be thinking about you every single day, you know.”

This was it.

Bradley smiled down at you, leaning in and running his nose along the edge of your jaw. “You will?” He hummed, pressing various kisses to the marks he had left on your neck the night prior. When you nodded, he pulled back and took your chin between his thumb and index finger, guiding your lips to his in a lingering kiss. “I bet I know what part of me you’ll miss most.”

He was teasing you, but you were about to put your heart in the palm of his hand. “I’ll miss all of you,”

Bradley grinned and took you into his arms in a tight embrace. “I’ll miss you, too,”

From his hunched over position, your mouth was right next to his ear, meaning he was at the perfect height for you to whisper, “I think I’m falling for you,”

There it was.

You had given him your heart. It was his to take, and you supposed it was also his to break, as it was like a switch flipped inside him.

His body tensed against yours, and you immediately regret ever opening your mouth. Before you could take your words back, Bradley pulls away and keeps his hands on your waist as he mutters, “What?”

You felt your eyes burn instantly, your lower lip threatening to quiver as you stared up at him. “I..” You weren’t sure what to say. You had clearly mistaken your role in his life, and you wished you had never said anything. You had completely fucked things up. But there was no going back now. “I’m falling for you, Bradley.”

His eyes flicker between yours before he stands back up to his full height. “That’s what I thought you said,” he muttered under his breath. You feel your heart fall as he steps away from you, his arms dropping back to his sides. “Fuck, I wish you didn’t tell me that.”

You quickly begin building walls up around your heart as you stand your ground, swallowing harshly as you ask, “Why not?”

Bradley’s eyes turn cold as he answers you, “Because that wasn’t what this was supposed to be,”

It was as if that was the most obvious answer in the world.

You shake your head and wrap your arms around yourself, glancing around at the many people who were sending their loved ones off with sad smiles and hugs. “I’m sorry. I can’t help how I feel, Bradley,” you say quietly and he just scoffs.

“We were just having fun, Y/n,” he says and grabs his bag that he had set down on the dock when you arrived. He slings it over his shoulder and places his aviators over his eyes. “That’s all this was. You’re ten years younger than me, what did you think was going to happen here? We’re in two different places in our lives, and I thought that was obvious.”

You break eye contact as the first of many tears begin to fall. “It wasn’t,” was all you managed to say before he was sighing heavily and backing away from you.

“If that’s the case, sorry for leading you on,” he said as he turned and began walking up the ramp. He had only walked about four steps before he stopped with a heavy sigh. He turned to glance back at you, seeing that you hadn’t moved from your spot, and you hadn’t taken your eyes off the wooden dock below you. “Look, I don’t want to leave it like this, but I need to go. I’ll call you if I can, okay? We’ll talk more about it when I come back.”

You just nod, not bothering to lift your head and meet his eyes.

Without another word being shared between the two of you, Bradley steps onto the carrier deck and waits to be shipped off. Though he knows he shouldn’t, he glances up at the dock and his heart falls at what he saw.

You were still where he left you, but that was when he finally caught sight of the tears that were steadily rolling down your face. You did a pretty good job at hiding them when he was right next to you, but now that he was far away, you had lifted your head and he was given a clear view of your pretty face as you cried.

He realized then that he had royally fucked up, and he needed to make things right before he left for a month and a half.

Bradley watched as an elderly woman gently placed her hand on your arm, surely thinking that you were crying because you were sad about having to say goodbye to your loved one, when in reality he had just broken your heart.

As you began making your way through the crowd and towards your car, he cursed under his breath and fumbled around in his bag for his phone, regret filling his body as he clicked on your contact.

He watched as you stopped walking through the crowd and pulled out your phone, and to his surprise, you actually answered. “What?” You sounded so sad, and it only made him further regret the words he said to you.

It wasn’t even the truth, and he hoped you would give him the chance to explain that to you. He needed to be quick, though, because he knew he would quickly lose service once the carrier started moving. “Baby, I’m sorry,” he rasped out, his heart skipping a beat when he saw the way you turned to look over at him. He tried to meet your eyes as he continued, “I’m sorry, okay? Let’s talk about this now.”

You furrow your brows and shake your head. “There’s nothing to talk about, Bradley,”

“Yes, there is,” he insisted, feeling his heart drop once the carrier started to pull away from the dock.

“There’s not,” you muttered. “I mistook my place, disrespected your boundaries and that’s on me. Completely my fault.”

“No, that’s- no,” he begged but he knew he didn’t have enough time to get through to you. “Please, just, wait for me. I’ll call you as soon as I can, we’ll talk and-”

“And what, Bradley?” You cut him off. “You said it yourself; I’m too young for you. Too immature. It’s best if we just end this now so we can both stop wasting our time.”

“You’re not a waste of time,” he said quickly, watching as your form slowly began to disappear the further he drifted away from you. “I’ve loved every second I’ve spent with you, and I think I’m-”

Before he could also give you his heart, you had broken it with a simple sentence, “You’re cutting out,” and you were, too, but somehow your last few words were crystal clear. “I know where we stand now. Goodbye, Bradley.”

And then you hung up. And he was left to drop his hand back down to his side in defeat as he silently prayed he was able to call you within the next few days.

A whopping six hours had passed since Bradley had been shipped off when he found himself missing you.

His arms ached to be wrapped around you, his lips missed the taste of yours, and his heart longed with a sense of need to know that you would still be his once he returned home.

His.

Bradley had to laugh.

You weren’t his.

He hadn’t managed to step up and ask you to take things to the next level yet before he was ruining everything. He hadn’t given a possible real relationship with you a chance.

God, he was so mean, belittling you as if you deserved to be treated with anything other than respect and kindness. He acted like a proper asshole, and he deserved to feel all the things he felt right now.

Shame. Guilt. Regret. Anger. He felt all of it all at once, and he hated himself for hurting you.

Had he known the sad sight of you crying because of him was all he needed to get his act straight, he would’ve told you he loved you when you confessed to falling for him back on the dock.

Bradley loves you. Why did it take losing you for him to realize that?

A couple weeks passed before he was allowed the opportunity to call you, and as he put your number in, he found himself praying to anyone that may have been listening that you would answer.

He felt a little more than deflated when it rang five times before he was sent to your voicemail. He listened to your sweet voice ask him to leave you a message, and he did, but he also knew you wouldn’t be able to call him back once you listened to the message.

If you listened to it at all.

“Hey, sweet girl. I… God, I wish you picked up, but I understand why you didn’t. A few weeks ago…fuck, I was so out of line, baby, and I’m sorry for that. I didn’t mean what I said. I didn’t mean any of it, I’m just a fucking idiot when it comes to this kind of thing and I threw all my issues on you, and you didn’t deserve that,” Bradley waited a beat or two before he continued, “I’m so sorry. I miss you, and I know I have no right to ask this of you, but I hope I can see you on the day I get back to San Diego. I only have just under a month to go, and I can’t wait to see you and talk about this in person, if you’ll let me.”

He felt pathetic, leaving you a sappy message you couldn’t even reply to.

