#Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Reader | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ouralcohol · 1 year

Text

Let You In

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x fem!reader

Summary: what happens when Bradley finally lets you in?

Tags: angst, lots of angst, 18+, allusions to sex, soft, maybe some fluff if you squint your eyeballs

Author’s note: I saw a gif and immediately got inspired. Some people inspired this too... enjoy... comments and reblogs make the world go 'round.

This was the first time you had done this with him. You didn't think that you would have gotten this far with him if you were being honest with yourself. Bradley Bradshaw always had a line of women lined up around the corner whenever he was in town. The reason you knew this was because for as long as you could remember, he always had some kind of arm candy with him whenever he went to the local bar while he was in his hometown of Virginia Beach.

From the last couple of years that you had known him, you never thought that you would get here. More specifically, get here with him. You had always wondered what it would be like to be with him underneath the sheets. Anyone that had eyeballs and a sense of taste would agree. So, what had changed? What had made the line between friends to… whatever this was, blur? You weren't exactly sure, perhaps it had to do with his near death experience? Or was it your signature sundress that you happened to wear every time he strolled in?

The dress was bunched up somewhere on his apartment floor right now… not that it mattered. What mattered was that you were here with him.

Out of all the girls he could have chosen-- he chose you.

You never asked him how long he was here, but you did notice that he was coming around to the bar more frequently. The fact of the matter was that Bradley was good, he was very good in bed. The naval aviator had made you see stars in a manner that you never seen them before. Everything was different with him.

There was some faint music that hit your ears. You stirred from your slumber as your hands rubbed the tiredness from your eyes. This had been one of the most restful sleeps you had gotten in a long time. If it wasn't one thing, it was another. Stress was never your friend and you hated it. However, on this particular night, you had slept like a rock. It took you a couple of seconds for your brain to register where you were. The surroundings were not familiar, but you felt at ease. The photo frame on the nightstand made you smile as the moonlight shone upon the frame.

You were in Bradley's bed in his Virginia home. You noted the owner was missing. Ah, so that must be the source of the music, your brain thought as you looed around for your underwear. And idea sparked as your eyes saw that one of his Hawaiian shirts was also on the floor. Contrary to popular belief, you had come to find out that he only owned four, maybe five shirts in total. Your hands grabbed it as you ever so carefully slipped it on, afraid to wrinkle it even more. You didn't even bother to button the oversized shirt. It didn't reveal anything-- maybe some side boobage, but rare if that. Your feet carried you out into the hallway and walk closer to where the music was coming from. The melody that was playing was very different from the lively jigs that the common folk were so attuned to. It was a much slower and softer tune, melancholy even. Curiosity filled you as you inched closer, the music getting louder.

There were many sides to Bradley. People only saw what they wanted to see. People only heard what they wanted to hear. Everyone saw him as an energetic, happy-go-lucky kind of guy, but there were fleeting moments where you happened to glance his way and he was staring off into space for a brief second-- lost in his own thoughts. You never made any mention of it as it wasn't your place to ask. You were friends, but you didn't feel like he was comfortable enough to let himself be a certain way with you.

You being you, wanted to know everything about him. You wouldn't lie to yourself and say that you weren't infatuated, because you were. Every girl at the bar was infatuated with him whenever he walked in. The music factor was a bonus and caused them to leave their tongues hanging out. The way some women gawked at him was incredible. You didn't understand how you could feel this way toward someone that you hardly knew. If you only knew.

Once you had stepped into the small open space and saw his broad shoulders hunched over the piano, your body instantly relaxed. You hadn't realized that you had been nervous, your heart beginning to hammer in your chest with anticipation. You should have known what to expect, but you didn't know exactly what was in store. It's not like you slept with every guy… and it only made you wonder how many girls he had brought home. Seeing his fingers touch the keys so fluidly reminded you just how skilled he had been a few hours ago while making you see heaven on Earth. He wasn't wearing much, only his boxers-- he didn't even have to try to do anything and he looked so handsome. With his locks a little messy, but still so good that made you want to run your fingers through his hair like you had done a while ago.

The image floated in your mind which made you squeeze your thighs together before making your way to where he was sitting down. You had your hands behind your walk while you stood next to the piano. Bradley immediately noticed you, his eyes stuck on your face as his fingers continued to move across the keys so effortlessly-- a softer tune now, "Sorry if I woke you up." Bradley uttered. "Couldn't sleep?" You asked suddenly feeling shy, exposed even. You felt like you were invading his personal intimacy with his piano. Bradley Bradshaw's eyes did not stray from yours, not even for a second. His fingers came to a slow stop-- the ringing of the notes lingering in the air.

The thick tension that caused all of this to happen between you both, had returned. It enveloped you and him in an imaginary bubble. You swallowed thickly as you felt his hand circle around your wrist to bring you in front of him. Your body was encased between him and his piano. Bradley's big strong hands held you in place, eyes still locked on yours. "No. I can never sleep anymore." The pilot whispered to you. You let out a slow breath. He was letting you in. "May I?" You gently queried as you brought your hand up to his face. Bradley nodded, "Close your eyes." You told him with a quiet voice. He did as you asked without hesitation, his body tensing.

You shifted your body slightly-- hitting some random keys in the process so you could have better access to him. You placed your index finger on his neck and ran down his scar ever so delicately. Some would say it was a featherlight touch, you just didn't want to overwhelm him with the sensory that was going on. He wasn't a porcelain doll by any means, but you also felt like he didn't let people touch sensitive areas that reminded him of his past. Bradley inhaled sharply and you hesitated for a split second before continuing. Moments that only took seconds felt like a complete eternity to you, maybe for him too. Everything happened in slow motion for you. The area surrounding you both dissolved and you felt like you were floating and all of time had stood still with Bradley in front of you. Once you finished tracing that scar, you transitioned to the ones on his chin. The contrast of your soft skin against the stubble of his was making your insides melt. You noticed that Bradley was very still. A part of you wanted to tell him that it was okay, that it was just you. However, something inside you refrained you from doing so, though, a little voice in the back of your head was telling you that this silence was exactly what he needed. You took your index finger back and used your pinky to touch the scar on his lower cheek near his mouth. Then the one near his ear. The pilot let out a shaky breath through his mouth, as he opened his eyes, still fixated on yours. Your heart was going a mile a minute, hand slightly shaking from the sensation that this caused you.

He was giving you a tender look, almost like he could finally breathe again. "Moonbeam." He said, "Bradley." You responded with your hands still on his face. The nickname had stuck after a second meeting, something he had never clarified with you. It wasn't common, and you didn't question him. You waited for him to speak, for him to say anything.

He turned his head face down and pressed his forehead against your abdomen, the grip on your hips tightening as he said something that you couldn't make out. "What?" You gasped before you could stop yourself. You felt the air he was breathing linger in your lower abdomen, as he spoke a little louder, "You make me feel less lonely." Once your brain registered the words that had been told, you wondered if he had brought anyone here. "Oh?" You queried him, hopefully not pushing him too much. Bradley picked his head up again as he looked back up at your face, "I don't bring people here. There's so much… but.. with you.. things feel easier." He managed to say, his voice slow and even. You could tell this was taking a toll, but you waited calmly. Your heart was instantly breaking and re-stitching itself as the words echoed in your brain.

Bradley Bradshaw was a sweet man. Bradley Bradshaw was someone that deserved to be love just like anyone else. Your thumb began to caress this cheek as he inhaled again, breathing you in, taking all of you and getting drunk from your scent alone. "I'm the first person you bring here?" You asked unable to stop yourself as your other hand went to the other side, now cupping his face. He nodded slightly, "I'm always moving about, but you've been the one consistent person here in Virginia… the bar is consistent, I wasn't expecting you to be there every time either." Perhaps, that was the catalyst of this all. You were usually there with friends, but tonight had been different. You were alone. Bradley was alone. Two people alone together was better than one.

This man was telling you everything with his body language, and you were listening very intently. "How are you feeling now?" You asked curiously as your lips pressed to his forehead. Your body began to feel at ease as his words continued to flow out of his mouth, "At ease." A scrunched up smile filled his features as you let out a soft laugh. The next movement surprised you, causing you to sit back on the keys while Bradley stood up, towering over your body as his hands went down to the hem of his shirt and dipped under to touch the soft flesh that was your skin. You blinked a couple of times as you said, "Why moonbeam?" You sputtered out, almost unable to form a coherent sentence. The pilot then brought his forehead to the crook of your neck, "…it's stupid." He whispered against your skin, causing goosebumps to rise and an involuntary shiver to go down your spine. "It's not stupid if I like it.." You remarked as your hands fell to your sides, your head tilting back to allow him more access your hair falling behind you cascading on top of the piano. "Whenever I leave for a mission or I'm gone for a tour… I just look at the moon and think of you." A shy boy spoke to you, but you didn't care, "You think of me?" You queried him again. The questions were pouring out of you now. You didn't know when you would get another chance like this and you would take it with everything you had.

His head snapped up to meet your gaze again, his hazel eyes boring into your own. Bradley then grabbed your hand and placed it over the erection in his boxers, a gasp leaving your mouth, "Don't you see what you do to me? How could I not think of you?" He asked, sounding equally as shocked as you were in asking, "I don't know, Bradley. Tonight was our first time together.. and I was just never sure, I guess." A small shrug followed your words, but you couldn't think anymore as he fiercely grabbed you by the hips and set you down on top of the piano before his hand wrapped around your neck. Your lips made a little oh face as his index finger trailed ever so slowly down the front of your body, between the fabric that was his shirt. You felt yourself arch your back in response to his advance while closing your eyes, thinking of the bliss that he was going to cause you again.

Your feet hit another set of random keys as you planted them on there, his mouth on your belly button while he distinctly said, "Make me forget again. Give me euphoria." Bradley Bradshaw told you. You frantically nodded as his hands pulled down your panties. You got the sensation of the cool air, but didn't budge.

Your questions would be answered later. For now. You would get lost with him in the bliss that you both created when two lonely souls met.

This was were you belonged.

#bradley bradshaw imagines #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley rooster x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #top gun #top gun imagine #alch writes #bradley bradshaw x fem!reader #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x reader #top gun fanfiction #top gun rooster #rooster x reader #bradley “rooster” bradshaw x reader #bradley “rooster” bradshaw x female reader

380 notes · View notes

foli-vora · 1 year

Text

masterlist | foli jolly xmas list

under the tree

bradley "rooster" bradshaw x f!reader

summary: santa came early for bradley and he’s positive you’re trying to kill him. too bad mav also decided to arrive earlier than planned. awkward chaos ensues.

warnings: swearing, embarrassment (poor bradley), getting walked in on, lingerie, SMUT 18+ ONLY, fingering, praise, not really penetration but the tip getting just there y'know

word count: 2165

a/n: sorry for the lateness, but i got there! this was a lot of fun, enjoy loves x

His lips are soft and insistent under yours, parting at the swipe of your tongue and filling your mouth with the rumble of his groan. Ever pliable under your touch, softening to follow your lead despite his eagerness clawing for more. You chase the taste of him, licking into his mouth and feeling a tremble trickle through his body, your hands smoothing over the firm expanse of his chest.

“I got you something,” you murmur into his mouth, inhaling sharply when his mouth moves to your throat. “Well, I mean, it’s for me… but I think you’ll enjoy it. It’s very pretty.”

He practically folds at your sweet coo, his heart heavy against his ribs as heat settles low in his gut.

“Yeah?” His voice comes out muffled against your skin, his tongue smoothing over your pulse point. “Show me, honey. I bet you look so pretty… show me. Please.”

You shift up onto your knees, leaving him resting on the floor and propped up by his elbow. He studies the way your fingers pop each button of your sleep shirt open, his tongue swiping along his lower lip with each flicker of bare skin he catches. Eventually you reach the end of your shirt and delicately pry it away from your chest, displaying your new purchase in all of its beautiful, lacy glory.

“What do you think, baby?” You ask innocently, your head tilting as you watch the flutter of emotion run over his face.

His eyes bug out of his head, his mouth quickly dropping in a daze of pleasant surprise. He jerks up into a sitting position, his big hands coming to cup your tits, his rough thumbs brushing over the delicate lace covering your nipples and feeling them pebble beneath his touch.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, “you’re so fucking beautiful, honey. Look at you—”

He dives forward, the slick feel of his hot tongue swirling a path along your skin until his hot breath melts through the lace and surrounds your nipple. He envelopes it with the heat of his mouth and you hum softly, raking a hand through his ruffled waves as he slowly coaxes you backwards until your back hits the rug.

