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roosterforme · 3 months

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The Younger Kind Part 48 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley is just trying to make it to the weekend. When he realizes he needs to visit Meredith, he's starting to feel like his sanity is hanging on by a thread. At least he has you, and he knows he can trust you implicitly. And maybe this will give him the kind of closure he didn't know he needed.

Warnings: Swearing, angst, fluff, mention of abortion, and age gap (18+)

Length: 4800 words

Pairing: Single dad!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x babysitter!female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! The Younger Kind masterlist.

Afternoon rain clouds had rolled in, making the city look darker than normal. You noticed right away that the usual sunlight wasn't coming in the windows at work, and it was putting everyone in a strange mood. Even the tiny patients you were taking care of seemed to be crying a little bit more than usual.

You needed to leave soon to pick up Noah which required you to cancel your nail appointment. Bradley didn't even tell you why he'd be late, he just said he would be. It wasn't that you didn't trust him, you just wanted to know that he was okay, but you hadn't heard from him again.

As soon as you walked outside and headed for your car, it started pouring rain. It was so unexpected, you started laughing. You couldn't even remember the last time you'd had a rainy day. Maybe if the lightning and thunder held off, you could take Noah outside to play in it. But as you opened your car door and ducked inside, a streak of jagged light went shooting across the sky.

"Damn," you muttered, carefully driving through the parking lot. You thought about Skittles home alone in her crate. She must be terrified all alone right now, and at this rate, it was going to take you longer than usual to get to Noah. Traffic was backed up like crazy, because nobody knew how to drive in this. You sat at the same red light for three cycles before you were finally able to move at all, and by the time you reached Noah's daycare, it was almost time for them to close.

You dashed out through the rain and inside the building where you were confronted with Casey while you looked like a drowned rat. "Common sense would tell you to use an umbrella when it's raining," she said sweetly as you started to shiver in the air conditioning.

"It's San Diego," you replied coolly. "It never rains here."

She made a production of leaning past you to look out the door. "I think you're wrong, but I can't be certain." She set the clipboard down on the counter and turned away from you as she said, "Poor Noah is going to get completely soaked."

You rolled your eyes as you signed your name a little bit aggressively. It's not like the child would melt. If Bradley came to pick him up instead of you, there was no doubt in your mind that Casey would have bent over backwards to make sure there was an umbrella for him to use. But since it was you, she just stood there with her arms crossed as you scooped Noah up.

"You ready to get a little wet, sweet Noah?" you asked him, kissing his cheek. "It's really raining hard."

He squealed in delight as you ran to your car with him, but you ended up getting a lot more soaked than he did. Your scrubs were clinging to your body when you finally closed the drivers' door behind you. "How about we go home, get dried off and snuggle under a blanket while we watch Mickey Mouse?"

"Yes!" cheered Noah. Maybe you'd just order a pizza later when Bradley got home. You were wet and tired and just wanted to relax.

"Okay. Here we go."

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

Bradley was a nervous mess on his way to see Tracy. "Come on," he groaned, trying to fight his way through the traffic downtown to get to her office in the rain. He should have left base as soon as he was grounded for the rest of the afternoon, but everyone started talking shop, including the admirals, and he didn't want to leave too early.

The array of invasive thoughts plaguing him at the moment was making his stomach churn. Every image in his mind was worse than the last. He was itching to call the First Bank of San Diego, but he thought he'd better talk to Tracy about it first. Reeking of jet fuel that was only made worse by getting his flight suit soaked in the rain, he rode the elevator up to her office. It was kind of late, and the building was mostly empty, but sure enough, the lights were shining brightly in her suite.

When he walked through the first set of glass doors, Tracy leaned out of her office door with a completely neutral expression on her face. "Hi. Come on back."

Bradley closed the distance in a few long strides. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I really didn't want to have to see you today. And I don't have my checkbook with me."

Tracy shook her head and gestured toward the small conference table before she grabbed a Red Bull from her refrigerator. "I'm not billing you for this."

Bradley's heart took a nosedive as he sank down into one of the chairs. If she wasn't even collecting payment, this must be worse than he thought. "Just get it over with, please. What's going on? Did Meredith open an account in my name or something?" he asked. Then he gripped the edge of the table. "In Noah's name? Fuck! Did she figure out a way to fucking bankrupt me?"

