#top gun bradley bradshaw

[ohtobeleah]

NCIS // Bradley Bradshaw

Summary: Bradley Bradshaw knows when his soon to be wife shows up randomly on Friday evening at the Hard Deck it can’t be good. But just how bad could things really be, right?

Warnings: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x NCIS reader. Angst, Fluff. A little bit of action.

Word Count: 8.2k

Author Note: I’m glad you all had such a positive response to this idea. Here’s a one shot to say thank you for being absolute legends. Might even be open to doing more if this does well.

“What’s got you all twisted?” Rooster smirked as he watched Hangman glare down the pool table. Missing his shot by a mile. The usual confidence ridden aviator had seemingly shrunk into a hermit style shell for the last half an hour or so. Rooster had walked in half way through the game. Settling into his surroundings with a beer and a side of fries on the way.

Hangman didn’t even bother with a response, simply ignoring the question all together as he lined up another shot at redemption.

“Oh he tried to make a move on the civ sitting at the bar—she really knocked him down a peg.” Javy tried to hide his content. He always enjoyed when his best friend learnt a lesson or two. Not everyone was obsessed with Jake Hangman Seresin—and quite frankly? Sometimes he needed to be humbled. And humble Hangman you did indeed.

“Which one?” Rooster asked as he turned around, his eyes immediately landing on you as you sat by yourself. Content with the beer in front of you. Clearly working a case. “You know what? Never mind—I already have a gut feeling.” Finishing the rest of the beer Hangman had so graciously ordered last round, Rooster really did try and play it cool as he took strides to get to you. Trying to bury the fact if he had to he’d move goddamn mountains to get to you. His best friend. His fiancé. None of the team knew about Bradley Bradshaw's love life. He hadn’t found the right time to introduce you to the squad. His colleagues, friends. He was trying to, honestly. But with your line of work? It was becoming increasingly hard to pin you down.

As Rooster made his way over to you by the bar. Pushing past people who got in his way absentmindedly—you spotted him. Sending him a smirk that he’d missed seeing in person. FaceTime just didn’t do your beauty justice. Looking at your fiancé so helplessly stunned for only a split second before you forced yourself to remain calm. Rooster thought back to the first time he met you.

You hated being on carriers. For an NCIS agent, being aboard was a big part of your job description. It was something that couldn't be avoided, although you really did try. It wasn't that you weren't good on ships or got nauseous from the motion of the ocean, no. It was something far less exhilarating than throwing up at any given moment in front of whoever had fallen victim to the sight of your breakfast, lunch and or dinner making a quick escape.

It was the fact you never knew where on earth you were fucking going. And that really sucked.

Bradley Bradshaw had seen you going around in circles for the last forty five minutes. He’d been watching you from a distance. First he saw you when he was going over his Super Hornet. Checking its systems, the landing gear, the tags. All the good stuff. Then he saw you in the galley, looking confused and almost overwhelmed with the amount of crew that had filled in for dinner. And the last time Rooster saw you before he decided enough was enough? Was when he saw you heading down towards the engine room… What the hell were you doing? Were you–lost?

“Ma’am you aren’t lost are you?” Bradley Bradshaw considered himself a confident man when it came to talking to women, but for a moment you made it hard to formulate another sentence when you turned around to face him. Completely knocking the wind out of him with the way you looked so helplessly stunned. “Because if you are, I'm more than happy to help.” Yep. That was the moment Bradley Bradshaw knew he wanted you in his life.

“I'm good, thanks.” Shrugging the sailor off, it wasn't that you didn't want help. You just had too much pride to admit you were in fact. Lost. Rooster watched with an all knowing smirk as you turned around, heading straight to what he knew to be a deadend towards the laundry room. Unless that was what you had been looking for the entire time? Bradley knew you would have to pivot your way back past him. Opting to stay put, leaning against the hull with his arms crossed waiting for you to make your appearance.

Which you inevitably had to do because you were fucking lost. Sending the sailor with the cute smirk a look when you met him back where he stood originally. Stopping right next to Bradley as he smirked down at you. All Knowing.

“Okay, so maybe I am lost.” He smelt of pear and freesia. The delectable fresh scent that could be bottled and sold. It reminded you of home. “I'm looking for my room, 507.” Bradley raised his eyebrows in disbelief. Had you been wondering the entirety of the carrier trying to look for the dorms and bunks and hadn’t bothered to stop and ask a single soul for help. “The captain said my stuff had already been dropped off but I'm so disorientated.”

“First time on a carrier ma’am?” Rooster asked kindly as he walked with you in the complete opposite direction to where you had originally been going. Huh, you really were lost.

“Would you believe me if I said no?” Rooster chuckled quietly to himself at your response. “No, I do this more often than not, I should be used to this whole, ant hill.” You tried to explain as you walked side by side, not really in a hurry to get where you were going. Rooster couldn't have known you were NCIS. You were just in your blue jeans, white T and oversized corduroy jacket. There was nothing about you that screamed, ‘Hey I’m a federal agent, stop drop and put your damn hands up.’ “But I do prefer frigates, the occasional patrol boat.”

“So what brought you aboard the HMAS Carlton?” Rooster wasn’t expecting the answer you gave him. From time to time the Navy would accompany researchers and scientists to remote islands, he just assumed perhaps you were the latest one. But no.

“Uh, I’m here making sure that Clarence Diver who was stung by that group of Irukandji jellyfish was just that.” There were some suspicious toxins found in his bloodstream. “I’m Special Agent Y/n Gibbs with the NCIS.” Oh my fucking Christ Rooster was sure he was going into cardiac arrest. Why did you have to be NCIS? “Nice to meet you—“ Clearing your thirst as you paused in your stride. Sticking your hand out to shake the sailors hand who’d stopped to help you.

“Uh Bradley ma’am, Bradley Bradshaw.” Rooster stuck his hand out to meet yours. “Everyone calls me Rooster—“ You weren’t sure when Rooster had dropped your hand, or when you had started walking again. But you had. Side by side.

“Let me guess, you some kinda of cadet? A semen perhaps?” This was Rooster's first posting on a carrier. He was fresh out of the academy and had been abroad for six months. You had a glint in your eye, something worth exploring even though the idea of pursuing a Naval Criminal Investigation Agent scared the ever living Christ out of him.

“I uh—I fly an F-18 Agent Gibbs, I’m a Naval Aviator.” He was so proud of himself. I mean who else was around to be proud of him? So he had to be, for his own sanity. Stopping right in front of the door that read 507. “Guess this is where I leave you—“ news flash, it wasn't. Instantly smitten by the way you softly nodded in response. Pressing your lips together with a small frown.

“Yeah I guess it is huh?” Silence lingered for a moment as you worked up the courage to ask Rooster to hang around. Making up a totally fabricated but believable excuse he’d later find out was all so you could spend a little more time with him. “But now I’ve got no idea how to get back to the galley and I seem to have a pretty good tour guide.”

��Special Agent Gibbs, what on earth are you doing here?” Rooster taunted your official title as he slung his arm around your shoulders. Slumped over the bar as your eyes scanned the bar like a Hawk. “Heard you put Hangman in his place?”

“What the hell is a Hangman?” Your hand came up to grab Roosters softly, your thumb softly working to massage his palm. Turning your head to gently leave a subtle yet lingering kiss on his knuckles. “Oh wait—“ You remembered from conversations you’d had with Bradley in the past. “He’s the guy right, the super cocky one?” Clicking your fingers and squeezing your eyes tight as you tried to place a name to a call sign. “Jack, No—Jake!” Beaming, Bradley kissed your temple.

The sight of Bradshaw and you hitting it off so well sent Jake into a fit. Until he realised you must have been the girl Rooster had been talking about after the uranium mission. The one he wasn’t going to let get away.

“Woah look at you go detective, case closed in a whole minute.” Bradley taunted as he stood beside your barstool. “But seriously, as good as it is to see you here—you can’t be here for something good, it’s Friday baby—“ It was true. Usually wherever you ended up in the United States or on any US naval vessel didn’t usually come with good tidings. The Hard Deck in Miramar was no exception to that rule.

“You know that body that washed up about a week ago a few clicks up the beach?” You mumbled into the neck of your beer bottle as you brought it to your lips. Taking a small sip. “Intelligence believes the man responsible for that is here—and of course where else is there to go in Fraightertown but the most popular hang out point?”

“And you didn't bother to let me know you were coming?” Rooster teased as his hand slipped up your side, featherlike. Leaving goosebumps to rise in the wake of his fingertips. “Could’ve used the heads up.”

“Why? Need a change of pants, Lieutenant?’ It was the way you implied you so easily got Rooster where he needed to be that had his head spinning. You weren't wrong and he surely was feeling a little more restricted. But how could he not be when you were looking so fine. “Pretty sure I've got a pair of tracksuit pants in my carry on that might fit–might be pushing it though.” Winking as you took another sip of your beer. “Think they're grey even–” Roosters hand brushed against your hip. His eyes widened quickly at the realisation. Holy shit you were packing?

“You don’t have a gun in here do you?” Patting your shoulders, Bradley let his hands travel down your back, your gun Halsted. “Shit—you can’t bring a gun in here!!” Rooster's eyes bugged out of his head even more as he sat down beside you on the empty bar stool. “You gonna pepper the place or something? what the hell!” Guns always made Rooster a little uneasy and uncomfortable. But you were still caught up on his first statement.

“You know I’m a federal agent right?” Reminding your soon to be husband of your career choice. “I can bring a gun anywhere I damn please—“ Not that you would, but the idea that you could always did something weird to Rooster. Mentally and sexually.

“You scare the shit out of me.” He should have corrected himself, it wasn’t you that scared him. It was your damn job. Everyone he’d ever met had always told him what he did for a living had to be frightening. But you? Something about the way you so effortlessly did your job without a care in the world, blasé and effective? That scared Rooster. That was terrifying.

“Then leave me to do my job.” Rooster wrapped his leg around one of the legs of your bar stool. Dragging you closer to where he sat. He needed to be closer, needed you closer. “Rooster, honey—I’m in the middle of something here.” You played it off that Rooster was being an annoyance, but really? You loved the cat and mouse dynamic you always had. Loved him with all your heart.

“You got back up in here?” Bradley’s voice softened as his eyes trailed from your eyes to your lips and back to your eyes. Drinking in the sight of you. It was out of worry that he asked, a deep rooted concern for your well-being. “I’m not leaving this stool if you don’t have back up.”

“DiNozzo is by the jukebox.” Tilting your head Dinozzo’s way Bradley followed the direction you had pointed him in. A small wave of peace lapping at his heart. “I’m fine Roo, you don’t have to worry about me—“ You were about to mention the van out the front that held more agents, but Rooster didn't let you finish before he was interrupting.

“Doesn’t stop me though.” Rooster was quick to quip, leaning in closer to kiss your forehead as you ducked to hide your smirk. Cheeks heating with the love that flooded your system. “Worry about you all the time.”

You and Rooster had been together for a total of three weeks when he first got a real glimpse into just how dangerous your job could really be. How it so easily threatened to take you away from him. He’d been called to TopGun. An elite school for the top one percent of pilots. Its purpose was to teach the lost art of aerial combat and to ensure that the handful of men and women who graduated were the best fighter pilots in the world.