“There’s some fun things under the tree, too.”

His head comes away from your chest and you watch the way his brow perks, his hands becoming tighter where they grab at you. “Like what?”

“Guess you’ll have to wait and see,” you tease lightly, a smirk tugging at your lips. “Something for me, something for you, something for us…”

“God, you’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me,” he groans, melting over you in a heap of pressure, the feel of his body covering yours familiar and comforting.

His lips immediately mould over yours, his tongue swiping forward and sliding along yours as you tug impatiently at his T-shirt, briefly breaking away from the lure of his lips to tear it up and over his head before reclaiming his mouth. You breathe each other in, losing yourselves to the feel of the other as the heat around you grows, creeping over your skin and settling low in your core.

“It’s a matching set, by the way,” you whisper, shifting your hips teasingly beneath his.

You feel the thick outline of his cock press into the soft flesh of your thigh and fight to hold back a moan, desperate to feel him better, to weigh him in your hand and guide him into your waiting cunt. You feel the way you’ve practically soaked the thin fabric of your underwear, aware of just how fucking badly you’ve needed to get your hands on him all damn day.

He does it on purpose, holding himself just that bit harder against your ass whenever you’re standing at the sink or bending over to reach into the washing machine but whirling out of your reach when you go to grab him.

“God damn, why didn’t you tell me earlier?” He huffs, grinning as he sits back on his heels and tears at your jeans, his smile widening at your breathless chuckle.

The denim eventually gives way to his impatience, and they’re tossed over his shoulder without the slightest care, landing in a heap just short of the couch. His hot, calloused palms land on your bent knees, encouraging you to spread your legs and let him gaze at the matching underwear smoothing over your skin.

He gives a sharp exhale when your legs loosen under his hands, his chest heaving just that little bit quicker when his eyes land on your covered pussy and the noticeable wet patch soaking through the material.

“You’re the prettiest damn thing I’ve ever seen,” he drawls, his low timbre churning the heat swimming in your core.

He’s the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen, comfortably reclined on his heels and wonderfully half naked, giving you the pleasure of ogling him in all his broad chested glory. Your Bradley is a beast, all thick arms wrapped with muscle and a torso practically made of solid steel.

It’s his eyes that get you the most, warm and dripping honey, forever filled with a touching tenderness and adoration he gives to only you. It never fails to make your heart thunder in your chest, drumming loudly in your ears.

He’s all yours, and he loves to make it well known.

“God, look at you — so fucking wet already, honey. I’ve barely touched you,” he taunts as he leans over you, swiping a thumb across the wet patch of your underwear and applying pressure when he feels your clit through the fabric.

“You feelin’ needy, sweet girl?”

“You know I am. You do it on purpose,” you accuse weakly, eyes fluttering at the contact.

“Me?” He questions, a wicked shine settling in his eyes. “Got no idea what you’re talking about.”

His pace is slow, thumb circling and circling until your hips start to arch into his touch. His finger curls around the leg band of your underwear and pulls it over your pussy, baring your slick folds to his touch. His thumb returns to the same path it drew before, swiping along your slit and feeling his digit move smoothly through your arousal.

“This all for me, honey?”

“Mhm,”

“Such a good girl, such a pretty girl,” he murmurs, “my pretty girl, aren’t you, honey?”

A thick finger breaches your entrance, sinking deep into your cunt and curling against your walls teasingly before slowly withdrawing. It returns alongside another, stretching and filling your pussy with the width of two big fingers. He sets a leisurely pace, keeping it purposefully slow enough to get you writhing on the floor, your hips impatiently rising with every press of his hand in hopes to get something more.

Deeper, faster, anything—

“Oh god, Bradley, baby, please—”

“I know… I know. I got you, gonna fuck you so good,” he grits out, fingers deftly undoing his button and fly and desperately tugging the thick length of his cock out.

He swipes the tip of his cock along your folds, coating himself in your arousal before pushing forward, filling your cunt inch by delicious inch before—

“Knock knock! Surprise kids, I know I’m early—”

You both freeze.

Is that…?

God, no. No, no, no—

It’s instant.

It’s horrific.

Mav.

He immediately clocks onto your position, freezing in the threshold of the lounge as his eyes find you bare beneath the tree and in an undeniably compromising position. He quickly averts his gaze, turning away with an uncharacteristically startled, “Holy shit—”

Bradley scrambles to get off of you, launching himself for the throw on the couch and covering your bare frame with his own mortified, “Holy shit—”, his hands quick to shove his cock back into his shorts and cover any of your skin not yet hidden.

You lay on the floor, highly aware of the scratch of the rug beneath your back while fire rages along under your skin, spreading across your chest and filling your cheeks with molten lava. You burn from the humiliation, fingers clutching the blanket like it’s a fucking life line.

“Jesus, I’m sorry, I swear I didn’t see anything!” Mav yells, already walking back out the door and slamming it shut behind himself. The windows rattle from the force of it.

—

The silence is deafening.

Bradley sits ramrod straight next to you on the couch, staring through the far wall and not blinking, not even when you murmur his name to catch his attention. Your hand comes to rest over his hand and he jolts slightly at your touch, his head slowly turning until his eyes somewhat meet yours.

“We have to go out there sooner or later.”

His lips purse and he gives a small shake of his head, resuming his position of staring at nothing. “Nope. No we don’t. We’re fine here.”

You purse your lips, “Bradley, we can’t just leave him sitting outside.”

“How do we know he hasn’t left? He’s probably long gone.”

It’s wishful thinking on his end. In fact, you fully believe he’s wishing that he’d never have to see his godfather ever again. God, this is humiliating.

“Baby, we would’ve heard his bike—”

“We didn’t the first time.”

His face crumbles into a wince.

How did you not hear Mav’s bike? You always hear it. That’s his thing. That’s his warning, his greeting. It’s not exactly quiet, the rumble of the vehicle always echoing down the street. Had you been that distracted? Jesus.

You fight away the remaining licks of mortification sitting low in your stomach and straighten your shoulders, determined to get the air cleared before Christmas and the small party you were holding. It wasn’t that big of a deal, and besides, Mav’s cool. He’d be fine, albeit a little embarrassed, but you’re certain the issue couldn’t possibly be as bad as Bradley is thinking.

“Come on now, we can be adults about this. For god sake Bradley, we are adults. It’s fine. I’m sure he’s well aware we have sex.”

“Well he definitely is now!”

“Okay, no more of this. Come on—on your feet, Lieutenant. We’ve got this.”

He follows your lead, shuffling quietly behind you as you make your way to the front door. You peak outside and brace yourself as you notice Mav sitting on his bike, picking at loose threads on his jeans. You take a steadying breath and open the door, forcing a small smile when Mav’s eyes immediately shoot to you.

You descend the steps and clear your throat, watching as Mav pushes off his bike and slowly wanders closer, tucking the armband of his trusty aviators down the front of his T-shirt.

“I didn’t know whether or not to stay, or if you were…” Mav clears his throat, shifting his shoulders under his worn leather jacket, “...finishing.”

“Jesus Christ,” Bradley groans quietly, no doubt having a small existential crisis.

“I don’t think we would’ve been able to after that,” you joke, relieved when Mav snorts in amusement.

Bradley, however, looks like he’s about to be sick. He keeps his gaze purposefully away from Mav, apparently developing an interest in studying the cracks in the pavement.

“Um, for what it’s worth,” you say, smiling in embarrassment, “we’re sorry you had to see that. We’ll uh… we’ll start locking the front door.”

“Yeah, you should do that,” Mav agrees before making a face, “believe me, that’s gonna be the last time I’m ever gonna try and surprise you two. Jesus.”

Bradley groans, sinking to the bottom step and burying his face in his hands, “Oh my god.”

—

He’s delighted. The bastard. Of course he would relish in you and your husband's embarrassment. You’d never live this down, Bradley would never live this down. It wasn’t like you couldn’t say anything. He had noticed the second he had entered your home that Bradley seemed to be avoiding his godfather at any and all costs and had naturally interrogated you.

“You tellin’ me Mav saw you with your tits out?” Jakes drawls, a highly amused grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

You take a sip of the whiskey in your hand and smack your lips, sighing deeply. “He saw a lot more than that.”

He whistles lowly, raising his beer in a sort of toast. “Damn. Merry Christmas, gramps! Do we get a Christmas treat? You gonna put on a show for us, Bradshaw? I’ll try not to laugh, I swear—”

“Watch yourself,” Bradley grumbles from where he half hides behind you.

You turn to him, raising an eyebrow. “Are you ever gonna talk to him again?”

Bradley’s eyes move to where Mav sits on the porch laughing with Nix and Bob, his throat bobbing with a swallow as he raises his beer to his lips.

“Nope. In fact we’re moving. Overseas. Far, far away.”

Jake makes a noise of amusement, slapping Bradley’s chest fondly. “That’ll sure stop him seeing you with your dick out.”

“Shut up.”

bonus: a look at jake having the absolute time of his life bringing this story up at every available moment ever

rooster tags: @kindablackenedsuperhero, @rosiahills22, @a-reader-and-a-writer, @labellapeaky, @nanjalee, @hawsx3, @nonsensical-nonce, @cowboylikecassidy, @spacegirly1, @tolietpaper, @themusicalweirdo, @miles-rooster, @lilfoxyqueensworld, @sirpascal, @xoxabs88xox, @you-got-me-starry-eyed, @randomchick546, @dindjarinswhore, @flamesocks, @Curiouser-an-curiouser, @mwltwo, @lccs-world,

#foli jolly christmas #bradley “rooster” bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw x f!reader #rooster x f!reader #bradley bradshaw x you #rooster x you #bradley bradshaw smut #bradley bradshaw imagine #rooster smut #top gun fanfiction #top gun imagine

404 notes · View notes

ofstoriesandstardust · 8 months

Text

apple pie (b.r.b.)

a/n: this is for @gretagerwigsmuse who has put up with months of voice messages and screenshots and bursts of inspirations and always entertains every idea i ever have (also this is most definitely not a return to tumblr please don't be mistaken)

summary: Bradley and Sunshine take a road trip to Julian as they learn each more intimately.

flight risk masterlist

warnings: kylie wrote fluff who is she, swearing, a touch of angst, inspired by lizzy mcalpine's "apple pie"

word count: 3.7k

“Got a hot date you gotta run out here for?” Hangman asks, a teasing lilt to his voice.

He shuts his locker as he smiles, picking his bag up from the bench. “’Course I do, Bagman. My girl gets in tonight, remember?”

Hangman nods, coming to stand next him, a grin on his face. “How could anybody forget? It’s all you’ve talked about all week.”

He nudges Hangman before stepping over the bench. “Got to run and pick her up from the airport if we’re gonna get on the road at a decent hour.”

“Have a good weekend, Rooster.” Bob says, patting him on the shoulder as he heads towards the doors.

“Tell Sunshine I said hi!″ Fanboy calls after him.

“How do you always look so good, even at an airport?” You say with a sigh, coming to a stop next to Bradley and the Bronco.

His head whips towards you, a grin spreading across his face. “Sunshine.” He lets out in a rushed breath, arms already reaching out for you. You allow him to tug you into a tight embrace, arms wrapping around his broad figure as he tucks his face into the crook of your neck.

You lose track of how long you stand there, tucked into his embrace and relishing in the comfort it brings until a horn honks, reminding you of where you are.

“Missed you Sunshine.” He mutters, voice muffled. “So fucking much.”

You squeeze him before letting your arms drop. “Missed you too, B.”

He presses a soft kiss to your collarbone before pulling back, a shy smile on his face. “I love you Sunshine.”

Your smile grows. “I love you.” You say, standing up on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. “You wanna get going?”

He nods, grabbing your suitcase. “Yeah, let’s get on the road, my love.”

In a rare moment of Southern California weather, it starts to rain as the two of you drive up the windy road towards the small town. Bradley’s hand is on your thigh as he drives, you watching the passing forestry.

“There’s a Girl Scout camp up here.”

You hum, pulling your eyes from the greenery to the brunette next to you “Yeah?”

He nods. “Yeah, there’s actually two. Think one is called like Camp Whispering Oaks and the other is Winaka or something? Not sure. I was a Boy Scout, so obviously I wouldn’t know.”

You laugh. “How could I ever forget that about you?”