He was about to be sick. Once again, he was kicking himself for never taking all of these precautions earlier, right after Meredith left him with a three month old. There would have been ways to safeguard both of them from this sort of thing, but he would have never believed Meredith was capable of doing what she did before. She probably took out a mortgage or opened a credit card. She would have had easy access to Bradley's banking information and social security number. It had been ages since he checked his credit score.

Tracy was offering him a Red Bull, but she slowly pulled it away from him like it was the last thing in the world he needed as he gripped her table so hard, the whole thing was vibrating a little bit.

"Take a deep breath, Bradley. It's nothing so extreme," she assured him in a calm voice as she pried his fingers away from her furniture. "Meredith opened an account right after Noah was born and put a few thousand dollars into it."

Bradley clasped his hands in his lap and thought back a few years. Meredith had been happy for a little while. She seemed to warm up to the idea of Noah, and after he was born and they had a tiny newborn at home, she was very involved. But as the weeks wore on, Bradley noticed her involvement slipping while he was the one picking up all the loose ends and working full time.

"I don't remember anything about a bank account," he told Tracy. "What does this have to do with me exactly?"

She took a drink before she said, "You're listed as a custodian on the account. Technically the money was put in Noah's name, but since he's a minor, he can't handle it himself."

His brow was furrowed as he shook his head. "I'm still confused. Isn't it Meredith's account?"

"Yes and no," she replied. "Once she put your name and social security number on the line below hers, she made you liable for the money, too. And the bank must have uncovered that Meredith is incarcerated. This happens from time to time. When they couldn't reach her, they found her lawyer's information on the court docket. And then her lawyer called me. Apparently your address wasn't listed."

Bradley felt like his head was swimming with information. "So you're telling me I can go to the Coronado branch of the First Bank of San Diego tomorrow and get this money out?"

"Potentially," she replied mildly.

He thought for a beat before he asked, "Is Meredith still entitled to the money? Even though I have sole custody of Noah?"

"Sure. Her name is also on the account." She shrugged and checked the time. "It's not quite six yet. Should we call the bank and find out exactly what's going on?"

"Yeah," he agreed, reaching for his phone. It would be better to do this with her here so he could make sure he got all the information he needed. "Should I just put it on speaker?"

She nodded as she finished her drink and tossed the can into her already overflowing recycle bin. He tapped on the number of the missed calls from earlier and waited while it rang. "First Bank of San Diego corporate offices, this is Belinda. How can I help you?"

Bradley cleared his throat. "Uh, hi, Belinda. My name is Bradley Bradshaw, and I missed some phone calls earlier? I... was hoping you could answer some questions about an account?"

"Please hold."

He looked at Tracy who seemed completely unfazed by all of this as she examined her manicure. It was great that she was always able to stay so calm, but his heart was thundering up into his throat. He wasn't about to believe there weren't a thousand credit cards maxed out in his name until he investigated it all for himself.

"This is Barry."

Bradley didn't know quite what to say as he cleared his throat again. "Hi, this is Bradley Bradshaw. I'm actually here with my lawyer, and I missed some calls earlier?"

"Right, yes," came the man's voice along with the sound of him typing on a keyboard. "We were trying to reach you regarding an account that was opened with your minor child listed as a beneficiary. Information would have been mailed to you, but we did not have an associated address on file."

"Can you tell us more about the account?" Tracy asked, and Bradley was relieved that she knew what to do.

"Well, I can tell you that once an account reaches over $15,000 without any activity in the prior three years, we make a courtesy phone call to see if the owner wants to move any of the funds."

"Fifteen thousand?" Bradley asked, running his fingers through his hair anxiously. "That account has fifteen thousand dollars in it? And she never touched it?"

Barry was silent for a beat. "I really can't provide much more information unless you visit one of our branches in person, sir."

"Shit," Bradley muttered, leaning back in his seat and staring at the ceiling.

"Sounds great, Barry. Thanks for your time," Tracy said before she ended the call for him. "You need to go to the bank. Can you go tomorrow?"

"Yeah," Bradley grunted. "So... there's money just sitting there that potentially belongs to Noah through me?"

"Sounds like it."

Bradley met her eyes. "And I can just take it out? And move it into a different account?"