As Rooster went about his day, training exercise after the other—Admirial Bates was calling him down with urgency.

“Theres someone on the line for you calling from the Veterans affair’s medical centre—“ Rooster couldn’t place that hospital geographically until Warlock continued. “Seems as though your a registered emergency contact for a Y/n Gibbs?” Washington, that’s where the Veterans affairs hospital was.

“Uh—yeah.” Rooster couldn’t think straight. “I'm clear for landing?” He asked range control before he made any effort to turn around. With a confirmed green light Rooster headed in. He was in the administration building of the base in no time. His chest panting. A thin layer of sweat on his forehead. Panic rising to the surface as he held the phone to his ear.

“This is Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw—“

“Hi Bradley, I’m just calling to let you know we’ve had a miss Gibbs present to the emergency department with a bullet wound to her left thigh—“ Rooster swore he forgot how to breathe as his knuckles went white as the sheer hip he held around the phone. “She’s had to go in for surgery but we’re incredibly hopeful it’s a set standard procedure, just need to remove some of the shrapnel that broke apart.”

“Can you get her to call me when she’s out?” All he wanted to do was hear your voice. “Is she okay?” When did he start crying? Why were his cheeks wet? Blinking away the tears that still threatened to spill over his waterline.

“Absolutely—” The admin assistant chuckled to herself, remembering how reluctant you’d been. “She walked herself in very reluctantly.” Rooster rolled his eyes at the thought of you not taking care of yourself. Of fucking course you’d shug this off as no big deal. “An older man brought her in, signed as Anthony DiNozzo?” That checked out, he’d been your partner since you transferred to your dads division. “Shes in good spirits and good hands, should be out shortly–ill get her to give you abuzz when she's out and feeling a little less dazed.”

That's exactly what the nurse had done. Once you were feeling up to it you called Bradley from your cell. Sitting alone in your hospital room–they wanted to keep you in overnight for observation. You understood, but home just seemed like a much better place to be. Besides, you still had work to do.

“Are you alright? What the hell happened!?” Rooster bellowed into his phone as he sat on the bench in the locker room, he was just finishing up for the day.

“Hi baby, nice to hear your voice too–” You taunted with a slight groan as you tried to move your leg out from under the lightweight blanket. “Im fine, just need to work on my reflexes a little.”

“You were shot Y/n I think you need to work on more than your reflexes, perhaps your proximity to people who want to kill you?” Rooster didn't mean to snap at you, he was just worried. “Since when am I your emergency contact anyway? I thought it would have been your dad or something?”

“Well I mean if you don't wanna be I can change it?” Your tone had softened as you looked down at your leg, wondering how differently this conversation would have been going if that bullet had hit you somewhere else. Or if this conversation would be happening at all. “I just thought you might wanna be.”

“No I do–” Bradley paused for a moment as he swallowed the lump in his chest. “I just worry about you.” He knew that when he first met you you were only a rooky, that you'd get assigned mundane cases that weren't all that life threatening and serious. Like the Irukandji jellyfish guy who'd been doing drugs onboard the Carlton. But as the years went on and you gained more confidence and experience, the less and less you were assigned the meek role of crossing T’s and dotting i’s. You were a full blown field agent and until the moment Bradley Bradshaw got the call to say you'd been injured? He hadnt really put alot of thought into it. “I guess I just never really thought enough about how dangerous your job had become.”

“Says the one who's currently learning the art of aerial combat and defensive manoeuvres.” Yep, you had him there. Rooster knew his job was dangerous, he’d learnt to accept that a long time ago, as did you. Even when you had just been close friends you had to accept the fact Bradley might get deployed somewhere and not come home. But yours had kinda crept up on him. He’d never had to process that kind of worry before. Never knew how gut wrenching the feeling could be. He now knew what his mother had meant when the sick feeling just never really went away. The constant fear that lived rent free in the back of her mind about his dad, about him. “Listen Bradshaw, I'm fine– you don't gotta worry about me.”

“Doesn’t stop me though.” Rooster was quick to quip, leaning his back against his locker willing the moment he could wrap his arms around you to come sooner. He’s asked Admiral Bates for a compassionate leave of absence to go be with you. But he was told unless someone was dead or dying he could very much forget that he even asked. “I’ll worry about you all the time.”

“I can assure you, I know what I'm doing, Bradshaw.” Sitting back upright as you pulled away, finishing the rest of your beer in one final swig. “DiNozzo I can't quite speak on behalf of.” Your tone confused as your eyes followed the direction he was hastily walking, following a man across the length of the Hard Deck. Hot on his tail. His hand going to ghost his holster as he pushed past people who flocked in his way. “Oh fuck hang on–” Jumping to your feet in an instant as you watched the man DiNozzo had identified as Bodmin wrap his arm around the neck of one of the Naval Aviators sitting peacefully at one of the round tables. Rooster felt sick to his stomach as he stood, unable to comprehend what was going on. What had poor Bob done to be brought into this. Dragged to his feet as his hands came up to grasp the man's forearms. A gun to his temple quickly escalated the situation ten fold. “NCIS DROP YOUR WEAPON!!” Shouting as you drew your weapon from your hoster, holding it at eye height. “I said drop your weapon!!” Jake Seresin had been taken aback by only a few things in his life– this? Oh this took the goddamn cake. Bradshaw with an NCIS Agent? Never in a million years did he think that man had that kinda game.

“I DIDN'T KILL THAT MAN–” Bob swore he saw his life flash before his very eyes as he stood trapped between you and the man who had him by the next with the barrel of his gun pressing against his temple. Fear evident in his eyes. “I DIDN'T HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH IT.” Well of course you did? Why else would you pull a gun out in the middle of a heavily populated bar and take a person hostage? Your inner thoughts didn’t match your next sentence, you needed to gain this guy's trust before there was brain matter splattered across the nice hardwood floor that probably had some historical value to it.

“That's great man, really–why don't we just have a bit of a chat about it, yeah?” Trying to deescalate the situation the best you could as you took a single step forward. Slowly and every so carefully. “I mean if you weren't involved you're pretty much a free man, why ruin that shooting this guy huh?” Rooster wanted to reach out and grab you. Stop you from getting any closer, fighter every fibre of his being that told him to protect you. His eyes welled with tears, mixing with fear and adrenaline as he turned his head slightly to where Hangman and Coyote stood in complete stillness—both trying just as hard as Rooster to comprehend the situation unfolding.

Shit like this didn’t happen at the fucking Hard Deck.

“I don’t fucking trust you!” You could very much tell this guy was losing his mind. Quickly. Making a rash decision to gain his trust immediately. Rooster watched from behind as you put your hands up in surrender. Your finger pushing the safety on your handgun before the clip fell to the ground.

“What about now?” Slowly but surely crouching as you placed the handgun on the ground, your eyes never for a second leaving Bob's eyes.

“Gibbs—“ DiNozzo gave you a warning look. Clearly unimpressed by your actions. Reckless and dangerous. Standing off to the right behind the man who had Bob hostage, his gun still drawn.

“I’m unarmed.” Standing just as slowly as you had crouched. Your hands came back to the height of your head. Palms facing the man. “Let’s talk, but first you gotta let him go—“

“Uh uh, not a chance sweetheart.” Damn. It was worth a shot right? The man, Daniel Bodmin had been identified as one of the men who’d been out finishing with marine Author Avery. He’d washed ashore five days after being reported missing when a storm hit off the coast of San Diago. It seemed pretty set standard until autopsy results came back that Avery had ingested five hundred grams of cocaine in small plastic bags. That mixed with the twenty four thousand dollars sim cash found stashed behind the backboard of one of the seats on the fishing boat made it suspiciously suspect Avery may have been killed. The smell of foul play in the air. “The second I don’t have leverage, you're partner here is gonna put a bullet in my spine.”

“I’m pretty tempted to just do it anyway—“ DiNozzo piped up as he eyes down the suspect. “I’m a pretty good shot.” It was your turn to send him the same warning look he’d given you. Your hands still up beside your head in surrender as you took another slow hesitant step forward. Rooster couldn’t breathe.

“Okay so I’ll make a trade, you let him go—and you take me. That way we can talk, just you and me. Outside.”

“NO!” Rooster shouted as he took a step towards you, his chest pressed against your back before you knew what was happening. “No way.”

“Lieutenant Bradshaw so help me god if you don’t step back this second I’ll have you arrested for interfering with a federal investigation.” It absolutely pained you to say but if Bradley wasn’t going to stand down you were going to make him one way or the other. “Go stand with Jake—“

“Y/n don’t do this!“ Leaning over your shoulder to whisper through gritted teeth, Bradley begged you, the love of his life—not to do this. “I can’t lose you too.”

“I will cuff you to the pool table if I have to—“ It was tough love, sure. But you needed to do your damn job before Bob or anyone else for that matter got hurt. “Go, now.” The tone you used had gone to a new level of seriousness, you weren’t messing around. If need be, you’d cuff Bradley Bradshaw to that pool table and leave him there if that meant he was out of your way. If it meant you could do your damn job.

With hesitance and his tail between his legs, Rooster backed away slowly. Eyeing off the man who had Bob by the next and a gun pressed to his temple. There would surely be an indent by the time he was let go. Hands up surrender style—Rooster made his way over to where Hangman and Coyote stood dumbfounded.

“Are your eyes glued to your head or some shit man?” Javy hissed as Rooster stood beside him. “The fuck is wrong with you!?”

“She’s the love of my life, man.” You couldn’t blame Rooster for acting in your defence. It was in his inherent nature to protect the ones he loved so deeply, tenderly and oh so fiercely. “My whole god damn world.” He’d never been so scared to lose you before this very moment. The fallout of the uranium mission had him racing across the west coast of the country all the way to Washington where you were based. Knowing he came an inch to losing his life. Far too many times to count. On the way back Rooster had confided in Hangman for a brief moment. Mentioning that there had been a girl, a girl so fierce and loving and kind that he couldn't help but to wonder how you'd mourn him. He didn't mention specific things like how long you’d know each other or how long you two had been dating. Rooster didn't mention what you did for work or even how he’d had his mothers engagement ring resized off another ring he’d stolen from your jewellery stand.

Rooster had simply told Jake Seresin that for a moment there if he hadn’t come after him and Pete? There would have been a heartbroken soul at his funeral. A woman so willing to pray for him, take his pain for him, save his soul from himself. Bradley Bradshaw had always been the one left behind, but that day he almost left you. And he wasn't ready to do that without having made it one thousand percent clear that you were the love of his life. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with you.

“Bradley? What–what are you doing here?” You questioned as he came through your front door. The key you'd gifted him nestled nicely in between all his other keys. Standing from your stop on the lounge–Youd been curled up watching Criminal Minds. “I thought you weren't supposed to be home for a few more days?”  Taking massive strides to get to you Bradly simply engulfed you in a warm embrace. Hugging you so tightly because there were a few moments there he thought he'd never get to hug you again. Smell your hair, feel how cold you ran against his usually hot self.

