bradshawburner

[bradshawburner]

could be me ; bradley 'rooster' bradshaw

fandom: top gun

pairing: bradley x reader

summary: you've been in love with rooster since you were a kid, but a few years ago your father threatened to ruin rooster's career if you didn't get over your stupid crush and find an honourable man - so you date assholes to protect rooster, but it's getting harder to stay away from the boy you're in love with (loosely inspired by this song)

notes: okay, i admit defeat!!! i am in love with this man and it is consuming my life! i was so excited to write this, but i rewrote it and rewrote it, and it still doesn't feel right :( i hope it isn't too awful, but i promise i'm going to write something perfect for this boy, because wow, i love him... please let me know what you think! good or bad, i love feedback!

warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, toxic relationship/s (nothing detailed or major), negative father / daughter relationship, one brief mention of 'offing oneself', very little and most likely incorrect knowledge about the us navy, and some generally poor writing i'm sorry

word count: 10597

“That guy sucks,” Mickey mutters into the mouth of his beer bottle.

The whole squad is jammed into a booth on the beach-side of The Hard Deck bar, their necks craned and eyes fixed on the large blond man towering over their best friend at one of the tall tables beside the jukebox.

“He’s so rude,” Natasha states, “and cold.”

The only one not blatantly staring across the bar is Bradley. He’s too busy picking at the soggy label on his half-drunk beer and sulking. The corners of his mouth have been turned down from the moment you walked through the door with that hulking mass of man muscle by your side.

“Rooster,” Reuben says, nudging his friend’s side and knocking him out of his imaginary pity party.

Bradley glances up, “Hm?”

“Move, I need to get another drink.”

Realising why he had been feeling pressure on his right side, Bradley sighs and slides out of the booth, allowing his friend to shuffle across to freedom.

“Do you want a drink?” Reuben asks.

Bradley shakes his head and slumps back into the booth, returning his attention to the beer bottle’s label.

“Why is she with him?” Mickey asks, his brows furrowed.

“He’s got money,” Bradley replies dryly, “and rank.”

Natasha shoots him a scowl. “Come on, Rooster. Y/N’s not that shallow.”

Bradley scoffs, “You want to bet?”

Her brown eyes glance toward you, watching as your hand grips the thick forearm of the blond boy toy standing over you. She grimaces and shakes her head. “No, not really.”

“Exactly,” Bradley sighs, leaning back in the booth and finally dragging his eyes up to look at his friends. “Her dad has high standards and apparently dating some stupid commander with more bicep than brain and more money than manhood is her idea of being the perfect daughter.”

“You sound jealous,” Jake states, the ghost of a smirk on his lips.

Bradley snorts a laugh, though there’s no amusement behind it. It’s dry. “Nothing gets past you, does it, Hangman?”

Before Jake can answer the rhetorical question, Mickey pipes up. “Who’s her dad, again?”

Natasha sighs, turning her head to face him. “The admiral,” she replies, “you know, Cyclone’s superior.”

“Shit, that’s right,” Mickey says. “He’s terrifying.”

Reuben returns to the table with wide eyes, gingerly setting four beers on the table before ushering at Bradley to scootch further into the booth. “Oh, my God,” he says as he sits down. “I just asked Y/N if she wanted to join us, and that dude basically growled at me.”

“Gross,” Natasha mutters, before taking a generous swig of her fresh beer.

“I did catch his name, though,” Reuben adds. “Johnny.”

Bradley scoffs, “Johnny.”

The squad spend the better part of the next hour making fun of the man whose arm is draped across your shoulders, all but Bradley. He’s too busy scratching the label off his beer bottle and shoving all thoughts of you and your newest Ken Doll out of his mind.

Across the bar, you pinch the stem of your wine glass between your thumb and forefinger and start moving it in small circles, making the yellowish liquid swirl. You hate white wine, but Johnny doesn’t seem to recall you mentioning that on your date last week. His arm is heavy on your shoulders, compressing your spine and making your neck ache as you try to maintain a decent posture on the uncomfortably high stool. You’ve never liked sitting at the tall bar tables, you prefer a booth.

It takes all your self-control not to gaze across the bar to where you’d rather be. It wasn’t that you hadn’t expected your friends to be in their usual booth at The Hard Deck on a Saturday afternoon, but when Johnny asked you to get drinks with him and meet his friends, you’d still hoped they wouldn’t be here. Especially Bradley.

You’ve known Bradley Bradshaw since you were ten years old. He was the first boy to ever make your heart skip a beat, and the only one you’ve ever truly fallen in love with. Not that you’ll willingly admit that last part to anyone but your own reflection, and even then, you need a considerable amount of liquid courage to do so.

When your father, the admiral, was assigned to assist in overseeing the TOPGUN programme at MCAS Miramar, he moved your family to San Diego, right next door to the Bradshaws. Your mother and Carole Bradshaw became quick and close friends, and you soon learnt all about Bradley’s late father and the man who had since stepped in to help raise Bradley.

Your father wasn’t subtle about disliking the Bradshaws, or more specifically, Pete Mitchell, but your mother couldn’t have cared less. You spent most of your weekends and summer days with Bradley, since your mothers were practically inseparable, and the same was soon said for the two of you. It didn’t matter that Bradley was a few years older, you simply matchedeach other’s energies. Soulmates, Carole would say.

Years passed and you both grew, but your crush never wavered. You were there the day his mother passed away, and the day he sent his application in to the Naval Academy. You were also there the day he found out that it was Pete who pulled his papers, and if you close your eyes and think back hard enough, you can still hear the screaming and shouting.

It got a little complicated after that. Bradley decided that he was going to study at UVA for the four years before he could reapply to the academy, and despite your heart’s protests, you helped him pack and promised to look after his family’s home while he was gone. Without the honey-eyed boy next door to spend all your time with, you focused on school and growing up. Bradley would call every now and then, mostly to let your mom know that he was doing okay, but he didn’t visit for two whole years.

It was the year you turned eighteenth that everything changed. You were in your front yard, wearing your favourite red bathing suit and trying to water the poor, sunburnt flowers back to life. When Bradley turned the Bronco into his driveway, he nearly drove right through the garage door, slamming the brakes on just in time. His jaw popped open and his eyes almost fell out of his head as he stared at you bopping along to whatever music was playing in your headphones.

It took you more than a minute to notice the car in the driveway next door, but once you did you dropped the hose and ran across the lawn, jumping over the short fence that divided your yards. Bradley didn’t move until you wrenched the driver’s side door open and asked if he was okay, and he certainly was not okay when you wrapped your arms around him and pressed your scantily clad body against his.

After that, he visited a lot more. Every break he could, he would fly across the country to see you, and if he couldn’t come to San Diego, you would fly to him. The two of you gave ‘inseparable’ a whole new meaning. You spoke every day, sent each other letters and packages containing thoughtful presents or silly gifts, and whenever you could, you would video chat for hours on end. There wasn’t a single day that went by that you didn’t feel a tug in your gut toward the boy across the country who you were head over heels in love with.

Eventually, he reapplied and was accepted into the Naval Academy. You were happy for him, of course, but the bubble in which you were living had to pop at some point. It was harder to see him while he was in the academy, and even harder when graduated and got deployed, but the hardest part was not knowing where he was.

One morning, when you were on your way out the door to work, your father stopped you. He told you that Bradley had been accepted into the TOPGUN programme and would be moving back to San Diego for a while, but the look on his face was a stark contrast to the excitement on yours. It was that morning that really burst your bubble. You’d created this imaginary little world where Bradley would eventually come home to you, kiss you, and tell you that it’s always been you, but your father wasn't going to let that happen.

He lectured you for twenty minutes about the fact that Bradley Bradshaw is not good enough for you. He told you that he’s been holding it in for long enough, because your mother had begged him not to interfere with your life and your choices, but he can’t take it anymore. He said that Bradley is a flighty boy from a mixed-up family, raised by a dishonourable man, and he isn’t wealthy or worthy enough for you. He told you to let go of your stupid crush and find an honourable who could make you happy, or else he would ruin Bradley’s career.

Any sane person would have told him to fuck off, but you were too young and too scared, and you loved Bradley too damn much to risk something he’s worked so hard for. So you simply nodded and slipped out the door, spending the next few weeks avoiding your father and mourning the loss of a relationship that never was.

It was about that time that you started dating assholes. You couldn’t live in a world without Bradley, but you had to protect him, so you always had an honourable commander or captain on your arm to distract your father. You stayed close with Bradley, even when he flew off around the world again. When he was called back to TOPGUN for a special detachment, you were over the moon, and everything seemed to fall into place after the uranium mission. The dagger squadron became a permanent unit based on North Island, and you quickly became friends with the whole group.

After years of distance and uncertainty, everything feels good. That is, except for your shitshow of a love life that is getting harder to maintain as you juggle keeping your father happy while also trying to assure your friends that you’re not a clinical masochist who enjoys toxic relationships.

“Babe,” Johnny’s voice knocks you back into reality. “You good?”

You blink a few times, trying to refocus on the man sitting beside you instead of the waves out the window. “Sorry,” you say. “Just daydreaming.”

He chuckles. “What could you possibly have to daydream about when I’m sitting right here.”

Your eyes betray you, casting their gaze across the bar toward your friends, landing on the boy with the golden-brown hair. Johnny sighs, as if exasperated by you. “If you want to go see your little friends so badly, then go.”

You force yourself to shake your head. “Don’t be silly. I’m here with you, and there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” Except squished into that booth beside Bradley, breathing in his scent and feeling his thigh pressed firmly against your own.

Johnny smirks before leaning forward with puckered lips. You try not to seem awkward as you lean forward and give him a kiss, but you can’t help feeling uncomfortable under the hard stares of his friends.

“I’m just going to get another drink,” you say, slipping off the high bar stool. You hurry away from the table before he can point out that you haven’t touched your wine, beelining for the bathrooms.

Once safely in the fluorescent lit lavatory, you plant both hands on the vanity and stare at your red cheeks in the mirror. You’re not sure why, but it’s getting harder being with men like Johnny. It used to be easy to pretend, to flip your hair and bite your lip, and flirt until they believed that you were into them, but lately, all you can think about is Bradley.

His soft hair and tan skin. The way his mouth curls into a smile, crinkling the corners of his eyes. His broad shoulders, long legs, and the way that every move he makes is so sure. When you close your eyes, all you can see are his honey-brown irises staring back at you, making you blush even when you’re miles apart. It’s like there’s a rope anchored in your gut and the other end is tied to Bradley. It used to be loose and languid, giving and taking as needed, but now its taut. One end of the rope is being wound up, pulling you into his orbit whether you like it or not. You worry that one day you’re going to wake up unable to breathe without him near you.

“Fuck,” you sigh, smacking your left hand on the vanity. “This is ridiculous.” You look up at your reflection, raising your right hand to point at the mirror. “Pull yourself together.”

You wash your hands and fix your hair before exiting the bathroom. You keep your eyes trained on your destination as you walk toward the bar, finding a vacant space to lean your forearms against the dark wood.

“Hey gorgeous,” Penny says with a soft smile.

“Hey Penny, could I just get the usual, please?”

She laughs lightly. “Of course. I was a bit worried when I saw that commander hand you a white wine.”

You breathe a half-assed laugh through your nose. “He’s still in training.”

She grabs a beer from the fridge behind the bar before turning back to you with a knowing smirk. “Well, I don’t see why you keep fostering these disobedient dogs when you have a perfectly well-trained puppy at home.”

You frown, tilting your head as your mind races to decode the metaphor. Only when she glances over at the booth of your friends and back to you does it click.

Your eyes widen. “Penny!”

She laughs again before adding, “And that is a cute puppy, if I don't say so myself.”

You roll your lips to stop yourself from grinning, because yes, Bradley is an adorable puppy and you would love nothing more than to take him home with you. “Thanks for the beer, Penny,” you say before she turns away to serve another patron.

You take a long swig from the bottle before weaving your way back through the bar to Johnny and his friends. The night wears on, and you try as hard as you can to remember how to pretend but you just can’t stop yourself from glancing over at Bradley every few minutes. You know Johnny is getting annoyed too, you’re just glad that he can discern exactly which one of your friends it is who’s stealing your attention.

"Alright,” Johnny says, pushing off his stool. “Let’s get out of here.”

Your eyes snap back to him and you nod. “I just want to say hi to my friends first.”

“Whatever,” he sighs. “I’m going to take a leak.”