He squeezes your thigh, as he grins. “I just remember ‘cause the area up here and around the camps was damaged pretty bad from some wildfires when I was a teenager.”

You sigh, looking back out the window. “Did you come out here a lot?”

He gives a half-shrug as you look out at the trees, covered in the mountain gloom. “Kind of. You can see the stars so clearly out here, so Mom and I would camp out here when I was little. I was always so mesmerized.”

“Must be nice to get away from all the hustle and bustle of a city life.”

He hums, turning on his blinker to turn despite the fact that there’s no one around. “Yeah, I wanted us to be able to get away from all of it. Away from work, from other people...” He trails off, like he’s suddenly doubting himself. “Not that I think you don’t like my friends, I just figured it be nice to-”

“-to have some alone time away from prying eyes?” You tease, picking up Bradley’s hand from your thigh, intertwining your fingers.

He squeezes your hand. “Something like that.” He’s silent for a moment as he glances down at the directions on his phone. “Okay, we should be getting close.”

He makes another turn down a long driveway, the gravel making the ride bumpy as the two of you drive up.

“Okay, this is it.” He says, bringing the car to a stop and cutting the ignition. You lean forward, seatbelt still on as you take in the small house. It’s a small, two-story building surrounded by forest. You can see a wood swing in the back and suspect there’s probably a really cute patio out back.

It feels rustic, it feels cute, it feels homey.

“Bradley, this is so darling.” You whisper.

He clicks the button on your seatbelt before pulling his door open. “Let’s go inside then, shall we?”

Bradley grabs your hand as you run up the driveway together, laughing freely. He unlocks the front door as you step in, taking in the small main floor. The kitchen isn’t all that big, but seems fully functional. The living room matches everything else in its rustic feel and the bedrooms are small but cozy. You’re pleased to see that there is in fact a deck that overlooks the wilderness. You could see yourself living in a place like this, far removed from the stresses and worries of daily life.

You’re sitting on the deck, looking out at everything around the cabin, when Bradley slips out after putting your bags in one of the bedrooms.

“Enjoying the view?”

You turn your head slightly, nodding. “Kind of reminds me of the camping trip we took in college.”

He sighs, sitting down behind you on the bench you’re perched on, one arm wrapping around your waist, the other resting on the edge of the deck wall. “But better this time right?”

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. “Obviously. It’s way prettier up here and it’s just the two of us this time.” You say, leaning back against his chest. He hums, hand moving down to your thigh to rub circles into the skin.

“I’m glad you’re here with me, Sunshine.”

You smile, settling in.

“Nowhere else I’d rather be.”

To be fair, you’d tried to stay present and in the moment the rest of the evening with Bradley. He’d cooked for you, and played card games with you, and the two of you had been wrapped up together all night, but still the feelings remained.

The fear that you hadn’t been wanted on that camping trip at UVA, the embarrassment and hurt that had bubbled up after overhearing Bradley say she’s really just Tommy’s friend had lingered. It had lingered all these years. It stayed underneath the surface even as you tried to force it away.

"Can I admit something about the camping trip? The one we took at UVA?”

The words tumble out of your mouth before you can ever really help it.

Bradley hums, nuzzling his face closer into your neck. His mustache tickles your neck as he pulls you close, hands finding purchase on your hips. “Sure Sunshine.”

You hesitate, swallowing. “I heard you. That last night, you and Eli, when you were talking about me.”

“What’re you-” He begins to ask, probably recalling the memories tucked away of that trip but then he freezes, signaling to you that he remembers. “Sunshine.”

You shrug as he pulls his head up to look at you. “I just- I don’t know why I’m telling you that, I just-”

He shakes his head, rolling over in the bed and taking you with him. “Sunshine.” He says firmly, forcing you to meet his gaze from where you had previously been staring at his chest. “I- Fuck Sunshine.”

You swallow, looking away from him again. “I wasn’t supposed to hear that, I know.”

His hands slip underneath your shirt once more, thumbs rubbing small circles. The action soothes you, reassuring you that even though he might not have liked you then, he was with you now.

“Sunshine, I- I was being defensive. It was an asshole thing to say, and it wasn't even true to begin with.”

You shrug again. “You can admit that you didn’t like me back then. I was kind of annoying and I know the whole trip was kind of a set-up anyways.”

He sucks in a breath through his teeth. “Sunshine, you told me that we were all better because you knew me. But the truth was that we were all better for knowing you. You were such an amazing person and it... scared me. Scared me shitless.”

He moves one of his hands to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear as you shake your head. “How-”

He swallows, giving you a painful smile. “When Mom died, Maverick was all I had. Even before then, he was the closest thing I had to a Dad, and he was that for me in every sense of the word. To find out just a couple days before starting at UVA that he pulled my Naval Academy application, and with it all my dreams-” He takes a shuddering breath. “It felt like a betrayal in all the worst ways. It felt like a confirmation that I would never be able to follow my dreams, that I wasn’t good enough to get them in the first place.”

One of your hands reaches up to trace over a scar on his cheekbone. “Bradley.” You whisper, unsure of what to say to comfort him, knowing there was more he wanted to say.

In all the years you’d known Bradley, in all the time you’d spent with him, he very rarely spoke of the hurt Maverick had caused by pulling his papers. But you’d known. Even though you saw Bradley for who he was at his core, the kind and charismatic human being who’d do anything for his friends, you’d seen the person the anger and hurt had transformed him into being. You knew there were reasons he thrived with the kind of human being Eli was as a friend, why Bradley had the same friends for four years and never got any new ones.

Bradley hadn’t always been the being that enraptured people so wholly as he did now.

You knew that and you knew that the loss of his family had done that to him.

“I told you that who we were as kids weren’t people who would’ve built a long-lasting relationship. I told you I was too angry to trust anyone.” You nod, recalling the words from the night that everything had changed between the two of you. “However, what I didn’t tell you was that I was also too scared to trust anyone. Eli was ride-or-die for me, but even that friendship didn’t happen overnight. I never dated anyone at UVA, knowing I couldn’t throw a relationship into the midst of everything I was feeling. But even though you were everything I’d ever wanted, even back then, if you had come to me and told me how you felt- I don’t think I would’ve believed you. I don’t think I would’ve allowed myself to think I deserved someone as good as you.”

Your breath catches in your throat at the thought that Bradley Bradshaw, one of the best people you’d ever had the pleasure of knowing, would’ve thought he wasn’t good enough for you.

“I shouldn’t have said what I said that night to him. I got defensive, being confronted with the thought that you might feel like more than friends, knowing that I couldn't give you what you wanted. I was so busy trying to convince myself I didn’t feel the same way, I never allowed myself to see the love you were so freely trying to give me.”

You swallow, unsure of what to say to him, knowing how vulnerable he’s being with you.

“They all knew how I felt about you before I did. They wanted us to go after what each of us believed we didn’t deserve.” He sighs, intertwining your fingers. “And for better or worse, I’m glad we decided we deserved each other.”

“Me too.” You admit softly.

He nods, giving you a soft smile as he brings you back to his chest.

You can hear the car turn on the wet gravel as you pull up to the small shop, an orange glow lighting up the rain-streaked windows. “Here we are. Ready to brave the rain?”

Bradley rounds the car as you climb out, taking your hand. The two of you make a run for it across the parking lot, to little avail, getting pelted by the cold water as the two of you reach the front steps of the home that’s been converted into a shop. He holds the door open for you, the bell jingling. “After you, Mrs. Bradshaw.” He says, with a teasing smile, nudging you through the door. You have no time to process what he’s just said to you as an older woman comes from around the corner, beaming at the two of you.

“Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Bradshaw, we are so glad the two of you could make your reservation despite the rain!”

You swallow, feeling your cheeks warm, as Bradley grins. “Of course, Mrs. Peters, we were just so excited.”

She waves him off. “Call me Donna, dear. The weather has meant our shop is a bit empty today, so you and your wife can have the best table in the house.” She shows the two of you to a cozy booth, near the fireplace, which is currently emitting a much welcome warmth from the bitter cold outside.

“Here’s our list of pastries. Please let me know when you’re ready and I’ll be happy to get you your tea.”

Bradley settles in the booth with his hand on your thigh, eyes flitting over the small list the woman had given him as you stare at him with wide eyes.

If your brain hadn’t been a live depiction of a loading screen, you would have appreciated the warmth of the small tea place Bradley had found, the way it felt homey and cozy and full of love. You would’ve appreciated the flowery smell, the soothing pitter patter of rain, the way the decor had clearly been so carefully picked and designed with love and passion at its core.

Unfortunately, you had other things on your mind.

“Bradley.” You hiss.

He doesn’t look up from the menu. “I hear their apple scones are good, apples picked fresh from a farm not too far from here. Apparently Donna’s daughter bakes the pies from the shop down the road, so they’ve got some here for- what?” Bradley asks, blinking. “Oh, Donna inferred when I made the reservation that we were married and well- she technically isn't wrong, so-” He cuts himself off, a nervous smile on his face. “What, hate being called Mrs. Bradshaw?”

“No.” You’re quick to correct him, shaking your head. It was definitely not the first time a stranger had mistaken you as Bradley’s wife, dating back to even early on in your agreement with him. “No, I don’t hate it at all. I’ve just never heard it come from you.”

Bradley blushes, turning away from you as he shrugs. “Dunno, just wanted to try it out.” He mutters.

“Bradley Bradshaw, are you blushing on me?” You ask, warmth spreading over your face as you scoot closer to him. “And here I thought you were such a charmer.”

“Pick your pastry, woman.” He says, but his voice wobbles. You press a quick kiss to his cheek, tucking yourself into his side.

“The apple pie is just fine.”

“Donna?”

The woman hums as she sets down another kettle of tea on the table. “Yes dear?”

“Do you think I could play the piano?”

She hums, brushing off her apron. “Absolutely. I certainly would love some live music.”

Bradley smiles before sliding out of the booth and walking over to the grand piano sitting in the corner. He plays a few keys before looking back to you. You laugh, standing up.

“Didn’t realize you wanted me to join you.”

He huffs, giving you a smile. “If I want to serenade my girl, I kinda need her here to do so.” You shake your head as you slide down on to the bench next to him.

“And what are you playing for me today my love?”

He hums, testing out a few more keys. “Just wait.”

The unmistakable keys of George Ezra begin in the room, as Bradley’s deep voice begins to sing along.

Well, goodness gracious, what a time

I found the sweetest human being alive

You glance at him as he plays, your heart fluttering as he plays the keys.

Maybe we already met once before

Another time, late night

Same kids in a different life

You’d told him once, how much you loved this song. How much you wanted to dance to the love of your life to this song, and it felt so sweet and full of love.

And he had learned it for you.

I’ll hold you and I’ll be home

And I’ll know I found the sweetest human being alive

A few moments of silence pass after he finishes before he chances a glance at you. “I found the sweetest human being alive.”

“I can’t believe you learned that song for me. And you’ve been holding out on me this whole time that you knew it.”

He smiles before pressing a kiss to your lips. “Was saving it for a special moment.”

Your phone dings next to you on the bench as Bradley hums, mindlessly playing a few keys. It’s from a number you don’t recognize, piquing your interest as you skim the message.

“Holy shit.” You mutter, pushing yourself off of Bradley’s side as you unlock your phone.

“What?” Bradley asks, glancing down at the device.

“Listen to this.”

Hey girl, it’s Madison. Bailey gave me your number. We’re all at Tommy’s and going through his basement. Found some pictures of you and Bradley from the disposable camera we took on the camping trip I forgot to pass along to you.

Here they are. If you want the hard copies, which I’m more than happy to send to you, would you let me know a good address to mail them to?

Miss you and hope you and Bradley are both doing well.

You read to him, glancing up at him.

“Pull the pictures up, I wanna see.”

You do, clicking on the icon. You swipe through, wondering how you had never seen these before.

You pause, looking at one from the second night the two of you had been there. Madison had dug out a copy of Monopoly from one of the cabinets, and while your friends took it as an opportunity to turn it into a drinking game, you and Bradley had taken it seriously, getting a wee bit too competitive for your inebriated friends.

And there’s nothing special about the photo except for the way you and Bradley are looking at each other, like nothing else in the world mattered except each other. At that moment, nothing probably did.

“Even then...” He whispers from behind you. “They always said that even then, I looked at you like you were my whole world. I’ve never really believed it until now but...” He trails off.

“Even then.” You whisper. “Even then, we were everything to each other.”

“Guess so, Sunshine.” He murmurs.