Now she looked a little apprehensive. "I wouldn't advise you to do it quite that way."

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You let Noah play out in the rain with Skittles for approximately five minutes while you stood inside the backdoor and watched. He had bugged so long and so hard, you caved. But as soon as you heard a rumble of thunder, you ran out and picked him up where he was splashing in a puddle in his dinosaur rain boots while the tiny pup barked. You got soaked all over again in the process, but you carried him inside as lightning flashed across the sky.

"It's getting too stormy!" you told him over all the noise. "Time to go in!"

You grabbed a towel from the stack you left on the kitchen table, and Noah let you fuss over him. You wrapped Skittles in a towel when she started to shake from the cold air conditioned temperature inside, and eventually all three of you ended up on the couch under a blanket with cartoons playing. There was no sign of Bradley, but when you texted and asked him to bring pizza home, he agreed right away.

Anything my Princess wants.

You smiled at your phone as you sat with Noah on your lap and Skittles on his lap. Every few minutes, you buried your nose in his fresh smelling hair and inhaled as you gave him a squeeze. "When's Daddy coming home?" he asked as the sky outside just got darker as the evening wore on. "I'm hungry."

"Soon," you promised him, but it had gotten so late, you were about to make Noah a snack when you finally heard a key in the front door lock.

Skittles was the first one who jumped down from the couch. "Daddy!" Noah launched off of your lap and ran to the door as Bradley kicked it open. His hair and flight suit were basically soaked, but he was holding a pizza and a container of salad with a coffee cup balanced on the top. His handwriting on the cup was wet, and the marker was starting to run, but you could still read Princess. And he looked absolutely exhausted.

"Hey, Bub," he mumbled, kneeling to kiss Noah while he balanced everything in one hand. "You having fun with Mommy?"

Even Bradley's voice was laced with fatigue that you could practically feel as you stood and went to him. You kissed his wet cheek and whispered, "Thank you," as you took the food and your coffee cup from his hand. He just looked at you and nodded, and you gave him a minute with Noah and Skittles as you took the food to the kitchen and got more clean towels. He was just taking off his boots when you returned and asked, "Do you want to talk about it?"

He grunted as he took the towels from you and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Can we wait until Noah's in bed?"

You really did not want to wait another hour, but you agreed anyway, and Bradley kissed your lips before he ran a towel over his face and hair. "Thanks, Baby," he whispered as you gave him a minute to get changed. You took Noah into the kitchen and started to cut up a slice of pizza for him. You were just adding a liberal amount of dressing onto the salad when Bradley walked in wearing gym shorts and a black undershirt that hugged his perfect torso, fresh from a quick shower.

"I love that about you," he crooned next to your ear, his hands soft on your waist as he nodded at the salad.

You laughed and said, "I know you do, Daddy." You were tempted to crawl onto his lap and try to make him feel better while he ate, because he'd clearly had a stressful day. With a quick glance at Noah where he was getting sauce all over his face, you decided to settle into your own seat with a piece of pizza and half of the salad. Bradley stacked two slices together and ate them at the same time in about ten bites.

"You really had a bad day, huh?" you asked, breaking off a piece of your crust and eating it.

He shook his head, brow scrunched in something like concern as he watched his son eat. "Not exactly. Just very long."

Once all the food was gone, you sipped your coffee while you cleaned up. Bradley would have normally done that, but when Noah asked to play blocks with him, you sent them into the living room. You could hear the block towers go clattering to the floor over and over again as Noah giggled. The rain hadn't tapered off, and you were already starting to yawn by eight o'clock. That's when Bradley poked his head into the kitchen with Skittles held in one big hand.

"Hey, Baby. I'm going to get Noah ready for bed, and then we can talk in the living room?"

You nodded and finished loading the dishwasher before curling up with the blanket on the couch. Bradley brought Noah in for a goodnight kiss and then vanished again. By the time he returned empty handed, you were half asleep, but you climbed onto his lap after he sat down. "What's going on?" you asked, your cheek cradled on his shoulder and your lips brushing his neck. You could feel his soft length against your thigh through his gym shorts, and you let your hand settle low on his abs.