You watch him walk across the bar and wait until the bathroom door closes behind him to roll your eyes. You slip off the stool and quickly squeeze through the groups of people standing between you and your friends, the grin on your face growing the closer you get.

“Hey!” Natasha greets you first, her face lighting up.

Your eyes scan the familiar faces of your friends. “Hi.”

The last to look up at you is Bradley, but the moment his honey-brown eyes meet yours, the corners of his lips start to curl up. You could never get tired of seeing that smile.

Mickey gasps dramatically. “Rooster, is that a smile?”

Reuben snorts a laugh. “I didn’t know your face made that expression.”

“Shut up,” Bradley mutters, flipping his friends the bird from where his hand is resting on the tabletop.

“Anyway,” Natasha says, turning from the boys to you. “How are you?”

You drag your eyes away from Bradley. “I’m good. Sorry I didn’t come over earlier. I was meeting some of Johnny’s friends for the first time and it was a bit awkward.”

“Don’t be sorry,” she says. “We’re kind of glad you didn’t bring your new Ken doll over here.”

“Which model is this?” Mickey asks with a cheeky grin.

Reuben chuckles. “Ken on Steroids, comes with his own syringe.”

Laughter rumbles through your friends, and once again you roll and rub your lips together to stop yourself from joining in. You can’t let them know that you intentionally date douchebags, because then there will be more questions than you’re willing to answer and you're already struggling to keep those skeletons inside their closet.

“Very funny,” you sigh, before glancing over your shoulder. “I should go, but I’ll see you guys-”

“Babe!” Johnny hollers across the bar, earning a lot of confused looks. “Hurry up!”

You want to close your eyes and sink into the floor, totally embarrassed and utterly fed up with this stupid, disobedient dog. But when you glance back at your friends and your eyes easily find Bradley’s, you remember why you’re doing it.

You plaster on a smile. “Sorry, guys. I’ll see you later.”

You barely hear their goodbyes as you turn and hurry through the bar toward the door. You can’t help your body from recoiling when Johnny wraps an arm around you, but you play it off by pretending to be cold. The walk to his car is silent, as is the first half of the drive, until he takes two wrong turns in a row and you realise that he isn’t driving toward your house.

“Which way are you going?” you ask.

His Cartier bracelet twinkles under the passing streetlights. “What do you mean?”

“My place is back that way.”

He sighs and shifts a little in his seat, reaching out the Cartier arm to place a hand on your thigh. “I thought you could stay at mine tonight.”

“Oh.” Your stomach swirls nauseously. “I’m actually not feeling too well, I think I should-”

“Again?” he snaps.

You take a deep breath, your hand itching to find the door handle. “Yeah, again. I probably need to go to the doctors.”

The car screeches to a halt and your body strains against the seatbelt. “Good idea,” he says. “Why don’t you go right now?”

You frown. “Now?”

He nods at the door, and only then do you realise that your hand is gripping the handle. His face is cast in shadow and streetlight, making him look more menacing than he really is. You know he only acts tough, but you’re still not willing to push it given his significant size advantage over you.

You pop the door open. “Fine.”

You’ve barely got two feet on the asphalt before he hits the gas and takes off again, speeding down the dark street and leaving you behind.

“Fuck.”

You glance around and try to find something familiar. You might have grown up here, but you definitely don’t know the area as well as you should. You know your usual places and the direct routes to and from those places, but right now you’re standing on a street you’re fairly sure you’ve never been on before. It also doesn’t help that it’s dark, because everything is different in the dark.

You pull your phone out and open your maps, using two fingers to twist and turn the map on the screen until you can figure out how far off your usual route Johnny had driven. He lives further from the base and the bar than you do, in some schmancy mansion he inherited from his parents that you hope never to see in person.

“Fuck,” you groan again. The little blue dot showing your location is a good ten miles from either the bar or your house, and you’re definitely not doing a trek like that in the middle of the night.

You flick away the maps app and pull up Uber, your thumb hovering over the location box where you should type your home address and hit enter, but you can’t stop thinking about Bradley. Even the thought of him has an effect on you now, making your insides mushy and your brain foggy. The tug in your gut has you wandering across the street in the general direction that The Hard Deck would be, and you switch from the Uber app to your contacts list. You scroll to the top where your favourites are pinned and tap on Bradley’s name without a second thought.

It only rings once. “Hello?”

“Bradley,” you say, relief washing through you.

“What’s wrong?”

“Are you guys still at the bar?”

“Yeah,” he replies. “What happened?”

You lean against the nearest streetlight, guilt and anticipation warring inside of you. “You can say no, but I’m kind of lost.”

“Hang on,” he mutters. You can hear shuffling and distant voices, then the squeak of a door and the background noise dies down. “What do you mean you’re lost?”

“It’s a long story,” you sigh, “but like I said, you can say no-”

“Where are you?” he demands. “I’m coming to get you.”

Your chest aches. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure,” he says, and then the background noise returns. There’s music and chatter, and you can hear the jingle of keys while Bradley quickly explains himself to the squad.

Then there’s Mickey’s voice, loud and clear. “Go, Prince Charming! Go!”

“Fuck off,” Bradley mutters, and you can’t stop the giggle that bubbles up your throat.

There’s another few seconds of music and chatter before you hear a car door slam, and then it’s so quiet you can hear Bradley’s heavy breathing. “You still there?” he asks.

“Haven’t been kidnapped yet.”

He sighs. “Please don’t joke about that.”

You shift your shoulder against the light pole, trying to ignore the excitement in your stomach. “Don’t worry, they’d bring me back pretty quickly.”

Bradley chuckles dryly. “Not before I found you and killed them.”

Your heart thumps heavily in your chest, feeling swollen and ready to burst. “Why would you kill them?” you ask, even though you know the answer.

Maybe you are a masochist.

“Because I don’t like it when people take what’s mine,” he replies.

Your stomach does a somersault, and you wait for a laugh or a chuckle, but it doesn’t come. Bradley is dead serious right now, and somehow, he's managed to make you horny from ten miles away.

You clear your throat. “Do you know where you’re going?”

“Yeah,” he says. “It looks like you’re near the old fire station.”

You pull the phone away from your ear and put it on speaker before flicking out of the call screen and tapping on the ‘Find My’ app. Bradley’s contact photo is floating on the map a small distance from your little blue dot, moving closer. You shared your locations with each other a few years ago, mostly because you wanted to see where Bradley was in the world, but it’s come in handy more than a few times. Like right now, for example.

“Thanks for doing this, by the way.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he says. “But you do have to tell me why.”

You frown, still watching his location. “Why what?”

“Why you’re suddenly stranded when I saw you leave with your boyf-” He hesitates and clears his throat. “Your boy toy.”

You sigh and roll your head back, staring up at the dark sky for a moment before looking back down at Bradley’s slowly moving contact photo. “We had a bit of an argument and-”

“And he kicked you out of his car and left you?”

“No, no, he-” Now you hesitate. “Well, yes, technically, but putting it like that sounds bad.”

“Because it is bad!” Bradley exclaims.

You take a deep breath of cold night air before sighing it out. “I know.”

A moment of silence stretches into a couple of minutes, but neither of you hang up the phone. You know it’s for safety, in case the worst were to happen, but you also like to hear Bradley’s soft breathing. As creepy as that might sound. It’s comforting to know that he’s there and he’s on his way. He might even be mad at you for being stupid and dating an asshole, but he could never let his anger get in the way of your safety.

“Are you speeding?” you ask him.

“Um, no?”

You scoff. “Okay, that was convincing.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do? My best friend stranded in the middle of nowhere at midnight.”

Friend. You roll your eyes. “You’re supposed to make sure you get to her safely.”

“Don’t roll your eyes at me.”

You frown. “How did you know?”

He chuckles. “Because I know you.”

Your pulse thrums harder, filling your ears and making your breath come and go in quick gasps. You don’t know what to say, because it's true. He knows you, better than you know yourself sometimes, and that makes you wonder if he knows exactly what you’re hiding from him.

“I think I see you,” he says.

Your eyes snap up toward the headlights that appear half a mile down the street. “I think I see you too.”

Your heart beats faster the closer he gets, and you wait until you can clearly recognise the front of the Bronco before hanging up your call. The car rolls to a stop in front of you, and Bradley ducks his head to look at you from the driver’s side. “Need a ride?”

He is fucking breathtaking. All golden-brown tousles and soft eyes, his lips perfectly kissable and his cheeks a little flushed.

“Mom told me not to get in strangers’ cars.”

His face breaks into a grin, and you’re pretty sure your heart stops altogether. “I have candy,” he says.

A giggle bubbles from your lips. “Well, why didn’t you say so?”

You pull the door open and fall into the seat, his scent wrapping around you like a blanket. For the first time tonight, you feel safe.

“Hey,” you breathe out, staring at the boy beside you like he hung the moon. You’ve been looking at Bradley this way since you were ten years old, and sometimes you try to hide it, but after the night you’ve had, you can’t find the strength to stop yourself.

“Are you okay?”

You nod. “I’m a lot better now.”

The light inside the car is dim and his face is partially obscured by shadow, but you’re pretty sure you can see the colour in his cheeks deepen. You search each other’s eyes for a few too many seconds before he looks away, focusing on the street ahead as the car begins to roll forward.

The drive is silent, but not in the same way it had been with Johnny. This silence is thick with something unsaid, tangible and heavy as it hangs between the two of you. His right hand is resting on the gear stick out of habit, and your fingers itch to slide between his, feel his hot skin against yours in any way possible.

He clears his throat. “So, are you going to tell me what happened?”

You sigh. “Do I have to?”

He glances at you and shrugs a shoulder. “No, but it might feel good to talk to a friend.”

Friend. You turn your gaze out the windscreen, focusing hard on the road ahead to avoid rolling your eyes. Maybe you should talk to someone about the shit you’re dealing with. It might be self-inflicted shit but at least complaining to someone about it might relieve some of the frustration.

“It’s not that big of a deal,” you begin. “After about ten minutes of driving, I noticed that he’d taken a couple of wrong turns, so I asked where he was going, and he said I should spend the night at his house tonight.”

The steering wheel squeaks in Bradley’s tight grip.

“Are you sure you want me to tell you this?”

“Yes,” he replies, using a tone of voice that leaves no room for argument.

“Okay,” you sigh, turning back toward the road before continuing. “I told him that I didn’t feel well and just wanted to go home, but he got a little annoyed because I’ve been sick for the past couple of weeks.”

“You haven’t been sick,” Bradley states, brows furrowed.

"Well, not really, but-”

“So, you’ve been lying to him?”

Your stomach twists nervously. “I guess.”

Bradley nods slowly, his expression unreadable.

“Well, anyway,” you continue, “I said that maybe I need to go to see a doctor, so he stopped the car and told me to go right now.”

Silence envelopes you both again. The only indication you have that Bradley actually heard you is the way his knuckles are turning white as he grips the steering wheel. His face is stoic, his eyes fixed on the road but still distant. You know this look, it's the look he gets when he’s stuck in his thoughts.

You don’t want to interrupt him for the fear of being scolded. You know Bradley would never belittle you or tell you that you're stupid because of the decisions you make, but there’s no doubt that he’s mad at you for putting your own safety at risk.

He doesn’t speak until the car stops in the garage beneath his apartment block, and only then do you realise that he hadn’t driven you to your place. He moved here when the dagger squad got their permanent placements on North Island, after finally deciding to sell his family home.

“I’ll sleep on the lounge,” he says, pulling the key from the ignition. “You can have my bed.”

You hate the way your stomach squeezes at the idea of being in his bed. “Don’t be stupid, I’ll take the lounge.”

“No, you won’t.”

Before you can argue, he pops the door and steps out of the car. You quickly fall out of the passenger’s side and hurry after him, almost bumping into his broad back when he stops abruptly at the elevator.

“Bradley,” you sigh, standing at his side. “Please don’t give me the silent treatment.”

“I just spoke to you, didn’t I?”

You huff. “Well, yes, but I don’t like how you’re talking to me.”

He scoffs, his brows shooting up toward his hairline. “Oh! You don’t like how I’m talking to you?”

The elevator doors open and you both step inside. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He crosses his arms and leans against the back wall of the cabin. “I just think it’s funny how you let those men treat you like shit and talk to you like crap, but as soon as I don’t feel like being playful, then you’ve got a problem.”

You frown at him, your breath coming and going much faster than before as anger bubbles in your stomach. You’re not sure what to say, because how can you defend yourself against fact. Silence stretches until the elevator dings and the doors part.