“I couldn't wait to see you for one more second.” You could hear it in his voice, fuck. Something had happened, hadn't it. But more importantly you could see it in his eyes as he pulled away to meet your gaze in the dimly lit living room or your modest two bedroom two bathroom townhouse. Big enough for you and big enough for Bradley Bradshaw. With a little extra room for a guest here and there. “As soon as I was dismissed I jumped in the Bronco and headed straight for the airport.”

“That's a pretty long flight –” You were trying to get a read on the situation. What makes a man drive almost the entire West Coast of the United States so pressingly? What on earth was going on inside his head. “Do you want a coffee or something? I can make you a fresh pot?”

“Uh yeah that would be nice.” Bradley replied softly as he brought your forehead to his lips by pressing the palm of his hand to the back of your head. Letting you go as you wondered your way into the kitchen. The kettle already empty and waiting to be filled.

Rooster couldn't wait another second, he had to ask. Following you as he fished the small black velvet box that held his mothers engagement ring out of his pocket. Opening it and he stood behind you. Your hips pressing against the lip of the kitchen bench as you filled the kettle with a soft smile on your face. Bradley's hand came to lean against the countertop as he kissed your neck softly. Peppering small butterfly-like kisses up and down the juncture of your neck and shoulder.

“What do you think you're playing at?” Taunting the naval aviator who you’d missed so dearly as you turned around, leaning against the countertop as you held the kettle now full of water. It wasn't long before it had found its new home on the tiles. Water cascading across the gloss white flooring. Your hands coming up to cup your mouth. Jaw hung slack as a gasp escaped. Eyes wide with pure shock as Bradley Bradshaw trapped you against the countertop and himself. Holding the open velvet box in his hand with a soft smile and watery eyes. “Brad–”

“I almost didn't come home this time.” It was a sentence you never wanted to hear but were still thankful enough to hear him say it. It was and would always be better than the alternative. The home calls all military men and women dreaded. The one where officials inform you of a loss. “And it made me realise that I now have someone to leave behind.”

“Bradley–” You tried to speak as you cupped his cheeks. Pressing your forehead against his as you stood on the tips of your toes to meet his lips.

“Marry me Y/n, marry me.” It was a question you didn't need to ponder or consider saying anything but yes to immediately. Watching as Bradley dropped down to one knee before you. Following him down. “I love you so much and I just–Ican't stand the thought of not having you in my life for whatever time I have here.” It was the honest truth of the matter. “And I want you all to myself, as my wife, my best friend.

“Yes.” It was all you said before you crashed into him. Your arms wrapping around his neck as you both fell to the floor, rooster on his back in the mess of water as you fell atop him. Melting together as your tongues danced and hands roamed. “I love you so much more.”

“Do we have a deal?” Your voice brought Rooster back into the room. His eyes trained on you as you kept your hands up and your eyes on bob. He looked like he was keeping it together. But you knew from experience the second he was let go he could react in all kinds of ways. You'd seen it all. “I said do we have a deal?” You weren't in the mood for this, to play silly games with peoples lives. “Bodmin!”

“Yes yes we have a deal!” He shouted. Accepting your proposal for a trade off. your self for Bob. Slowly making your way over to him, you took Bob's hand in yours. He was shaking something chronic. He’d been in situations where life and death seemed not too far apart but this? He’d never be able to forget the feeling of having his life threatened by another person.

“Floyd?” You said Bob’s last name allowed, committing the name that was proudly displayed on his name badge to memory. “Got a first name?” You vaguely remembered, it was something that started with a B. Bradley had mentioned so many people it was hard to keep track sometimes.

“Bob–” huh, You finally had a face to go with the stories Bradley had told you late at night in the kitchen. One in particular coming to mind, the bird strike. “Robert.”

“Well Bob, today's your lucky day.” You were sure to take your time as the man released Bob from his grasp, pulling Bob towards you step by step. “If you call being held hostage lucky–”

“You don't have to do this, you know.” Bob whispered as you turned around, it was now you who had your back to Bodmin. With a gentle smile you let his hands drop. The barrel of the gun that had once been held to Bob’s temple now pressing against the small of your back. “You don't have to risk your life for me–”

“It's kinda my job.” That was all you really had time to say before you were being marched towards the front door of the Hard Deck. Rooster sent DiNozzo a look as if to ask what the hell was he doing just letting you play self sacrificing damsel. DiNozzo just shrugged, his gun still drawn and locked onto Bodmin's back from across the room. “How do you wanna do this Dan? You gonna shoot a lady in the back? You know thats considered murder right?” It was now that you were getting Daniel right where you needed him to be that you started playing mind games. “If you’re already going down for the murder of Avery you may as well go two for two right?” DiNozzo could hear everything you were saying through his ear piece. When he got the chance? He was gonna slap the god damn shit out of the back of your head for being so undeniably reckless. “You killed him for the money didn't you? You just didn't know where he’d stashed it. So you panicked.”

“What happened to innocent until proven guilty huh?”

“You held a gun to a naval aviator's head–you’re as good as done.”

“Shut up before I put a goddamn bullet in you–” Shoving you out the front door was probably the dumbest thing Daniel Bodmin could have done. Because as you stepped out onto the front deck of the Hard Deck bar? A few dozen of your agents had him surrounded. Within milliseconds.

Bradley's heart fell out his arse when he heard a single gunshot come from outside. Shouting from all over the place ensued as he ran to where he’d last seen you, right out the front door.

“Y/n!!” He was expecting the worst, to see you lying on the ground with a bullet between your eyes. But that's not what he saw. Far from it actually. Special Agent DiNozzo was hot on Rooster's tail. Fuck. This couldn't be happening, this was meant to be a routine god damn op.

To both men's surprise, you had your knee pressed into Daniel Bodmin's back. He was face down on the deck with his hands cuffed behind his back, his gun discarded. Looking up at Rooster with a smirk evident on your face as Daniel squired under the pressure you were forcing him down with.

“Hi fellas.” You beamed like nothing unorthodox had just taken place. “DiNozzo, what the hell took you so long man–?”

“I was trying to listen to what everyone on comms was saying but it got all jumbled.” DiNozzo explained as he holstered his gun. Leaning down to take over the apprehension of Daniel Bodmin. “All I heard was gett him outside then you started going all awol of me like some suicidal maniac.” Pulling the now detained suspect to his feet. “When we get back to Quantico you best believe Gibbs is gonna be pissed.”

“When is he ever not?” You replied with a sigh. Turning your attention to Rooster who stood off to the side. The entire squad looking out the windows, peeping eyes looking over the windowsills to catch a glimpse of the action happening outside. This had been the most exhilarating situation the Hard Deck Bar had ever seen. Penny swore she was about ready to sell the damn place. “I'm sorry I threatened to arrest you, you know I wou–” before you could finish your sentence Bradley’s hands were clasping your cheeks. Pulling you against him as he kissed you with so much love and admiration you could taste it.

“I’ve never been so fucking worried about you—“ Roosted kissed you deeper this time, he knew what he was playing at as well. The whole ‘let me kiss her so she can’t speak’ shtick. Only pulling away with enough time so he could. “You’ve told me this stuff seems so normal to you but I want you to know it’s not—it’s beyond dangerous and I can't believe how easily you put down your weapon.” Rooster was projecting his own insecurities about your job onto you. Placing your hand over your lips as he came back to kiss you. Colliding with your open palm.

“You have a medallion sitting over our fireplace because you defied direct orders and single handedly flew into enemy territory knowing damn well you didn't have the ammunition to fight back–all to save the lives of others.” Yep. You had him with that one. “What is the difference here? Spot it and I'll give you five bucks Bradshaw–” Rooster just pulled you into his chest. His arms wrapping around your shoulders, his chin resting on the top of your head. Looking out as the sun set lower and slower on the horizon.

“I guess there isn't much in it.”

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

Twenty minutes. That how much time had passed since Rooster saw you held at gun point, since he saw Bob held at gunpoint. It was standard protocol, you had Bob sitting at a nearby picnic table outside of the Hard Deck taking a witness statement.

“And you’re sure you’re alright? You don’t feel like you need to get checked out or anything?” You had your windbreaker one. The dark blue oversized jacket that proudly displayed NCIS on the back.

“No ma’am, thanks to you I’m in one peice.” You smiled softly at him, honestly you were just doing your job. “I didn’t know Rooster had a fiancée—“ You closed your little notepad before pocketing it in the back of your jean pocket. “Wish we’d met under different circumstances.”

“It is a little unorthodox isn’t it.” You chuckled, tapping Bob in the shoulder before making your way over to Rooster. He’d been watching you like a Hawk as you did your thing. Told people where to go and who to talk to, lead the investigation as NCIS agents went in and out of the Hard Deck. Talking to other witnesses for as many recollections as possible to aid the prosecution. “I’m thinking of staying until Tuesday if you feel like some company?” You mentioned as you approached Bradley, he stool with his arms crossed over his chest. Just admiring you from a far. He never really got the chance to watch you work. “If not I can always get a room at the motel down the road.”

“Well I usually don’t bring in strays—“ Taunting you as you bumped your hip against your finance’s playfully, your tongue sticking out against the inner part of your cheek as his smart ass comment. “But I’m sure I can make an exception.” You and Bradley had spoken a few times about the possibility of maybe buying a house in Freightertown now that he was there on more of a permanent basis. You’d keep the rental in Washington for convenience—but the idea would eventually see you come to San Diago as well. “You can’t get mad about the dishes piled as high as Everest in the sink though.”

“I’m not gonna say a word—“ Rooster swore he saw your nose grow an inch longer. He knew you’d say something about the mess, he’d let it get a little out of hand this week. He’d been starting early and finishing late—leaving little time for upkeep on the day to day basics.

“Agent Gibbs?” One of your Agents approached you followed by two men you’d never seen before in your life. “This is officer Radavic and Wilcox—NSA.”

“What’s NSA want with our case?” You questioned and the men showed you their badges and credentials. Rooster didn’t know if he should leave or stay. Choosing to stay as you crossed your arms across your chest.

“Daniel Bodmin was a foreign national with information considered a threat to the United States of America.” You couldn't believe what you were hearing. This entire case had been blown way out of the realm of what you originally thought it to be. “We figured we’d jump in, take things off your hands.” With a scoff and a small laugh you shook your head. Kicking your heel in the rough gravel underneath your shoe.

“This case is NCIS jurisdiction–regardless if Bodmin is of interest to NSA—“ Something was off, way off. If NSA was interested they would have made contact way before now. And they’d use the proper channels to do so, not just show up in Miramar unannounced. Perhaps you were too much like your father, or maybe you just didn’t believe the story from the get go.

“Well, I personally believe it would be in the best interest of the Naval Criminal Investigative Service to work with us, after all? We are on the same side.” Yeah, no. There was something incredibly off about these two. “Have you been able to find anything on–” Before the supposed NSA  Agent had the chance to finish his sentence you were sending your shine directly between his legs. Pulling his shoulders forward into you as you did so. Immediately he went down like a sack of shit, groaning as his partner went at Rooster. Not knowing he wasn't NCIS.