“I’m sorry, again, and I hope things have been going well for you,” he ended the message after that, reluctantly hanging up and returning back to his bunk, where he threw himself down on the bed that felt too empty without you by his side.

It went on like that for weeks.

Bradley would go to sleep, wake up, complete whatever he needed to do for the day, then do it all over again, all while thinking about you.

He was counting down the days until he was able to return home and back to you, but he wasn’t sure he even had the right to seek you out once he was off the carrier.

He had called you again a few days ago, and you had once again given him your voicemail. Two calls in, and it was silent on your end. He missed you terribly, missed your flowery scent, your kind smiles, your voice, and the feeling of your body tucked against his.

Yeah, he missed the sex, but he missed you more. All of you.

You were so close to being his. You had put your heart on your sleeve, completely his for the taking, and he rejected you. Like a fucking idiot.

He knew he would get an earful from Nat once he got back, and he was honestly looking forward to it. He knew he deserved it, and he couldn’t think of a better person to call him out on his bullshit than his best friend.

Another week flew by after he successfully completed his mission, and he was a few quick hours away from the same dock he had left you on a month and a half ago.

While he didn’t expect you to be there to greet him once he stepped off the carrier, he still felt his heart break a bit as he finally let it all sink in. A few feet from where he stood now, he had broken your heart.

He dropped his bag onto the dock below him as he pulled his phone out and called you, once again disappointed when he was sent to your voicemail. Before he could stop himself, he left you a message, “Hey, it’s me. I’m back home now, and I still really want to see you. I want to try to explain myself and why I said the things I did. I’m still so sorry, Y/n/n, really, I am,” he ended it after that, and used the last bit of battery he had left to call Nat in hopes she would come and pick him up.

Like he expected, Nat did end up chewing him out during the entire ride home, and even in his own driveway. Bradley just sat there and took it, knowing he deserved every harsh dig that was thrown at him and more.

When she angrily reached over and hugged him in the car, she promptly told him to get out and that she would see him later at the Hard Deck.

Bradley unlocked the front door and stepped into his house, the silence being the last thing he wanted to be met with. You were in your twenties, you were young and loud and cheerful, he had gotten so used to how chaotic his life had become since you entered it. It was chaotic in the best way, and he missed the loud laughs you would emit as he carried you down the hall to his room, or when the two of you would skip out on beers with your friends to watch a comedy in his living room instead.

He sulked his way to his room, and his heart deflated even more at the sight he was met with. Nat had gone on about how she had to use the key Bradley gave her to let you into his house while he was away, and how she was confused about that until now.

Gone was your phone charger and old movies you kept by the TV he had on his dresser, and he was sure your clothes in his laundry room were picked up as well. The left side of his bed was bare of your uni hoodie, a thing he had a strong amount of fondness for.

Coming home to a quiet house was one thing, but walking into a bedroom that lacked any personality at all was something else. The small things you kept in there made it appear more lived in, more cared for than he had ever tried to make it look, and he once again was reminded just how much he had fucked up.

You made him happy, were the reason he looked forward to the end of his days because it would likely mean he would end them with you, like he had been for the good part of the last six months.

Bradley let out a frustrated sigh as he threw his bag onto the bed. He plugged his phone in before heading into the bathroom, his eyes glancing at the spotless counter. A few of your face washes and creams had taken up space next to the sink the last time he was in here, but now they were gone too.

He quickly realized how much he loved having your things at his house. God, did he miss you.

After the quickest shower of his life, Bradley got dressed in jeans and a Hawaiian shirt and unplugged his phone. It had only been charged up to thirty four percent, but he didn’t plan on going on the device too much once he arrived at the Hard Deck.

He grabbed his keys and wallet before he started up his beloved Bronco, typing out a quick text to you in hopes you’d actually answer him this time.

You’re ignoring me and that’s fine, but I hope I’ll be able to see you at the Hard Deck tonight? If not, maybe we can meet up later and I can explain everything to you. Please. I don’t want it to end like this.

He didn’t want it to end at all, but especially not with you thinking you weren’t all he could ever want.

To his surprise, you had actually gotten back to him pretty fast, and your response had him quickly backing out of his driveway and speeding down the road towards the Hard Deck.

Y/n/n: Seems as though luck is on your side today. Glad you’re back home and safe. I guess I’ll see you tonight.

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katsu28 · 1 year

Note

🍭 oooo something angsty with bradley 'rooster' bradshaw and “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

thank you for requesting anna!! <3 this is my first angst with rooster so i hope it's good :)

bradley "rooster" bradshaw x reader, some swearing, angst, 1.7k (she's a long one ik hehe)

You never really wanted Bradley to know how much you missed him when he was gone. Your worries tended to consume you and a lot of the time it showed, even though you tried your best to remain neutral on your sporadic video calls with him. The last thing you wanted was for him to worry about you when he was out there in the skies. He needed complete and total focus, and you knew that, but sometimes you couldn’t help it.

He looked beyond tired when he appeared on your laptop screen today—dark circles under his eyes, shoulders sagging under an intense invisible weight that you’d never truly understand, the whole nine yards. But he still brightened when he saw you, somehow still managing to look like a dream despite his clear exhaustion and the grainy video quality.

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” He said, adjusting his screen until his head was fully in view. “Hi honey, how are you?”

“I feel like I should be the one asking you that,” You chuckled. “How are you? Are you getting enough sleep? Eating okay?”

“Yes ma’am.” You suspected he was lying just to please you, but you’d let it slide this time. You were going to see him in a few weeks, you could rag on him then. With love, of course. “I saw the picture you emailed last week, by the way. I hope you bought that dress, ‘cause as good as it looked on you, it’s gonna look so much better on the bedroom floor when I get home.”

“Bradley!” You hissed, cheeks growing hot.

“What?” He asked incredulously, shit-eating grin very present on his face. “I can’t admire my gorgeous girlfriend anymore?”

“Not like that when there’s other people around!”

“Oh, come on, they don’t care. Coyote, you mind if I love on my girl a little bit right now?”

“I’m not even in the room.” came Coyote’s voice, probably paired with an amused smirk. “Hey, Y/N.”

“Hi, Javy.” You sighed, sinking a little lower in your chair in embarrassment. Bradley was entirely comfortable around his fellow naval aviators, as he should be, but that didn’t mean you wanted any of them to hear your conversation with your boyfriend. “Maybe we could continue this conversation another time and talk about something else while I have you here?”

“Don’t be shy, baby. It’s just Coyote here, if it makes you feel any better.” It didn’t. “He’s waiting to talk to his mom.” Cute, but still uncomfortable.

“I don’t think—”

“It’s not like I showed him the picture. We’re just talking!” He chuckled, grinning cheekily.

“I feel like you’re not really listening to me right now, Bradley.” You blurted, feeling a pang of guilt shoot through you right after. He was out there only god knows where and here you were making a fuss because your feelings were a little hurt. But that was rule number one of having a partner overseas: make sure they know how you feel. Be firm but gentle.

He sobered up instantly, sitting forward in his seat with an intent look aimed at you. “Okay. Sorry.” He looked offscreen, muttered something you couldn’t make out, and when you heard the shutting of a door, you knew he’d just shooed Coyote out of the room so the two of you could talk in private. “You’ve got me now, I’m listening. What’s wrong?”