“I’m just not like those other guys, am I?” he says, brushing past you as he steps out of the cabin.

You follow him, doubling his steps to keep up. “No, you’re not like them. You’re better.”

He jams the key into his apartment door and laughs bitterly. “Better but not good enough, right?”

He shoves the door open and stalks inside, leaving you to catch the heavy door for yourself. You follow him in, quickly kicking your shoes off in the hall before stepping into the kitchen after him. He stands on one side of the island, both large hands planted on the countertop. You stop on the opposite side, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Bradley, what the fuck?”

He stares down at the bench. “I just don’t get it.”

“Get what?”

“Why you’re with them!” he exclaims, head snapping up. “Why do you deal with that? Why do you choose those guys when you could have anyone you fucking want?”

Your chest aches as your heart starts slowly tearing itself apart. “Bradley, please don’t-”

“You date these assholes that don’t give a fuck about you, but then when you need someone, when you’re scared or alone, you call me.” He pauses, his shoulders rising and falling with laboured breath. “Why?”

You close your eyes, wishing once again that the floor would open up and swallow you whole. But it doesn’t, so you open your eyes to meet his intense honey-brown gaze. “Because I know you’ve got me.”

“No, I don’t,” he snaps. “I thought I did once, but I know now that I never will.”

“Bradley-”

“I’m not mad,” he quickly adds, his features softening slightly. “I could never be mad at you, and I will always be there for you, but I need you to know that it kills me to see you with these guys.”

You want to ask why, because you’re a masochist and you want to hear him say it, but you can’t speak. Your throat is too thick and your emotions too wired. You knew this argument was inevitable, but you hadn’t expected it tonight. Maybe it’s not just yourself that you’ve pushed too far, maybe you’ve pushed the limits of your friendship too.

“I need sleep,” he mutters, dropping his gaze before turning toward the short hallway.

You watch him disappear into his room, feet anchored to the floor despite how hard that rope in your gut is trying to pull you toward him. You’ve never wanted to touch him more in your life, hold him and kiss him and tell him that you’ve only ever loved him, but you can’t. Your father might be busier these days and less of a threat to you, but he’s still a threat to Bradley’s career.

After a couple of minutes, he reemerges in a pair of grey sweats. Only grey sweats. You’ve seen Bradley shirtless more times than you can count, but you’re never ready for effect that it has on you.

“Bed’s all yours,” he says, throwing a pillow and a blanket onto the lounge.

You want to argue. You want to stomp your feet and tell him everything you’ve held back for years, and then you want him to kiss you and take you to bed where the two of you will stay for the next month. But you can’t, and you’re about to burst into tears.

You nod once before shuffling into his bedroom, shutting the door most of the way before turning to face the bed. When you see a pair of boxers and an old shirt laid out for you, the floodgates burst and tears stream down your cheeks despite your efforts to choke them back. Your throat aches and your nose stings, your vision blurred as you slowly peel your clothes off and wrap yourself in the comfort of Bradley’s.

You wonder if Bradley can hear you crying quietly as you crawl into his bed. The apartment isn’t very big, but you’ve done your best to suppress your sniffles as you washed your face in the ensuite bathroom. Your head hits the pillow and his scent overwhelms you, filling you with the most conflicting mix of sadness and horniness. You’ve been in Bradley’s bed plenty of times before, but not often sober and never after he just almost confessed to being in love with you.

Eventually, you fall asleep and have the best sleep you’ve had in years. You wake to the sound of your phone vibrating on the bedside table and startle when you see the time in the top left corner of the screen; it’s almost midday. You hang up on Johnny’s call, only to see ten missed calls from earlier in the morning and a ridiculous number of texts. You roll your eyes and throw the covers back, rushing out the bedroom door and into the lounge room.

Your heart sinks when you see the lounge is empty and the blankets are folded neatly on one end. There are no missed calls or messages on your phone from Bradley, but you can vaguely recall him making plans with the squad earlier in the week to go to the beach today. You go back into the bedroom and change into your own clothes, dropping your borrowed pyjamas in the hamper by the ensuite door before walking back into the main space.

You’re about to leave the apartment when a folded piece of paper on the kitchen island catches your eye. You snatch it and open it up, quickly reading Bradley’s scrawl.

Had to go. Coffee is fresh.

I’m sorry about last night, I overstepped.

You’ve always got me. I love you.

Breath catches in your throat and tears fill your eyes. You thought you’d cried yourself dry last night, but apparently not. It isn’t as if Bradley has never told you that he loves you. He’s said it before deploying and he’s said it to save himself after some particularly snarky jokes, and you’ve said it back, but this feels different. This feels like a confession.

“Fuck,” you mutter, wiping the tears from your cheeks. You shove the note into your pocket and continue toward the door, making sure it’s locked before it falls closed behind you.

It’s only a ten-minute walk to your place, and you quietly wonder if Bradley intentionally chose an apartment not far from yours. You wait impatiently as the elevator ascends to your floor, slipping through the doors the second they part and half jogging toward your apartment door. Once inside, you shower and pull on some clean clothes before running right back out the door.

Your mind races as you drive to the beach, trying to come up with the right words to say to Bradley. You don’t want to make it awkward, but you know you can’t leave last night unresolved. You would have to act normally in front of the squad, maybe pull him aside and tell him that you’re the one who's sorry. Or perhaps you should act like nothing has happened and text him later tonight.

You bounce back and forth between different ideas the entire drive. The only thing you do know is that you’re not going to take those last three words too seriously. Bradley loves you and he’s told you that before, this note is no different.

You slide your sunnies up your nose and scan the beach, easily spotting Javy’s broad frame and Jake bouncing around like an energetic border collie.

Mickey sees you first as you jog toward them. “Hey!” he calls, waving his arms like a maniac.

“Hey.” You’re a little breathless by the time you reach them, your eyes searching for Bradley amongst the bodies playing volleyball. “Where’s Rooster?”

“It’s nice to see you too,” Mickey chuckles. “He’s not here.”

You frown. “What?”

“Hey!” Natasha jogs up to you, abandoning the game. “Are you okay? Rooster told us you were stranded last night.”

“Yeah, I’m okay.” You push your sunnies to the top of your head. “It’s a long story but Rooster helped me out. Do you know where he is?”

She cocks her head, confusion written across her face. “He messaged the group chat this morning saying he couldn't come because he had to see Mav.”

“Mav,” you echo. “He’s at Maverick’s?”

Mickey nods. “As far as we know.”

Your phone buzzes in your pocket and you quickly pull it out, letting out a sigh when you see Johnny’s name across the screen. You look back up at your friends. “I’ve got to go see him, so I’ll see you guys later.”

“Everything okay?” Natasha asks.

You nod. “Of course, I just need Bradley.”

You turn and start jogging back toward your car, your legs burning as your feet sink into the soft sand. The drive to Maverick’s isn’t long, but you have to remind yourself several times to slow down and not be stupid. Your stomach sinks when you can’t spot the Bronco parked anywhere nearby, but you still climb the front porch and knock on the door.

Only a few seconds pass before Maverick answers. “Y/N?”

“Hey Mav, I’m sorry to bug you but-”

“Are you okay?” he interrupts, concern painting his face.

“Yeah, why?”

He leans a shoulder against the door frame. “Well, Rooster told me what happened last night and you’re looking a little flustered right now. That Johnny guy isn’t giving you a hard time, is he?”

“Oh, no,” you reply. “I mean, he’s been calling, but I haven’t answered. I was actually just looking for Bra- uh, Rooster.”

Maverick hesitates for a moment, his eyes reading you like you’re an open book with size forty-eight print. Every emotion on your face so easily distinguishable.

“He’s not here,” he finally says. “He left a little while ago. Not sure where he was headed, though,”

You take a deep breath to try and wrangle your nerves. You need to calm the fuck down. “Did he say anything to you?”

“About what?”

“Last night.”

The tiniest of smirks lifts the corner of Mav’s mouth. “He said that asshole you’re dating kicked you out of the car and left you stranded.”

You nod once, brows raised as if asking for more.

“He also said that he might have overstepped a little.”

You lift your hands to your face and groan into them, frustration and anxiety seeping from every pore in your body.

“I’m going to ask again,” Maverick says. “Are you okay?”

You shake your head, face still hidden in your hands. “No.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

You hesitate, trying to think of all the consequences that could possibly come from telling Maverick your problems. When you finally pull your hands away, they’re wet with tears.

You sniffle, looking up at the captain. “Yes please.”

He steps aside and ushers you in, offering you drinks and snacks as he guides you through to the back patio. You take a seat in the most comfortable looking wicker chair and catch a whiff of Bradley’s cologne, which only causes more tears to fill your eyes.

Maverick quickly joins you with a pitcher of water and two cups, and a box of tissues. “I’m going to start charging you kids for these therapy sessions,” he sighs.

A wet laugh leaves your lips as you press a few tissues to your face. “Sorry Mav.”

He chuckles. “Don’t be.”

After a minute, you manage to calm down enough to tell Maverick everything, even though he already knows a lot of it. You tell him about the first time you saw Bradley, the first time you realised why you felt a certain way around him, and the first time you had a feeling Bradley might feel the same. You fill in all the gaps about your family that Maverick missed when he was flying in and out on assignments, and you tell him all about the years that he and Bradley didn’t speak. You even tell him about your father, how he never liked Maverick and later threatened you with ruining Bradley’s career.

By the time you finish, you feel so light you could float. You’ve stopped crying, and you realise now that all the weight on your chest had been put there by your father. The same father who hasn’t given you more than a minute of his attention since the day he told you not to go near Bradley Bradshaw.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Maverick sighs at the ground. He has his elbows propped on his knees, his head in his hands as he stares at the deck beneath his feet.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly. “My dad is a dick.”

He looks up, frowning. “Why are you sorry?”

“Because he had no reason not to like you, but he did anyway.”

He chuckles. “I’m not a stranger to being disliked, especially by admirals.”

You laugh softly before taking a long swig of water.

“You’re right about him being a dick, though,” he says. “The fact that he ever thought he could tell you who to date is the worst example of parenting I’ve ever heard.”

You laugh again, but it’s more of a snort.

“Why didn’t you ever tell anyone?” Mav asks. “What about your mum?”

You shrug. “I was scared, and I loved Bradley too damn much to risk anything.”

His lip lifts into a smirk. “Be that as it may, your father has no right to threaten Bradley’s career.”

“What do you mean?”

Maverick chuckles now, elbows still leaning on his knees as he clasps his hands together. “Do you think that I would still be here if one admiral was able to do completely derail someone’s career?”

“Well, no,” you reply.

“Exactly.” He sits back now. “I don’t blame you for believing him, because that isn’t a threat that anyone would take lightly, but you really don’t need to worry. Bradley is a big boy now, he can stick up for himself, and if all else fails, he has a lot of other people on his side.”

You stare down at the empty cup in your hand, processing his words and letting them sink in, letting yourself believe them. “So, you’re saying-”

“You can love Bradley if you want to,” he says. “There might be other consequences for your relationship with your father, but as far as I’m concerned, he doesn’t deserve a relationship with his daughter unless he changes his attitude.”

Your heart thuds heavily against your ribs. “Thanks Mav, for everything.”

He nods. “Any time."

“Just one more thing?”

He quirks a brow, waiting for your question.

“What else did Bradley tell you this morning?”

The laugh that escapes his lips startles you, a wide grin stretched across his face as he pushes to stand. “Well, sweetheart, I think you should just go talk to Bradley yourself.”

You roll your eyes and stand too. “Fine.”

You thank Mav again as he walks you out. He gives you a hug and promises not to tell anyone what you’ve told him, but assures you again that whatever happens, Bradley’s career is safe. You walk off his porch feeling a lot lighter than when you had walked in, and when you get in your car, you pull your phone out and type a text to Johnny.

‘Fuck off.’

Then you block his number and drive home. You decide to give Bradley a little space, because you need to school your own thoughts before you go letting the skeletons dance their way out of the closet. You need to figure out how you’re going to explain yourself, and you need to decide if you actually want to risk the friendship and tell him you’re in love with him.

Just because Maverick got all giddy when you told him you were head over heels for Bradley doesn’t mean he’s definitely in love with you. You were hoping Mav might give you a hint, but he was stubborn, focusing on you and your feelings instead of divulging anything about Bradley’s feelings.