He presses a quick kiss to your cheek, before squeezing your thigh once, and resuming his mindless playing from before. You sigh, locking the phone shut as you tuck your head back into his shoulder, enjoying the warmth spreading over you.

“Why are we parking in the cell phone lot?” You ask as Bradley pulls into a spot. He cuts the ignition before pulling off his seatbelt and turning to you.

“Because, Sunshine.” He says, with a sigh, resting his forearm on the center console. “I’m really going to miss you.” You watch Adam's apple bob as his eyes flicker down to your lips. “And I want to take my time saying goodbye to my girl.”

“I’m really going miss you too.” You whisper, before pulling your seatbelt off. You give him a soft smile before cupping his cheek, but stopping just short of where he wants you. “Are you going walk me to security like a gentleman?”

He returns your smile. “Haven’t I always?”

The kiss he gives you is soft and sweet and full of love. It’s everything you could ever want from a kiss and it’s bittersweet, knowing how long you’ll have to go without it.

“I’m really gonna miss you, B.” You mutter against his lips and he sighs, pulling away to rest his nose against your cheek.

“I know, Sunshine, I know.” He peeks up at you, hazel eyes shining through his lashes. “Promise you’ll visit soon, Sunshine?”

You give him a sad smile. “You’ll barely even have time to miss me, Bradshaw.”

He huffs, pulling away from you. “I highly doubt that, I always miss you.”

A giggle bubbles up out of you, although neither of you can deny the wetness of your eyes. “Oh, you always miss me, huh?”

“You’re the person I want to do everything with, Sunshine. Of course I do.” Bradley hardly lets you feel the weight of his words as he pulls his door open. “C’mon, don’t want you missing your flight.”

Bradley doesn’t let go of your hand as the two of you walk into the ever bustling San Diego airport. He goes with you to drop your checked bag off, the Delta employee smiling at the two of you through the whole interaction. After making the short walk to where security begins, Bradley sighs, tugging you to the side. You instinctively wrap your arms around Bradley, knowing what’s coming. His hug is just as tight as he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“Please don’t cry Sunshine.” He whispers as you pull away. You rub your eyes as you pull away.

“I’m trying really hard not to. You’d think by now, this would get easier.”

He frowns, brushing some hair out of your face. “It’s just as hard for me, Sunshine. I’m serious that I want you around all the time.” He presses another kiss to the top of your head. “C’mon, as much as I’d love to keep you here, you have to make your flight and get back to Boston.”

You swallow around the lump growing in your throat as you let him go, stepping back into go down to security. You wave to him, blinking back tears before you lose sight of him, entering the nonstop chaos of TSA. You blink hard, willing yourself not to cry as you hand the woman your passport, realizing how much you want this to be the last time the two of you say goodbye like this.

#bradley “rooster” bradshaw #bradley “rooster” bradshaw fic #bradley “rooster” bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw x reader #flight risk #top gun: maverick #top gun: maverick fic

128 notes · View notes

cinebration · 8 months

Text

Got the Rhythm (Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader) [One-shot]

Premise: You challenge Rooster to a piano duet.

Warnings: none

Gif Source: paperjunk

When Rooster walked into the bar, you hardly paid him any mind—not with that terrible mustache, anyway. He had an undercurrent of the same cocky swagger you expected from all the pilots, somewhere on the spectrum between Hangman’s palpable arrogance and Bob’s quiet competence. In other words, he was a flyboy, and they were all trouble.

You glanced back to your girlfriends, noted how their gazes swept the room for the faces they liked the most. One of them elbowed the other as Rooster strode up to the bar.

“Him?”

“How doesn’t love a thick neck and a mustache?”

Your nose wrinkled. “Sometimes I forget you grew up watching Magnum, P.I.”

“Short shorts needs to make a comeback, that’s all I’m saying.”

Shaking your head, you glanced back at him. “He’s okay. “ You effected our best Mr. Darcy impression. “‘But not handsome enough to tempt me.’”

“You never know, maybe he’ll surprise you.”

“Doubtful.”

And then Rooster walked over to the piano and sat at the keys.

That caught your attention immediately. Pianists had always been attractive to you, not least of all because you happened to be one yourself. Leaning back in your seat, you waited for the show to begin, half hoping he would be terrible just so you could laugh about it and not have to reevaluate him.

The first chord struck, and he was off, fingers flying over the keys with the passion of someone who truly enjoyed music. To your dismay, he wasn’t half bad.

And then he started belting out a song.

“Oh dear Lord,” you muttered, turning away from the performance. Your chest constricted with the strength of the cringe you felt.

“I don’t understand you,” one of your friends said. “You can’t even handle it when people sing in movies.”

“It’s just so…” You waved a hand vaguely. “The cringe is strong, ladies. I’m dying here.”

“Then go shut him up.”

Frowning at her innuendo, you twisted your lips at her in a mock sneer and physically cringed again as you listened to Rooster crow. He sang well, but it didn’t change the fact that you wanted to flay the skin off yourself and flee the room.

Clearly you had to shut him up.

Shoving back hard from the table, your chair scraping loudly against the floor, you strode over the piano, interrupting Rooster’s serenade as you hip-checked him across the bench to make room for yourself. His fingers faltered on the keys, the song dying in his throat.

“Hello?”

“I thought you might like a challenge,” you answered, gently shaking out your wrists. “An improvised duet.”

His eyebrows rose. His friends that weren’t already circling the piano drew closer, a quiet “Ooooo” echoing in the background.

He laughed. “Dueling pianos?”

“Well, we only have the one, unfortunately. So it’ll be a fight for keys and elbow space.” You flashed your teeth at him, more challenge than smile. “If you think you can handle yourself.”

A chorus of “Oooos” swelled around you.

Hangman leaned his forearms on the top of the piano. “Let me give you a tip, beautiful.” He cast a sidelong glance at Rooster. “He has a speed problem.”

“Oh?”

He turned back to you. “He’s too slow.”

“Ohhhhh.” You nodded sagely. “So, he can’t keep up.”

“No, ma’am, he most definitely cannot.”

You watched the muscle in Rooster’s jaw flex.

“Let’s find out, shall we.” And you let loose on the keys.

Jaws dropped as your hands moved with an almost preternatural speed, coaxing surprising melodies from the ivories. You lost yourself in the music, in the feel of your fingers creating and maintaining rhythm. For a moment, you forget it was a competition, that even Rooster was sitting beside you on the bench.

A deeper harmony swelled up alongside yours, not quite as fast but still acting in concert with what you were putting down. You risked a glance at Rooster, jolted out of your musical trance, and saw him fixated on the keys, concentration write large on his expression.

A smirk tugged on your lips.

Your hands flew faster.

Roster increased his pace, sweat dotting the hairline on his forehead. To your surprise, you found yourself straining too, putting your all into the piece, throwing complex melodies at him in the hope he wouldn’t keep up, that he’d get up and leave you alone at the piano.

Yet he persisted, his elbow jostling yours as he laid down a heavy rhythm almost in harmonious counterpoint to yours.

He glanced aside at you, his gaze meeting yours. Despite the furrow in his brow, his eyes were bright, joy and excitement vibrant within them.

You brought the piece to a sudden crescendo and a resounding ending, Rooster echoing it with a few final chords.

You were surprised to find yourself breathing heavily, sweat trickling down the back of your neck in a tiny rivulet. Rooster’s chest heaved beside you, his face flushed with the exertion.

“Well,” you managed to say, your voice thick, “aren’t you full of surprises.”

“Surprise is my middle name.”

Hangman snorted and pushed himself away from the piano, shaking his head.

Rooster leaned forward into your space, as though drawn into your orbit. Surprise flooded through you as his nose nearly touched yours.

You slid off the bench, narrowly missing the kiss. He looked up with a frown.

You turned to leave, then hesitated. Snatching up a napkin, you scrawled across it. “If you want to duet again sometime, here’s my number.”

A stupid grin unfurled across his face.

“I like a man with good rhythm,” you murmured, and you returned to your table of friends, ignoring their snickers.

“See, he did surprise you,” one of them said.

“Shut up,” you groused, but a smile played on your lips.

Rooster stared at you all night. Thankfully, he didn’t resume singing.

#Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Reader #Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw #Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw imagine #Rooster x Reader #Rooster imagine #Rooster #Bradley Bradshaw x Reader #Bradley Bradshaw #Bradley Bradshaw imagine #Miles Teller x Reader #Miles Teller #Miles Teller imagine #Top Gun: Maverick #Top Gun Maverick #TGM

116 notes · View notes

joaquinwhorres · 10 months

Text

3 WIPs Tag Game

Rules: post snippets/screenshots/etc. from three of your WIPs! art or fic! tag as many people as you like! (created by @limetimo)

Thank you to the four amazing writers who tagged me in this and shared snippets from their WIPs. I highly highly recommend everyone who stumbles across this check out the posts from @demxters, @sylviebell, @bobfloydsbabe, and @ereardon.

kiss it better -- Javy "Coyote" Machado x Reader (but there's also an OC version with Audrey Herrera on AO3 & FFN)

"Now's when normal people would say thanks back," he prompted. The flickering of concern you'd felt in your chest sputtered out completely as you leveled Javy with a flat look. "For allowing me to save your ass in a fight that you started?" you asked, raising an eyebrow as you crossed your arms. "Or for showing the barest amount of basic human decency?" "Yeah, that's about right," Javy muttered to himself, and his voice seemed to gain some strength back. He apparently did too as he pushed himself up off of the ground to stand in front of you. "Why are you even out here?" "I was sent to apologize," he answered, hand returning once more to his throat. "Sorry, by the way."

Tailspin (Ch. 5) -- Mickey "Fanboy" Garcia x OC

She hardly made the decision before her palm touched his cheek turning him towards her, and then she was pulling him into a kiss as the people around them exploded in cheers. Mickey shifted, hand falling to the other armrest as he bent closer to her. The cheers died as the camera feed refocused back on the pitcher, ready for the first batter, but Mickey's lips remained on Caro's. It was another moment more before Caro pulled back from him. "We're still not dating," she clarified. "Of course not," he breathed. "I just didn't want everyone to boo you." "You're very kind," he said, moving a piece of hair out of her face.

hey baby -- Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader

You realized belatedly that there was no way he was talking to you. His partner had to be sitting a few stools down behind you or something. Your face grew warm with embarrassment as your mouth closed. Before you could tear your eyes away from him and focus on the asshole before you who looked absolutely pale and spindly in comparison, the stranger reached out and drew you into a quick one armed hug, pressing a quick kiss to the side of your head. "Sorry I'm late; debrief went long." Holy shit. What the fuck. What the actual fuck. "Think you can forgive me?" he asked, offering a sheepish grin, even as he winced in preparation for an emotional blow.

NO PRESSURE TAGS: @tongue-like-a-razor, @rae-gar-targaryen, @veetlegeuse, @asirensrage and anyone else who wants to do it. If you've already done it, please ignore this!

25 notes · View notes

roosterforme · 6 months

Text

Wrong Number | Rooster x Reader

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

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

Length: 4700 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pretty Girl: Are you naked in these photos?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He texted you back.

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

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

CALL FROM Pretty Girl

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Just okay?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Totally naked."

"Fuck."

"Send me another one?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah. It's Rooster."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Pretty Girl."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@chassy21

@solacestyles

@avoirlecoupdefoudre

@daisyhollyxox

@throwinsauce

@awesomebooklover17

@wintercap89

@whosyourgnomie4

@rosesinmars

@blog-name6996

@bcon24

@wishfulwithwine

@backinwonderl4nd

@tetragonia

@gingerbreadandpaper

@emptyloverofmine

@chaoticassidy

@missmirandafe

@changlingkhat

@sugarcoated-lame

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187

@katiebby04

@marantha

@averyhotchner

@abaker74

@heli991113

@k-k0129

@noz4a2

@tallyovie

@shanimallina87

@teddyluvs2sing

@little-wiseone

@ccbb2222

@lilyevanswhore

@o-the-o-grim-o-reaper-o

@xoxabs88xox

@thedroneranger

@bradshawsbitch

@cherrycola27

@fanboyswhore9

@xomrsalliej4787xo

@desert-fern

@sylviebell

@wkndwlff

@horseslovers2016

3K notes · View notes

sometimesanalice · 7 months

Text

Bedside Manner

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

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Length: 8K

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Normally.