“Hey woah what the–!” Rooster was pretty quick on the draw, you'd give your soon to be husband that. He didn't need your help when it came to defending himself. His knuckles would surely be bruised up slightly after he was done and the other agent was on the ground. “What are you doing! You heard the guy? You're on the same team?” Roosters eyes were as wide as saucers as he turned back to you, fixing his shirt after having laid the other agent on his ass. Unconscious.

“Im pretty sure he's not NSA–” Bending over to retrieve both their weapons as a few agents rushed to the scene. Taking them into custody.

“Pretty sure!?” Bradley shouted through gritted teeth. “Because you teed off on him like you were kicking a field goal!”

“Rooster, I've got a hunch they're working with Bodmin alright, they might be foreign oppritives—just slow your roll there.” Trying to calm your fiancé down as you dusted him off. Sand everywhere.

“Oh my gosh! Y/n, sweetheart, baby girl no you don't just kick a guy in the junk on a hunch–“ Rooster groaned as he held his stomach. “Gees, sometimes I don't even know you, who does that?” You shrugged it off with a chuckle, intertwining your arm with Roosters as yiu walked back into the Hard Deck—all eyes on you as you looked up. A good set of twelve eyes all locked onto you. “Uh, I think this might be a good time to introduce you to my colleagues here.” Rooster mumbled as he kissed the top of your head. Nodding in response you waved at everyone who just stood stunned, still processing what had happened earlier.

“You must be colleagues huh?”

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

“So how’d you know they were bogus?” You’d all been sitting around the pool table. You’d noticed pretty quickly just how close Bob had stayed to the side of the women who’d come racing to the Hard Deck not ten minutes after you’d placed Bodmin under arrest. When Bradley had introduced you she’d pulled you in for a hug, said thank you for saving Bob's life and told you her name was Nat.

“Theyre accents–” You replied to Coyote who just shook his head in disbelief. God you were cool. How on earth did Rooster manage to find a girl like you?

“Nope, they didn't have accents.” Rooster saw how everyone was looking at you like you were the coolest person they’d ever encountered. Flying high he decided to shoot you down for his own enjoyment. Bring you back down to earth where he and the commoners lived. Standing between Bradley legs as he sat on one of the barstools with your back against his chest. You turned as his arms came down from their home on your shoulders. His hands lingering on your hips.

“Rooster, sweetheart, baby boy.” You teased, knowing exactly what he was doing. “Do you know the difference between French open syllabic organisation and English archaic speech patterning?” Giving him a taste of his own medicine. He didn’t respond—simply smirking as he took a sip of his beer. Eyes never leaving yours. Fucking smart arse.

“What that old chestnut?” Hangman mumbled as he smirked into the beer bottle he held to his lips. The whole crew minus Bob were indulging in a few too many alcoholic beverages. “Nah, what the hell even is that?” Fuck—Rooster could count his lucky stars with you that was for damn sure. “They probably have some diplomatic unity or some bullshit.”

“That's exactly why we threw em in county.” A familiar voice entered the chat. “They’ll be lucky to even get a phone call by christmas. '' DiNozzo snickered as he picked up a handful of the peanuts sitting in a bowl on the edge of the pool table. Looking at him so disappointed and puzzled as to where he’d gone this whole time– He shot you a questioning look back. “What? What's that look for?”

“Where the hell have you been—?” It was a legitimate question you wanted an answer to. DiNozzo just frowned as he took the handful of nuts into his mouth.

“Escorting our perp into county, why? what did I miss?” Looking around, no one wanted to give him an answer. “I'm pretty sure we’re good here don't you think? Besides, I’m gonna head back to the motel and get a good rest in before giving our two NSA impersonators the old razzle dazzle tomorrow–” Bradley chuckled to himself as you lent back to him. His chin resting on your shoulder.

“Just don't let Agent Bradshaw here interrogate them.” You would soon have to get used to that. Special Agent Bradshaw. It sounded funny but in the best of ways. Like a new house. Sure it felt foregin at first but soon it would become a home. Rolling your eyes as you sighed dramatically.

“Why is that?” DiNozzo questioned with squinted eyes. “What did you do–?”

“She kicked one of the guys right in the non day plumes!” Bradley scoffed over your shoulder, feeling you pull away in defeat as you stood with your arms crossed, sending him a glare– telling him to get over it already. God you loved him. So much.

“No–” Anthony played into it. Holding his hands together to cover his crotch. “She didn’t–”

“Yep–Guy didn't even have his weapon out.” You couldn't believe how big of a deal Bradley was making out of this.

“Really!?” DiNozzo was flabbergasted. “Gibbs, that's just outright assault.” You didn't know who to stare at more, Anthony or Bradley as the group watched on with laughter and smirks.

“Mmhmm, right in the cul de sac, kicked him so hard it gave me a stomach ache.” Okay this was getting out of hand.

“So what!” Throwing your hands up in defeat. “Would it have been better if I pistol whipped him across the face?”

“YES!!” Every single man you stood with said allowed in unison. You couldn't believe it. Even Natasha rollered her eyes.

“I'd rather be held at gun point–” Bob pipped up as Phoenix softly slapped him in the chest with the back of her hand. The group couldn't help but to laugh, settling in soon after into their own conversations as you said bye to DiNozzo and turned all of your attention back to Rooster.

“You done?” Questioning his childishness you glared at him yet again with a soft smirk. “Or should I get that hotel room after all?”

“Oh No–” Bradley Bradshaw had never jumped from his seat so fast in his life. Finishing his beer as he did so. “No you're coming home with me.” kissing your cheek as he whispered in your ear. “I specifically remember you mentioning handcuffs and I don't know about you but I'm keen to play cops and robbers.”

Would you like to read more of NCIS Bradley? The series Masterlist is linked here

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

Tags: @auroraboreallisfine @tigerfan24 @atarmychick007

#top gun bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster x f!reader #ncis imagine #top gun fandom #bradley bradshaw one shot #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction

[aestheticpearl]

— 𝐢𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠

[𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫] bradley bradshaw

“can we cuddle?” you pouted sitting on the couch wrapped in blankets.

“no i’m still mad at you” bradley was sat on the other side of the couch far away from you with his arms crossed. you had been arguing since breakfast this morning over a kinda ridiculous reason. you held the blanket tightly as you heard the patter of rain falling on the window outside and you tried to think of what to do to get him to forgive you. you move closer, he shuffles back.

“i am sorry but that much cream cheese does not belong on a bagel”

“IT DOES TOO!” yes, you and bradley had been fighting over how much cream cheese was an appropriate amount on a bagel. he was certain that the bagel itself was the just the vessel to eat the cream cheese. “i don’t know how many times i have to tell you it does, it’s just my opinion”

“and your opinion is wrong” he gasps dramatically at your statement and turns his head up and away from you.

“i don’t appreciate your tone.”

“and i don’t appreciate the gross amount of cream cheese you put on bagels” he whips his head around to you and glares. “if it was flavored cream cheese i’d understand a little bit, but just plain is nasty.”

“i cannot believe what i am hearing!”

“what? scared of hearing the truth bradley?!” he gives you a look and you know you’re in for it now.

“right like i’m gonna listen to someone that likes barley any cream cheese on their bagel”

“you sure are, cause you love me” he rolls his eyes at your statement.

“yeah unfortunately” you smile at him proudly and he scoffs at you.

“so can we cuddle?” you ask causing him to grumble and move over to you to wrap his arms around you. you curl into him satisfied.

“yes but just so you know i’m not enjoy this right now”

“okay handsome” you lean your head on his shoulder and close your eyes.

please reblog to show support ✧·˚ ༘ * ༄

some more domestic bradley for y’all

.love always <3 pearl

.masterlist

#top gun #top gun fanfiction #top gun fic #top gun imagine #top gun maverick #top gun x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #top gun rooster #bradley bradshaw #top gun drabble #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw fluff #top gun bradley bradshaw

[asterias-record-shop]

—𓆩[almost (sweet music)]𓆪—

𓆩[main masterlist]𓆪 𓆩[request/ask me something!]𓆪

one of my first music inspired fics, inspired by Hoziers Almost (Sweet Music)

𓆩♡𓆪 CHARACTER - Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Fem! Wife! Reader

𓆩♡𓆪 TYPE - fluff, smut

𓆩♡𓆪 WORD COUNT - 3.3 k

𓆩♡𓆪 SUMMARY - Watching you and Bradley be the cutest couple on earth reminds him of his best friend. He wouldn’t rather be anywhere else.

𓆩♡𓆪 STORY WARNINGS - this is just adorable fluff || established relationship || I’m a med student guys, I know it doesn’t happen overnight y’all have been having sex for a while- || goes from Mav’s POV to yours and Bradley’s (multiple times) || timeline jumps around || pregnant reader (later) || mom & dad || don’t forget that our boy is 38 years old || Bradley’s great balls of fire <3 || mentions of death || crying || reminiscing || high school sweethearts ||

If there was one person Maverick remembers in Bradley’s young life, it was you, his god-son’s best friend and neighbor. He already had a bet going with Carole - you were going to be the woman that Bradley married, they were just betting on how long it would take.

From the age of sixteen when you both officially started dating, it took him five years to propose and seventeen years after that did you both finally have children. Since you both were aviators, it was harder for you both to actually settle down until you both got to Top Gun, where the baby fever actually started.

Maverick had followed you and Bradley throughout your careers, and you were a highly decorated pilot who had done more than six missions in the last three years before the uranium enrichment plant mission. Stalking you both on social media proved useful as well, being able to see the two of you on the annual trip you both went on anywhere in the world for your anniversary.

Maverick was happy you made his boy happy.

It did surprise him when you asked him not to send you on the mission, though. You were scared in front of him, fiddling with your fingers as you swallow slightly.

“You… you don’t want to go on the mission?” You were first in his mind to pick, not because he didn’t want to bring Bradley, but because he knew that you wouldn’t think and just do. Bradley still had a bit to learn, but you not wanting to go on the mission changed everything.

“I-It’s not that I don’t want to go,” you rub at your wrist, swallowing. “I-I just… want you to go with Brad- Rooster. You and Rooster should go together.”

Maverick looks out to the water, sighing heavily. “Zorro,” he uses your call sign, rubbing his chin. “I trust you. I trust Bradley. I’m not going to not send you-”

“I may be pregnant.”

He paused, though it was more like a freeze. Pregnant? You? Bradley? A father?

Now he had to bring him back. “What?”

You nod, rubbing the skin between your thumb and pointer finger. “I am not sure, but I have been having some symptoms, though it isn't certain.”

“Does Bradley know?”

“Know what?”

“That you’re talking to me. That you could be pregnant.”

You nod, then shake your head. “He knows that I’m talking to you. He doesn’t know that I’m asking you to choose him, but I kind of knew you would. He doesn’t know I could be pregnant.”

Maverick sighed heavily, rubbing his chin. He didn’t know what to do - of course he would’ve chosen Bradley, but if something happened? If you were pregnant and he wasn’t coming back?

“Pete,” you whisper, tapping on his chest. “You keep him safe. Please.”

He swallows, nodding slightly. “I will.”