You busy yourself for most of the day with random chores and errands. When the sun starts to set, you settle onto your sofa and take your phone out, typing out a text to Bradley that you’ve been workshopping all afternoon.

‘Thanks again for last night. I appreciate you. What are you doing after work tomorrow?’

You put your phone on silent and toss it across the lounge, nerves creeping across every inch of your skin as you sink into the cushions. You’ve never been nervous to talk to Bradley. In fact, he’s the number one recipient of your usual word vomiting, but right now, you feel like you’re standing on the ledge of a skyscraper wondering if he’ll be there to catch you when you jump. If you jump.

-

Five days. It’s been five fucking days since you messaged Bradley, and nothing. You’ve only ever gone this long without speaking when he was deployed without access to his phone or reception. To say you were nervous five days ago feels like a joke now. You’ve barely slept, you’ve barely eaten, and you’re pretty sure you’re starting to see things that aren’t there. Had you imagined Bradley this whole time?

“You look tired,” Natasha says the second you open your apartment door.

“Thanks.”

You step aside and allow her to walk in, which she does with a scrunched-up nose. “Do you not have any windows in here?”

You roll your eyes. “Why are you here again?”

She spins on her heel and flashes you a smirk. “To make you feel better, obviously.”

“Doing a bang-up job so far,” you mumble sarcastically.

You move some of the blankets off the lounge to make room for her. You’ve been sleeping there the past few nights, falling in and out of consciousness while the TV plays reruns of old 90s sitcoms. You’re lucky you have the option to work from home, because you're not sure you’d have been able to drag yourself to work at all this week. Instead, you’ve been doing half-assed days at your desk while resisting the urge to put your phone in the blender.

Natasha sits on the lounge while you open your balcony door, letting in the brisk autumn air. “So,” she says, still smirking, “are you ready to feel better?”

You sit down beside her, curling your knees up to your chest. “I feel fine, actually.”

She raises her brows. “You do? Because the last time you missed pool night at The Hard Deck, someone had literally died.”

Shit. You’d completely forgotten about Wednesday night pool. In fact, you’ve forgotten about everything except Bradley, who has apparently forgotten about you.

“Did Rooster go?”

She shakes her head. “Nope.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding.

“See,” she says, her smile widening, “you already feel better.”

You roll your eyes. “Again, I’m totally fine, just-”

“Cut the bullshit,” she interrupts you, her expression turning serious. “I’m not here because I think you’re going to off yourself. I know you’re a big girl who can deal with heartbreak when she has to, but the thing is, you don’t have to.”

You frown. “What do you mean?”

“Ugh,” she groans, tipping her head back to stare at the ceiling. “Do you know how painful it is to deal with the two of you when the answer is to all this tension is so simple?”

You wait a beat, letting her have her moment that she has clearly been waiting to have.

“I’m not going to tell you something that I don’t know for sure, but I am going to tell you that Rooster is miserable,” she says. “He’s obviously not sleeping, he’s barely eating, and he hasn't strung more than four words together all week. Now, I know something went down, we all do, but I also know that now you’re both just being stubborn.”

You frown and open your mouth, but she holds a hand up to stop you.

“I’m not done.”

You roll your lips and nod once.

“I know I haven’t known either of you nearly as long as you’ve known each other,” she continues, “but I think I know you both well enough to know that you’re better together than you are apart. Whether or not that means marriage and babies, I don’t care. All I care about is that two of the most important people in the world to me don’t lose each other, because it’s kind of fucking obvious that you two are soulmates… or whatever.” She tacks on that last part with a wave of her hand, clearly becoming uncomfortable with the mushy stuff.

You push your bottom lip into a pout. “Aw, Nat,” you coo. “Bob was wrong, you do have a heart.”

Her brows dip into a scowl. “What did that fucker say about my heart?”

You roll your eyes and ignore her question, leaning across the couch to wrap your arms around her. She hesitates but hugs you back, rubbing circles between your shoulder blades. Natasha isn’t the most affectionate person, but she knows how to be there for her friends.

“Wait.” You pull back. “It’s Friday, why aren’t you at work?”

“They needed someone to cover a weekend, so Mav gave me today off.”

“Oh,” you nod before falling back into the couch.

“What’s wrong?”

You sigh. “Bradley might be miserable and all, but he’s still avoiding me. I’ve messaged him and called him, but he keeps ignoring me.”

Natasha hums thoughtfully. “I thought he might be. He’s been avoiding every conversation where your name comes up.”

You roll your eyes. Not that you blame him. From his point of view, you look like a pretty big idiot. You’ve been best friends for over a decade, flirting nonstop for half of that, and yet you keep dating assholes despite giving him all the signals that you’re actually into him.

“I have a plan,” Natasha says, her lips pulling back into a smirk. “You still have security clearance because of your dad, right?”

Twenty minutes and one hot shower later, you’re following Natasha out the door of your apartment and into the elevator. Your stomach flips nervously as the cabin descends, and you start to gnaw at your bottom on the way to her parked car. You haven’t been on the base in years. In fact, you try to avoid it, because you know that your father is there somewhere.

“Don’t be nervous,” Natasha says, glancing at you from behind her sunglasses.

Your eyes are fixed on the road ahead. “Bit hard not to be.”

You don’t live far from the base, and after barely ten minutes of Natasha’s questionable pep talking, the car rolls up to the main gate of North Island Naval Air Station. You both show your identification cards to the security guard in the booth while other guards inspect her vehicle. The butterflies in your stomach haven’t settled from the moment you stepped out of the shower, and now you’re starting to worry that the banana you managed to eat for breakfast isn’t going to stay down.

Natasha cruises through the familiar base, parking in one of the expansive staff lots before turning to you with an uncharacteristically wide grin. “Are you ready?”

“No.”

“Good, let’s go.”

You force yourself to open the door and plant your feet on the tarmac. Step by step, you make it around the vehicle to where Natasha is impatiently waiting.

“Come on,” she sighs. “We have to get to there before they’re called in for the weekly debrief.”

You take a deep breath and force some confidence into your voice. “Okay, okay. Just a little anxious about doing the one thing I’ve spent a good chunk of my life specifically not doing.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yes, very big deal. Now hurry up!”

Another deep breath has you feeling a little more human, more confident and grounded. You walk beside Natasha with a little more courage, gazing around at the huge buildings and looping roads. You haven’t been on the base in years because of your father. You’ve dated assholes for years because of your father. You’ve hurt the only boy you’ve ever loved because of your father.

Anger starts to bubble in your stomach as Natasha raises her wrist to check her watch. “Can you run?” she asks.

You nod. “Let’s run.”

The two of you break out into a sprint, shoes smacking against the concrete as Natasha leads the way. You don’t recognise much, not that you ever took special notice of the buildings when you visited with your father, but you do spot the Ford Bronco parked in one of the lots along the way.

“This way,” Natasha says.

You both slow to a jog as you approach one of the hangars. Natasha waves to a couple of the officers, greeting them with a vague explanation for her visit while you zone out and gaze up at the huge structure.

Through the hangar and on the other side where there are long stretches of tarmac and a line up of fighter jets, you find a familiar group. You have to squint to see them properly, all appearing in various states of exhaustion and one still on the ground doing push ups while Hondo counts beside him. The golden-brown head of hair makes your heart skip, and you trip on your own feet as you continue to approach the group.

Mickey notices the two of you first. He grins and waves before nodding once and walking up to each of the others, whispering something in their ears. They each give you a smile and a nod before slowly walking away from the boy doing push ups.

Hondo tips his head when you get closer, and winks. “194… 195… 195.”

“What?” Bradley gasps. “You just-”

“Quiet lieutenant,” Hondo snaps. “You’re going to make me lose count.”

Natasha gives you a subtle thumbs up before skipping off in the same direction as the rest of the squad.

Hondo inches away too, raising his voice to continue counting. “197… 198… 199.”

Your heart thunders within your chest, trying it’s hardest to break free as you watch Bradley sink into his final push up.

“200,” you say.

His arms wobble and his knees hit the concrete just in time to stop himself from falling on his face. When he glances up, sweaty and on all fours, you feel like you could faint.

“Hey,” he mutters. “What are you doing here?”

He sits back on his haunches and dusts his hands together, his eyes honey eyes sparkling under the setting sun.

“What do you think I’m doing here, Bradley?”

He glances around, noticing the absence of his squad. “Trespassing?”

You cross your arms and pop your hip. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“My problem?” He pushes up and rises to his full height. “Last I checked, you were the one with a penchant for self-destructive behaviours.”

You narrow your eyes. “Define such behaviours.”

“Dating assholes for their money and rank.”

Anger sizzles through your veins, heating your skin and making your fists ball. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he says, before walking past you.

It takes you a moment to catch up, to find your voice and stamp down the angry monster rearing its horns. Bradley has a right to be angry. You expected him to be angry.

“Bradley,” you call after him.

He keeps walking.

“Rooster!”

He keeps walking.

“Bradshaw!”

His steps falter but he doesn’t stop.

“Lieutenant Bradshaw!” you exclaim. “For fuck’s sake!”

He halts and turns on his heel, his eyes stormy beneath furrowed brows. “You have no authority to pull rank. In fact, it’s kind of illegal and could get your father in some serious trouble.”

“Good!” You cover the ground between the two of you, stopping barely inches from him. “I hope he gets in shit, I hope he gets court martialled, or whatever the fuck it is that happens to you lot when you misbehave.”

His frown softens, curiosity taking over his expression. “What?”

You have to take a deep breath, because standing this close to him has your head spinning. “My dad is an asshole.”

Bradley tips his head. “Well, yeah, but why does that matter right now?”

“Because”– you take half a step back so you don’t hurt your neck looking up at him –“when we were younger, when you got accepted into the TOPGUN programme, he told me that you weren’t good enough for me.”

The muscles in his jaw jump as he clenches his teeth.

“I didn’t believe him,” you continue quickly, “but he threatened me. Well, he threatened you, your career. He said that if I didn’t get over my stupid crush, he would ruin your career, and I was young and stupid enough to believe that he could.”

His jaw relaxes and his expression softens. “He said he would ruin my career?”

You nod. “I couldn’t let him do that, but I couldn’t lose you either, so I did the only thing I could think of. I started dating assholes that dad would like, so I could stay friends with you. If he thought I was with these other guys, he wouldn’t question how much time I spent with you.”

His eyes go a little glassy. “You dated all those assholes so you could stay friends with me and protect me?”

You nod again, the bridge of your nose stinging as you stare up at the most beautiful man you’ve ever met. “I couldn’t risk him finding out that I’m in love with you.”

Despite the distant sounds of the ocean, the birds chirping, and the hum of machinery, you feel like the world has stopped spinning. You hold your breath, waiting for him to react, to say something.

“In love,” he whispers, “with me?”

You nod for the third time, your voice stuck in your throat with the last breath you’d captured.

“Fuck.” He rubs a hand up his jaw and through his hair, his eyes bouncing around the hangar before returning to yours. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

You feel like the elephant sitting on your chest has finally moved, and you let out a long breath.

“Oh, thank God,” he mutters. “Because I am so in love with you, it-” He doesn’t finish his sentence before he dips his head and presses his mouth against yours, his hands holding your head.

His lips are as soft as you’d always imagined. They taste like mint and something sweet, and they move against yours in the most perfect way. Your fingers find the material of his flight suit and pull him closer, that rope in your gut demanding his body be against yours as you mouths move together. When he fits against you like he was made to be there, everything finally feels perfect.

“Hurts,” he whispers against your lips. “So in love with you, it hurts.”

“Does it still hurt?” you murmur into his mouth, not letting him more than an inch away from you.

You feel his lips curl into a smile. “A little less now, but you should keep kissing it better.”

He tilts your head back and deepens the kiss, making you gasp against his mouth. Your head spins and your knees give, but Bradley’s hands quickly fall to your waist and keep your body pressed to his.

He chuckles. “I’ve got you.”

“Always have,” you say.

He presses his forehead against yours as you both breathe. You know Bradley, you’ve known him since you were ten, and you know that he is doing exactly what you’re doing right now. He’s telling himself that this is real.

“Do you- um, do you want to come over tonight?” you ask.

In one swift move, his hands drop to the backs of your thighs and he crouches a little before hoisting you up off the ground. You yelp and wrap your legs around his waist, now looking down at his big, beautiful smile.

“Fuck yeah, I do,” he says. “Do we have to wait until then or do you just want to do it in the Bronco?”