“I just…I miss you.”

“I miss you too, sweetheart. So much.” Bradley said solemnly. He tilted his head. “That’s not it though, is it?”

“It’s nothing. Don’t worry about me, I’m fine.” You shook your head, smiling at him. Or trying to, really. Bradley could always see right through you.

“No you’re not. C’mon, sweet girl, tell me what’s wrong.”

“I’m worried.” You admitted.

“About?”

“You.”

His expression turned reassuring, tone soft and as soothing as it could be through the static warping it. “Hey, you don’t have to be, y’know. I’m in good hands over here, okay? I’m gonna be totally fine.”

I’m gonna be totally fine. That should’ve been enough to reassure you, but after the last time he’d said something along the same lines ended with him in the hospital for a few weeks, it didn’t.

“I just want you to be careful, that's all.”

“I’m always careful.” He nodded. “Just pretend I’m right there with you, it’ll be fine.”

“Yeah well, you’re not here, Bradley. Easier said than done.” Your words were entirely a heat of the moment thing, but the clench of his jaw at the statement was enough for you to know that you’d just stepped in it.

“What’s that supposed to mean? You think I wanna be away from you all the time? That it’s easy for me? This is my job, Y/N, I can’t just say no when they tell me I have to leave.” He said, voice strained and low.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“Yeah. Right. You didn’t mean it at all, sure. Of course you didn’t. You just don’t trust me, do you?”

“No, I—”

“No, you don’t trust me?”

“Will you let me finish, Bradley?” You huffed, letting out a sharp breath.

“You think I’m reckless.”

This was why you didn’t even want to bring your worries up in the first place. Bradley had a tendency to lash out when he was upset or felt cornered, jumping to conclusions because he didn’t know what else to do. It was something he assured you he was actively working on, but when things got a little tense, he seemed to revert right back to his ways.

“Sometimes, yeah!” Shit. You hadn’t meant for that to come out either. Out the window went rule number two: don’t spend the limited screen time you have arguing with your partner. A muscle in Bradley’s jaw ticked. “Damnit, I didn’t mean to—”

“I think we should talk about this another time. Neither of us are in the headspace to have this conversation right now.” He said, weirdly calm.

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could say anything to try and fix the shitshow you’d just stirred up, alarm bells sounded faintly from the background of Bradley’s side of the call. His back went ramrod straight, your blood ran cold. Something was wrong.

“Bradley, what’s going on? What’s happening over there?”

He looked around, craning his neck to listen if he could hear anything else that would clue him in. “I don’t know. We should’ve been in the clear by now, I don’t know what—”

Bradley disappeared from your screen before he could finish his worryingly panicked sentence, leaving you staring at your own reflection where he just was a split second ago.

A message flashed across the previously blank screen.

Your call has been disconnected.

“No, no, no, no, fuck,” You breathed, dragging your finger back and forth on the trackpad frantically. Nothing. You tried calling him back. Still nothing. Then it began to set in.

What if something really did happen and this was the one time he didn’t come home? That might’ve been your last call with Bradley and you wasted it on some stupid argument that seemed so insignificant now despite it happening mere seconds ago. You didn’t even get to tell him you loved him.

You might never get to tell him you loved him ever again.

-------

There was nothing but radio silence on Bradley’s end for the remainder of the mission, and it was agony for you. You weren’t sure if he was okay, you weren’t even sure if he was alive, but you knew you had to go on as usual. Because if you stopped even for a second to think about what did or didn’t happen the last time you saw him, you weren’t sure if you’d make it to find out.

You were up out of bed the second you heard the front door slam shut in the distance the day Bradley was scheduled to come home, hurrying down the hall. Bradley was standing stock still in the foyer, eyes flitting around at his surroundings until they landed on you.

His duffel dropped to the floor with a dull thump, shoulders drooping, and when he met your gaze, his eyes were rimmed red. He looked a mess, as you were sure you did too, but the only thing that ran through your mind was that he was here.

You rushed forward, all but throwing yourself into his arms with a cry. “I’m sorry, Bradley. I’m so, so sorry, I didn’t mean what I said, I never meant to—”

“Hey, shhh, it's okay baby,” Bradley soothed, lips pressed against your temple as his arms tightened around you. “I know. I know you didn't mean it, I didn’t mean it either. It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened and the last thing I said to you was…” You couldn't even finish your sentence before a choked sob ripped through your chest, your hands fisting themselves into his jacket in a poor attempt to ground yourself. “I didn’t even know if you were—you were okay, or if—” You inhaled a shuddering breath, fighting another sob.

“I’m fine, I promise. Our comms got knocked out, but we were fine,” He assured you, stroking a hand up and down the curve of your spine. He cradled the back of your head gently but firmly, his other hand the weight that you desperately needed to reassure you that he was here. “I hated that I couldn't call you back, but I’m okay, honey. I'm okay, I’m right here.”

Bradley leaned his forehead against yours, taking your hands as soon as you stopped clinging to him and pressing them against his face so you could feel the warmth of his skin, the stubble on his cheeks, his calloused palms on the back of your hands.

“I love you, Bradley.”

“I love you with everything I’ve got, sweet girl.” He said, kissing the inside of your wrist tenderly. You smiled through your tears. “Are we okay?” He murmured, eyes searching yours for any semblance of an answer. You kissed him hard instead of responding, hoping that he would see that you didn’t care about whatever the hell you were arguing about anymore. It didn’t even matter, all that mattered was that he came home to you.

He looked dazed when you pulled away, blinking at you dumbly for a split second before grinning at you. “Well, now that that’s out of the way, let’s go see that dress, hm? See if it looks even better in person.”

You couldn’t even find it in yourself to be exasperated at his cheekiness.

#bradley bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw one shot #rooster bradshaw one shot #bradley rooster bradshaw one shot #bradley bradshaw angst #rooster bradshaw angst #bradley rooster bradshaw angst #top gun maverick #miles teller #kait celebrates 1k!

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tongue-like-a-razor · 1 year

Note

Can u please do smut or fluff of this with rooster or hangman:

Y/n: hey can you zip me up?

R or H: Sure!

...

Y/n: I said zip me up not down

Ooh thank you for this sweet request, I had so much fun with this one!!

The Zipper Incident

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Fem!Reader

Summary: You're running late and need some help zipping up your dress. After recovering from the initial shock of seeing you all dolled up, Rooster is more than happy to assist.

CW: Fluff, angst, swearing, a pinch of smut. You stand up your date, which is shitty of you, but it's probably worth it.

I’d like to think that this little drabble could be a prelude to this fic but it’s absolutely not a necessity to read it first. I just had this particular dynamic in mind while writing this.

You rush out of the locker room in a panic, whipping your head around to see if anyone is still around. Your date is imminent – t-minus twenty minutes and counting – and you’ve spent the last forty-five on your hair and makeup only to suffer a devastating wardrobe malfunction at zero hour.