You lean up, holding his face to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, Mav.”

“Y/N,” a voice says, Maverick’s head snapping over to see Bradley. “You ready?”

You smiled, nodding. “So ready.”

You waved at Maverick as you jogged over, immediately finding your place under Rooster’s arm and wrapping your arm around his waist. Bradley looks back as he pressed his face into your hair, nodding slightly at Maverick as you began ranting about something random going on at your shared home back in San Diego.

Bradley listens, his hand slipping into your back pocket as he pressed kisses against your forehead. He hums occasionally to assure you knew he was still listening, Maverick swallowing as he stared at Bradley’s side profile.

He really did remind him of his father.

“Talk to me, Goose,” he whispers as soon as you both are out of earshot, staring out at the water before someone says his name.

“Maverick,” Warlock stood there, staring. “It’s time.”

When Bradley and Maverick get out of the Tomcat, you were the first to jump into Bradley’s arms. Your own go around his shoulders, Bradley holding back a sob as he tightly wrapped his arms around your waist as you wrapped your legs around him.

“Oh my darling girl,” he whispers into your ear, sighing heavily as he stroked your hair, kissing at your temple. “Fucking hell, I couldn’t stop thinking about you up there.”

“If you ever do that again, I’ll kill you,” you mumble in response, sniffling as Phoenix and Hangman make their way over, Bradley pulling your face closer to his neck as he kisses your cheek. “You’re so stupid.”

“I didn’t think. Like you told me.”

“Yeah, that’s good. That’s good, Roo.” Your fingers push into his hair, sighing as he loosened his hold on you, but still securely holds you to his body.

You don’t make a move to get down, Rooster speaking with Phoenix and Hangman as you finally find Mav. You smile at him, mouthing a ‘thank you’ as he smiles back. He nods, watching as you pull away from Bradley’s shoulder, interrupting his words with a firm kiss to his lips.

Phoenix whoops as she claps, Hangman laughing as Bradley basically turns to mush, groaning into your mouth as you hold his collar firmly. Your hand goes through his hair, his mustache tickling your lips as you pull away. You bite your lip slightly, giggling as you lean close to his ear. “I’m glad you’re back, baby. Have something to tell you.”

Natasha heard, grinning. You had already confided in her about the fact that you could have been pregnant, and watching Rooster’s face as you told him was something that would forever be engraved in her mind.

“We’re having a baby?” He whispers as you brush your nose against his, giggling.

“We could be. I haven’t taken a test-”

“Even if that test is negative, sweetheart, we’ll be having a damn baby.”

You laugh as he spins you around, lifting you up as you hold his shoulders, yelling out, “We’re having a baby!”

You both reminded Maverick of Bradley’s parents, and he couldn’t have been more thankful to see something like this.

When you and Bradley got back home, your fingers trailed over every inch of his skin. What if you would’ve lost him?

That night was the night you both memorized every inch of each other’s bodies again, using muscle memory to get each other to a point of an amazing orgasm.

Bradley’s large hands gripped at the sides of your thighs, his mouth pressed into your hot sex as you held his head, gripping his brown curls. If there was one thing your husband knew, it was how to work his mouth. He had memorized your body after the twenty two years he had been with you, his hands squeezing at your hips as he pulls you slightly off the bed.

“Pl-Please, Lee, is’ too much, t-too much,” you were putty in his scarred hands, eyes rolling back as his mustache grazed over your clit.

He lets his spit gather against the sensitive nerve, smiling at the loud groan that fell from your lips, then proceeding to use his tongue to drag his saliva down to your cunt. Your thighs tighten around his head, moving his hands to your inner thighs to press them against the bed.

When you whimper, he looks up, staring at you through the pretty valley of your tits. He winks, pushing between your pussy lips to press his tongue into your sex, moving one hand to prod against the sensitive ring of muscles with his slick appendage. He watches your eyes roll back, thighs quivering as you inhale deeply, Bradley watching his spit slowly dribble down your slit to the wet sheets under you.

The sight almost made him go crazy.

He pushed his fingers knuckle deep into you, sucking and popping against your clit before dragging his tongue back down. He licks around your entrance, a loud moan leaving your lips before he pulls out his soaked, slick fingers. He spits into your pussy, a yelp leaving your lips as he takes his hand, spreading your lewd juices all over his cock.

He bites his lip as he crawls over your body, lining his cock up with your cunt, using his tip to gather up the cum-saliva mixture dribbling down your pretty lips. He hissed as he pushed himself in, your tight spongy walls clamping down on his cock as you came, body convulsing before he pulled your arms around his neck.

“Come on baby, I’ll make you feel good. I’ll make you feel so good, you know I will, don’t give out on me now,” he grunts into your ear, trying to hold back from ramming into you. He was unsuccessful, the slight bucks of his hips making your overstimulated body jolt and a scream fall from your lips. “You got a few more for me, right?”

He pulled away to look at your fucked out face, the saliva running down your chin and your swollen lips he hasn’t stopped kissing and your hazy eyes with tears adorning your cheeks. You whined, nodding as your hands ran across his chest, one hand going down to cup at his balls as the other wrapped around his shoulders. “Kiss me, Bradley, please kiss me.”

He does, of course he does. He always listened to you, anything you wanted, you got.

“Fuck me, Bradley, fuck me hard.”

Oh, of course he would. What kind of husband would he be if he didn’t?

He pressed his lip to yours again, holding your body close to his with strong hands on your hips. Whispering praises against your lips, he lays you gently along the bed, letting his hands rub against your perfect body.

He leans down, pressing kisses all along your plush skin as he thrusts his hips, quick and hard just like you loved it. He groans against your skin, his rough hands rubbing along your skin like a ritual, a quick pop of his lips every few centimeters of your skin.

His name fell from your lips like a mantra, his tongue trailing along your shoulder as his cock dragged against your walls, one of his hands pushing down to slide between the two of you and rub against your sensitive, puffy clit. He watched, his ego inflating as you threw your head back with a loud scream of his name and a curse.

He takes your thighs, pulling them closer to his body before lifting you up just a bit. Bradley watched your mouth fall open, eyes rolling back with loud moans filling the room as he thrust into you, leaning down to press a kiss to your open mouth. Your hands run through his hair, tugging softly which makes him groan loudly, the added pleasure from your soft fingers and your cunt clamping tightly around his shaft making his eyes roll back.

“You’re doing so good for me, darling, so so good,” he praises into your ear, groaning as you kiss his head. “You’re doing so good, you got one more for me? Please?”

You nodded, eager. “Yes, I do, of course I do Bradley. I have as much as you want, please.”

He smiles, leaning down for a kiss. “I love you, darling.”

You giggled. “I love you too, Bradley. I love you.”

He kissed against your cheek, his thrusts turning softer before getting rougher again. They were rough, hard- a signal he was losing controls. He groaned out, your nails dragging down his back, a loud moan leaving your lips.

“I-I’m close! I’m close, I’m close Bradley, f-fuck, fuck Bradley.”

He laughs, smiling down at you. With a soft grunt, he slams into you, moaning loudly as your walls clamp down on him, tipping him over the edge.

His eyes roll back, loud moans falling from his lips and your name being whispered into your ear, praiseful words soothing you as his hands rubbed against your soft tummy. “Feel good, darling?” He whispers into your ear.

You nodded, head resting against his shoulder as you panted, the feeling of his cum filling you up making you moan again as he moved slightly. “Gonna fuck me through it, Bradley?”

Oh you tempted him, and with soft rolls of his hips, he pressed a soft kiss to your lips. “Yeah darling, I will,” he rolls his hips slowly, watching your eyes roll back before letting his hands palm at your pretty tits. “Want to take a break? Let me clean you up?”

You nodded slightly, hissing as he pulled out, his eyes staring at the cum- his cum slowly trickled out of you. You looked so, so pretty full of him.

He takes his fingers, slowly pushing the cum back into you, your thighs quivering. “B-Bradley, Bradley please-”

“It’s okay, darling, I promise. I’m going to clean you up.” He whispers, mischief dancing in his eyes as you whine.

“F-Fuck, Bradley-”

He takes his place between your thighs, sucking on your puffed up clit as he thrusts his fingers into you, pushing your mixed cum back into you. He pops kisses against your thigh, leaving soft red marks everywhere he went before grinning up at you. “Told you we’re having a baby no matter what.”

You went with Bradley to Maverick’s hanger, dressed in a pretty purple sundress with white flowers dotted all along it. His arm was wrapped tightly around your waist as he walked in, the morning sickness from the past couple of days worrying him.

“You alright, darling? Do you need a seat, some breakfast? A drink?”

You only giggle, shaking your head. This type of concern was rare for Bradley to show outside of your shared home, and as much as you appreciated it, you softly pushed him away. “I’m okay, Bradley. Go.”

He looks back at the plane, groaning. “Are you sure? We can go back. We can go back home-”

“Bradley. Go.”

He sighs, slowly pushing you into a chair. “Just… let me know if you need anything.”

“I will. Go!” You pushed him, watching as Maverick slowly came down from a platform.

He waves at you, a giggle falling from your lips with a quick wave as Bradley walks over to him. They stand in front of each other for a minute, awkward, before Maverick hugs him.

It was tight, the hug, tighter than he thought it would be. Or, initially meant it to be. Maverick slowly pulls away, ruffling his hair before leading him up the platform, looking over at the wall that had one of Bradley’s old baseball pictures on it.

He watched as Bradley looked back at you, your form relaxed in the most comfortable chair Mav could find and that he put out for you. Bradley smiled, a pure, perfect smile as you crossed your legs. You wave up at them, Maverick coming behind him with a smile.

You reminded him of Bradley’s mother, who on some days would just sit there, watching him and Goose work on whatever they had to. He looks over at Bradley, that stupid smile and that mustache that was just like his dad’s making Maverick sigh.

It was like looking into a mirage, a dream of wanting to see his best friend again. And for a minute, he did. He saw Goose in Bradley, and it made his heart swell in happiness, or feel as though it was.

“Mav? What’re you staring at?”

The mirage was gone. The time Maverick wanted to go back to so bad was gone, and now he was here, with Bradley.

Even then, though, the happiness never went away.

Bradley, though, stared at him in confusion. “Mav?”

Maverick shakes his head. “Let’s get to work, kid.”

Your baby shower was at the Hard Deck, hosted by Penny and Phoenix. The future godmother of your baby was excited, and she made sure everything, everything was perfect so neither you or Bradley had to worry.

You were expecting twins, and this would determine what you would be having with your husband, and the names you two had settled on as well. Since you met Bradley, you already knew the names of the children you’d want - mainly because you and him had been together since what could’ve surely been the beginning of time.

You had finally sat down after being on your feet for about an hour, saying hello to everyone and doing whatever a good host would do. So finally, you lift your feet onto a chair as you sit on the patio of the hard deck, stroking your tummy. You needed some air from the crowded party, especially because Bradley was worrying about you because you were nearing your due date.

The baby shower was late, especially because Bradley had to go on a mission, and that made him even more protective. He didn’t want to leave, but the way you forced him to made him know that he could, that he had to. You both were aviators before you were going to be parents, and you both sure as hell were going to be aviators after for hopefully a long time.