You giggle, your cheeks burning. “It’s really weird to hear you say shit like that.”

He chuckles. “Oh, baby, you better get used to it. You’re going to hear a whole lot more come out of my mouth tonight.”

END.

[bradshawburner]

When Bridesmaid Met Bradley

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x f!reader

Summary: Being your best friend’s maid of honour brings a lot into your life- bachelorette planning, dress fittings, and debt mainly- but, perhaps most importantly, it brings an unexpected partner-in-crime in the form of the best man, Bradley Bradshaw.

Warnings: Wedding day shenanigans, a homophobic relative who gets what she deserves, alcohol, swearing, brief reference to the current USA political climate

A/N: Strap in for a ride on the Rooster romcom rollercoaster!

You had only cried twice so far, which you thought was respectable for the morning of your childhood best friend’s wedding. You could even argue that the second cry didn’t count, considering that it had been provoked by overhearing the mother of the bride humming Slipping Through My Fingers by ABBA as she helped Katie into her wedding dress.

Anyone who didn’t well up at that didn’t have a heart.

Seeing the girl you’d known since the two of you were in nappies in her wedding dress, ready to marry her soulmate, was a bittersweet kind of happiness. Natasha was the perfect partner for Katie and you knew that they were going to have the happiest life together. There was just a tiny, bitter, niggling part of you that felt painfully aware of how your own love life was lacking in comparison.

The air in the bridal suite was thick with hairspray and excitement, and you resisted the urge to check just once more that the little flower girl definitely had her spare inhaler concealed in her basket. Careful in your heels, you joined Katie in front of the mirror, slipping your hand into hers and squeezing.

“You look so beautiful,” you told her, both of you smiling at each other in the mirror. A bride in white and a maid of honour in navy blue smiled back at you both, and for a moment you swore you saw the little girls playing dress-up that the two of you used to be.

“So do you,” she answered earnestly, “You’re my something blue.”

You groaned dramatically.

“You’re so lucky Natasha loves you even with your corny jokes.”

The two of you dissolved into giggles, interrupted only by an insistent knock at the door. Katie’s smile vanished as you both recognised the rhythm, her joy replaced by nerves in a second as Julian, the well-meaning but intense MC, stuck his head around the door.

“Let’s get this show on the road, ladies! The guests are waiting!”

You glared at him before he ducked out of the room again, seeing the telltale threat of emotional tears in Katie’s perfectly made-up eyes.

“Oh my god, I’m getting married,” she whispered, as though it was the first time she was realising it. There had been several of those moments that morning, each ending in tears that had been carefully dried, however this was the first one since Katie’s makeup had been done.

And the wedding was due to start in five minutes.

You could see her starting to spiral and knew that five minutes were not going to cut it. Thinking on the spot, you set off purposefully for the door.

“Where are you going?” Katie asked frantically as her mother held a tissue under her eyes and encouraged her to tip her head back.

“Buying you time.”

The room where Natasha and her half of the wedding party were getting ready was at the other end of the corridor from where you and Katie had set up camp. Knocking, you prayed that your plan would work.

The door swung open and you were greeted by a man who looked like a Ken doll in his Navy propaganda era. Tanned skin, blond hair, and a shockingly white grin- he was the kind of man you were annoyed at yourself for finding attractive because it was so obvious.

“Well, hello, Miss,” he drawled.

Yeah, he wouldn’t do for this.

“Could I borrow Bradley?” you asked hopefully.

You had only met Bradley Bradshaw, Natasha’s best man, twice- once at the engagement party, and last night at the rehearsal dinner. Handsome, confident, and extremely loyal to his friends, you hoped that he would be the best man for this task as well.

“Rooster! The maid of honour wants you!”

You rolled your eyes at the man in front of you’s wording, and a second later your jaw was dropping as Bradley stepped out into the hallway.

He was wearing the exact same dress whites as the blond bombshell that had answered the door, but they looked even better on him. His sun-kissed dark hair was perfectly tousled, his skin looking even more deliciously tanned against the crisp white of his uniform, and he filled out the shirt and trousers sinfully well.

“Everything okay?” he asked, leaning in the doorway in a way that had you fighting the instinct to swoon. Maybe if you swooned he would catch you in those arms-

“I need you,” you blurted out, and his eyebrows raised in surprise, “I mean, Katie needs you.”

Frowning, he pulled the door shut behind him so that no one inside the room would overhear your conversation. In doing so, he stepped closer to you and you forced yourself to look up from his chest.

“What’s going on?”

“Katie needs her makeup saved because she keeps crying- happy tears, by the way- and the MC keeps rushing us. I have a plan to buy us some time, but I need you to make it work,” you told him, “I can explain on the way?”

He hummed, straightening up.

“Lead the way.”

“Wait, why me?”

You sighed in frustration after explaining your plan around the corner from where the MC was close to pacing a hole in the foyer carpet.

“What part wasn’t clear?” you whispered harshly.

“Why can’t you flirt with him?” he asked, perplexed. You fixed him with an unamused look.

“Bradley, that is a gay man. I don’t think I’m his type.”

“But I don’t know how to flirt with a guy!” he protested, sounding genuinely ashamed of the gap in his expertise.

You rolled your eyes, the prospect of the hair stylist’s wrath the only thing keeping you from tearing your hair out. Settling instead for a calming inhale and exhale that would have made your therapist proud, you settled your hands on his shoulders and began to slowly back him towards the corner.

“Tell him you’ve been cooped up at sea and haven’t felt another human’s touch in months. Channel the eighties porn star you stole that moustache from. Ask him if he wants to find out why they call you Rooster. I don’t care what you do, just buy us enough time for her setting spray to dry!”

With that, you shoved him unceremoniously around the corner.

Barely a minute later, Bradley sidled back around the corner, looking dejected. You straightened up, staring at him in disbelief.

“Don’t tell me he’s straight.”

“Yeah, no, he’s definitely gay. At least, he was until I spoke to him. I may have put him off men for good.”

“Oh.” You rolled your lips together to try and suppress your laughter, but it was in vain. “Did you use the-”

“Yes, I used the Rooster line.”

“Well, you better hope Katie’s makeup is set, otherwise I’ll be sending you back for round two.”

Miraculously, Katie was ready to go in the time it took for Bradley to unsuccessfully flirt with Julian- who kept giving him sympathetic smiles as you all gathered outside the wedding hall. Natasha was ready and waiting inside the hall, and Katie’s excitement had finally dried her tears.

As you carefully arranged Katie’s train on the floor where she was positioned behind the bridesmaids and brides-boys (as you’d been reliably informed was the title of Natasha’s friends’ group chat), you overheard Bradley talking to Jack, Natasha’s nephew and the ring-bearer.

“If you wear your tie, I’ll take you up in my plane.”

“I’ve already been up in Aunt Tasha’s plane.”

Bradley shot you a helpless look, and you sighed and went to join him in crouching in front of the little boy.

“Jack, I will give you ten dollars if you keep your tie on until the end of the ceremony,” you offered.

Jack fiddled with the end of his tie as he pondered your offer.

“Hmm…twenty and it’s a deal.”

Your eyes widened and Bradley choked on air beside you.

“You’re seven years old, what do you need twenty dollars for?” you asked incredulously.

“Savings! My mom says you’re never too young to start building a healthy credit score.”

You felt as though you were close to also doubling as Katie’s something old as you tried to process the words you’d just heard come out of the same mouth you’d been trying to keep from eating the corsages just half an hour earlier.

“Building a healthy- oh my god, just take the twenty and keep your tie on.”

“Pleasure doing business with you!” Jack said chirpily.

You and Bradley left the little conman in order to take your positions at the head of the procession before the doors, Bradley offering you his arm gallantly. You had to remind yourself there was nothing but ceremony behind the gesture, and that it was inappropriate to squeeze his bicep in awe.

“That kid is either gonna be a supervillain or the President one day,” you commented, looking over your shoulder and watching bitterly as Jack folded your twenty into his pocket. Bradley snorted.

“You can be both these days. Just look at-”

“Don’t say his name, we have to try and look happy and hopeful for the photographer.”

“You’re right.” He took a deep breath and fixed a bright smile on his face. “The Democrats are gonna get back in and we’re all gonna be fine.”

You patted his chest sympathetically.

“That’s the spirit, big guy.”

The two of you stopped talking abruptly as Julian shushed you both with a glare, shepherding everyone into their positions and reminding each and every one of you to smile.

“I’ve served under Admirals less pushy than this guy,” Bradley murmured in your ear as the procession music started, and you just barely managed not to snort in amusement. His moustache twitched as he grinned at your reaction. “Oh, and here.”

You looked at him in confusion as the doors opened to the wedding hall; he was offering you a spare pocket square.

“What’s this for?”

“I have a hunch you’re a crier.”

You just had time to hide the pocket square in your bouquet before Julian was all but shoving the two of you to start walking down the aisle.

The ceremony passed in a blur, Natasha and Katie both absolute visions in their white dresses. True to his word- and your bribe- Jack kept his tie on throughout the whole affair and only yawned once.

You dabbed subtly at your eyes as Katie said her vows, mouthing a “thank you” at Bradley when he caught your eye and grinned. You blamed the butterflies that burst into flight in your belly at his answering wink on the champagne at breakfast.

It would have been easy to let your heart get carried away at being held in Bradley Bradshaw’s arms while a corny Ed Sheeran love song played. You could so easily have melted into his strong arms, gotten addicted to the feeling of his hands on your waist, but you reminded yourself firmly that it was tradition for the best man to dance with the maid of honour.

He was just following tradition.

It meant nothing.

“We made a pretty good team today.”

You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t realise he had spoken at first, not until you felt him looking at you. You swallowed, trying not to dwell on how close together your faces were.

“We did.”

His thumb rubbed over your waist gently and you wished so badly that this wasn’t the end of being in each other’s lives. After today, you would see each other once a year if you were lucky, maybe with a few glimpses into each other’s lives on social media. It had you feeling like Cinderella at the ball.

Once your sparkly shoes came off at midnight, you’d lose your handsome prince.

“I was thinking-”

You didn’t get to find out what Bradley was thinking because Jack chose that moment to barrel into your legs and ask you to dance with him. For a second, you swore that you saw disappointment flashing across his face, but then he was smiling.

“Enjoy your dance,” he said, releasing your hand and heading off to the bar.

You watched him go, trying not to think too hard about what he had been about to say.

A couple of hours into the reception, you were sitting on a stone bench outside the venue, getting some air. The summer evening air was starting to cool and you welcomed the brief respite from the loud music and sticky warmth of the ballroom.

The sound of gravel crunching under feet had you looking up to see Bradley approaching with a glass of champagne in each hand.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked.

You shuffled over to make room for him, and he handed you one of the champagne flutes.

“Cheers.”

The silence between the two of you was comfortable- surprisingly comfortable, for how little you knew each other.

A gentle breeze blew and you rubbed your bare arm without thinking, feeling goosebumps appearing there.

“Are you cold?” Bradley asked in concern.

Before you could say a word, he was setting his glass down and shrugging out of his uniform jacket to drape it carefully around your shoulders. The heavy, starched material was warm from his body heat and the lingering scent of his aftershave had you tempted to bury your nose in the collar.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, your mouth suddenly dry despite the champagne.

His hands lingered for just a second longer than necessary, making sure that the jacket was secure on your shoulder.

“I don’t think I actually said earlier…you look beautiful.”

Your lips parted in surprise.

“You don’t scrub up too badly yourself.”

He chuckled at that.

“What were you going to say earlier?” you surprised yourself by asking him before you could chicken out, “Before-”

“Before our future President stole you away from me?”

You giggled at that.

“Yeah. Then.”

He turned slightly more to face you.

“I was gonna ask if maybe we could keep seeing each other after this? It’s been really fun, being your sidekick today.”

The giddiness you felt at that couldn’t be blamed on the champagne. You opened your mouth to tell him that you absolutely wanted that, but then you spotted an unfortunately familiar face in the distance over his shoulder.

“Oh fuck no.”

His eyes widened in alarm at the aggression in your tone.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise I was misinterpreting this-”

You scrambled to save the situation whilst keeping a careful eye on the person approaching the venue entrance, getting to your feet.

“No, no! We are absolutely coming back to this conversation and I plan on kissing the life out of you, but we have an emergency on our hands.”

He looked utterly bewildered, getting to his feet alongside you.

“You’re gonna kiss me? Wait, what’s the emergency?”