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

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

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

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

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

It was supposed to be a fun day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You had been blessedly and devastatingly spared the choice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Respectfully, of course.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he’s never made a move.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The game coming to an immediate and conclusive end.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck off, Bagman-” Rooster snaps.

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

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

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

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

Just not like this.

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

Your group of eight now downsized to a trio.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The two of you silent and motionless.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You want the Bradley from earlier.

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

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

You want your Bradley.

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

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

You’re aching, aching. Everywhere.

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

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

We.

You wanted that with him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s never felt this strained with him before.

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

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

He could still have the perfect summer afternoon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, permission,” you say, clipped.

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

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

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

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

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

“Ok, good,” he grumbles.

“Great,” you lob back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bradley, no. It was an accident.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bradley, the light.”

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

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

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

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

Atlas no longer, he can simply be Bradley.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Done.”

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

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

“And then you’ll kiss me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Guess we will,” he rasps.

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

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

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

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

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

You’ve got that forever feeling about him.

Oh, oh, oh.

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

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

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

Taglist:

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

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

3K notes · View notes

tongue-like-a-razor · 1 month

Text

Hotter Than Texas | Part I

(unofficially: Brother's Worst Enemy)

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x F!Reader

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

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

Aka it's a road trip, strap in.

CW: swearing, age gap (10 years)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You give him a suspicious look. “Thanks,” you say.

Bradley nods at you, offering a hand to help you in. Once you’re seated, he shuts the door behind you and exhales unsteadily the kind of sigh that often accompanies a guilty conscience. There’s no way he could possibly get entangled in a mess of this magnitude. And a colossal mess it would become if he were to develop any sort of soft spot for his recent enemy’s baby sister. Bradley, being a sensible, mature adult, understands this unequivocally. But, when he rounds the car and climbs into the driver’s seat next to you, the notion that he’s not allowed under any circumstances to find you attractive flies right out his rolled down window.

This is because you’re already tuning the radio like you own the place and because you smell like a goddess. Bradley has no clue whether it’s your hair or your perfume or your goddamn essence that’s permeated his upholstery in under ten seconds, but whatever it is, he certainly wouldn’t mind smelling it on his sheets in the morning.

Fuck. He’s fucking fucked.

“This alright?” you ask casually, as if you didn’t just hijack a stranger’s radio.

He cringes at the stereo; he’ll have to work on your taste in music. “Got your seatbelt on?” he asks as he pulls out.

You turn around in your seat and pull on the seatbelt.

Bradley promptly hits the breaks and you lurch forward slightly, the seatbelt in your hand getting stuck on its way out. He looks over at you with an air of seriousness despite the small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “The seatbelt should be the first thing you do when you enter a vehicle.” Not fiddle with the radio, he adds silently.

You raise your eyebrows at him in amusement. “Okay, dad.”

Bradley nearly shudders at your response. He’s probably a good ten years older than you, so, really, while dad might be stretching it, you’re not too far off. “Keep up that attitude and you’ll be listening to Metallica the whole way home.”

You smirk at him. “I like Metallica, so joke’s on you, bud.”

Bradley starts driving again. “If you like Metallica, then why are we listening to this trash?”

Your jaw drops and you reach for the volume dial to turn up the song. “How dare you?”

Bradley rolls his eyes. Something tells him he’s in for a wild ride.

…

About two hours later, Bradley pulls into a small gas station just past the border into Arizona.

“Want something to eat?” he asks, leaning across the console to pop his glove compartment and pull out his wallet. “Or drink?”

You purse your lips. “I could go for a coffee.”

“How do you like it?” he asks.

“With a pinch of salt.”

Bradley gapes at you. “I can’t tell if you’re joking.”

You snort. “I’m not joking. You should try it! Cuts the bitterness in half, my friend.”

Bradley cringes. “The bitterness is why I drink it.”

You shake your head and declare wisely, “You’ll see.”

“That you’re a nutcase?” Bradley mutters under his breath as he exits the car. He jogs over to the convenience store, determinedly blocking out the seductive quality of your persuasive tone. You could probably convince him to drink a pint of his own urine if you set your mind to it.

Bradley drums impatiently on the counter, waiting for the clerk to finish restocking one of the shelves with chips. While he’s waiting, he glances out to check on you as if you’re a child under his charge. You’ve stepped out of the Bronco to stretch your legs and Bradley doesn’t like the way the two guys in the convertible in behind are eyeing you.

Bradley cranes his neck to check on the clerk’s progress and lets out a stifled sigh. When he looks back outside, he sees that one of the men has approached you and, well, Bradley isn’t about to wait to see what happens next. He drops a bill on the counter and calls out, “Keep the change,” to the clerk before practically slamming his way through the doors with the coffees in his hands.

Why it bothers him that some random dude might want your number is not of consequence. What matters is that Bradley gets rid of this asswipe before you start enjoying his company.

He strides confidently past the man chatting you up and stops right in between you and him, handing you a coffee.

“Careful, it’s hot,” he cautions moodily, not entirely sure how to go about handling a situation in which, objectively speaking, he has no real authority.

You meet his gaze with a small smile. “You don’t say,” you respond with all the sultriness of a blazing, desert sun.

Bradley’s gaze remains unwaveringly on you as he unhooks a pair of Ray-Bans from the neck of his muscle shirt and slides them over his eyes. “Ready to go?” he asks in a level tone, hoping he can avoid what is bound to be an unpleasant interaction with the man still standing behind him.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” the man speaks up. “Didn’t realize you were with someone, honey.”

Bradley keeps his eyes on yours for several moments longer, trying his best not to show the irritation he feels at the way this rando just called you ‘honey’. Reluctantly, he turns to face him, wondering what in the world he could say that wouldn’t make him sound jealous as fuck.

But before Bradley could speak, you slide casually into his side, leaning on him like it’s the most natural thing. “That’s just fine,” you say to the man. “No harm, no foul.”

Bradley looks down at your head as it nestles into his shoulder and then lifts his arm to let you move in closer. Trying to play it cool, he skims the tips of his fingers across your lower back, which is warm and feels like the perfect place to rest his hand.

Convertible guy promptly departs, and Bradley is left standing in an embrace with the one person on the entire planet for whom he should never catch feelings, at a derelict gas station on the outskirts of arid Yuma, Arizona, and the heat is really starting to get to him. Slowly, you start to peel yourself away and Bradley, sensing your withdrawal, drops his hand and recoils from you like you’ve burnt him.

Did it feel nice pretending you were his girl? Sure did. Is he going to erase it from his memory and never let himself so much as shake your hand again? Absolutely.

Read Part 2

Tag List

I’ll be tagging the rest in the comments probably tomorrow!

@joaquinwhorres

@katiemcrae

@sehnsuchts-trunken

@toomuchfluffs

@wintercap89

@lonelywitchv2

@callsign-jupiter

@rosiahills22

@olliepig

@coffeeaddictedmay

@boringusername3

@ratedtvpg

@mak-32

@annedub

@jules-1999

@black--lightning

@j-velvet

@xoxabs88xox

@cyanide-cryptid

@callsignvenus

@artemissunn

@gcldtom

@atarmychick007

@callsign-sunshine

@shanimallina87

@birdy-bat-writes

@wkndwlff

@chaosmxlcolm

@iminlovewithenchilidadas

@daniibzz

@avis15

@valhallavalkyrie9

@ijustwantedplums

@hal3ynicol3

@avengersfan25

@hallecarey1

@nik2blog

@kpopgirlbtssvt

@lilianashomaresparza

@lovingperfectionsblog

@bblpbb

@Elenavampire21

@SometimesAnAlice

@risingtripletaurus

@adaydreamaway08

@mattyskies

@desert-fern

@catsandbooksandstuff

@Topguncultleader

@avengers-fixation

1K notes · View notes

topgun-imagines · 8 months

Text

Say My Name

Requested: no

Summary: You find out just how big Bradley is. He really does live up to his call sign.

Word count: 3.4k

Note: banner by @lewmagoo

Warnings: smut, oral sex (f!recieving), fingering, anal fingering, size kink, overstimulation, unprotected sex, cum play. Please let me know if I missed anything!

Pairings: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x fem!reader

The air in the bedroom was filled with tension. You were on your third glass of wine and Bradley had just begun pouring his second. Nerves surged through you. Tonight, you were planning on having your first time with Bradley. While the two of you had been dating for nearly seven months, you had yet to sleep together. The thought had you nervously fiddling with the hem of your short skirt.

Bradley had made the two of you a nice dinner before leading you to his bedroom. Despite how much you wanted this, you couldn’t settle the butterflies in your stomach. Sure, you had slept with others before Bradley. However, given the things that you had heard about him from his fellow pilots, you felt more nervous than usual as you stared at the gold chain he was wearing. You had done some sexual stuff with the pilot before, but you had yet to see what he was packing. Honestly, that was what had you the most nervous.

No matter how hard you tried to ignore the teasing from the rest of his squadron about his size, you simply couldn’t. Not when Jake kept making crude remarks about his callsign having some sort of double meaning and teasing you about what he saw in the locker rooms. You could never get away from it. Now, you couldn’t help but find yourself staring at the bulge straining in his jeans.

His deep chuckle was what broke you out of your trance. “See something you like, Princess?” There was a teasing lilt to his voice. You blushed deeply, sipping the last drop of wine from your glass. “C’mere.” He rasped. Instantly, you obeyed, crawling into his lap and straddling his thick thighs. His glass was set on the nightstand before his hands came to sit on the tops of your thighs.

The tickle of his mustache as he peppered kisses across your neck had you squirming in his lap. You clenched around nothing at the guttural groan he let out. From where you were sitting right now, you could tell he was big. Moaning quietly, you nearly melted when Bradley gripped your hips and pulled you down closer to his growing bulge.

“Bradley,” You moaned out with barely concealed need. Another grunt was released into your neck. “Fuck,” Panting with your head tossed back, the feeling of Bradley’s lips travelling down your chest had you shivering. “I need you. Please.” It was the neediest sound you had ever made in your life.

Time seemed to stand still as Bradley lifted you off his lap. You whined at the loss of warmth before laid you down on the bed and crawled on top of you. Cooing quietly at your pitiful whine, the pilot smirked at your frantic state. As Bradley continued to kiss down your neck, your chest was rising and falling quickly. “I’m gonna make you feel real good, baby girl.” His words were a promise; one that you knew he would make good on.

Your blouse was slowly unbuttoned as Bradley peppered kisses across your soft skin. When he finally reached the last button, you were out of breath, panting loudly. Now, you were left in nothing but your lacy bra and short skirt. Unbeknownst to Bradley, you had nothing on under that skirt. Feeling Braldey’s mustache tickling the sensitive skin of your stomach had you wanting to giggle. But the pleasurable warmth in your core had you moaning out instead.

Next, Bradley began massaging your thighs, shimmying further down the bed until he was level with your thighs. You breathed in deeply, nerves rearing their ugly head again. Ever so slowly, Bradley reached under you and pulled the zipper of your short skirt down. It took every fibre of your being to focus your breathing. Bradley had eaten you out before, but knowing what would be coming after had you shaking.

Your legs parted enough so that Bradley could slot in between them, knees bending and feet planted firmly on the cool sheets. Before you even realized what was happening, Bradley had your legs tossed over your shoulder and he was softly nipping the sensitive insides of your thighs. When Bradley lifted his head, he was met with the sight of your bare, puffy cunt. He groaned loudly, his cock managing to harden even more in his tight jeans.

Seconds later you were met with the feeling of Bradley’s tongue running over your slit delicately. Instantly, a sharp cry escaped you. Tangling your fingers in your boyfriend's curly hair, you tugged when his lips sealed around your clit. The feeling had you arching off the bed, your heels digging into the pilot’s back.

For the next few minutes, the only sounds that could be heard in the room were your loud, wanton moans and the lewd sounds coming from between your legs. Bradley’s tongue was now prodding against your entrance, teasing you relentlessly. You found it hard to breathe as cry after cry escaped you. Slowly, your high began building. When two of your boyfriend’s thick fingers pushed meticulously inside your weeping cunt, your back arched so hard off the bed, Bradley had to pause to make sure you were okay.

The grin on his face when he heard your needy whines was nothing short of devious. Without hesitation, he returned to sucking on your clit and working his fingers in and out of your slick entrance quickly. “Oh!” You cried out from the delicious

Bradley was relentless. His thick fingers stretched you open deliciously, making a scissoring motion as he licked around your greedy hole. Your moans slowly grew higher and higher in pitch. Outside of your field of vision, Bradley brought his other hand up and between your legs. The sudden press of his thumb against your tight, puckered hole had you nearly screaming. “Oh, my god.” The words were slurred together. That familiar coil in the pit of your stomach was almost ready to snap.