You let your fingers trail over your tummy, sighing heavily before looking out at the beach. You relax when you feel someone’s hands on your shoulders, those oh so familiar hands that rubbed softly, releasing all the tension they once had. “Oh my… darling, that feels good.”

Bradley smiles. “Of course, darling. Are you alright?”

You sigh. “I uhm… I’m just, a little- fuck.” You cursed, a sharp pain shooting into your lower abdomen. Bradley quickly goes around, stroking your side. “Baby? Darling, you alright?”

I shook my head. “N-No, I’m fine! I’m fine, it’s just… these pains have been happening for a few hours, but uhm… I don’t know, th-they just got worse.”

“Babe, we need to go to the hospital.”

You shook your head. “Why? We haven’t even had the gender-” you gasp, holding your stomach. The sharp pain made you straighten, another loud groan falling from your lips in pain as Bradley looked around frantically.

“I’m calling an ambulance.”

“No! No, don’t,” you say, inhaling deeply as you stand. “J-Just drive me there. Please.”

He nods. “Yeah, yeah okay. I’ll tell them-”

You gasped, holding your stomach as you hunch over. “Bradley. Bradley, oh my god, Bradley- we’re having a baby. Babies. We’re having babies.”

He freezes. “Right now?”

You let out a scream of pain. “Yes! Yes right now, holy shit!”

Six hours later, your sons Nikolai and Zion were born, Nikolai named after Bradley’s father, Nick.

As soon as you were back on your feet, there you were, sitting at the Hard Deck in front of the piano. You were breastfeeding Zion as Bradley held Nikolai in his arms, who you both often called Nick, Bradley - of course - singing Great Balls of Fire.

You laughed next to him, leaning against his shoulder as maverick stood at the bar, sighing.

I’ve got some color back, he looks at you, who smiles back at him.

She thinks so too.

He laughs as Nikolai slams down on the keyboard, absolutely ruining the keys of Great Balls of Fire, but when Bradley laughs and kisses his head, he sighs heavily. I’m almost me again.

Bradley looks back at him, smiling. He jerks his head to the side, beckoning Maverick over. And he does, walking over to see his godson’s babies.

He’s almost you.

reblogs, comments, and likes are greatly appreciated! I love getting y'alls feedback :)

© asterias-record-shop

#Spotify #asterias-record-shop #requests open #bradley rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster x y/n #rooster top gun #rooster imagine #rooster bradshaw fic #rooster fluff #rooster x you #top gun fanfiction #top gun: maverick #top gun x reader #top gun imagine #top gun bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw smut #bradley bradshaw x reader smut #top gun smut

[empress-simps]

Danger Meter [1]

》Pulse《

▪︎Pairings: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader

■Pronouns: She/Her (Fem! Reader)

▪︎Warnings: Language

▪︎Genre: Soulmate Au! Angst and fluff

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

Note: This is my first time writing a tgm fic!! Kinda nervous! I hope y'all like it! It's been a long while since I took a break so I haven't really wrote anything (except for my research and stuff), my writing is probably a bit different now

》 Masterlist 》 Bradley's Masterlist

》 Next part

"I swear I'll beat up the son of a bitch, just they wait."

Any other normal person would've considered to stay away from you as you growled those words out loud— or would've asked if you were okay from a safe distance. Your bestfriend beside you stilled for a moment, wondering why you were so hellbent on fighting someone and.. who was it? Another naval aviator? Or your soulmate that you always complain about?

Robert Floyd looked over to where you're sitting, curious to what you'll complain about to him. He saw the mix of worry and anger swimming in your eyes as you continue to look at the rectangular strip on your wrist. Before he could even ask, you showed him the orange stripe which is slowly turning red.

On the day a person is born, there's a rectangular shaped color on their left wrist. The color ranges from green, yellow, orange, red, and black. These colors represent on how safe your soulmate is in their current situation. Green being they're completely fine, red means they're in a dangerous situation (which rarely happens for most cases), and black means that there's a high chance for them to get killed in the situation they're in. The stripe will glow when you made a physical contact with your soulmate.

Having the mark, you can deem it as both a blessing and a curse.

Bob scanned your wrist, his eyes clouding with confusion. Was your soulmate a secret spy? In the military? A criminal? Why are they always in danger? The possibilities are endless.

He has to admit that even though it isn't his soulmate, he can still feel a small sense of dread flooding into his system. What more of his best friend sitting beside him? He could only imagine. "I'm sure they'll be fine, it's not the first time. Have faith in them, y/n/n" He says, trying to comfort you as he pats your back gently— albeit a little akwardly, but that's just a normal Bob thing.

You sighed, stress visible on your face as you rubbed your temples. "I swear Robby, my soulmate could die before I even get to meet them." Your mid-western accent slowly surfacing at the end of your sentence. He watched you as you plopped down his bed, sighing loudly.

"Maybe they're doing it as a revenge? I probably scare them when I go on missions. But why would they endanger themself?" You ranted to yourself as Bob looked at you sympathetically. "Y/n/n, how about try getting some sleep? We have to leave for topgun early in the morning.." He said softly. You sighed, agreeing with him. He walked you over to the front of his family's house.

"I'll see you in the morning, Robby." You smiled, waving at him and going over to your house, which is directly across from his.

"Well what do we have here?"

The human ken doll asked, watching amusedly as you neared him and Coyote, Bob silently following behind you.

"Crash! My favorite pilot, missed me?"

Jake greeted you with (as you'd like to call it) his pretty boy smile, you rolled your eyes playfully as you neared the pool table. He gave you a wink as you sat the down next to Bob.

"Statefarm, I was dreading to be flying with you again actually." You shrugged, taking his newly opened beer. A sound of protest goes unheard as you took a swig of the beverage. "You're gonna buy me another beer, Crash. And It's Hangman. I thought we had something special?"

"Whatever." You waved him off, "Go play." Hangman rolled his eyes, you took some peanuts from Bob. "You talk to me as if I'm a dog. You wound me."

You looked up at him and asked, feigning innocence. "But, Isn't that what you are?" A chorus of 'Ooooh's were heard in the background. After a while, Phoenix, Payback, and Fanboy entered the mix.

"Who's he?" Pheonix's eyes darted to Bob who's sitting beside you. "Who's who?" Coyote asked, all of them looked at Bob simultaneously. "Since when did you get here?" Coyote followed up.

Bob looked at them and offered a smile "Oh I've been here with y/n/n." He motioned over to you.

"The man's a stealth pilot." Jake said. "Weapons System Officer, actually." Bob corrected, Jake nodded. "With no sense of humor."

"Hey! you mess with him, you mess with me." You warned them, slinging an arm around Bob. Hangman raised his hands, "I'm just saying."

"Well you better shut that damn mouth, statefarm." Jake just mumbled, talking about grabbing a few more beers and ringing it up on some old timer.

"What do they call you?" Pheonix asked, looking at Robert.

"Bob." He answered, Payback smiled. "No, your callsign."

"Uhhhh.. Bob."

"Bob Floyd, you're my new backseater? From Lemoore?" Pheonix asked, he smiled. "Looks like it, yeah." You patted Bob's shoulder. "I'll be right back, Robby. Just gonna get more beer." You said as you walked over to Penny, finding Jake as he ordered four more beers.

"And you-" he turned around to face you. "-Still owe me one beer." You smirked, "Make that two." As you grabbed one of the few beers he has. You decided to follow him back, seeing an unfamiliar guy sporting a hawaiian shirt and mustache which weirdly as it sounds— looks good on him. You don't know how long you'd been staring at him, time seemed to slow down when you laid your eyes on him.

The moment your eyes met feels like you got your breath knocked out of your lungs.

You're also pretty damn sure you felt the mark pulse.

This fic will have multiple parts! If anyone wants to be notified just send an ask or comment and I'll make a taglist, hope u enjoyed!

#top gun rooster #top gun x y/n #top gun x reader #top gun bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x female reader #soulmate au #rooster x y/n #rooster imagine #top gun fanfiction #tgm au

[dckweed]

hello my loves! been awhile! anyway ive been going through it recently and idk why but i don't think ive ever seen a fic like this before for this fandom so, i thought i'd write myself a little comfort fic and show it to yall.

summary: Jake comes home to find you in a bout of depression, distraught, he calls the only person he can think of.

warnings: mentions of depression, mentions of death as well as mentions of suicide attempt. please do not read any farther if this topic bothers you.

"HOW DO I MAKE IT BETTER?" jake seresin

You and Jake and been together for long enough that he knew everything about you. He knew your favorite color, your taste in clothes, he knew your favorite movies and shows right down to your favorite episodes and everything else in between that he could possibly know about you, including your medical history. Jake knew that you suffered from major depressive disorder, had even seen you through a few minor episodes, he even knew which anti depressants you took and took the liberty of picking them up from the pharmacy on more than one occasion.

The only thing Jake didn't know about you, was just how bad these episodes could get, how dark they could truly, truly go, or what a bad one could look like and he was greatful for that, but unfortunate for him, he was about to find out first hand.

He had known that something was going on. You had been acting differently than normal the past week, talking quietly, your voice it's normal upbeat undertone to it. When you moved, your movements where slow, as if you had no energy. Jake had seen you like that before but those episodes had passes after a day or so. This was different. You didn't look like you were even in your own body this time. Jake didn't like that.

On the sixth day of you like this, Jake had come home early from work, worried when you hadn't opened any or his texts or answered the twelve times he had called.

It was early afternoon still and when he walked through the front door of the house you shared the only to be heard was that of nails clacking against the wood floors as your small terrier, Tug, ran up to him.

"Hey bud, what's wrong?" He asks, setting his keys down on the side table. Tug generally greeted him with a happy bark and a few twirls before jumping up, trying to get some affection. Today the little guy was tugging on the bottoms of Jake's khakis with an impatient whine, as if trying to tell him something. "Where's your mama?" He asks, peaking around the corner into the living room. The curtains were drawn still and the television was off, even though you usually watched Dr. Phil at this hour.

Tug gives a distressed yip and takes off towards the bedroom side of the house. Jake tales notice of everything as moves. The kitchen was empty, no coffee mug in the sink or dishwasher running. Your writing room door was open, desk lamp off and work computer closed. Jake knew you had editors waiting for you to mail them copies of your newest manuscript, you'd been working hard to finish it and he knew you weren't one to miss valuable work time unless it was dire.

Your guys' bedroom door was open, the room dark and curtains drawn tight. Everything in the house was exactly as he'd left it this morning when he had left for work..including you. "Honey," He says as he walks into the room, keeping his voice soft. You were in the exact spot he had left you in this morning, comforter pulled so far up it nearly covered your head. Your eyes were open, but you hadn't moved. "Are you okay?" Tug had curled up right next to you.

Jake kicked off his work shoes, not even bothering to untie them before climbing up in front of you, a hand brushing on your face as he lays his head on the pillow in front of you. "Hm?" He hums at you.

You don't make a sound. You don't even move.

You state straight through him as if he's not even there, your eyes empty.