“Thoroughly, but stay focussed, Lieutenant. That-” You pointed to the storm cloud in heels approaching the venue entrance. “-is Katie’s Aunt Angela. The most homophobic bitch of a woman you’ve ever met.”

He whirled around to see who you were pointing at, frowning at the sight.

“I’m assuming she wasn’t invited?”

“No the fuck she wasn’t. Hold my drink.”

He took your glass as soon as you held it out to him.

“Okay- wait, where are you going?” he asked in confusion as you strode off like a woman on a mission towards the entrance.

“Angela!”

His eyes widened as you called out to the woman with unmistakeable anger, and he hastily set your drink down to jog after you before you could commit a crime…unassisted.

Five minutes later, you slid nonchalantly into the seat besides Katie where she was watching Natasha dance with her parents.

“Having fun?” you asked innocently.

She eyed you suspiciously and you continued to smile as though butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth.

“I’m going to choose to ignore the fact that I just saw Bradley pass the window with what looked like my Aunt Angela over his shoulder.”

Your smile didn’t falter.

“I would appreciate that. I can’t answer questions about that without a lawyer present,” you told her primly.

She rolled her eyes with a grin.

“In that case, can I ask about what you currently have on your shoulders and how it looks very much like it was Navy-issued?” she asked, the smug look on her face telling you that she knew exactly who the jacket belonged to.

“…I want my lawyer.”

Most people had gone home or gone off to their rooms for the night, but you were still sat at one of the tables at the edge of the room, sipping from a glass of cool water. Your heels were abandoned on the empty chair beside you, and you watched fondly as Natasha and Katie swayed together on the otherwise empty dance floor, incandescently happy in their own little bubble.

“We have another emergency.”

You looked up in surprise to see Bradley standing behind you- you hadn’t seen him in hours. His jacket was now draped over the back of your chair.

“What’s wrong? Shit, is Angela back-”

“No, no, she’s not coming back. She’s too scared you’re gonna deck her- which, by the way, I was rooting for you.”

You rolled your eyes at him but couldn’t quite hide the amused twitch of your lips.

“Wait, so what’s the emergency?”

He slid into the seat not occupied by your shoes and looked at you seriously, facing you with his arm resting on the back of your chair.

“This really beautiful bridesmaid promised to, quote, kiss the life out of me earlier, and here I am, alive and un-kissed.”

You laughed in disbelief, your pulse not settling even as you realised there was no real emergency.

“That’s devastating.”

“Tragic, really,” he agreed, grinning at you.

“It’s verging on Shakespearean.”

He whistled lowly.

“I love it when you talk brainy to me.”

The surprised giggle you let out should have been embarrassing but the way he was grinning at you had you not caring at all.

“At ease, sailor.”

“It’s Lieutenant Commander, actually,” he corrected smoothly.

“That…should not be as attractive as I’m finding it right now.”

He grinned, shifting closer to you.

“It’s only fair. You’ve been walking around, all gorgeous and smart and funny, all day. I never stood a chance.”

“All’s fair in love and war,” you quipped, the breathiness of your own voice surprising you. You blamed the proximity, and his words, and his face.

He groaned at that and it took all of your willpower not to squeeze your thighs together.

“Again with the smartness? You’re killing me here, honey.”

Emboldened, you reached out to trace your finger along his jawline, feeling a little thrill at the way it slackened at such a light touch from you. His eyes kept flitting to your lips.

“You gonna kiss me about it, Lieutenant Commander?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He kissed like he danced, confidently, holding you close, as though you were something precious. One of his hands cupped your cheek, respectful of your hairstyle, and the other found your waist to bring you closer. His moustache was surprisingly soft against your upper lip, his lips plush and soft and so very giving against yours.

When he finally pulled away, you couldn’t resist chasing his lips for just one more taste; you could feel him smiling into that kiss.

“I knew it,” he whispered.

“What?” you asked in confusion, your mind made foggy by his kisses.

“Kissing you was worth the wait,” he said simply, as though it was obvious.

Oh, you were in trouble.

[bradshawburner]

no pilots allowed • bradley bradshaw

Rooster and his teammates are frequent patrons at your aunt's bar, the Hard Deck, while they're training for a dangerous mission. When he asks you out on a date, the two of you jokingly agree to keep it friendly, never cross certain lines…but Rooster has other ideas.

"Do you ever sleep?"

You don't look up from the glass you're polishing, but your mouth twitches into a faint smile...the same way it always does when he shows up at the Hard Deck this early.

"We're not open for, like, another few hours," you tell Rooster, as if he doesn't know that already. You can hear him approaching the bar from behind, his footsteps heavy on the hardwood floor, making his way through the quiet, mostly-empty room.

You're not supposed to let people in before hours, technically. Especially not good-looking naval aviators who will inevitably distract you a little more than you'd like to admit, but...

"Then what are you doing here?" he asks.

You look up at him. He's taken off his aviators, his dark eyes watching you rather intently. His posture is casual, his tall frame leaning against the counter.

You set down the glass you've been polishing and reach for another one, returning your attention to your task. "Someone has to make sure everything's ready before we open."

He gives you a slow, easy smile. "Mind if I help?"

"Help?"

"Yeah." He looks around the bar as if trying to figure out where to start. "What do you need me to do?"

"Aren't you tired from training?"

"I'm fine," he says, not convincing you in the slightest. "Seriously. What do you need?"

You set down the glass. A small part of you can't resist the chance to keep him around longer.

"I'll feel bad if I make you work," it sounds like you're reasoning with yourself.

Rooster grins. "Then don't make me work. It's my idea."

"My aunt will kill me if she catches you in here, especially if you're working."

"She won't know."

Well...there are some heavy crates that need to be brought in from the storage room, bottles of alcohol that need to be placed on the shelves, tables that need to be wiped down...

The heavy ones. Oh, the heavy ones are tempting.

"You're a menace," you tell him, though it comes out sounding more like a compliment than an insult. It's hard to offend him anyway, you've found; he seems to take everything you say in stride, regardless of whether you mean it or not.

He smiles at you, unfazed. "Is that a yes?"

"What are you doing here so early anyway? You and your team don't usually show up until well after dark."

"Do I need a reason?"

"It's early. You can't be that bored already."

"Maybe I just wanted to see you."

Boy, is he good.

Not falling for it is a challenge every time. You wonder if Rooster knows that, if he gets a kick out of it the way Hangman does when he flirts with every pretty girl who crosses his path. The difference is, Hangman's flirting is playful, an intentional provocation that you can take as a compliment or blow off with a laugh.

Rooster's flirting is different. It's always delivered in that same deep, mellow voice of his, a warm baritone that reminds you of dark whiskey on a cold night, and he has a way of saying things that makes you think he might actually mean them.

"...you don't have to sweet-talk me," you tell him. "I already let you in."

He grins at you. "Who says I'm sweet-talking?"

You turn back to your task of polishing glasses so he won't see the smile you can't contain. That's it, you think. New rule: no more letting him in early. He's too distracting.

"Am I being kicked out?" Rooster asks, amused.

"Yes."

"Really?"

You try not to laugh. "No. But you really don't have to help."

He straightens up from the bar and stretches his arms, yawning. "Where's Penny? Did she leave you here to do all this by yourself?"

"Visiting her mother with Amelia. She'll be back later. I offered to cover while she's gone," maybe out of boredom or some desperation for human contact, but it sounded like a good idea at the time, you just didn't realize it would involve so much work. "The other waitresses will be here, um, soon, I guess, once it gets closer to opening time."

You don't want to admit you're a little intimidated by the responsibility. You've only been working at the Hard Deck for a few months now, having moved here from halfway across the country, and most of that time has been spent behind the bar or taking orders on your notepad, doing the tasks Penny asked you to do, and nothing more. Now that she's away for a few days, you're starting to feel a little overwhelmed with the amount of work that needs to be done.

"You look tired," Rooster observes.

"Thanks."

"I mean it in a good way."

"It doesn't sound good."

"You always look nice," he clarifies, to your mild embarrassment and surprise. "I just mean you seem like you could use some help."

You don't meet his gaze because, no, you're not going to be distracted by those brown eyes again, it's bad enough already. "I...okay. The delivery truck is supposed to arrive soon, so...there are a lot of crates that need to be brought inside. And some in the storage room that I need to bring here to the bar. Some of them are really heavy. I'm not even sure how Penny brings them in by herself."

"Let me take care of that for you."

Let me take care of that for you, says he, like it's no big deal.

"There are some boxes of liquor that need to be taken out of the storage room and brought in here, too," you continue, despite your better judgment, still watching him out of the corner of your eye.

He gives you another slow smile. "Okay. Where is this storage room?"

"There's a door behind the bar. To the right. I'll help you carry them."

"You don't have to."

"I'll show you where they are. And it's gonna be easier if there are two of us."

He looks at you with a knowing smile. "Is that why you want to come along? So you can make sure I don't get distracted and break anything?"

"Exactly."

"I think you're just making excuses to spend time with me."

Does he really have to keep looking at you like that?

"Rooster," you say, as firmly as you can manage.

"Yes?" It doesn't seem to bother him that you're trying to scold him. In fact, you think he's enjoying it.

You walk backwards behind the bar to lead him toward the storage room, pausing when you reach the door. You let out a sigh. "You're going to be the death of me, you know that?"

"Really?" He grins at you, putting his hands in his pockets. "I thought I was being very nice."

"Is that what you call it?"

"Yeah."

"Crates," you say, gesturing to the storage room and changing the subject before he can talk his way into any more compliments. "In there, by the wall. The smaller boxes on the shelves are for the bar. We'll bring them in after we move the big crates. The ones with the heavy bottles inside."

Rooster pauses. "'We'?"

"I can't let you carry all of those by yourself. They're heavy."

"That's cute. But I can handle it."

"No. Not by yourself."

He gives you a confident grin. "Watch me."

The moment he disappears into the storage room, you start to regret saying anything at all. You're not entirely sure what possessed you to let him help you with this; he must have gotten to your head. There are plenty of things you could be doing right now while he's out of sight, and yet...you decide to stand there in the doorway, watching him take inventory of the room, squinting in the dim light and trying to decide where to start.

It's not like you can just leave him to it. It would be too embarrassing if he hurt himself and you did nothing. The best way to keep an eye on him is to stay close by.

Right?

Rooster lets out a groan as he heaves one of the large crates up off the floor. "You weren't kidding," he mutters. "These are heavy."

"Let me—"

"I've got it."

He doesn't let you help him. He lifts the crate off the ground with another grunt, and you're distracted for a moment by the sight of his muscular arms flexing under the strain, the tight white t-shirt he's wearing pulled even tighter across his chest, the—

"Y/N?"

"Hm?" You look up quickly. "What?"

He grins at you. "Want to open the door for me?"

Fuck, you think, not for the first time that day, stepping out of the way to let him through.

You grab a smaller crate for yourself. It's not as heavy as the one Rooster is carrying, but you still strain a little under the weight of it, and Rooster still gives you a disapproving look when he notices.

"I told you," he says, slightly out of breath from his own effort, "you don't have to help."

"It's literally my job to help," you mutter. "Actually, it's my job to carry them all myself, so—"

"I got it."

"Yeah, but I can—"

"You can relax," he tells you, letting out a small groan as he heaves the crate up a little higher. "And go back to what you were doing."

It would be easier to protest if he didn't make it look so effortless. He carries the crate out of the storage room and sets it on the floor near the bar with a thud, barely breaking a sweat.

Your fingers dig into the rough edges of your own crate, which seems ten times heavier all of a sudden. You set it down next to his, more carefully than he did, glancing over at him to see if he noticed.

He looks down at the crate you just set on the floor, then over at you with barely concealed amusement. "Not bad," he says. "You could handle that all by yourself?"

"Shut up."

"No, really." He's not trying to hide his smile anymore. "Impressive."

The laugh you let out is entirely involuntary, equal parts embarrassed and amused. "Okay, fine, I get it," you say. "You're strong. You go get the rest of them while I finish wiping down the tables."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Thank you."

"Any time."

It's fine, you tell yourself as he heads back into the storage room. Rooster being in here won't distract you. It's fine. Everything is fine.

The delivery truck arrives shortly after Rooster has brought in the last of the crates to the bar, so you spend the next hour opening the boxes and sorting the bottles, filling the shelves behind the bar with whiskey and rum and vodka, gin and tequila and other liquors...and totally not stealing glances at Rooster as he carries the crates from the truck into the storage room.