You’re sure that everyone is long gone but you nonetheless shuffle over to the guys’ locker room on the off chance that perhaps somebody might still be in the building.

Just as you’re coming up on the door, Bradley walks out and you nearly collide with him in your haste.

“Woah!” he yells, holding his arms out in case you wouldn’t be able to stop in time.

“Oh my god, Rooster! Thank god!” you shriek.

Now that he’s had a moment to process the situation, Bradley is blinking at you oddly, his eyes slipping briefly to glance at your dress before reverting to your face.

While you’re flattered that your outfit has rendered him speechless – the guy’s never seen you in anything but a uniform – you hardly have time for this kind of delay. “Rooster, can you do me a favor, please? Can you zip me up?” You turn your back to him promptly and twist your arm behind you to point to the zipper that’s gotten stuck halfway up.

“Uh.” Bradley stalls and you look over your shoulder to see his gaze trailing down your bare back as he tentatively lifts his hands.

“Bradshaw, today!” you urge, bouncing slightly on the spot while you hold up the front of your strapless dress.

You feel his fingers graze your back as he pulls gently on the zipper. “It’s jammed,” he says a little hoarsely.

You let out an exasperated sigh. “No shit,” you reply. “Look, I’ve got a date in” – you close your eyes and whimper desperately – “fifteen minutes. Could you maybe put those big, strong muscles to good use?” You throw him a deriding look before glancing pointedly at the arm that's taking up approximately half of your field of view. His bicep is even more pronounced than usual in the tight, black t-shirt he’s wearing.

Rooster exhales slowly, tugging more deliberately on the zipper. “I don’t want to break it,” he says.

This statement gives you pause and you spin around sharply, nearly taking Bradley’s hands with you. “You can’t break it!” you exclaim. “I have nothing else to wear!”

Bradley watches you steadily. “Well,” he says with a small smirk. “Don’t rush me, then.”

You eye him warily before turning back around. “Okay,” you say. “But you don’t have all day,” you mutter when he starts to fiddle with the zipper once more.

His hands stop moving and he clears his throat. “We had a deal.”

You sigh, starting to tap your foot, when your feel his hands close around your shoulders.

“You’re wiggling,” he says.

“I’m anxious,” you retort sourly.

Bradley steps closer until his chest is brushing lightly against your back, and leads you out into the center of the corridor. “I need more light,” he says.

You close your eyes. “It’s a fucking zipper, Bradshaw. You operate a fifteen tonne, seventy-million-dollar government vehicle fifty thousand feet off the ground but this is somehow a struggle?”

Bradley’s hands stop moving. “That fifteen tonne vehicle came with an instruction manual and five years of training.”

“Oh, hang on,” you say. “Let me just pull out my zipper manual. I don’t go anywhere without that thing.”

Bradley snorts. “You’re distracting me,” he says, yanking slightly on the zipper and, in the process, pulling you closer.

You hang your head defeatedly, trying to stay still while he works to fix your dress.

After several moments of silence, Bradley speaks again. “You have a date, huh?”

You stare at the space where the floor meets the wall, taken aback by his question. You and Bradley have but a smidge of history; you met a few months ago when you were brought in for a mission together, and have since been assigned to the same squadron. You’ve flirted here and there, exchanged a few meaningful glances, but nothing more than the occasional tease has ever come to pass. You’re both professionals and, as such, are amply aware that any sort of romantic entanglement would quickly dissolve into a logistical nightmare fraught with more paperwork than either of you would care to complete. And yet, the insinuation in his tone, paired with the intermittent brush of his hands along your back sends a quiet thrill through your body, resulting in a soft blush that heats your cheeks and creeps down your neck. You nervously pat down your hair, making sure it obscures your reddening face before you respond with a casual, “Mm-hm.”

“Anyone I know?” he asks, his thumb sweeping over your shoulder blade as he takes a break from wrestling with the zipper.

Suddenly you’re extremely aware of how short your dress is and how very loosely it hangs around your sides as you clutch it to your chest. “I doubt it,” you say quickly, wondering how you hadn’t noticed the obvious draft coming from the vent overhead until right now while firmly pressing the material of your dress against your rapidly hardening nipples.

“Well, you look nice,” he says, his voice a little rough as he resumes his efforts with the zipper.

You bite down hard on your lip, trying to suppress the shiver triggered by his words. “Would be nicer if I were fully dressed,” you respond flatly.

“Debatable,” Rooster counters.

You swallow uneasily as Bradley continues jerking at your dress. He’s flirting with you now? Ten minutes till go time? After weeks of avoiding every instance of physical contact, including that time you sprained your ankle and he called Phoenix over to help you get to medical instead of taking you himself?

Suddenly, you feel the waist of your dress release as the zipper gives. You gasp, pressing the fabric against your body as it starts to glide.

“Bradshaw!” you yelp. “I said ‘zip me up!’”

“Sorry!” Bradley fumbles with the dress. “It slipped.”

“Sure,” you say with a note of cynicism in your tone.

Bradley chuckles, sliding the zipper back up. “I promise, it was unintentional.” He pauses for a moment, his fingers still holding the clasp even after having completed the task you’ve given him. He runs his palms along your shoulders before they come to rest on your upper arms. “You’ve got a nice back,” he says quietly.

You freeze, trying to come up with an adequate response to the most unexpected of compliments, but you can’t bring yourself to face him because you’re blushing anew. You take a second to gather your thoughts, close your eyes to savour the moment. You’ve completely forgotten about the time and how much of it you might have left because all your concentration is devoted entirely to the gentle sweep of Bradley’s fingers as they slide down your arms.

“First date?” he asks.

You’re furious. You’re livid. Where was all this attention four weeks ago when all that glorious flirting amounted to absolutely nothing. “Second,” you respond curtly.

“Getting serious,” he says wryly, his hands trailing all the way down to your fingertips before they finally fall to his sides.

You chuckle and, although it’s becoming increasingly difficult to restrain yourself from turning to face him, you mutter a quick, “Thanks, Rooster,” while smoothing out the wrinkles on the front of your dress.

Bradley walks around to take a look at you from the front and now you have no choice but to meet his gaze. You give him a tight smile and do a little curtsy and he laughs, shaking his head.

“That’s a hell of a dress,” he says.

You give him a serious look. “It’s not the dress, Bradshaw. It’s the model.”

He grins at you in amusement. “Can’t argue with that.”

You nod slowly, slightly lost in his eyes, when you suddenly remember that you’re running late. “Shit! What’s the time?” You lunge forward to grab his forearm so that you could check his wristwatch. “Fuck! I have to run!”

You drop Bradley’s hand, glancing up at him sharply. He’s watching you with a bewildered expression, as though he wasn’t expecting you to actually leave. “Okay,” he says. “Have a good time.”

You nod and start to draw back, finally turning and escaping down the hall and into the women’s changeroom. Once the door is closed behind you, you sink down on a bench, bringing a hand to your unsettled stomach. The interaction with Bradley has resulted in a revival of that ridiculous crush you had on him when you first arrived on base. You’ve been fairly successful at quashing those feelings, right up until ten minutes ago when Bradley was able to effectively resuscitate them with a vengeance.