The tip of his thumb suddenly slipped into your tight hole, creating a delicious pressure. More slick leaked from your slit. As Bradley’s fingers kept up their pace inside of your puffy cunt, the squelching sound got louder the wetter you got. There wasn’t a single coherent thought in your mind as Bradley’s thumb pushed further into your ass, his fingers stretched apart even further and his lips sealed around your clit. All at once, he sucked on your clit harshly, pressed his fingers into your sweet spot, and pressed his thumb in as far as possible.

You were so close. In a few seconds, you would be gushing around his fingers. “Bradley,” You panted, fingers gripping his brown locks like a lifeline. “Stop.” He froze instantly, eyes snapping up to meet yours. His fingers slowed until they stopped and his thumb moved to draw back. But when you whined at the sensation in your puckered hole, he stopped his movements altogether.

“Honey?” He started, rubbing your thigh softly and smearing your slick on your smooth skin in the process. “What’s wrong.?” It was whispered into the soft skin of your stomach The tickle of his mustache against your stomach had you giggling. Even though your core was clenching around nothing and you could still feel his finger moving slowly inside your ass. Regardless of the worry bubbling in his chest, Bradley smiled at the sound of your laughter.

You offered him a blissed-out smile, moaning softly at the movements of his thumb. “Nothin’,” At those words, Bradley slipped his fingers back inside of your dripping cunt. You were so wet that there was zero friction as he pushed them in until the second knuckle. You were instantly whiny again. “Wait,” You tried again. This time, Bradley only slowed his ministrations. “I wanna come on your cock.” The widest grin you had ever seen broke out on your boyfriend's face.

Teasingly, he leaned down and allowed his tongue to flick over your clit. A chuckle escaped him. You had no idea what you were in for. “Honey,” There was a teasing lilt to his voice. “You’re gonna need at least two before I even think about letting you cum on my cock.” His words caused you to let out a shuddering breath. Sure, you knew that he was big. After all, you couldn’t go anywhere without someone reminding you of that fact. But his words caused you to wonder just how big he was.

Before you could snark back, his thumb pushed in as far as it could and his lips sealed around your clit. Crying out again, your heels dug further into Bradley’s back and you pulled so hard on his curly locks you thought that some of the hair would come out. Instead, he groaned and began slurping harder. Within seconds, you were gushing around his fingers, cuming so hard you could have sworn you saw stars.

As you were coming down, Bradley drew his thumb from your ass and pulled his sticky fingers from your core. Your cum slowly dripped down your opening. Once you were coherent again, your eyes slowly looked down at Bradley. He was transfixed on the sight between your thighs. The tip of his index finger slowly began to swirl through the creamy mess between your thighs. It dipped shallowly into your opening and scooped out some more of your cum.

The overstimulation was almost becoming too much for you. Now, Bradley’s finger was swirling your cum around your sensitive clit. Your whines were breathly, so much so that Bradley could hardly hear them. Nevertheless, he continued, drawing moan after moan from your parted and chapped lips.

Within minutes, you were right on the brink again. Feeling that delicious pressure building faster than ever, you shifted your hips until Bradley’s face was, quite literally, buried in your slick cunt. As you tipped over the edge for the second time in a matter of minutes, Bradley stared at your expression in awe.

Your legs were shaking. So much so that Bradley was almost convinced he went too far. But when your eyes fluttered open, Bradley could see the pure pleasure swimming in your eyes. “How was that, Honey?” There was a low timbre to his voice as the coarse hairs of his mustache rubbed against your smooth thighs. Your breathing was heavy and your fingers couldn’t stop twitching, but you had never felt better. So that was exactly what you told him.

“That was amazing,” You sat up, half expecting Bradley to push you back down and pull another orgasm from you. Crawling up your body, one of your boyfriend’s large hands rubbed at your side before grabbing your tit. A soft moan escaped you before you grinned up at the pilot. “But, I think you know that I want something else.” Your words were punctuated with a soft squeeze of his rock-hard cock.

The groan that he released was nearly primal. With one last passionate kiss pressed to your lips, he slowly, almost teasingly, unbuttoned his jeans. Then, he peeled his black boxers off his toned and muscular thighs. Your eyes were fixed between his legs, not blinking as you came face to face with his sheer size. “B-Bradley,” You stuttered, beginning to shake slightly. Snapping your eyes up to meet his, your boyfriend had a smug grin on his face. “There’s no way that that’s going to fit.”

The chuckle that escaped him was nearly mocking. “Yes, it will.” Those were the last words he spoke before he was leaning over you again. His hard cock rubbed into your thigh while he was sucking dark marks that contrasted against your unblemished skin into the side of your neck.

After a few minutes of nothing more than kissing softly, Bradley finally pulled back. His hands were warm as they rubbed softly over your sides, an attempt to soothe you that didn't go unnoticed. “Are you ready, baby?” Regardless of the fact that you couldn’t tame the nerves fluttering in your stomach, you nodded. With a smile, he kissed your forehead. Against your skin, he whispered that he was going to get a condom and the lube.

You stopped him. For the first time tonight, you felt one hundred percent prepared for what was about to happen. “No,” Bradley looked at you confused, wondering why you had changed your mind. Kneeling next to him, you placed one hand on his bare chest, stroking the tanned skin softly. Seductively, you whispered in his ear. “No condom. I wanna feel you.” You were on the pill, and you knew that both Bradley and yourself were clean.

His breathing seemed to stop and then there was a wide smile on his face. You squealed when he kissed you passionately, laying you down on the bed and leaving you breathless as he disappeared in search of lube. The sight of his bare backside walking away had you giggling dreamily. When he returned from the bathroom, you were met with the sight of his shockingly large cock between his legs. At that sight, you didn’t laugh as much.

For the next few seconds, you and Bradley were quiet. Soft touches were shared between the two of you before your boyfriend pulled back once more. His fingers dipped between your legs, checking to see just how wet you were. A soft moan escaped you as he swirled your slick around your clit. The next thing you knew, you could hear the cap of the lube snapping open. Suddenly, you felt the cold drop running down your slit. A hiss escaped you before Bradley slipped his fingers into you once more.

The next few minutes were spent with Bradley opening you up even further than you already were. You could feel that familiar pressure building once more. But, instead of Bradley leading you over that delicious edge, he stopped right as you were about to tip over. You groaned.

With a chuckle, Bradley slowly crawled up your body. “You ready, baby?” You could only nod, wanting nothing more than for Bradley to be seated inside of you. As he poured some more lube onto his hand, you got a sinister idea. The thought had you smirking. However, you were stopped in your tracks as you watched Bradley wrap his hand around his thick cock. His fingers couldn’t even touch.

For the first time tonight, you found yourself focusing on his cock. It was long, longer than you had seen before and curved toward the end. His tip was an angry red colour and as he stroked himself, you could see the pre-cum leaking down his shaft. Your eyes traced the vein that ran up the bottom before your eyes snapped up to your boyfriend’s. He had caught you red-handed.

Now, you decided to act on your plan. Before Bradley could realize what was happening, you had flipped him over and were straddling his thick thighs. He looked up at you in shock. With one hand, you gripped his cock and with the other you stabilized yourself against his chest. Biting your lip, your eyes locked with his as you began to stroke him. After a few seconds of building up your courage, you slowly sank down on him. Your warm and slick cunt sunk down onto his fat, mushroom tip with hardly any resistance.

Within the first few seconds, you were a moaning mess. There was less than two inches inside of you and you were already losing your mind. You couldn’t even begin to fathom taking the rest of him. Bradley could sense that you were struggling, so, your boyfriend’s hands gripped your hips. Slowly, he helped you sink down onto him. The breath rushed from your lungs in a matter of seconds. Now, you were just over halfway down Bradley’s cock and you felt like you were being split in half.

“That’s it, Princess,” He encouraged you as your greedy cunt swallowed another inch of him. “Doing so good.” With careful movements, he pulled you down until your head was resting on his chest, the steady sound of his heartbeat under your ear. Ever so slowly, Bradley pulled down your hips until they were flush with his. The second he was fully seated inside of you, you let out the most pornographic moan Bradley had ever heard.

One of his hands grabbed your ass and the other cradled the back of your head. The next few minutes were spent with Bradley simply letting you adjust to his size. His sheer girth had you whining quietly against his skin, sticky with sweat. After about four minutes, Bradley planted his feet and shifted slightly. That caused the tip of his cock to press right against your sweet spot. Once again, you couldn’t help but moan loudly.

Ever so slowly, your boyfriend began rocking into you. With each thrust, Bradley would only pull himself out a little bit, leaving the rest of his pulsing cock stuffed inside of you. Then he would push back in, filling you to the brim once more. The feeling of his mushroom tip hitting your spot over and over again had you seeing stars. “Say my name.” It was more of a command than a request.

“Fuck, Bradley!” You cried out, hips beginning to raise and fall of their own accord. He grunted hips smacking into yours as he fucked you.

You grunted, feet planted firmly against the bed as he pistoned his weeping cock into you. “No,” He taunted, slowing his thrusts until he was hardly moving. “Not that one.” The realization of what he wanted you to do was almost enough to make you cum.

“Oh my god,” You rushed out, fist forming as you curled into his chest further. “Rooster!” It was almost a scream. The way the words rushed out of you so fast, Bradley was almost concerned. Almost. “Rooster, please. Please fuck me.” At that, Bradley moaned. He had never heard such a sweet sound as you begging for him to fuck you. It was music to his ears.

Loud moans and grunts filled the room as Bradley began to thrust harder and deeper. Now you were clinging to him, puffy cunt stretched out more than you ever would have thought possible. Your boyfriend gripped your hips harshly, raising you up on his thick cock before slamming you down onto him. That sent a sharp cry out of you, your face turning until it was buried against his chest.

Suddenly, your whole body tensed. Bradley, once again, had slipped his thumb into your tight ring of muscle. The moan that you let out was nearly a scream. Feeling his thick cock in your dripping core and his thumb pushing into your ass sent you reeling. “Imagine what my cock would feel like in this tight, little ass of yours.” He punctuated his words with a hard thrust. His thumb slipped out of your ass seconds later. The fucked-out look on your face wasn’t going away anytime soon.

This pattern continued for the next few minutes until Bradley's thrusts began growing erratic. You were so, so close. All you needed was a little bit more and you would be falling into blissful pleasure. Bradley gave you that little bit more in mere seconds.

His thumb pressed hard against your clit, rubbing the small pearl in circular motions. You found yourself clenching around him with your eyes rolling back. There was an obscene amount of your sweet release leaking out around your boyfriend’s thick cock. He held you carefully as you slowly came down from your high.

Before you had time to recover, however, your boyfriend was pumping his cum into you, thick, white ropes painting your walls. You shuddered at the foreign feeling. Regardless of the other guys you had been with before, you had never let any of them do what you and Bradley just did. His cock was still throbbing inside you. The feeling almost had you cumming again.

Ever so slowly, Bradley lifted you off his softening cock. It had you whining and whimpering. You clenched around nothing, his cum starting to leak out of you. It dripped onto his lap as he pulled your hips up. You were breathless as he set your hips down on his thigh, your cunt clenching desperately at the pressure suddenly placed on your clit. His arms wound around your stomach, holding you tightly against his sweaty chest.

In less than five minutes, you were drifting off against his chest, feeling his warm cum still dripping out of your puffy and abused cunt. Needless to say, the next day, you were walking with a limp.

a/n: Thank you for reading! Requests are open :)

Tagging: @topguncultleader @soulmates8 @t0kyoreveng3rs @there-goes-thefighter @blueoorchid @atarmychick007 @alexxavicry @bradleybeachbabe @chaoticassidy @nyx2021 @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @aviatorobsessed @angelbabyange @oliviah-25 @cassiemitchell @classyunknownlover @shelbycillian @khaylin27 @bruher @sunsetsimpsblog @lovelywiseprincess @fandom-life-12 @emmza63 @cornishkat @iceman-kazansky @himbos-on-ice @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @wkndwlff @entertainmentgal8 @dakotakazansky @kmc1989 @shanimallina87 @memoriesat30 @sarahjoestewy-blog @ducks118 @marvelouslyme96 @linkpk88 @xoxabs88xox @abbymwall @eternallyvenus @rey26 @lt-spork @callsign-ember @tim-thefrog @zombi3wh0r3 @cheyrenee @nyctophilic0vitnir @labellapeaky @skylineskyler

Join my taglist!