You've found a rhythm by the time he returns from the truck for the final time, wiping your hands on your apron as you watch him approach the bar.

"I think that's all of them," he says, letting out a groan as he stretches his arms above his head.

The nerve, you think, resisting the urge to stare. The absolute nerve.

"Thank you."

He lowers his arms. "I never said it was for free."

"What?"

Rooster leans forward and props his elbows on the bar, the same cocky grin from earlier playing at his lips. "There's a price for my help."

"A price?" you ask, still polishing the same glass you've been working on since he arrived. "And what's that?"

"...a drink."

Well, that's easy.

"A drink? You want me to pay you a drink?"

"Ah, no, no," he says with a laugh, waving his hand like the idea is ridiculous. "I want you to let me buy you a drink."

Oh.

"Oh."

"And something to eat, too," he adds, and by the time you recover from the initial shock of what he's suggesting, he's already standing up straight again. "What time do you get off work?"

"No."

"No?" He looks at you in surprise.

"I can't," but you're only barely resisting.

"You can."

"Rooster."

He frowns. "What?"

"I..." Why is this so hard? "I can't go out with you. It's—I can't."

"Why not?"

You feel tempted. Boy, are you tempted. You're smiling even as you shake your head, trying to focus on polishing the glass in your hands. "Because I actually...like you."

Rooster pauses, his smile returning. "You can't go out with me because you like me?"

"This heart," you tap your fingers on your chest, smiling still, "is off limits, okay? No pilots allowed."

The tables are clean and the bar is stocked and organized, but you need to do something else, anything else, if only to avoid Rooster's gaze. You slip the cloth you've been using into your apron pocket and look around for another task. There must be something you missed. Anything.

Tables, yeah. You can wipe down the tables again.

"Okay," he says slowly, clearly not convinced, "so let me get this straight: You like me, therefore you're not allowed to go out with me?"

You nod. "Exactly."

"Are you kidding?"

You take the cloth out of your apron pocket again and glance around the bar, searching for any traces of dust on the tables or chairs that might need to be wiped down.

"Y/N?"

You've already gone over the tables once...

Rooster steps closer. "You know that makes no sense, right?"

You're not distracted by the sight of his hand sliding onto the countertop next to you. You're not distracted by the sudden proximity of him as he leans in closer. It's fine, it's not a problem, you can deal with this.

"So...you're saying you do want to go out with me," he says, sounding far too pleased with himself, "but you won't?"

He's so close. He smells good, like pine and leather. You glance over at him, realizing how little space there is between you now, and quickly look away.

"That's—I don't..."

"Because you like me."

"Shut up."

His gaze drops to your mouth. "Make me."

You swallow. Hard.

It takes a monumental amount of willpower to step away from him, to resist the temptation to touch him or get closer, but you manage. Barely. You make yourself focus on the task you've found for yourself, pretending that Rooster isn't standing behind you watching as you wipe down the tables a second time.

"I think we should go out," he says again, obviously not taking your silence for the no it's supposed to be. "There's a place downtown that I think you'd like."

You chuckle, which probably doesn't help matters, but...it's really hard to say no to him.

"Would I?"

He must have sensed weakness because he follows you around the bar as you continue your pointless cleaning. "Today is one of the last days we have off," he tells you. "Maverick has us in the air all day tomorrow, and most of the day after that. If we don't go out tonight, who knows when we'll have another chance...or how long it'll be before I see you again."

"Rooster..."

"Come on," he says, more gently this time. "One drink. Or maybe dinner. Nothing too fancy. I promise."

You pause and glance over at him. He really doesn't know when to quit. "But it's not a date."

"No. Totally not."

You don't like how much it sounds like he's laughing at you.

"Really?"

"Not even close," he says, like he's serious. "It's a totally not date between two friends."

He follows you, like a puppy, around the bar, until you pause again, thinking it over for what feels like the millionth time in the last few minutes. One drink, he said.

Not a date.

...just two friends hanging out.

No feelings involved.

You sigh, letting the cloth in your hand drop to the table, giving in to the inevitable. "Fine," you say, turning around to face him. "But it's not a date."

"No."

"Or a first date."

"Right."

"And it's just one drink."

"I swear."

"And we can't—we can't..." You can't help but notice the way he's looking at you, his brown eyes full of mischief, a hint of that playful smile on his lips again, and you're suddenly worried he might get the wrong idea about this whole thing. "No...you know."

His eyes linger on your mouth again before meeting your gaze with a sly smile. "No...what?"

"You know."

"I really don't."

"It's not a date."

He chuckles softly at your obvious distress, clearly enjoying this. "Okay, it's not a date."

"Exactly. So don't do anything you'd do if it was a date."

He steps closer, grinning, the space between you evaporating again. "And what is it," he asks in that deep voice of his, a low rumble that resonates somewhere in the pit of your stomach, "that you think I would do on a date?"

The table behind you feels like it's digging into your back.

"No kissing."

"Got it," he says, resting one hand on the table behind you, "no kissing."

"Or any other...date stuff."

"Like what?"

"Like..." You glance at his mouth.

Rooster smiles. "You want to make a list?"

You duck under his arm before he can do something that will get you in trouble. "I'll meet you after work," you tell him over your shoulder as you walk back toward the bar, desperate for some space before you lose your resolve altogether. "Just...stop talking. You're distracting me."

He turns and watches you, amused. "Okay. Pick you up at seven?"

You wonder if it's too late to back out of this, or if he's going to show up here at seven with that stupid smile of his and his ridiculous mustache and ruin everything anyway.

"You don't have to pick me up," you mutter, wiping your hands on your apron one more time, unable to hide your smile. "It's not a date, remember?"

"Whatever you say, sweetheart."

Oh, he's impossible.

"It's not a date!"

[bradshawburner]

bradley bradshaw blushes like crazy

embarasssed? drunk? too warm? horny? he's blushing, always a full face, ears and neck response

jake's fav thing is to see how many times he can make him blush in the span of one day (with different tactics...)

[bradshawburner]

Thank you guys so much for the amount of love my new posts are getting! Not crying, I swear.

Here is the short awaited individual pictures of our aviators helmets! Ignore the minor flaws, because they exist. Hope you enjoy!!

Might be making more TGM art soon, who knows?👀

[bradshawburner]

Hello all, just spent the last two days drawing the helmets of all of our favorite aviators!! Enjoy!

Might post again at some point with each individually, cause the quality leaves when I put them all together.

[bradshawburner]

my piece for the top gun endless summer exchange :) the prompt was maverick, the daggers, and karaoke!

for @starrybouquet, ily! hope u enjoy!

[bradshawburner]

[bradshawburner]

some warm n cozy bob floyds cuz i adore him

[bradshawburner]

Either pining from afar or date night vibes—take your pick! 💕

[bradshawburner]

miles teller saying nope, that's it, that's the post

{ignore my shitty recording}

[bradshawburner]

Oh this was so soft! Now I’m all 🥹🥹🥹

Jake loves the tattoos that adorn Bradley's body.

The origami birds that take flight across his shoulder-blades. A goose, a swan, with a rooster gazing up at them.

The stark lines of the missing man formation of four F-14's, three shooting across his chest, with the fourth arcing up to rest over his heart.

No matter how many times Jake's fingers trace the aged lines of the B-25 Mitchell that rests in the crook of his elbow, Bradley won't explain the choice, only murmurs about it being his first, and that he is going to have it covered up.

He never does. But Jake's favourite, the one his fingers can't stay away from, is the little incomplete hangman figure he comes home with after his last deployment. Five months they spent apart. Five months new ink has been carried on Bradley's hip without Jake's knowledge and investigation. Five months where the spot Jake's hand rests as they settle to sleep has had seven empty spaces for letters. Five months Bradley has waited to play, Sharpie in hand. Counting the dashes, and even taking note of them being split into groups of 5 and 2, Jake still has to try his callsign first. "H" "Not your callsign you egotistical shit." Bradley added a frown on the blank face. "A" _A___ __ "J" "Nope." "K" "Are you using your name now?" "Yes." "No. A leg and two eyes added to the tattoo later, Jake is staring more intently at Bradley's hip than he has at any Bandit and then it dawns on him. MA__Y M_

The smile that stretches across his face hurts. It aches in the best way as he looks up at Bradley, the other pilot's gaze intent on him and not the artwork. "Yes." "That's not a letter." "Still my answer." Plucking the pen from Bradley's unresisting fingers, Jake fills in the missing Rs and the Y, before adding a big YES across Bradley's lower belly.

[bradshawburner]

These two together? How could a girl resist?

But OH! What a plot twist at the end! That nine months later had me hollering! It was a delivery alright, just not the kind they were expecting, lol!

2 3 make 3 4

Summary: After months of messing around with one of Penny's bartenders a knock and a ditch may have changed the couples life forever.

Pairing: Bradley x Jake x Reader

Warning: This story contains mature themes, including explicit sexual content and pregnancy.

The familiar sound of cue balls clicking together echoed through The Hard Deck, blending seamlessly with the hum of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter. Behind the bar, you worked efficiently, sliding beers across the counter and topping off margaritas, your hands moving almost instinctively. It was a busy night, but you thrived on it. The tips were good, the energy was infectious, and Penny trusted you to hold the fort.

You were wiping down the counter when you noticed him. Bradley Bradshaw. Rooster, as his friends called him. His sun-streaked hair caught the dim light as he weaved through the crowd, his Hawaiian shirt loud enough to draw attention but not enough to distract from the confident ease of his walk. He smiled as he approached the bar, and even before he reached you, you knew he had that look in his eye.

"Hey, YN," Bradley greeted, leaning on the bar. His deep voice was warm, familiar, laced with just enough flirtation to send a shiver down your spine.

"Bradley," you replied smoothly, meeting his gaze. "What can I get you?"

He glanced over his shoulder briefly, scanning the room before turning back to you. His lips curved into that knowing smile, the one you'd seen far too many times by now.

"Two lagers and a whiskey neat," he said, then paused, letting the words hang in the air just long enough to make you curious. "And… are you free tonight?"

Your heart skipped a beat, but you didn't let it show. Instead, you arched an eyebrow, busying yourself with pouring the beers. "Is Jake in on this, or are you going rogue?"

Bradley chuckled, the sound low and teasing. "You know I wouldn't dream of stepping out of line. He's been asking about you, actually."

The beers were ready, and you placed them on the counter, taking your time as you poured the whiskey. "I thought you two were supposed to be planning a wedding," you teased, your voice light but your pulse quickening.

"We are," Bradley admitted, leaning a little closer. "But you know how we like to keep things… interesting."

Your breath hitched, memories of past nights flashing through your mind. The three of you had a rhythm, an understanding that went unspoken but never unappreciated. Jake’s sharp confidence and Bradley’s easy charm were a combination you could never quite resist.

"I close up at midnight," you said, sliding the whiskey toward him. "You know where to find me."

Bradley’s grin widened, and he tapped the counter lightly before picking up the drinks. "See you then."

You watched as he walked away, his shoulders relaxed, his stride easy. Your heart was pounding in a way that had nothing to do with the busy night.

Midnight couldn’t come fast enough.

---

The faint glow of the living room’s dim lighting cast long shadows on the walls, giving the space an intimate, almost dreamlike feel. You barely had a chance to take in the surroundings before Jake’s hands were on you, firm yet teasing, guiding you back until your shoulders met the cool surface of the wall.

"Missed you," he murmured, his voice a low drawl that sent heat pooling in your stomach. His green eyes gleamed with mischief as his lips brushed the corner of your mouth, deliberately just shy of a kiss.

"Jake," you whispered, your breath hitching.

Before you could say more, Bradley’s larger frame moved in from the side, his presence grounding yet electric. His fingers tilted your chin toward him, and his lips captured yours in a kiss that was slow and deliberate, as if savouring the moment. Jake chuckled softly at your reaction, his hands skimming down your sides, the friction sending a shiver through you.

"You always get her first," Jake teased Bradley, his tone light but laced with playful competitiveness.

"Someone has to make sure she’s warmed up," Bradley replied, his voice rumbling against your lips as he pulled back just enough to speak.

Your head tilted back against the wall as Jake’s lips found the curve of your neck, his stubble scraping in a way that sent sparks down your spine. You could feel his smirk against your skin, the kind of confidence that made it impossible to resist him. Bradley’s hands slid down to your hips, anchoring you as his mouth trailed along your jawline, each touch of their lips igniting a fire that left you breathless.