He cleared his throat softly and whispered, "I need to go to Las Colinas Detention Facility either tomorrow or Wednesday." A chill rippled through your body even though you were tucked in his warm embrace. You jerked yourself back so you were looking him in the eye as he added, "I need to talk to Meredith."

All you could picture was the stress you saw on his face months ago when she dragged him through the court battle over Noah. You grabbed at your arm where you'd gotten all cut up when you fell in the parking lot at Meyer Park. You could practically still feel and hear all of the pieces of broken glass crunching beneath your feet when you found that your apartment had been broken into.

"Why?" you gasped as tears stung at your eyes. A sick feeling settled into your belly, and all you could do was repeat the question, "Why?"

"Shh. It's okay, Princess," he promised, kissing your cheeks and the tears you weren't even aware you'd shed. "I'm going to make sure it's okay."

You were nodding and shaking a little bit as you listened to him explain that Meredith had opened an account when Noah was a baby. Apparently there was a substantial amount of money now, and Bradley's name was also on the account. "It makes me feel like, even just for a little while, Meredith actually cared about Noah," he whispered, and now you saw tears in his eyes too before he tipped his head back against the couch. "I have a lot of mixed feelings about this, but I guess it's not all bad."

You swallowed down the discomfort you felt and whispered, "You loved her then. And she loved you. And Noah. I mean... she was his mom."

Bradley lifted his head up and tightened his grip around your waist. "You are Noah's mom," he insisted, and you immediately burst into tears. "That's how I want it. That's how Noah wants it. That's how you told me you want it. And that's not going to change. But I just feel like Noah should have this money from Meredith."

You nodded as he wiped at your tears. "He should," you sobbed. "But why do you have to go to Las Colinas? Why can't you just withdraw it?"

Now Bradley let his forehead come to rest on your shoulder, like he needed the comfort associated with being close to you. "I could do that, but I stopped to talk to Tracy, and she thinks that would do more harm than good. There's a simple form I can get from the bank tomorrow after I talk to someone about the exact amount in the account. The plan is for me to take the form to Las Colinas myself, talk to Meredith, and ask her to sign it and effectively forfeit the funds over to me. That way there could be no questions asked."

"And what if she won't sign it?"

He kissed your cheek. "Then you and I can decide if I should withdraw the cash and move it to a different account or just leave it there and pretend it doesn't exist."

You were struck once again by the way Bradley made all of his decisions for you and with you. He treated you with respect when he made plans, and he valued your opinion. "Do you want me to come with you? To the bank or to see Meredith? So you don't have to do it alone?"

His lips and mustache were tickling your jaw as he said, "No. Tracy and I agreed I should go alone. And I really want you to take care of Noah after work so that's one less thing I have to worry about." He kissed you softly. "But thank you for offering."

And that's how you fell asleep, on his lap with his lips pressed to your skin.

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

Bradley couldn't be sure if it was his khaki uniform, but it definitely seemed to help his cause. When he got to the bank after work on Tuesday, he was called right back to a small office where an agent started helping him. "Okay, Lieutenant Bradshaw, let's check this account balance for you," she said as she typed in his social security number. "You are looking at $17,271.28. Would you like to transfer it to a different account?"

He just gaped at her. That could pay for a year of college for Noah. "Actually... I'm going to need to think about it," he replied, and a little while later he left her office with a single piece of paper.

He started the thirty minute drive out of the city to the women's correctional facility. You were probably leaving work right now. Maybe you were pulling into the daycare parking lot. Either way, he didn't have to worry about his son when he was with you. Instead, he could focus on what he needed to do right now, because he was having some mixed feelings about taking this money at all. But if it was actually intended to be used for Noah, then he wanted to give Meredith the opportunity to do the right thing.

After he parked, he waited in line to be searched before entering the building. Here, his uniform did absolutely nothing. In fact, he had to remove his belt and all of his pins and leave them in a little tray in the front office before going though another metal detector. When an officer asked who he was there to see, she looked surprised when he said Meredith's name.

"Right," she replied, leading him toward a small waiting area. "Sit in here, and I'll call you in if she wants to see you."

He eased himself down onto a metal chair that was bolted to the floor and started to sweat. If Meredith wouldn't even talk to him, then he was going to have to leave the money where it was. He wouldn't be able to bring himself to touch it. He was starting to resent even coming here, because this week was supposed to have been a fun one with the air show coming up on Saturday and the hospital tour on Friday night. He could have just told Tracy and everyone at the bank that he didn't care about the money.