3K notes · View notes

tip-top-cloud-surfer · 9 months

Text

Bumping Beach Bikini - Rooster

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw / Wife!Reader

Word Count: 0.8k

This work, all my works, and my entire blog are 18+ Only

Warnings: Pregnancy; References to Sex/Suggestive Jokes; Flirting; Use of Second Person POV “You,” No Physical Description of Reader (Minus Pregnancy), No Y/N

Summary: Rooster admires the view of his pregnant wife on the beach.

Master List

Bradley had a mental list of the best outfits that he had ever seen you in. There wasn’t a set ranking, just general levels of appreciation.

There was a step above your normal beauty and allure, which mostly included random casual outfits that for whatever reason just got him going. Like the yellow sundress that you wore when it was exceptionally hot out that was super easy to slide his hands under. Or those jean shorts that he loved to slip his hand into the back pocket and give your ass an appreciative squeeze. Or anything of his that you chose to wear.

And the step above those were your slightly dressier outfits that got him even more excited. The backless black dress that you wore out in Vegas when the two of you went out with the Dagger Squad. Or the blue floor length dress that you wore to Maverick and Penny’s wedding that looked like it was literally sculpted for you and your figure. Though he did rip the zipper on that one.

Then there were the more special outfits. Your wedding dress mostly, since he literally burst out into tears the second that he saw you step out in it. The photo of you that he kept in his cockpit was from your wedding day with your veil spread out around you, giving you a completely angelic appearance. And, well, Rooster was also very fond of the matching white lingerie set that you wore underneath it that night too. He did rip that one too though.

And at the very top of the pyramid of his favorite outfits was, of course, your birthday suit. Nothing would ever top that one.

But seeing you in a maternity bikini with one of his Hawaiian shirts wrapped around your shoulders and your baby bump sticking out from between the folds of his shirt—now that was a sight that he ingrained into his mind for the rest of his life. That one really challenged your birthday suit in his mind.

“What?” you laughed, shooting your husband a look as you applied more sunscreen. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You’re glowing,” Bradley praised, still taking in your beauty.

“With sweat,” you giggled, rubbing in another layer of sunscreen. “It’s only spring and I swear I’m melting already.” You set down the tube of sunscreen and shot your husband a playful look. “You just had to make sure that I was heavily pregnant during the hottest months of the year in Southern California, didn’t you, Bradshaw?”

“Maybe you should have done the math before you begged me to get you pregnant,” Bradley replied, a bit smugly.

“I don’t beg,” you scoffed, shooting him a look. “And besides you offered about fifty times before I let you. If anyone was begging, it was you, Bradley.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Rooster mused, smiling over at you.

There was one rule to surviving with a heavily pregnant wife—it was to let you win. On just about everything. Anything health or safety wise, he would argue back, but Rooster took a rain check on all of the little things. And frankly he got more satisfaction out of seeing you happy than being right.

“Do you have enough water?” Rooster asked, sitting up some more.

You reached over and lifted your giant water bottle into the air. Taking a long sip from it just to prove your point to your husband, you set your water bottle back down on the sand.

“I’m fine. Just need some time to relax,” you replied, leaning back in your seat. “Before it all really sets in.”

Reaching down to pick up your ankle, Rooster started to massage your foot, earning a sigh of relief from your lips. Practically melting into your chair, you turned to your husband with a small, thankful smile as you curled your toes a bit.

“I could get used to this.”

“I’m sure you could,” Rooster chuckled, rubbing the back of your calf.

“There’s only one thing that would make this better.”

“What?”

“Take your shirt off.”

“Mrs. Bradshaw,” Rooster jokingly admonished, causing you to smile wider. “Be careful suggesting that. I knocked up the last woman who asked me to take my shirt off in that tone.”

“I’ll take the risk,” you replied with a smile, rubbing your bump slowly.

“So long as you understand the risk,” Rooster returned with a wink.

“Jesus Christ, the rest of us are trying to eat here,” Phoenix cut in, sounding annoyed.

You and Rooster turned to the other Daggers, Maverick, and Penny, who was hiding an amused smile behind her hand. Maverick turned to Penny with a similar expression, shaking his head. But most of the other Daggers, those who were single anyways, shot both you and Rooster somewhat disgusted looks.

“Sorry,” you called sheepishly, waving to them.

“I’m not,” Rooster replied, reaching up to take his shirt off.

3K notes · View notes

vxntagedior · 1 year

Note

bradley ringing the bell at hard deck when someone is getting difficult with bartender!reader

"listen here little lady." the man slurred, you just rolled your eyes, starting to turn around, tending to other customers.

the drunk didn't seem to like the idea, able to grab onto your wrist, halting you in your steps.

bradley had been watching the entire scene, immediately getting up, coming behind the bar, wrapping his own hand around the drunk's wrist.

"let go." he seethed, his eyes darkened. you were able to pull away, rubbing your wrist.

"she your girl." he snorted, "you might want to get a leash on her."

bradley didn't anything, just grabbing a hold of the rope, ringing bell loudly. he watched the man deflated, his skin paling, the rest of the bar cheering.

and bradley made sure the dagger squad racked up a bill for the drunk.

#fi's baby blurbs #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x fem!reader #bradley bradshaw x girlfriend!reader #bradley bradshaw x wife!reader #rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley “rooster” bradshaw x reader #bradley “rooster” bradshaw

145 notes · View notes

topguncortez · 3 months

Note

"honey, I'm home" SCREAMS Bradley Rooster Bradshaw

Bradley Bradshaw can not enter a room without letting everyone know he’s there. it’s probably something he inherited from his father, but he is one person who knows how to make an entrance.

The first time he had ever called out that ridiculous yet iconic line, was right after you moved in together. It had caught you off guard, making you round the corner with a questionable look on your face making sure you did in fact here him yell:

“honey, i’m home!” Bradley said again as you stood in the doorway.

“i see that,” You said, shaking your head at him, “And what is this announcement for?”

“Well,” He set down his duffle bag, “I thought I should tell you I was home,” He walked over to you and pulled you into his arms, making you squeal, “So you didn’t think i was an intruder. We’ve only been living together…” Bradley checks his watch, “43 hours and 25 minutes.”

You smile at the mustached man in front of you, “Well thank you for announcing your presence and scaring any potential burglars away.”

“All a part of the ‘living with Bradley Bradshaw’ package you purchased.”

“Yeah?” You bit your lip, your eyes raking over the bit of chest hair that was poking out of the top of his black t-shirt, “What else is included in the package?”

“This,” Bradley quickly hoisted you over his shoulder and carried you upstairs to your new shared bedroom.

#g mail #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw blurb #rooster blurb #top gun blurb #top gun maverick blurb #bradley bradshaw imagine #rooster imagine #top gun imagine #top gun maverick imagine #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader

1K notes · View notes

kyber-crystal · 4 months

Text

i will follow you into the dark || bradley "rooster" bradshaw

summary: your first instinct has always been to push people away when they get too close, but for some reason, you have trouble letting one pilot go. but little did you know that he had settled into your heart from the start and has no intention of leaving. (in which you have Bradley Bradshaw wrapped around your finger, and you don’t even notice—5 occasions that solidify your love for him, and 1 time you realize it)

words: ~3.3k

warnings: angst (BUT A HAPPY ENDING, I PROMISE), near-death experiences, brief mentions of violence, also my writing LMAO

a/n: hi guys i haven't posted a full-length fic in a LONG time but here we go :) this fic won the vote so it's going up first! hope you enjoy :)

I. meet me in the middle

“Mav!”

You and Maverick turned around at the same time. “Which one?”

“The pretty one,” Rooster stated.

“Be more specific.”

“I am being specific, Captain.”

“No, you aren’t.”

“Fine, I need your daughter.”

“You always need her for something.”

“Sorry, pops,” you grinned and clasped Maverick’s shoulder, and walked over to Bradley. “Come to kidnap me again, Bradshaw?”

“Actually, I’m hungry.”

“Then…go eat? I don’t see what any of that has to do with me.”

“I’m going to dinner, and I want you to come along,” he explained. “So, let’s go.”

“Is that why Cyclone was grumbling about someone spilling coffee all over him earlier? I knew it had to be you that put him in that mood.”

“Doesn’t matter. Come on.”

You looked back at your father, who simply laughed and motioned for you to go. The test flight would have to wait.

It was 5:30 when you got there, but the usually-crowded cantina had only one other person inside. Rooster didn’t hesitate as he set down his car keys and slid into the booth right next to you.

“There’s a seat right there,” you pointed out.

“And?”

“You can sit over there.”

“I don’t want to, though.”

“Alright, then.”

You weren’t even done for the day and already, felt tired and worn out beyond belief. The one thing that had been keeping you going was Maverick’s promise to take you on a Mach 7 test flight. (With the Admiral’s permission, of course. But you wouldn’t be surprised if he had never asked.)

Rooster tells the waitress your order without blinking, and you give him a tired smile as a thank you.

There’s no animated conversation, no loud comments or jokes or anything of the sort as the food comes out, but neither of you mind. Sometimes, all you needed to cool down from a long week was each other’s company and a steaming plate of fajitas.

The little routine you’ve established falls into place so easily you don’t even have to think. Impromptu dinners, blasting 80’s music as the sun goes down, taking the offbeat path down to the coast with salt in your windswept hair. Little to no words spoken, and somehow the silence speaks volumes.

But you don’t understand why he’d choose you to do this with, out of everyone. You’d expect him to drift towards someone less damaged. Someone who could keep up to his free and daring spirit and push him to his limits. Someone who had less baggage and didn’t flinch at every little touch.

But despite all that he doesn’t leave. Even when everyone else around you seemed to, he was always there, assuring you he’d wait no matter what.

“Don’t worry about it.” He places a gentle hand over yours as he hands his card over to pay later that evening. “Let me treat you tonight.”

“Thanks…”

He holds the door open for you as you walk out and keeps a ghost of a hand against your back the whole way to the car. You’re trying to burrow into yourself, but he doesn’t stop looking at you. The feeling of his eyes on you sends shivers running down your spine and you nervously shift in your seat.

“You okay?” Rooster places his hand on the headrest as he reverses out of the parking lot. “You seem quiet tonight.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t press any further, assuming that you’re tired and that’s why you’re unwilling to say much. He knows. He understands. “If you ever need to talk, though, I’m one call and a 15 minute walk away. Or 7, if I sprint.”

This makes you laugh a bit. “If you say so.”

II. waiting on you

As soon as you hop out of your plane, he’s the first one there to greet you and pulls you in for a hug. You have no time to react to it because he’s so quick to sweep you up into his arms. You can smell a mix of sweat and coffee and a little bit of raspberries on him, and it helps bring you back down to reality.

“You saw me a few hours ago, Roos…please let me go…” you mumbled into his shoulder. His grip on you only tightens further. “What’s with the excitement?”

“Nothing. I’m just happy to see you.”

Not knowing what else to do, your hands awkwardly reach up to pat him on the back. “It’s good to see you, too.”

Though you don’t say it out loud, you’re also just as happy to see him—it’s comforting to know he’ll be waiting whenever you return from something. And that, you think, is more than enough.

Rooster carries your things for you without asking, and you’re grateful because your shoulders feel like they’re going to fall out of their sockets. Once again, he’s standing close by as you go to your quarters, ever the watchman. If he doesn’t have a hand on you, then his eyes will stay glued to you for as long as they can be.

“Is that my shirt?” he asks as you step out of the bathroom wearing an oversized vintage T-shirt and a pair of jeans.

“No.”

“It looks better on you, anyway.” He smirks; you fail to notice the way his gaze lingers on you a bit longer than normal. “You ready to go? They’re waiting for us at the Hard Deck. Hangman’s complaining about a rematch or somethin’.”

You lean into his side and smile, and he puts an arm across your shoulders. It feels so natural that you almost don’t notice. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

His eyes never leave you, even when he’s in the thick of the game. It’s impossible to ignore the heat pooling in your stomach every time his gaze flickers over to yours.

Coyote notices your dazed look and nudges Payback in the side. “How is it that everyone knows that Bradshaw and Y/N love each other except Bradshaw and Y/N?”

“Because they’re stupid,” Payback whispered back.

“Ah. Makes sense.”

“So, we need to do something about it.”