He realizes you don't have a fever. "Honey, talk to me.." He sees your eyes tear up and he realizes what's going on. Quickly he changes sides, climbing over you and shimmying under the covers and wrapping his arms around you. "I'm here now baby, I'm so sorry I wasn't here for you today.." He kisses the back of your head. The badges in his khaki over shirt poke against his chest uncomfortably but he doesn't dare move to take it off, afraid you'll disappear if he does.

He lay with you like this for what seemed like hours, his head touching yours and both arms wrapped tightly around you, holding you against him, grounding you to him.

After a while he knows you've fallen asleep, your breathing slower. Gently, he unwraps his arms from around your body and pulls his trapped arm from under you before swiftly rolling off the edge and landing on his feet. He unbutton his khaki shirt as he heads for the door, shrugging it off of his shoulders. He clicks his tongue ay Tug and motions for the door, the dog follows, well trained by the two of you.

Jake lays his shirt over the back of the couch on his way to the kitchen, unlocking the back door. Tug sprints out before its even fully opened and he realizes the poor guy hasn't been outside all day. He sighs, leaving the door open before bringing his phone out of his pocket. He dreaded calling your mother for help with this, he knew how worried she got, but he knew that there was only one other person he could call, and he almost dreaded that even more but he knew it was his best option since your mom was on vacation out of the country.

He clicks the call button.

He answers on the first ring. "Hello? Hangman?"

"..Rooster, I need your help."

Jake was thankful that he didn't ask too many questions because truthfully, he didn't know how to answer them. Bradley must've heard the desperation in his voice because he didn't try to make any back handed comments and told him he was on the way.

Rooster only lived two streets over from your guys' house, Jake knew that he would walk through the front door in a matter of minuets, but even so, it was long enough for his mind to wander off to a conversation he had had with your mother not too long after the two of you had gotten serious.

It was a family barbecue, your older brother was grilling meats while you chased his two boys around the yard you had grown up in. Jake sat on the deck talking happily with your mother under the shade of an umbrella poking through the top of the glass outdoor dining table they were sat at. They both watched you, adoring your happy shouts as you played with your nephews. Jake had a nagging feeling in the back of his mind, a burning question he had had for months. One that you had answered, but had given him a lie. He knew it was the only lie you had ever told him, even still, to this day and he figured that maybe you would tell him eventually, but he also worried that you wouldn't. Who better to ask than your mother?

"Ma'am, may I ask you a question?" He had asked, the Texan manners coming out of him. Your mother turns to look at him and he takes that as a confirmation to do so. "The scars on the insides of her thighs..how did she get them?" Jake had first noticed them when you had worn shorts on one of first dates, and the again the first time he had gone down on you. He noticed how deep they were, and when he asked you about them, you had lied and told him that you had been in a dirt biking accident as a child. You wouldn't meet his eyes, that was how he knew it was a lie. "I don't mean to pry, I just know that she didn't want to tell me is all..and I have a hard time believing it was from a dirt bike.."

Your mom hesitates for a moment and looks back out to the yard. Jake wonders if he's crossed the line and opens his mouth to apologize when she speaks. "She wasn't always this happy." She says, turning to face him fully. "She's always struggled with it, even as a young child, but her episodes were never too horrible, easy enough to navigate and help her..except for one." She looks at him, an unreadable expression on her face. "She was seventeen, she had been bad for so long that year, the worst she had ever been and then all of a sudden she was okay, it had passed..or we thought it did it anyway. The worst was yet to come, and it came hard." She glances to her son, flinching as she remembers. "A couple of weeks after we thought it had passed, me ans Noah came home from the grocery store and found her unconsciously in the kitchen in a massive pool of blood." Your mothers voice cracks and her eyes turn glassy as she tells the story of the worst day of her life.

Jake doesn't know what to say, has barely processed the information himself. He wants to cry at the idea of seeing his girl like that. "She had taken a serrated knife and had cut herself so deep that she had to have surgery to repair each side."

Jake swallows hard. "No wonder she didn't want to tell me.." He felt bad for asking now, as if he was invading something private.

Your mother looks at him, a smile tugging at her lips. "She's better now..she still has her moments but ever since she met you, Jake, she's changed in the best way..so, thank you.." She pats his knee under the table and he looks back out towards you.

Jake's eyes caught on the knife block on the counter and immediate he picks it up and sets it high above the kitchen counters where he knew you wouldn't be able to reach if heaven forbid you got the idea to do something like that again. He didn't know what he would do if that situation would ever arise, and he certainly didn't want to ever find out.

A couple moments later the front door opens and Jake's head turns towards the noise. "Hangman?" He could hear the concern in Rooster's voice as he made his way through the house. Tug hears his voice and barks, running up the back deck and into the house to greet him. "Why's it so quiet in here?"

He finds Jake in the kitchen and immediately he tells him what's going on, rambling about the knives and moving them higher as he tries not to cry in front of his friend.

"I already told Mav I wouldn't be in tomorrow," he says, running a hand through his hair. "I can't leave her alone like this..but I don't know what to do either..Bradley, how do I make it better?"

Bradley purses his lips, stepping out of the kitchen and towards the bedroom. He had spent enough drunkem nights here to know where everything was. "Stay here for a minuet."

He finds you exactly where Jake had said you'd be, on your side with the comforter pulled up to your chin. You were awake, your eyes stating at nothing, their usual spark of life non-existent. He had to look away for a moment, he had seen his mother like this more than enough times, thr sight was all too familiar. Finally he sits down on Jake's side of the bed, reaching hus hand out to brush some hair from your face. "Hey kiddo," He says gently. "I know it's feeling rough right now, but you need to get up..Jake says you haven't moved all day..Im sure that bladder is pretty full, huh?" He sees your mouth start to quiver and it breaks his entire heart to see you like this, especially when you were generally everyone's ray of sunshine, hell the group had even given you an honorary call sign of 'Sunshine', this was a totally new side of you for Rooster. "Hey, hey, font cry in me sunshine, no tears okay? You're gonna be just fine, this one will pass just like all the others, right?" You give a meek nod, the tears in your eyes welling anyway.

Bradley scoots closer to you, sitting against the headboard, a hand in your head as you scoot closer to him too. He takes a shakey breath. "Sunshine, are..are you feeling like you want to..to harm yourself?" He hated having to ask that question to his mother, and he hates it even more when it was his friends girlfriend. He feels you shake your head and feels relieved. That was never an easy thing to deal with. "Okay, good..you got to get up out of this bed or it's only going to get worse, alright? Why don't I go get us all some food and Jake can come help you get cleaned up, wake yourself up a bit okay?"

"..okay.." It was muffled but it was audible and it was all he needed to get up and head to the living room, where Jake is sitting with his head in his hands.

Jake stands as soon as he hears him, his eyes are rimmed red and Roosger feels absolutely horrible for him. "She's gonna be okay man, you just have to be there for her, help her because she doesn't know how to help herself right now..my mom would get the same way, it wasn't easy.." Jake nods and Rooster claps him on the shoulder. "Alright, I told her I'd go get us all food while you help her clean up..whatever her favorite movie is, we'll turn it on..get some serotonin going.."

Jake nods. "Okay..Okay..thank you, Rooster." He says, giving his friend a hug.

"Hangman? I walked here." Jake tosses him his truck keys. "Thanks."

He's gone for about an hour, long enough for Jake to help you out of bed and into the bath he had drawn for you. The entire time he helps you wash, he notices the tears streaming from your face, the silent unshed emotions that he could probably never fathom. He helps you brush your hair out, kissing your head the entire time before helping you out.

He leaves you to get dressed on your own, giving you a minuet toyourself. He had already slipped on some sweatpants and a clean t-shirt, and by the time he wandered back to the living room to flick through your favorite movies, Rooster was walking through the door. "She's getting dressed.." Jake says, getting up from the couch to help plate the takeout that he had gotten, all of your favorites.

Just as they're about to finish and take the food back to the living room, he feels your arms wrap around him and your face press into his back. You let go quickly and move on to Bradley, squeezing him as tightly as you could. "Thank you." You whisper, looking at both of them when you pull away.

#hangman top gun #top gun maverick imagine #top gun imagine #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick #top gun jake #top gun rooster #jake seresin fluff #jake seresin fanfiction #rooster #bradley bradshaw #top gun bradley bradshaw

[topgunreacts]

Imagine Bradley Bradshaw. Just imagine him. Don’t do anything else. He’s my comfort character and you can’t put him into situations I don’t approve of.

#top gun #top gun maverick #top gun imagines #top gun rooster #top gun Bradley Bradshaw #bradley bradshaw

[littlemessyjessi]

A hot and heavy make out sesh with Bradshaw!

Ok, babe! I got you!

First of all, have a Bradley because yes. You deserve it. You've worked hard today and I'm proud of you.

Now, first of all.

Man is soft.

Like so soft.

I mean, for all that swagger and shit.

Pft.

A whole ass noodle when it comes to you.

Now.

That's not to say that it doesn't get steamy.

Because it does.

However, like, I peg him (well, i mean, damn i'd like to peg him)

Ahem, excuse me. That's a conversation for another time.

Any damn way, I could SEE Rooster as someone who craves that close intimacy with their partner first.

Like, yes, baby please come sit in my lap and just let me hold you face and give you sweet adoring little kisses.

I figure that's how it starts truthfully.

It starts sweet.

It starts gentle.

It starts with fucking boyfriend material.

However, passions soon fly and then it's ON.

Like, he can't get enough.

He's starving.

He's a man deprived.

He's been without air and you are the very oxygen he breathes.

I could see it starting so sweet and soon enough he has you caged in to the point where even when you break apart it's a struggle to get air.

Like, the BEST possible way.

But the funny thing is, after the wave of passion subsides... he's so sweet again.

Like an absolute peach.

A whole ass husband.

Cute little pecks and soft giggles and tracing his finger along you cheek.

Because Bradley Fucking Bradshaw is soft and you can fight me on that.

----

Anyway, I hope you liked my take on this!

Thanks for requesting love and feel free to send more!!! I am loving the TGM requests!

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#top gun #top gun maverick #TGM #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #top gun rooster #top gun bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x ps reader #ps reader #plus size reader #bradley bradsaw x plus size reader #top gun x reader #top gun x ps reader #top gun x plus size reader #top gun maverick x ps reader #top gun maverick x plus size reader

[tropacant]

sooooo I watched both of the Top Gun movies recently, and I’m absolutely in love with Rooster

I want to kiss him, but I also want to be him

the gender envy is strong with this one. also, ignore the simp ramblings of a single gay man.