"Bradshaw?" called a different officer, and Bradley stood. Well. Apparently she was willing to talk to him after all. A door was held open for him and then another one. He was scanned into a narrow hallway, and once that door closed behind him, he was scanned into a room with a large number '3' on it.

And there sat his ex in a gray jumpsuit with her hair pulled back into a ponytail. Her sleeves were rolled up her forearms, her hair was longer now, and frankly she looked a lot better than he was expecting. Her eyes tracked his every move as she crossed her arms over her chest and said, "Bradley."

He sat in one of the two chairs that were once again bolted to the floor, and his knees almost hit hers as he did so. "Meredith. How are things?" he asked for a lack of anything better coming to his mind.

"What are you doing here?" she asked immediately, leaning a little closer to him. "What do you want?" When he hesitated with his answer, she laughed and shook her head. "You wouldn't be here if you didn't need something from me, so just spit it out."

He shifted in his seat and withdrew the sheet of folded paper from his pocket. "You opened a savings account for Noah right after he was born? I had no idea it existed. The bank just started trying to reach out to me, because you put my name on the account as well," he stated as he tried to hand her the paper.

She stared at him, eyes wide as her cheeks flushed pink, but she said nothing, and she didn't move at all.

"I'm assuming you forgot about it," he added.

Meredith finally took the paper from him as she said, "Why didn't you just take the money then?" She seemed to begrudgingly move her icy stare from his face to the page as she unfolded it and started to read. Bradley knew if she signed it, she would be willingly forfeiting the funds. She would know the exact amount of money and offer it up on her own. He knew he shouldn't feel guilty about asking her to do this, but he kind of did anyway. And now that he was looking at her, he knew he couldn't just do it behind her back if she didn't sign.

"I wanted you to know about it before I did it," he told her softly. "I wanted to ask you why you put the money in the account in the first place."

She refolded the paper and once again met his gaze. "I originally opened the account so someday Noah could go to business school like me instead of joining the Navy like you."

Bradley nodded and almost wanted to smile. "Makes a lot of sense." He took a deep breath and whispered, "You were excited when you were pregnant. You were excited when he was a newborn."

Meredith closed her eyes and shook her head as she held her hand up in front of her. She didn't look at him as she said, "I tried, but I couldn't do it. You were better at all of it than I was, and I fucking hated it more and more every day. I hate being at home. I hated having to feed Noah and change diapers while you went back to work. I hated it so much. The four months that I took off completely ruined my career, and I was never able to recover. And that's where I was happiest."

Bradley nodded and clasped his hands in his lap. Her next sentence hurt him to hear, but she had every right to say it. "I think it would have been better for me if I'd had abortion. I think I could have been happy right now if I did." She kind of shrugged, barely looked at him and then turned toward the corner of the ceiling. Bradley followed her gaze as she loudly said into a camera, "Can somebody bring me a pen? I swear I won't stab him with it."

Bradley was afraid to say anything yet, and nobody appeared with a pen right away. Meredith read over the sheet of paper again, and eventually she said, "This was the only account I added your name to. Don't go sniffing around my bank for more, because you won't get it."

"Right," he replied, finding her words almost comical since she was the one trying to fleece him earlier this year.

"And every cent goes into a savings account for college tuition for him. A university or a trade school or something. Anything except the Navy. And none of it goes to that disgusting little slut you're living with now."

Bradley had to bite back his response as the door opened, and an officer walked in with one black ink pen. She handed it to Meredith and stood next to her while she signed the form, and then the officer collected the pen once more before leaving the room. He was honestly a little shocked, but he accepted the paper when she handed it to him.

"Thank you," he told her, deciding not to mention that you were going to be his wife and Noah's legal parent sooner rather than later if he had anything to say about it. She really didn't need to know about that, because she didn't have any say in the matter. "I'll save it for Noah for school. And if he wants to join the Navy like a real idiot, then I'll donate it all to your alma mater. But just... thanks for signing for it."

She nodded. "You were going to be able to take it anyway. At least now you'll cooperate with its original intended purpose."