You let out a frustrated sigh and start putting away your belongings. You step into your heels and sit back down to do up the straps. Walking over to the mirror, you fix your hair and take a moment to admire your makeup. No wonder Bradley was flabbergasted. He’s never even seen you wear lipstick.

You pick up your purse after shoving your backpack into a locker and head for the door but, when you walk out, Bradley is still there, waiting for you.

You waver on the spot upon seeing him while he hesitates slightly before approaching you. His eyes rake over your figure before finally resting on your face. “I can’t let you go on that date,” he says, his rasp more pronounced somehow, perhaps because he’s trying to keep his voice down.

You gulp nervously, blinking up at him as your cheeks flush. “Why not?” you ask quietly.

Bradley bites into his bottom lip as the corner of his mouth curls upward mischievously. “Because even thinking about you on a date with someone else is making me angry.”

You let out a shallow breath as his eyes focus briefly on your lips. “Why?” you whisper.

You feel Bradley’s hand cup your waist, pressing you gently into the wall at your back while he takes another step forward. He lowers his head and you lift your gaze as he towers over you, as he places the palm of his other hand on the wall behind your head. His breathing is heavier than usual but he comes closer still, caging you in. “Because it should be me,” he says hoarsely.

You lower your gaze but soon feel his fingers under your chin, lifting your face to look at him. “You didn’t ask me,” you manage to say despite the distracting pounding in your temples. “Are you only interested because I’m unavailable?”

Bradley slowly shakes his head, bringing his forehead to rest on yours. The hand that’s been leaning against the wall slips down to your shoulder as he takes another step closer and his body brushes yours. “You know that’s not true,” he says.

You put a hand on his abdomen, pushing him away half-heartedly. “I know that you’ve had plenty of opportunities to make this happen and chose not to.”

Bradley brings his hand down on top of yours on his stomach. “Maybe I was intimidated,” he mutters with a grin.

You roll your eyes. “Am I less intimidating in a dress?”

He shakes his head, his smile widening. “More.” His fingers close around yours, still pressed against his rock-hard abs. “But you left me no choice. I had to just bite the bullet and go for it.”

You glance up at him reproachfully. “I’m late,” you say.

Bradley pulls his lips into a frown as his eyebrows crease. “Stay,” he pleads.

You scoff, shaking your head. “I’m sorry, Bradley,” you say. “You’re late too.” You start to peel your back from the wall, forcing him to back away from you.

He takes several steps backward, the disappointment evident on his face. “You don’t want to go,” he says quietly.

You raise your eyebrows. “How the fuck do you know what I want?” you ask, offended.

He watches you piercingly. “I can tell you want to stay.”

“If you can tell, then why didn’t you ask me out before?” you say angrily.

“Because I’m an idiot!” he responds heatedly.

“Well, at least we agree on that,” you say.

Bradley sucks in his cheeks, nodding contemptuously. “Now what?” he asks. “Ball’s in your court.”

You stare at him crossly. “Now nothing, Bradley,” you say. “You didn’t start anything because you knew that it would be a conflict of interest. That, if anybody found out, one of us would end up being reassigned.”

“Who has to find out?”

You close your eyes briefly before giving him a withering look. “Well, now we know where your head’s at.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You just want to fuck,” you say matter-of-factly.

Bradley stares at you, speechless for a moment. “What are you talking about?”

“Sorry, Bradshaw,” you say. “That’s not my style.”

But when you turn to leave, Bradley springs after you, grabbing your arm and pulling you back around. “You’ve got it wrong,” he says. “I promise you.”

You eye his fingers, still wrapped firmly around your arm. “Come on, ‘Nobody has to know?’” You glance up at him disdainfully. “You obviously don’t see a future here.” You regret the words the moment they leave your mouth, recognizing how unreasonable it is to expect him to see much of anything with someone he hardly knows. But his words have caused quite a sting which, in turn, has made you slightly irrational. “You know this is a bad idea,” you say finally, reluctantly.

Bradley takes a step forward, simultaneously pulling you closer. He takes a moment to study your features before speaking. “I know that if you go on your date right now, I’m going to lose my fucking mind,” he says with a small chuckle.

You watch him carefully as he brings a hand up to brush some hair away from your eyes. “I’m really late,” you whisper, your hands moving of their own accord to rest on his hips.

Bradley brings his face down to meet yours, his nose brushing along your cheek. “I really want you to stay,” he says in a low voice, his grip loosening on your arm and his fingers gliding gently up to your shoulder.

You lift your face slightly to let him brush his lips with yours. After an excruciating pause during which his mouth hovers tantalisingly over yours, Bradley finally bridges the gap, confidently capturing your lips in his. His fingertips dig into your shoulders as he presses his body against yours, directing you backward into the wall. He leans into you eagerly, his kiss overriding each of your senses as you adapt to its unpredictable rhythm. Slow and deep, then soft and sweeping, evolving with your every movement. His hands twist rabidly into your hair, rough but restrained as he paces himself while you breathe unevenly against his mouth.

He's warm; swathed around you almost possessively; protectively. You aren’t going anywhere anytime soon. You pant when he finally releases your lips, struggling to steady your heartrate.

Bradley lowers himself slightly to diffuse kisses along your jawline, the pressure of his lips on your skin quickly escalating as the two of you sink into one another. You open your mouth to sigh against his ear when his hand slips underneath the hem of your dress. “Bradley,” you whine as his finger drifts along the line of your panties.

“Yeah baby?” he breathes, his finger tracing circles into the already saturated lace.

“This is a terrible idea,” you whimper as the most torturous desire pulsates through your body.

“Yeah, baby,” Bradley agrees, continuing the gentle strokes of his finger over your soaking panties.

You bite your lip trying to suppress a moan, fevered and nearly shaking, sweating and breathless, unsteady in your heels. You feel transported but unsettled, euphoric but wanting. You nip at Bradley’s earlobe in response to which Bradley presses his mouth into the crook of your neck and releases a muffled groan. You continue sucking on his ear and kissing his neck and the hand that’s been hovering between your legs suddenly grips into your thigh. You let out a soft cry and Bradley stifles it with a passionate kiss. His hand coasts upward, cupping your ass cheek as he presses himself against you, pinning you to the wall. “Bradshaw,” you murmur against his lips. “Can you do me a favor?”

Bradley’s teeth catch your bottom lip before he starts gently pecking your swollen lips. “Anything,” he responds in his grating rasp.

You let out a shallow breath. “Can you unzip me?”

Bradley’s mouth curls into a smile against your lips as his hand glides down your back. “I’ve got you, baby,” he says softly, pulling on the zipper. “I’m an expert.” You chuckle as your dress comes loose but, a moment later, Bradley mutters, “Fuck,” right into your open mouth.

You pull back to stare at him mutely as he gives the zipper a few more tugs. “Don’t tell me,” you say in disbelief.

“What is it with this thing?” Bradley says in exasperation, spinning you around to inspect the contraption. You giggle, resting your forehead on the wall resignedly but, the next moment, Bradley grabs you by the waist and pulls you in. “Fuck it,” he says, lifting the skirt of your dress. “I can work around it.”