"Think she missed us?" Jake murmured against your ear, his voice a tantalizing mix of amusement and desire.

"Why don’t we ask her?" Bradley said, his hands tightening slightly on your hips, his lips hovering just above yours.

Your breath came in shallow bursts as you tried to form words, but the intensity of their attention left you speechless. Jake pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his grin wicked.

"Don’t worry, darlin’. We’ve got all night to remind you."

Your breath hitched as Bradley’s lips ghosted over yours, his blue eyes locking onto yours with a mix of warmth and mischief. He leaned in closer, so close that his words brushed against your lips like a caress.

“Speechless already?” he teased, his voice low and rich, sending a thrill through you.

Before you could respond, Jake’s hands slid from your hips to your waist, his touch confident and deliberate. He was just as smug, his voice dripping with that signature southern drawl. “Guess she doesn’t need to answer, Roo. We’ve got all the proof we need right here.”

The heat of their attention was almost overwhelming. Bradley kissed the corner of your mouth, the lightest of touches that left you aching for more. Jake, meanwhile, trailed his lips along your neck, the sensation a maddening mix of softness and the rough graze of his stubble.

“Look at you,” Jake murmured, his tone playful yet reverent. “All pinned up like this. You could’ve said no, you know.”

His words earned a sharp breath from you, and you felt the warmth of Bradley’s laugh vibrate against your skin. “But she didn’t,” Bradley added, his lips finding the hollow of your throat, placing a lingering kiss there.

You felt your knees weaken, the wall behind you your only anchor as their combined teasing unravelled you. Jake pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his grin cocky. “Careful, darlin’. Don’t go melting on us too soon.”

You managed a breathy laugh, though your voice came out softer than you intended. “You’re both impossible.”

“And yet,” Bradley said, his hands cupping your face as his lips brushed yours again, slow and tantalizing, “here you are.”

Jake’s hand slid to your chin, tilting your face toward him as he claimed your lips, his kiss a stark contrast to Bradley’s. It was firmer, demanding in the best way, leaving you dizzy. When he pulled away, his green eyes were alight with mischief.

“Think we’ve got her flustered enough?” Jake asked, glancing at Bradley, though his hands stayed firmly on you, ensuring you had no escape.

Bradley leaned back slightly, his gaze sweeping over you with deliberate slowness. “Not even close.”

You didn’t even notice when Bradley’s hands slipped beneath your thighs until you felt yourself being lifted, your back still pressed against the wall. A surprised gasp escaped you, but his grip was secure, strong, and undeniably confident.

“Easy there,” he said, his tone dripping with amusement as he adjusted you in his arms. “We’ve got you.”

Jake stepped back just enough to make room, his eyes scanning you with a playful hunger that made your cheeks flush. “Carrying her off already, Roo?” he teased, though his hand found its way to your knee, sliding up your leg in a way that made your breath hitch.

“Someone has to do the heavy lifting,” Bradley shot back, grinning as he began to move, effortlessly carrying you away from the wall.

Jake followed close behind, his fingers trailing lazily along your calf as he walked. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t act like you’re not showing off,” he drawled, his smirk widening when you gave him a glare that lacked any real heat.

You were dimly aware of the living room fading behind you, the hallway to their bedroom stretching ahead. The steady rhythm of Bradley’s steps and Jake’s low chuckle in your ear only added to the heady anticipation curling in your stomach.

As you reached the doorway, Jake stepped ahead to push it open, pausing to glance over his shoulder. “Think you can handle this, Bradshaw? Don’t want you dropping her before we’ve even started.”

Bradley snorted, the sound vibrating through you. “You’re hilarious, Seresin.” He carried you into the room with ease, his lips brushing your temple in a way that sent a shiver down your spine.

Jake shut the door behind him with a quiet click, the sound punctuating the shift in the air. The energy was different here—more focused, more intimate. Bradley laid you gently on the bed, his hands lingering for just a moment before Jake joined him, standing beside him with a look that promised the teasing was far from over.

“You comfortable, sweetheart?” Jake asked, his drawl softer now as he leaned over you, his hand brushing a stray hair from your face.

You gave a faint nod, your heart pounding as you looked between the two of them. “I think so,” you managed, your voice breathy but steady enough to make Jake grin.

Bradley leaned down, his lips brushing yours once more before he pulled back just enough to speak. “Good. Because we’re not done with you yet.”

You gasp as Jake and Bradley's hands roam over your body. “You like that, don't you angel?” Jake murmurs in your ear. His fingers ghost along your inner thigh as Bradley kisses down your neck.

“Please,” you whimper.

“Please what?” Bradley teases, nipping at your collarbone.

“I need you both,” you moan.

Jake reaches for the lube. “We've got you, baby,” he says, slicking himself up. Bradley follows suit. You cry out in pleasure as they slowly enter you together, stretching you deliciously. “Oh god,” you pant as they begin to move in tandem.

“So tight,” Jake groans.

“So good,” Bradley echoes.

Jake and Bradley establish a steady rhythm, their hips rolling in perfect synchronization. Jake's thick length slides against your slick walls as Bradley fills you from behind. The fullness is exquisite.

“Harder,” you beg. They oblige eagerly, increasing their pace. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes through the room.

Jake's fingers dig into your hips as he drives into you forcefully. Bradley's chest is pressed against your back, his lips and teeth marking your shoulder.

“You feel amazing,” Jake pants. His thumb finds your sensitive nub and begins rubbing tight circles.

The pressure builds rapidly as Jake and Bradley drive into you relentlessly. Your entire body tingles with pleasure, every nerve ending alight. Jake's skilled fingers on your most sensitive spot send jolts of electricity through you with each pass.

“I'm so close,” you gasp.

“Let go,” Bradley growls in your ear. “We want to feel you come undone.”

Their words and movements push you over the edge. The dam breaks and waves of intense pleasure crash over you. Your inner walls clamp down on them as your release gushes forth, coating their lengths.

Jake groans as your wetness drenches him. “That's it, drench us,” he whimpers.

Your body quakes uncontrollably as the orgasm rolls through you. More fluid rushes out with each pulse, soaking the sheets beneath you.

Your pulsing walls trigger their release. Jake erupts first, his hot seed painting your insides. Bradley follows seconds later, his cock throbbing as he empties himself deep within you. Their simultaneous climaxes prolong your own ecstasy.

“Oh god, yes,” you moan, feeling their warm essence filling you.

Aftershocks ripple through your body. Each tremor squeezes more of their cum from their shafts. The mixture of your combined fluids leaks out around their lengths, trickling down your thighs.

Panting heavily, Jake slowly withdraws. The sudden emptiness makes you whimper. You feel a gush of fluid follow his exit, spilling onto the already soaked sheets.

Bradley lingers a moment longer, savouring the last quivers of your pussy around him. When he finally pulls out with just his words he could make you cum again. “God, I've missed our little pet.”

---

Nine months had passed since you’d last stepped into their home. Since that night when everything had changed, when the three of you had been tangled in desire, a bond that seemed as much about exploration as it was about connection. Since then, Jake and Bradley’s life had moved forward in a way that felt solid and full, but also quieter—like a piece of their puzzle was missing.

It hadn’t been intentional, the distance that grew between them and you. They knew that. But you had vanished without a trace, no message, no explanation. It was a soft pain that lingered, a void neither of them could quite fill. They had their life together—married for six months now—but they still thought of you, often.

Tonight was one of those evenings when they simply needed to be with each other. The living room was dim, the soft glow of the TV screen casting light across the room. The scent of fresh popcorn lingered in the air, but the warmth between them was what kept them anchored. Bradley lay on his back, one arm draped lazily over the back of the couch, while Jake nestled into his side, his legs draped over Bradley’s. They were quiet, the world outside of their small bubble fading away.

A romantic comedy was playing on the screen—a sappy, predictable one with just enough cheesy lines to make them groan. The plot didn’t matter; it was the feeling that hung in the air. The closeness between them. The subtle touches, the way Jake’s fingers traced the outline of Bradley’s chest, the way Bradley’s lips brushed the top of Jake’s head every few minutes.

“Think we’ll ever get a romcom ending?” Jake asked, his voice low and teasing, but there was a soft undertone to it. The kind that made Bradley pause and think for a moment.

Bradley chuckled, shifting just enough to kiss the top of Jake’s head. “If we did, it’d probably involve some kind of epic disaster before the happy ending.”

“True,” Jake agreed, nuzzling into his shoulder, the slight rise and fall of Bradley’s chest calming him. “But hey, that’s the fun part. Watching it all unfold.”

“Mm,” Bradley hummed, his hand gently resting on Jake’s thigh, fingers stroking lightly. The TV played on in the background, but it was more of a soundtrack to the warmth between them than anything else.

There was no mention of you, no mention of the emptiness that had lingered since you left. They both felt it, but tonight wasn’t about that. It was about the now. About the comfort they found in each other, the steady rhythm of their hearts. Jake shifted slightly, turning his head up toward Bradley.

“You know,” Jake said softly, his lips curling into a teasing smile, “this is nice. Just us, no distractions.”

Bradley smiled back, his thumb running gently over Jake’s hand. “It is. But don’t get used to it. You know Nat’s been begging us to come by. She thinks we’re avoiding her.”

Jake snorted. “As if we could ever avoid Phoenix. We’ll go by next weekend, promise.” He leaned in, his lips brushing Bradley’s jaw in a quick, affectionate kiss.

Bradley’s arm tightened around him, pulling him a little closer. “Mm, I think I can make that wait.” He kissed Jake’s forehead, a soft, tender gesture that spoke volumes more than words could.

The quiet of the evening was broken by a knock on the door. It was unexpected—there were no plans, no guests. Just the soft flicker of the TV and the familiar warmth of being wrapped up in each other’s company.

Bradley and Jake exchanged a glance, a moment of confusion passing between them as the knock echoed again, more insistent this time. The fact that they weren’t expecting anyone made them hesitate for a beat longer than usual, and Bradley shifted slightly, looking down at Jake, who was already settling deeper into the couch.

“You want to get it?” Jake asked, his voice lazy with a teasing edge. He knew Bradley wasn’t keen on answering the door when there was no reason for it.

Bradley smirked, shifting his weight and standing. “You’re closer.” He leaned down to press a quick kiss to Jake’s forehead before turning toward the door. “Probably just some delivery.”

Jake huffed but didn’t protest, instead reaching for the remote as Bradley made his way to the door. A few more moments passed before the sound of the door creaking open reached Jake’s ears. He didn’t even bother to look up from the couch.

But then, he heard Bradley’s voice—sharp and filled with disbelief.

“J-jake… get over here.”

Jake’s heart rate spiked, and he immediately pushed off the couch, a flicker of concern flitting through him. It wasn’t like Bradley to sound so... unsettled.

He crossed the room quickly, his footsteps heavy and rushed. When he reached the door, Bradley was standing at the threshold, staring down at something in disbelief.

Jake followed his gaze, and his breath caught.

There, on the porch, was a baby carrier. A little bundle wrapped in a soft pink blanket, with a small baby bag resting beside it. The carrier was securely fastened, the baby resting peacefully, her face tucked into the plush fabric.

Bradley bent down, his hands shaking slightly as he unbuckled the carrier and gently lifted the baby into his arms. She was small, her tiny face still squished with the softness of a newborn. Jake’s mind was racing, his heart in his throat as he glanced around, expecting—no, hoping—to see someone, anyone. But there was no one.

The front porch was empty.

Jake swallowed hard, staring at the tiny little girl in Bradley’s arms. His gaze flickered to the baby bag that was still on the ground. Without thinking, he bent down to pick it up. As he did, a small piece of paper slipped out from the bag and fluttered to the ground.

He scooped it up quickly, unfolding it. His eyes scanned the note, his breath hitching with each word.

"Congratulations, one of you is a father."

He blinked at the words, confusion and a sinking feeling in his chest. He glanced at Bradley, who was cradling the baby in his arms, his gaze softening as he looked down at her.

Jake didn’t even notice the birth certificate that had fallen out with the note until it caught his attention. His eyes widened as he read the name printed there in clear, official text.

Ella Bradshaw-Seresin.

[bradshawburner]

Top Gun Silliness

[bradshawburner]

🏒Hangster Hockey Bois🏒

[bradshawburner]

TOPGUNtober Day 4: “You came” “You called”

Bonus: (15min earlier)

(they will talk about the boyfriend thing once jake is sober😌)

[bradshawburner]