Once again, he wasn't going to waste his time arguing with her by trying to say that he would have left the money untouched. He didn't need her to believe anything he said except that he'd save her money for Noah. "I will absolutely do that."

"I know you will."

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Well, well, well. What do we have here? Proof that Meredith cared at one time? Please ignore any financial inaccuracies, I tried my best. Aaaaand, onward to the air show. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 49

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bradshawsbaby · 2 years

Text

A Glimpse of Them

Pairings: Rooster x Wife!Reader, Goose x Carole, Maverick x Penny

Author’s Note: Inspired by this absolutely precious Anon request, as well as my great love for the iconic Goose and Carole Bradshaw.

Warnings: Super fluffy fluff, as well as a little bit of angst that comes from missing the people you love.

From the very beginning, Maverick knew that you and Bradley were meant to be.

How?

Because every time he looked at the two of you, he saw them.

It caught him off guard, the first time it happened. You were all at the beach, enjoying a barbeque Penny was hosting at The Hard Deck. Mav was helping her at the grill when he heard a loud shriek behind him. Turning, he immediately spotted Bradley chasing you across the sand as you laughed and tried to duck out of his hold. It wasn’t long, however, before he managed to catch you and sling you over his shoulder, victoriously carrying you towards the water as you pounded playfully on his back.

“Goose Bradshaw, you put me down this instant!” Carole shrieked, smacking her boyfriend’s back as he swung her around with a big grin plastered across his face.

“Do you hear something, Mav?” Goose asked, turning left and right and cupping his ear with a look of mock confusion on his face.

“Mav, you tell him to put me down right now!” Carole demanded, her cheeks turning red as she hung over Goose’s shoulder.

From his spot on his beach chair, Maverick couldn’t help but grin at his friend and his friend’s girl. One month, and Goose was already a goner for Carole.

“I don’t know, Goose, I think I hear something, but I can’t quite put my finger on it,” Mav laughed, sliding his Aviators back on.

“Oh, you two idiots!” Carole groaned, pounding on Goose’s back some more.

“Must be the sun getting to me,” Goose grinned mischievously, tightening his hold on Carole’s waist. “Better go cool off.”

“Nicholas Bradshaw, don’t even think about it!” Carole squealed, letting out a yelp as Goose took off towards the water, submerging them both in an instant.

“You big idiot!” Carole cried, though she was laughing hysterically as she wiped the salt water out of her eyes.

“I think you mean stud, honey,” Goose smirked, pulling her into his arms and kissing her soundly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Carole smiled, wrapping her arms around him and kissing him back.

Maverick blinked and suddenly Goose and Carole were gone. Instead, it was you and Rooster laughing like a couple of schoolchildren on the beach, Rooster tugging playfully on your wet ponytail and kissing you tenderly.

“Pete, you alright?” Penny asked, resting a hand on his back as she followed his gaze.

“Yeah,” Mav nodded, shaking his head slightly. “Just remembering something, that’s all,” he told her with a smile.

After that day, Maverick saw glimpses of his dearest friends in you and Rooster all the time.

He saw Goose in the way Rooster gazed at you when you weren’t looking, like his whole world was wrapped up in you and you alone. Goose had always looked at Carole that way.

He saw Carole in the way you rested against Rooster, your head on his shoulder and your hand slipped inside his, like you never wanted to let him go. Carole had been the same way with Goose.

Whenever Rooster returned home from a mission, Maverick always kept his eyes on you, watching for your reaction. The way you would throw your arms open wide and call out his name, a smile made of pure sunshine lighting up your face, made him recall the reunions he got to witness between Goose and Carole whenever they made their way home. Rooster held you in the same way that Goose had held Carole, like he would never let you go, even if the world was crumbling around you.

The first time Maverick saw the two of you at the piano together, he’d had to step outside for a minute, too overcome with emotion to remain in the bar. It was no great surprise to hear Rooster singing “Great Balls of Fire,” as he’d heard him sing it many times as he was growing up, but when he pulled you down onto his lap and pressed a kiss to your shoulder, he looked so much like his father that Mav could have sworn it was Goose in the room that night. And when you threw your head back and laughed with careless abandon, gazing at Rooster with complete adoration in your eyes, it was like he was getting to see Carole again after so many years. It took his breath away, how much he missed his friends.