Rooster Tag List:

Please feel free to let me know if you no longer wish to be tagged in Rooster fics/if you no longer consume Rooster content <3 The rest of the tags are in the comments!

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heartsofminds · 11 months

Text

at least i let the light in - sneak peek

“Natasha was mistaken, and letting him tag along tonight was an incredibly bad idea.” or Bradley is on a downward spiral and Natasha can’t help but feel like a terrible friend.

A/N: soooooo if y’all know anything about me it’s the fact that i love angst and it’s what i write best! so enjoy this little snippet of therapy bradley and be prepared for the finished piece to drop sometime soon (...i’m thinking this weekend but who really knows?!) i am so so SO excited to let you all inside the little corner of my brain that’s been harboring this character study for months! happy reading and can’t wait to share more of this story with you guys soon!

This is really bad. This is super bad. This is fucking horrible.

In hindsight, Bradley had a little bit of a problem. In hindsight, letting him have as much as he did was a stupid idea. And in hindsight, it was downright imbecilic to let him get that wasted, play a game of pool with Jake (who loves to engage in smack talk), and not tell Jake about the breakup which resulted in Bradley leaping over the table and trying to beat the absolute shit out of him for making a joke about his girlfriend whom everyone else had yet to establish was now his ex-girlfriend.

Natasha was mistaken, and letting him tag along tonight was an incredibly bad idea.

“Hey, dumbass,” she snides back. She’s so overwhelmed that irritation is the only feeling coursing through her veins.

“We had a bit of an. . .” Mickey looks toward Bob who looks as if he’s about two seconds away from passing out, “incident in the bathroom. He really needs to get home, Nix.”

But asking Jake for a ride home after he’d been sat icing his left eye with a Heineken bottle isn’t ideal either.

“Twelve minutes?” she looks up at the triad of men and flashes a sympathetic smile to her WSO in the process, “Do you think he could make that long of a walk?”

“I’m gonna be so honest with you, I don’t think he can even tell you what color shirt he has on. It’s a miracle he’s even standing right now.”

Natasha groans and puts her face in her hands.

Fucking hell, Bradley.

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promisingyounglady · 1 month

Text

stranger. | BB x Reader

SYNOPSIS: drunk hookup, no names exchanged, bradley is a pussy eating king.

PAIRING: Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

You pant, breathing heavily

“W-What’s your name again?”

A head pops up from in between your legs, giving you a sight that makes you delirious from the sheer sexiness of it all.

He’s golden, the warm light from the bedside table lamp, casting a glow on his pink cheeks. Dog tags hang from his collar bones.

He’s got pretty eyes, a strong nose and a shit-eating grin covered by a mustache that’s dripping in your slick.

You hadn’t even had time to even exchange names, only knowing that you were mutual friends of Jake who met at tonight’s party. One too many shots later and you’re here getting eaten out by a fighter pilot you don’t even know the name of.

He comes forward, leaning into your breath as he mutters softly. “Bradley. Bradshaw.”

You moan, feeling how his hands slide up your body as he utters his name, embarrassingly squirming under his touch.

“Say it back” He requests, deep brown eyes gazing into yours.

You oblige, moaning his name in a breathless whisper.

“Bradley”

He smiles, kissing you to shut you up before he goes down back in between your legs, pecks littered against the flesh of your inner thighs.

“Say my name and then ask me to eat you out”

You almost can’t believe your ears. You look down, gripping the sheets as you stare the smug bastard down.

“Nicely” he adds, pressing a kiss to your puffy clit as he smirks.

You throw your head back, eyes shutting as you mumble embarrassingly. “Eat me bradley”

His hands roam to your tits, giving them a squeeze

“Louder” he replies, muffled as he’s concentrated in stuffing his face in your vagina, choosing to give small unsatisfying licks until you say it properly.

You cry out, chest rising. “Eat me out, Bradley” you grit, moaning when he finally swipes his nose along your pussy, giving you what you want.

“I don’t like you.” you huff, glaring at the head of hair you’re running your hands through.

You feel him smile against your mound, coming up to snarkily change the topic.

“What’s your name?”

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ohtobeleah · 1 year

Text

An Angel’s Discretion //

Summary: When Bradley gets a call to say you’ve been involved in a major car accident, his whole world is turned upside down.

Warnings: Bradley Bradshaw x wifeF!reader. Car Accident. Pregnancy, Bradley in a state of existential crisis. Pre-mature birth. Hurt/comfort. Goose cameo.

Word Count: 3.5k

It felt like time stood still yet had sped up all at the same time. Your entire world had been flipped on its head in the blink of an eye—you felt like your entire life was flashing before your eyes. A Rolodex of memories played out before you as you spun out and rolled down into the embankment. You didn’t know exactly how it happened or why it happened - but regardless of that, it still very much happened and you were still very much in trouble.

It had been god awful weather recently, so much so the Dagger’s had been grounded for the better half of a week. Bradley had been home for a change, pottering around the house baby proofing sharp edges and making sure the crib was set up just like the instruction book had said.

It seemed that people truly believed that the car you were trapped in for nearly half an hour had flipped and rolled hours ago. An empty mangled car on the side of the road—nobody stopped to see if there were any occupants. Nobody stopped to snoop. Nobody heard your cries— the cries of a woman in unimaginable pain. Hoping, praying, as you remained helplessly tangled in your seat belt. You had blood gushing from wounds you didn’t know what exactly had been caused by and had bones that shattered from impact.

You stayed there, trapped in a mess of broken glass and twisted aluminum, whimpering as you rubbed your swollen belly. Seven months. Seven beautiful months carrying your child. Bradley’s daughter. You’d spent seven months promising to keep her safe - keep her sound. You didn’t know the gender but the feeling was there and it was strong, you were having a little baby girl.

Bradley wanted to keep the gender a surprise, but you knew deep down with every fibre of your being that you were having a girl, that he’d be a girl dad till his dying day. But as you slowly brought your hand up to cup over your bellybutton? You knew something was utterly wrong.

“We’re okay, aren’t we spud.” You mumbled as your vision blurred and your head became far too heavy for you to keep it lifted. “Mama’s gonna take ca-care of you.” You struggled out before succumbing to the feeling of emptiness as you drifted into unconsciousness—the sound of your shattered phone playing your doting husband's ringtone. Replay by iyaz. One final smile appeared on your bloodied broken face as you heard the all too familiar sound.

Before.....nothing.

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

“Baby seats shouldn’t be this complicated to fit!” Bradley groaned as he tried to figure out how to secure the baby seat into the backseat of the Bronco. Jake was too busy trying to reread the instructions. “Nope, I can’t do this right now I need a break.” The pair of naval aviators had been off work for the better half of the week and while you were out grocery shopping, Jake had come over to lend a helping hand at putting together some flat pack furniture. “Good thing this baby isn’t coming for another few months.”