#top gun maverick #top gun #top gun fanart #top gun rooster #top gun bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #rooster fanart #miles teller #art #artwork #fanart #fyp #foryou #foryoupage #I am a simp #for this man #I have no shame #i got gender envy #I want his mustache #so bad #*coughs* ahem #anywyas

[wild-lavender-rose-musings]

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

#bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #Bradley #rooster #rooster x y/n #rooster x you #rooster x reader #bradley x reader #bradley x y/n #Bradley x you #Bradshaw #top gun: maverick #rooster top gun maverick #top gun rooster #top gun Bradley Bradshaw #writers haven musings #writers haven #top gun #top gun maverick #TGM thoughts

[leopardcoffee]

Tonight's top story my top gun sweater got here in the mail now I can walk around pretending I'm wearing Jake Seresin's clothes

#I'm in love with Jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #top gun jake seresin #jake seresin #hangman #hangman top gun #top gun #top gun maverick #bradley bradshaw #top gun bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #robert floyd #top gun Robert floyd #robert bob floyd #natasha trace #natasha phoenix trace #mickey fanboy garcia #reuben payback fitch

[roosterforme]

Wrong Number | Rooster x Reader

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

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

Length: 4700 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pretty Girl: Are you naked in these photos?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He texted you back.

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

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

CALL FROM Pretty Girl

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Just okay?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Totally naked."

"Fuck."

"Send me another one?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah. It's Rooster."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Pretty Girl."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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[ohtobeleah]

Terms Of Endearment // Bradley Bradshaw

Series Masterlist

Summary: They always say when you aren’t looking for love it tends to find you. So when you and your daughter turn up in Fighter Town, Bradley Bradshaw is instantly infatuated. With reluctance to trust and harbouring a bad past, you don’t make it easy for the fighter pilot to love you.

Warnings: Will be allocated to appropriate chapters. Bradley Bradshaw x F!reader. Jake Seresin x Platonic!F!Reader.

~ Terms of Endearment Main Masterlist Link ~

1. Matchmaker // Jake Seresin decides to take your love life into his own hands when an opportune moment falls into his lap.

2. Sunny Side // Rooster picks up your daughter from daycare.

3. Pillow Cases // After looking after your daughter for the afternoon, Rooster questions you about the pile of unwrapped Christmas presents in the closet. Your response? Something he’ll never forget.

4. Branded Father Figures // Bradley stays the night only to join in on a tradition Jake Seresin had been keeping a secret. Learning a few things about your past.

5. Christmas Crisis // Jake spends Christmas with his family and is told an ugly fact. Bradley spends Christmas Eve and morning with you and Dot—enjoying the calm before the storm.

6. The Calm Before The Storm // After Christmas lunch at Penny and Pete’s house, you and Bradley venture home. But don’t make it without a hitch.

7. The Clash // When Jaidyn Dolan moved to town Bradley Bradshaw gears up for the fight of his life. Having your back without question.

8. In Shades Of Terror // Things between you and Bradley and you and Jake reach a boiling point when Jake returns home, he finds himself spilling the beans about how him and Bradley knew about Jaidyn being in town.

9. To Build a Home // You’re finally approved for your own home through staff accommodation. But when you find out who your neighbour is you’re at a loss for words.

10. Biggest Stans // We see just how long Jake Seresin as been your biggest stand for and Bradley asked an all important question. If you’d consider moving in with him.

11. Trifecta // Jaidyn’s on a revenge driven path that’s only just the beginning.

12. Chase That Feeling // An unhinged Jaidyn causes chaos as Jake meets a woman who’s willing to put her front foot forward and Bob plays the hero card.

13. Dammed if you do, Dammed if you don’t // Jaidyn takes the games he playing to a whole knee level while Jake and Bradley do all that they can to get the higher ups involved.

14. Unlikely Savours // Jake and Bradley butt heads over what they need to do when Jake gets a call. Everyone’s racing against the clock, to find you and get to Dot.

15. Bringing in the reinforcements // Bob makes a call to someone he knows will be able to help and Amilia stalls Jaidyn to give Jake enough time to reach Dot.

16. It’s been a long, long day // Jake and Bradley reunite after having gone their separate ways. You need surgery and it’s not a good prognosis.

17. Not So Malice Intentions // When you wake up from surgery to find out Jake wants to keep Dot from seeing you for a first days, all hell breaks loose.

18. Cowboys & Apologists // When you wake up from being heavily sedated to a stranger but familiar man sitting in the corner of your room—you don’t take well to the carbon copy of Bob Floyd

19. It’s Personal // A week passes you by and you’re still in the hospital. You miss your daughters third birthday, Bradley goes in to bat for you against the Secretary of Defense and Jake has a run in with an intruder.

20. Yellow Polkadots // In the aftermath of Jakes unexpected intruder, decisions are made that bring you and your baby girl back together. Bradley struggles with a hard interior design decision & Jaidyn gets comfortable in his finale plot to end your happily ever after.

21. Heaven // (Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three) Discharged from hospital after suffering severe injuries from a near fatal run in with your ex has you high strung and on edge. For good reason too, you should always trust your instincts because no one around you is safe from the chaos that transpires in our final two part finale.

~~ Complete ~~

Concepts & Blurbs

-> Marked // Jake sees the infamous cattle prod mark your ex left behind.

-> Bobby Bear // Robert Floyd left this world too soon. But does Odette see his ghost when she’s a little girl?

-> Lessons in Love & War // On one of your first shifts back at work after the events of ToE. Odette is plagued with an illness that sends her to the emergency room with a very panicked Bradley Bradshaw.

-> Bath-time // Bath time isn’t always an easy feat when your little girl is afraid of baths. But they do make for some core memories.

-> Tunder Storm Sleep Overs // With a heavily pregnant wife and a toddler afraid of a raging thunderstorm outside. Bradley kicks into his favourite mode. Dad mode.

-> Easter Time // You don’t have an Easter Bunny—you have an Easter Rooster.

-> The sex positive couple // You and Bradley are busy getting it on when your daughter wakes up from hearing noises in the night. Afraid you’re hurt she calls for you.

-> Baby R // Riley Carole Bradshaw makes her big entrance to the world when Jakes in Texas and Bradley isn’t sure if he’s ready to be a dad twice over.

-> The Eternal Mark // When at the Abbott Ranch for thanksgiving, the sound and sight of a cattle prod has you feeling like you’d been thrown back in time into the arms of the man who swore blind he was going to kill you.

-> From Tooster to Rooster // The first time Odette calls Bradley Rooster and not Tooster.

-> Dots Promise Ring // Odette forever keeps the promise ring Rooster gave to her as a child. But one day she throws it away.

-> The not so real dad dad // Young, dumb and oh so impressionable Odette Bradshaw freaks out after the police show up at a house party she snuck out to. Calling her uncle to come get her didn’t go according to plan.

-> Sticks & Stones // The one where Rooster finds out about the time you absolutely let loose on your daughter during her teenage hellion years while he was on an eight week deployment. And the one you find out you weren’t the only one who kept parenting secrets.

-> Dots Pot // Bradley knows his oldest daughter smokes weed on the roof. I’m an attempt to stay hip with the youth he joins in—only to be left a paralytic on the couch. Outsmarted and out numbed.

-> Fruit of my loins // Odette Bradshaw is full of existential dilemmas about who she is and where she fits in. In an attempt to figure herself out, she goes to see the man who never wanted her in the first place.

-> Brother & Sister love // The dynamic between the Bradshaw siblings.

-> Uncle Jakes second wedding. // Jake has a no kids wedding and Odette isn’t too happy about the situation. Giving him one hell of an attitude about it.

-> Jake & Amilia // A glimpse into the fuck around that is Jake Seresins first marriage to a woman called Ellie who would never be Amilia.

-> Dot & Chase - The Dagger babies // Odette Bradshaw isn’t the easiest girl to get along with, and doesn’t Chase Fitch know that. -> Dot & Chase 2.0

-> What does Odette do for a living? What Nicky & What Riley Do for a living. The Bradshaw’s siblings go leaps and bounds in their respective careers. From soccer players to aviators to lawyers.

-> The Commanders Daughter // Odettes TopGun instructors.

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

#bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x f!reader #jake seresin imagine #jake hangman seresin series #Bradley rooster bradshaw series #top gun bradley bradshaw #top gun rooster #top gun jake seresin

[aestheticpearl]

— 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬

[𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫] bradley bradshaw

we broke up

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

oh no i’m so sorry :(

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

can you come over?

of course, On my way!

ew auto correct omw*

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

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

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

“she cheated”

“bitch, you were too good for her anyway”

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

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

bradley stays silent and nods before leaning into you.

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

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

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

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

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

“feeling better yet?”

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

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

“thanks—”

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

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

“can’t make any promises big boy”

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

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

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

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

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

“and if i am?”

you think for a moment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

you turn your face away from him playfully.

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

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

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

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

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

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

please reblog to show support ✧·˚ ༘ * ༄

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

.love always <3 pearl

.masterlist

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

[asterias-record-shop]

okay but threesome with Jake (Hangman) Seresin and Bradley (Rooster) Bradshaw??? After the football game on the beach and proposing polygamy??

This is my dream rn imma make it happen-

#asterias-record-shop #requests open #rooster bradshaw fic #rooster x you #rooster x y/n #rooster imagine #bradley rooster x reader #rooster x reader #rooster x wife!reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw fluff #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x reader smut #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw smut #bradley bradshaw imagine #top gun bradley bradshaw #top gun fic #top gun x reader #top gun imagine #top gun fanfiction #top gun: maverick #jake hangman x you #hangman fanfiction #top gun maverick hangman #hangman seresin x reader #hangman smut #jake hangman seresin #hangman top gun

[empress-simps]

Danger Meter [2]

》Crash《

▪︎Pairings: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader

▪︎Pronouns: She/Her (Fem! Reader)

▪︎Warnings: Language, also probably some inaccuracies

▪︎Genre: Soulmate Au! Angst and fluff

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

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

》 Masterlist 》 Bradley's Masterlist

》 Previous 》 Next

"Crash watch yourself, there's a-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The stripe was almost black.

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

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

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

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

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

'Eject eject eject!'

Taglist [Closed]: @auszimbo

#top gun fic #top gun rooster #top gun imagine #top gun x y/n #top gun bradley bradshaw #top gun maverick #bradley rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw fic #rooster x you #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw fic #rooster x y/n #bradley bradshaw x y/n #bradley bradhsaw #bradley x reader #bradley x you #bradley x y/n #soulmate au #top gun au #tgm #tgm au #tgm x reader

[sometimesanalice]

Bedside Manner

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

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Length: 8K

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Normally.

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

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

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

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

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

It was supposed to be a fun day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You had been blessedly and devastatingly spared the choice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Respectfully, of course.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he’s never made a move.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The game coming to an immediate and conclusive end.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck off, Bagman-” Rooster snaps.

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

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

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

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

Just not like this.

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

Your group of eight now downsized to a trio.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The two of you silent and motionless.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You want the Bradley from earlier. 

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

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

You want your Bradley.

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

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

You’re aching, aching. Everywhere.

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

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

We.

You wanted that with him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s never felt this strained with him before.

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

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

He could still have the perfect summer afternoon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, permission,” you say, clipped.

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

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

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

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

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

“Ok, good,” he grumbles.

“Great,” you lob back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bradley, no. It was an accident.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bradley, the light.”

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

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

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

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

Atlas no longer, he can simply be Bradley.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Done.”

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

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

“And then you’ll kiss me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Guess we will,” he rasps.

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

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

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

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

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

You’ve got that forever feeling about him.

Oh, oh, oh.

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

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

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

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