But it also brought him comfort, knowing how happy Goose and Carole would be to know that their son had found someone to love, someone who loved him just as much in return.

He shed a tear when Bradley texted him a picture of the two of you on vacation in the Bahamas. It was a candid shot, one that looked as if it had been snapped almost accidentally. Bradley’s head was turned so that he was gazing down at you, your hand resting on his chest and your mouth open in laughter. It was the looks in both your eyes that made him see Goose and Carole. The two of them had never been good at posing for photographs. One was always looking at the other, one was always making the other laugh. Both of them were always gazing at each other with that look of unguarded, unadulterated love.

Maverick printed that picture that Bradley sent him and hung it right beside a similar shot of Goose and Carole from their honeymoon.

When you and Bradley got engaged, Maverick felt Goose and Carole’s presence there that night, celebrating with you all.

“Mav, isn’t it beautiful?” you asked, holding up your engagement ring for him to see.

“Mav, isn’t it beautiful?” Carole beamed, her face split with a giant smile as she held up the engagement ring Goose had slipped on her finger just hours before.

“It’s beautiful, Carole,” Mav grinned, slapping Goose on the shoulder in congratulations.

“It’s beautiful, kid,” Mav smiled, slapping Rooster on the shoulder in congratulations.

When he walked you down the aisle on your wedding day, your eyes aglow as they rested on your groom, Maverick couldn’t help but remember the sight of Carole on her wedding day, that megawatt smile of hers turned all the way up as she glided down the aisle on her father’s arm.

Rooster’s bright smile, and the light sheen of tears glistening in his eyes as he looked back at you, were identical to his father’s as he had gazed at his mother.

God, Rooster looked so much like Goose.

Maverick’s heart throbbed with memory the day that you and Bradley told him you were expecting your first child.

“You’re going to be a great-uncle, Mav,” Rooster chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder as he glowed with pride and slipped his hand inside yours.

“A great great-uncle!” you added, the three of you laughing as you leaned over to hug him.

“You’re going to be an uncle, Mav! How do you like that?” Goose grinned, clapping him on the shoulder as he wrapped his other arm around Carole.

“The best uncle there is!” Carole smiled, wrapping her arms around Maverick and giving him a big hug.

Rooster was the picture of his father the night you went into labor, prepared as anything but also as frantic as could be.

“I’m going to be a father, Mav,” he kept saying over and over again when he called to let him know that the two of you were at the hospital. “I’m going to be a father.”

“I’m going to be a father, Mav,” Goose murmured into the payphone, running his fingers through his hair. “I’m going to be a father! Oh my God, I gotta go,” he exclaimed, slamming the phone down as Mav chuckled.

“You’re going to be a great father,” Mav assured Rooster, smiling through the phone.

And he was. You both were incredible parents.

Every time you brought Nick to the base to visit everyone, every time you and your son were there to greet Rooster at his homecomings, every time Rooster lifted your little boy into his arms or sat him up on his shoulders, Maverick saw glimpses of the past. Glimpses of all that had been.

The day you both told him that you had started calling your son Goose, he hadn’t been able to say anything. Emotion clogging his throat, he’d just pulled the two of you into his arms and held on tightly.

You both had known exactly what he meant. Words weren’t needed.

As Maverick watched your family grow, he thought often of his beloved friends. They would have loved to see the life you and Bradley were creating. They would have been so proud of the man their son had become. They would have loved you and treated you like their own daughter. They would have adored doting on their grandchildren.

There wasn’t a day that went by that Maverick didn’t miss Goose and Carole. But when he looked at you and Bradley, he caught a glimpse of them.

And that was enough until he could see them again.

#top gun #top gun: maverick #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #x reader #x female reader #goose x carole #pete maverick mitchell

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rongzhi · 1 year

Text

The 6533 from Daliangshan

English added by me :)

Video transcript:

In the depths of Daliangshan, I got on a green-skin train. In the beginning, I didn’t think there was anything different here. It wasn’t until I discovered the ticket price was so low it was ridiculous. At the cheapest, it was only 2 yuan (0.29 usd). The whole journey was 400 km, which was only 26.50.

This place and the train from my memory wasn’t quite the same.

Climbing on required using a super tall platform. Some people were carrying beilous. Some people were wearing pretty ethnic folk dress. And there was also an Yi apo doing sewing work.