“Ah, you’ve jinxed it now!” Jake teased, clicking his fingers at Bradley to grab his attention. “Also, apparently it’s meant to face the other way round.” Jake grinned ear to ear as Bradley deadpanned him. Giving up in entirety before he turned back to the house with a huff. “Oh come on! Where are you going, Rooster! we almost had it!” Jake laughed, jogging after his wingman up to the house.

“I need a beer!” It had been a long afternoon for the two men who had done nothing but unpack and organise the nursery. Bradley was in his own nesting phase. He’d read in a bunch of parents books that nesting was something you’d go through in preparation for the little spud on the way. He was now finding that he was doing it too.

“Oh I’ll take one too.” Jake trailed behind Rooster into the kitchen. “Job well done deserves a bevy.” Just as Bradley opened the fridge and passed Jake the Budweiser, his phone began to ring out on the kitchen counter. “Oh—unknown number man.” Jake announced.

“It’s probably Y/n.” Bradley twirled his wedding band as he stood to answer his phone that was sitting on the kitchen bench, not recognising the number lighting up his screen. For a moment he wasn’t going to answer because why would you be calling from an unknown number. But he just had a gut feeling. He’d called you a few times before hand but you never answered, maybe this was you calling him back?

“Hello?”

“Hello? Is this Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw?” A woman who sounded more panicked than calm spoke—needing a confirmation before continuing with her call.

“This is he?” Bradley responded, turning back to Jake with a confused look on his face, eyes glancing up at the time. Five thirty in the afternoon. You should have been home an hour ago.

“Lieutenant Bradshaw, we’ve just had a one Y/n Bradshaw admitted.” The woman on the other end of the phone call Bradley almost didn’t answer, explained. “Your wife, she’s unfortunately been involved in a severe accident and—“ Bradley didn’t hear the rest of what the nurse had to say as he dropped his phone, it clunked and clambered from the kitchen bench to the tiled floor below. “Hello? Mr Bradshaw?” Unable to process the news he’d just been told Bradley began to panic as his vision tunnel and his mind went numb.

“Jake—“ Was it Bradley’s fault? Was he a terrible husband for not noticing how long you’d been gone? Was there something wrong with your car? You’d mentioned a time or two that the air conditioning had been making a funny noise. “Jake I can’t breathe—“ Bradley clutched at his chest as he groaned, it felt like his entire world was collapsing around him. “I can’t fucking breathe.”

“Oh-okay, yeah we’re leaving right now.” Jake confirmed as he spoke to the lady on the phone. Hangman had picked up the phone Rooster had dropped, he listened to what the woman on the other end of the line had to say as Bradley started to sob, losing his grip on reality.

Jake reached out to touch Bradley’s shoulder in an attempt to confront the aviator who’s world had just shattered into a million pieces, the moment he did though Jake Seresin witnessed his best friend collapse down to his knees in unimaginable pain at the thought of losing you. His girl. His wife. His best friend. The love of his life. The mother of...oh god the mother of his child.

“Rooster we gotta g—“

“I can’t lose her!!” Bradley screamed as warm tears drenching his flushed face. “Can’t—won't lose her. I can’t!” Jake knew Bradley was hyperventilating, he’d seen a panic attack a time or two before when Bob had stayed in his spare room while his house was being painted. Jake also knew a panic attack when he saw one because he got them too. But this? This was a panic attack shrouded in heartache, one Jake would never understand.

“Hey, hey Rooster.” Jake crouched down before his wingman— knowing he needed all the strength he could get. On the inside Jake was a mess. If Bradley lost you that meant Jake lost you too. Holding the back of Bradley’s head as he leaned in. “Listen man, this is so fucked up but she needs you, Y/n needs you to be there for her because she can’t do this alone? Alright? We gotta go— you’re her husband Rooster.” Jake reminded him. “Y/n needs her husband to be there for her okay? In sickness and in health you promised her.”

Bradkey sobbed uncontrollably—but he got up. Knowing Hangman was right. You needed him, and like fuck was he gonna let you slip through his fingers.

“Okay, okay let’s go.”

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

It’s needless to say Bradley Bradshaw was a mess—a sobbing, shaking, totally exhausted figment of his former stoic self in the private waiting room nurses had told him to wait in. Jake contacted your mum and dad, he called Mav and Penny too who were already on their way over to the Miramar Base Hospital because hell was Mav somewhat sob going to go through this alone.

“We don’t know what’s going on.” Bradley could just faintly hear Jake on the phone with Phoenix as he sat and twisted his wedding band around his ring finger. It kept him grounded but the tangible reminder of your love did nothing to stop Rooster's mind from thinking of the very worst.

“We haven’t been told a single thing—“ Jake sighed as he ran his hand through his sun kissed hair locks. “No, no he’s not in a good way.”

Bradley could hear only Jake's voice and only his answers. But he knew Phoenix would be going stir crazy not know what had happened or what was going on, they all would be. Every single member of Bradley’s naval squadron had become like family to you both. Extensions on the small albeit perfect family you were just starting.

Bradley thought he knew heartbreak, thought he’d been through pain. He’d lost his dad when he was just shy of three years old and his mother just after his seventh birthday. But nothing—nothing, compared to the heartache of not knowing what was happening to you. If you were alive, if your baby was okay? If Rooster had just lost his young family before it had a chance to grow old.

“Lieutenant Bradshaw?” An older looking woman in scrubs asked as she knocked. Both Bradley and Jake looked up—both just as desperate for answers. “Hi” She cooed. “My names Jannette, I’ve been with your wife since she came in—“

“H-how is she?” Bradley could barely speak at this point, he was too afraid to know but needed answers. Although he’d stood from the chair he’d been perched in he still twirled his wedding band around his finger. He still needed that tangible reminder. You loved him, no matter what the outcome was you would always love him. To the moon and back and twice over you’d say before he left for deployments.

In all Bradley’s years he always thought he’d be the one leaving you behind—he never once thought his wife that cut and arranged flowers for a living would leave him, the naval aviator who flew super hornets for a living. But here he stood in some twisted parallel universe that felt like a plot ripped straight from an episode of the twilight zone.

“She’s critical, my colleagues are still working on her as we speak.” The room went silent as Bradley forgot how to breathe. Jake was by his side in seconds. “It's touch and go.”

“My baby? How’s my baby?” If anything mattered to you, it was your unborn child. Bradley knew if anything happened to them that you'd never forgive yourself. You’d rather die than live a life without your baby. You’d done everything in your power to make sure they had the best chance of being strong and healthy and safe. You’d been the perfect mother.

“She” The nurse smiled. “Is okay, we did however have to do an emergency c-section because your wife was unfortunately not able to carry her to full turn due to her uterus filling with blood.” It was a whirlwind of emotions. Bradley Bradshaw was suddenly a father, he had a baby girl.

“Rooster, you have a little girl.” Jake helped Bradley take a few agonising steps as he took in the news. You’d given him a baby girl. A tiny little you. How could he ever thank you enough? How could he ever begin to repay that debt of gratitude, of love?

“You can see her if you’d like? She’s in the NICU.” Jannette explained. “But you won’t be able to touch her without protection until she’s used to the new environment, premature babies can catch infections and colds despite our best efforts, so it’s best she says in the incubation chamber.”