“Hm…I’d say we wait it out. They’re going in the right direction.” A small smile graced Coyote’s face as Rooster pumped a fist up in victory before rushing over to embrace you. “A room full of people, yet all he sees is her.”

“You’re so right, man.”

III. rose-tinted glasses

“What are you looking for out there?” Rooster called out.

“Something pretty,” you replied as you stood by the ocean’s edge, the wind fanning your hair around your shoulders. He’s sure that he’s never seen a more mesmerizing sight.

“I beat you to it, because I already found one,” he stated with confidence, eyes never leaving you.

“Where?”

“I’m looking right at her.”

“That’s not what I meant, silly. Do I look like a seashell to you?”

“No, you’re even better.”

You laugh once again and resume your search. Right then, a glowing scallop catches your eye, and sand dusts your clothes as you bend down to pick it up. It’s smooth and seems to glow in rose gold amidst the early evening light.

“Would you look at that,” you breathed out, palm extended to show him what you’ve found. “It’s perfect.”

Rooster encloses his hand around yours, and you can feel the heat radiating from his skin. It’s cold out but you’re not freezing at all because he’s so close. He’s so close. Your heart skips a beat.

“Wow…it sure is.”

He kneels down with you, and you spend the next few hours making it a competition to see who can find the most unique set of stones. A strange feeling washed over you as you watched his brows furrow in concentration. Never had you imagined to be spending Thursday night with Bradley Bradshaw by the seashore, and yet, it feels like you’ve done this thousands of times before.

Everything seems to fall into place.

IV. for you, i’d cross the line

“Y/N, hey.”

“Are you drunk?”

“Doesn’t matter. Move over.”

You shifted on the bench to make room for him and he sat down next to you. This was probably his tenth time playing his rendition of ‘Great Balls of Fire’ but that didn’t matter; the man knew how to sing. You found yourself leaning into him and listening to his heartbeat, and the sensation lulled you into a peaceful trance.

You took one good look at your best friend. Sweat lined his forehead and his face was bright red from both the alcohol and heat, but still, you were 100% sure that you’d never seen a more beautiful sight in your life.

The way he seemed to gaze at you made your heartbeat pick up speed. It didn’t matter that he had too one too many drinks in the moments leading up to this, nor did it matter that he was always one to be rather affectionate with you. It didn’t make you love him any less—if anything, it made him all the more endearing.

“You’re looking at me very…intensely,” you mumbled. “It’s making me nervous.”

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he murmured. “A man can’t help it when he’s in love.”

“Was that tipsy you or sober you?”

“Sober me is saying I love you.” He continues playing, unfazed, and the sound of the piano in your ears fades away into nothingness.

It’s drunk Rooster telling you he means what he says, the confidence boost making him do things he normally wouldn’t. It’s drunk Rooster attempting to serenade you as his warm, alcohol-riddled breath falls against your neck. It’s drunk Rooster talking…but there’s a sober truth hidden behind his words that sends a shiver down your spine.

You’re nose-to-nose as he starts to sing, and you lose yourself in a sea of gold and blue as his warm thumb grazes over your cheek. As if there’s an invisible string drawing you together, you move closer and closer towards each other. Drunk or not, he was utterly enchanting and you couldn’t turn away.

Once again…you ignore the stirring feeling in your chest at the feeling of his body being so close to yours.

V. saving grace

You find yourself opening the door to Rooster, who has a bouquet of your favorite flowers and some large Tupperware in hand. Butterflies flutter in your stomach as you accept them and step aside to let him in. “What is this for…?”

“Thought you’d want something nice to add to the kitchen. You and Mav need to work on decorations,” he said. “Why? Do you not like them?”

“No…I’m…how’d you know these were my favorite, anyway?”

“I heard you talking on the phone to Phoenix about them six months ago,” Rooster explained, taking his jacket off and hanging it over the couch. “I pride myself on being observant like that. Also…I woke up early to cook you that pasta you always go nuts over when we drive to LA.”

“Oh.” Your heart twinged as you glanced over—that damn pasta was your favorite thing on the entire planet. You claimed that nobody could make it as well as the diner in Newport did, except Bradley himself. (He didn’t tell you how many times it took to get it just right, though. He didn’t want you freaking out over that. And besides, Maverick’s pots and pans that he borrowed had already paid the price.)

He paused for a moment after setting the container down on the counter. “I noticed you went home early today. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine,” you lied as you put the flowers in a vase. But that was no use; he could see right through your monotone response. “Didn’t sleep enough last night.”

Bradley sees your hands tremble slightly. “Sweetheart.”

That’s all he needs to say before you step forward and lean your head against his chest. One arm finds its way around your waist to pull you close, while his free hand smoothes your hair out. A cracked sob escapes your lips and you squeeze your eyes shut in the hopes that if you kept them closed long enough and prayed hard enough, a guardian angel would swoop in and save you.

“I’m here, it’s okay, you’ll be okay,” he murmurs. “You’ll be okay.”

“Please don’t go, Bradshaw,” you begged, voice hoarse. “Don’t leave me.”

“I’m right here, don’t worry,” he reminds you, his hand moving down to rub your back. “I’ll be here whenever you need me, I promise.”

You reach your pinky out a bit, and the two of you link your fingers together.

You’re never letting go, and neither is he.

epilogue—soul ties

“I’m trying to shake them off. They won’t let up—shit, I’m hit—”

His panicked voice cuts through the buzz of static and you can feel your whole body go numb. What if he doesn’t make it back… The thought alone is too much to bear.

He curses under his breath and you hear something like that of a whispered prayer and several mentions of Please let me come home to her. Your heart clenches in your chest and you feel like you’re going to puke. Noticing your sudden uneasiness, Maverick grips your hand to keep you steady.

“Bradshaw, what the hell is going on there?” Coyote nervously rubs at his forehead as he looks up at the screen. “If you die, we’re all going to kill you.”

“Left engine’s completely blown out. I have two bogeys on my tail.”

You bite the inside of your cheek until the tangy, metallic taste of blood fills your mouth. This couldn’t be happening. There already was a ghost amongst the skies, and Rooster could not afford to become the second…

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit, I’m going down, guys—” Rooster curses again, and the earsplitting sound of a large blast interrupts him before he can say much else.

“Bradley!” you shrieked as you watched his radar signal slowly fade off the screen. “No—”

Silence punctures the air and you finally lose balance, succumbing to the black void of nothingness.

—

10 hours later, you sit outside the hospital room in the cold hallway, a thin, tear-stained blanket wrapped around your shoulders. Hangman and Phoenix had long since given up on getting you to move, so they took turns sitting with you.

“You should try eating. There’s In-N-Out nearby, I’ll get something for you if you want,” Jake offered.

You shake your head.

“Come on. It’s been all day.”

“No.”

“You’re really that worried about him, aren’t you.”

“No,” you muttered bitterly.

“You claim to not care, yet you’ve been sitting here for the past ten hours.”

“I don’t care. This is me looking out for him in the same way any colleague or teammate of his would. This is what I’m supposed to do. What we’re all supposed to do.”

“Y/N.” Jake sounds a bit more serious this time, and this makes you stop trying to bury yourself within your thoughts. “Listen to me.”

“What,” you exhaled.

"The fact of the matter here is,” he cleared this throat, “Bradshaw cares about you…a lot. Not in a simple and innocent ‘friendly’ way. And if you keep pushing him away like you always do, all 'cause you're scared, you're gonna lose him for good. Losing a good man out of fear is never worth the cost."

Your heart stops.

Every hug, every word and cheesy pickup line, every lingering glance and touch and intertwined set of fingers—he'd fallen first long ago, and pulled you down with him. But you let him, and you'll walk to the ends of the earth if it means he'll hold your hand along the way. And that's when everything hits all at once—the realization comes crashing down like a waterfall.

You were hopelessly in love with him, the man who brings you flowers every Friday night. In love with the man who holds the door open for you, gives you his favorite jackets, and stays up late or wakes up early to learn your favorite comfort meal (even if it means failing 17 times in the process and ruining Maverick's kitchen), the man who serenades you to classic rock ballads with the taste of rum on his lips.

This was Rooster Bradshaw, and he was your soulmate.

“But I already lost him,” your voice falters as you struggle to find the right words to say, “I can’t.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. That man is going to stay waiting for you until the day his body is buried six feet underground. Deny it all you want, but he’ll keep waiting long after he takes his last breath.”

You let out a long sigh and stood up. “Okay.”

You’re hesitant as you step inside the small hospital room. He’s asleep, but he must’ve sensed your presence and his eyes flutter open.

“Sweetheart…”

“Bradley.” He moves over a bit for you, and you sit down next to him. “You’re alive.”

“Sorry for not dying. That must’ve disappointed you,” he jokes. If he’s in any sort of pain, he manages to mask it behind a soft smile. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

“I waited ten hours.”

“You should’ve gone home and slept.”

Closing your eyes, you rest your head against his chest. “I wouldn’t be able to sleep knowing that you weren’t okay.”

He hums some tune against the crook of your neck; lips brushing over your skin. “But I came back, like I promised. I’m okay, because you are.”

Helovesmehelovesmehelovesme.

As if he could read your mind, he leans in just that bit closer. You look up at him and your heart somersaults in your chest.

When your lips meet, everything clicks into place and it’s like you finally found the missing puzzle piece you’d been searching for. He was here all along; it made so much sense. Everything else fades away into the background as you get lost in the feeling of him and him alone. You knew from the moment he stuck out his hand and told you with a million-dollar smile “I’m Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw, and I can make a mean lasagna or anything else you want,” that choosing him would be the single best thing you ever could’ve done.

And you were most certainly right about that now.

“I kept it, you know.” he murmurs as you eventually break away, “I didn’t think it would last as long as it did, but here it is.”

“What…what are you talking about?”

He fingers dip below the scoop of his T-shirt and he brings out the glittering charm, laying it in his hand. “You gave it to me ages ago. It was a while ago but I still remember the exact time and place. August 5th, 2010, 2:26 a.m. We were both on the verge of falling asleep.”

Your heart grows warmer. “Roos…”

Rooster opens the locket, and inside is a picture of you beaming as you wrapped your arms around him from behind. So young and so in love, but not yet knowing how you felt about each other.

“I think this is what kept me alive up there. I was in the air long enough to think about and reflect on the fact that I was dying, but I knew I had to come home to you. I was dying, Y/N, but you saved me. If you didn’t come into my life right when you did then I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t be telling you that I love you.”

He has you at a loss for words yet again. It didn’t matter that you’d known each other for years because he would always find a way to steal your breath. The once-tiny caterpillars crawling in your stomach had morphed into giant butterflies that never stopped fluttering when he came too close.

He leans in and he’s kissing you again; this time it’s like you’re his sole source of oxygen and he’s in desperate need of fresh air. Your grip on his hand tightens as he deepens the kiss, and you pray to God that your heart won’t explode into a million pieces like it did when you thought you wouldn’t see him again.

I’ve died and come back to life twice now, Rooster tells himself.

And both of those times, you’re the angel that magically appears to save him from a certain, unfortunate fate.

tags, including people who may be interested (sorry if this list seems off, it hasn't been updated in a while hahah): @sarcastic-sourwolf @totomoshi @sebastianstangirl01 @purelyfiction @lunamoonbby @hazelgirl355 @multifandom-fangirl4 @paintballkid711 @buckysbeloved @lyn-lc @spawn0fsatan @milestomaverick @teacactusworld @cherry-waved @ellabellabus07 @vitanileon @lam-ila @criminalyetminimal @whatlovegattado @queenbbarnes @yeehawnana @t-stark35 @thesunsetphantoms @danirose-0420 @callalily2000 @the-untamed-soul @shizzybarnaclee @bananaa @luvfurdogs @shalaniela @unordinare @and-claudia @lgg5989 @katiemcrae @elenavampire21 @joyfullyswimmingface @nyx2021 @cosm1cfae @ellabellabus07 @vane28282 @bittergomez @littlebadariell @tallrock35 @whotfatemywaffles @hoedameronsworld @aerangi @julia-marshal @uwiuwi

(also if you filled out the general taglist form/top gun taglist form and you're not on here, that means i couldn't tag you for some reason)

#top gun #top gun: maverick #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fanfic #top gun fanfic #top gun fic #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #rooster bradshaw x reader #miles teller #bradley bradshaw fluff #bradley bradshaw x y/n #top gun maverick fic #top gun fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x you

1K notes · View notes