“C’mon Bradshaw, let's go meet your little girl, yeah? You know Y/n wouldn’t want her left alone.” Jake was right. Bradley could hear everything going on around him but he couldn’t speak. He was still taking all this in. He was a dad, a girl dad. He was the father to your daughter and you weren’t here to see him start this new chapter.

God it was bittersweet.

“When will I know how my wife is?” Bradley asked as he followed the nurse he towered over—she had a little waddle that Jake couldn’t help but notice.

“You’ll be the first to know her updated condition, Lieutenant, but from what I’ve seen so far your wife is one hell of a fighter, not a lot of people in her condition would’ve come out of that alive.”

Braduheld onto that tiny shred of hope, clung to it for dear life as he followed the nurse to meet his baby’s girl—way too early. How do you introduce yourself to a baby? Jake was right beside him. Do you think Jake Seresin would ever let his wingman walk alone through such a tragedy?

Absolutely not.

“Bradley, this is your daughter, obviously she doesn’t have a name so we called her Jane as protocol - short for Jane Doe.” The little girl was so incredibly tiny. She was dwarfed by wires and tubes connected all over her tiny body helping her little lungs breathe. Bradley couldn’t distinguish if she looked more like you or him. But fuck he wished she looked like you. He took a seat next to the incubator that held his bundle of joy. The joy he’d been blessed with by you. The joy and light of his world he’d helped create, a blend of you and him.

“H-hey little one.” Rooster struggled to talk. “I’m your Dadda, your mums in a little bit of a situation right now but I’ve got you yeah?” Tears ran down Bradley’s face as he placed a fingertip against the glass. “I’m not gonna let anything bad happen to you, ever.”

Rooster always said he’d never love anyone more than he’d love you—but this little girl? God she was already Bradley’s entire fucking world. For a single second he forgot you were in surgery. Watching as your daughter's tiny lips curled into a soft smile of a mere second. Bradley liked to think it was her acknowledging his presents.

“Bradley?” Jannette interrupted, Bradley had forgotten all sense of time as he sat with his baby girl. “It’s your wife—she’s stable, sleeping but stable. She’s being moved to the ICU for around the clock observation.”

“When can I Uh, when can I see her?” Bradley let out a sob as he thanked the heavens above, his little family was okay—not great, not thriving with heath, but okay. Stable. Jake finally allowed himself to breathe for the first time all night.

“We can go up there if you like?” Bradley nodded in response—looking over at Jake who already knew what his wingman was about to ask.

“I’ll stay here, keep her company, go get your girl Rooster.” Jake hugged Bradley as tight as he ever had before. “You’re a dad man, congratulations.” Being the big brother Bradley needed but didn’t have. “I got you brother.”

Bradley didn’t know what to do when he first saw you—he stood at the doorway just staring at the women who had given him everything. So injured, so hurt. And he couldn’t do anything to help ease your pain. Even through all the injuries, tubs and wires, much like the little girl you gave precious life to, you still look beautiful. So gorgeous, so at peace.

A soft “oh god” escaped Bradley’s mouth as he held back sobs walking towards you. Nurse Jannette giving him the space he so desperately needed with you. Bradley took in the sight before him. His beautiful wife, mother of his daughter, laying so lifeless in a hospital bed. He wished so bad you could be at home with him right now, tangled in the warm sheets, smiling and being your “happy go lucky” self instead of here. He wished so badly he could take you anywhere else in the world.

Anywhere but here—like this.

“Hey beautiful.” Bradley whispered. Biting his bottom lip to stop himself from breaking down for what felt like the one hundredth time tonight. “You don’t know it yet but you’re a mama, and dammit baby you’ll be the best fucking mum on earth.” Bradley grabbed the nearby seat and pulled it close. Once his hand was in yours there was no place else Rooster wanted to be then right by your side. Although he wished the two of you could be anywhere else together.

“You’re gonna be okay baby, maybe not today or next week? But you’ll be okay. I won’t let you be anything but okay.” Bradley mumbled through soft sobs as he took notice of every injury that plagued your body. Every cut, stitch, wrap and blood stained patch that littered the soft and supple skin he loved so much. Bradley especially noticed the gash on your cheek—stitched.

As Rooster sat with you, he could see your eyelids moving. He knew you were conscious, just sleeping. Heavily medicated, he knew you could hear every word he spoke. But soon Bradley Bradshaw watched in awe as you placed your hand over your stomach. Checking to see if your little spud was alright. When you noticed how small your stomach felt you moaned.

“My—my baby?” Your eyes weren’t even open yet and you already knew something was terribly wrong. Even if your entire body was in agonising pain you needed to make sure your baby was alright.

“Hey shh, shh, shh, I got you.” Bradley cooed, his hand gently reaching out to cup your cheek—the side without any noticeable injuries that would bring you discomfort. “She’s alright mama, she’s here a little early but she’s okay—j-just like you yeah.”

“She?” Your eyes opened slowly at the sound of your husband’s voice—your neck killed as you turned to face him. Giving up quickly. Bradley was quick to notice the wince you let out.

“She mama, our little girl. Both my girls gave me a pretty big heart attack this afternoon huh? Are you trying to kill me honey?” Bradley smiled. Noticing how you smiled back for a brief moment before the muscles in your cheeks gave up.

“I’m so sorry” You whispered—eyes closed again as you couldn’t stand the light of the room. “I don’t know what happened— no one came though.” You started to cry. “No one came when I called for help for so long.” Bradley leaning in to place a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“I’m here, I came, I’m not going anywhere my love.” Rooster sobbed back, sometimes being strong meant crying along with the ones you love. “God I thought I lost you.”

“He said it wasn’t my time to go.” You sighed, clearly fighting off the urge to fall asleep. So groggy from the medicine that even the thought of being a mother hadn’t truly set in yet—all you cared about was that your baby was safe. She was alive.

“Who did bub? One of the paramedics?” Bradley asked, a little confused as he pushed hair away from your face and made sure the oxygen tube was sitting just right.

“He was in the car, said I couldn’t leave you yet, that you’d be lost without me.” You softly grinned while your eyes rested. “Had a moustache just like yours.”

Bradley sat back in shock as he watched you drift back to sleep. Holding your hand thinking how the universe worked in mysterious ways. Bradley had promised to love you in good times and in bad - through sickness and in health. He’d live in the damn hospital if he had to—anything to be by your side.

“God I hate it when he does this.” Goose groaned as he watched his son’s name appear on the shattered phone on the floor of your busted up car. “You’re not ready, it’s not your time so why bother even putting your through this crap.” The man spoke as you fell unconscious. “It’s not your time my dear and my son certainly needs you by his side or he’ll go crazy.” You listened, tried to nod, smile, anything to let him know you heard him. “You’ll be alright kid.”

Bradley Bradshaw had his family. He had his daughter, he had you. Going back and forth with Jake from room to room watching as both his girls slept. Both of you were still so unaware of the turmoil Bradley had been through. He nearly lost you. Without you? Bradley would’ve been helpless.

But someone watching over him knew that as well as he did. A guardian angel not only watched over him....

But over his girls too.

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

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