It wasn’t until a girl carrying a rooster walked by me that my mind filled with thoughts.

Are all the pets here so unusual?

Later, a da-jie was getting on, and I gave her a hand. I discovered there were a lot of chickens and eggs. If there are chickens, could the ducks be far away?

As expected, their song sound resonated from the front.

I was a little curious: what other mysterious animals were there around?

This sheep was truly impolite, and da-ge was put in a temper from being dragged around. Using the strength of 9 cows and 2 tigers, he finally sent it into the bathroom.

I wonder if it will dream of the plumber Mario here…

Finally, there was only a celestial dog over here, bobbing its head.

Oh right, I must hurry and tell a train attendant: the villager’s pigs have pooped in the train car again.

Fortunately the train attendant told me the pigs and the dog were bought to be taken back and raised. The chickens, ducks, and sheep are being taken to the county seat to be sold. They’re all passengers on the train.

In order to convenience the fellow villagers’ bulk cargo, each train car has a row of seats taken out. It’s hard to imagine that the storage room here could be so excessive.

The train also has a few study cars specifically made for students coming and going.

The mountains and rivers outside gradually grew distant. Those in the train car speedily wrote across their papers.

The students here were innocent and unaffected toward the camera.

["You’re very adorable!"]

The girl bashfully told me that she was in middle school.

["Third year of junior high."]

The boy shared his last sunflower seeds with me.

The Yi villagers’ standard mandarin wasn’t too fluent. She only knew one line:

["I don’t understand what you’re saying."]

However the students were able to teach me.

["'Kashasha' means thank you (in Yi)!" "Kashasha!"]

They take this train back home on Fridays and take the train back to school on Sunday.

Seeing the smiles on their lips, I finally realised: this train is what they depend on from elementary school to high school. This is her special study car. And it’s the train that brings him wealth. Even more so, it’s the slow train to lift them out of poverty.

This is the 6533 train that passes through Daliangshan.

#为所欲为 #travel #trains #chinese life #douyin #video #tiktok #long post

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honkytonk-hangman · 1 year

Text

Line of Sight

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader

Masterlist

Summary: You're almost certain that Jake Seresin could care less about you, that is, until you're in a tight spot and the one guy you assume will hang you out to dry, instead comes to your rescue.

Warnings: language, creepy club dudes, hangman being a little cold but actually he's just shyyyyyy

Notes: this is for @ussgallifrey who let me bang on about the feelings this man has given me <3 honestly this might turn into a mini-series because i havent even begun to resolve all my emotions about this whole vibe yet

Series Masterlist

“Wait, is that Rooster?” you frown, trying to duck your head to see around the crowd of people at the club bar, your straw falling away from your lips as you do. “And Payback, and–” you cut yourself off, now certain of who and what you were seeing, and turn to look accusingly at your companions. Next to you, Phoenix follows your line of sight, but shrugs, seemingly unbothered about the impromptu appearance of the rest of Dagger Squad. Across from you, Halo winces guiltily, and lowers her brightly coloured cocktail away from her face.

“I may have mentioned our little soiree, and extended the invitation…” she admits, before hurriedly placing down her drink altogether and lifting her hands in a surrendering motion. “Look, in my defence, we’re all friends, and whatever you think about Hangman–”

“–It’s not what I think, Cal! It’s him who clearly doesn’t think much about me!” you stress, a little frustrated that your carefree girls night was now going to end up like all the other weekend nights you’ve had since befriending Dagger.

You loved Dagger, you really really did. They had welcomed you unofficially into the squad with open arms after Phoenix and Bob had adopted you one night at the Hard Deck. You’d been stood up, then dumped unceremoniously, and after crying off all your makeup in the bathroom, you’d been comforted by Nat, who had then introduced you to all her friends, all of whom seemed to dedicate the rest of their night to cheering you up.

It was funny now to think that that was how this all started, but soon enough you were close with all of them. Well, almost all of them.

Hangman had been nice enough that first night, but after that it seemed as though he could care less about your presence at all. He wasn’t ever actively rude or mean to you, not at all, instead it was like you were just perpetually a stranger. Him snarking at you would be a step up, in your opinion. At least then you’d feel like he saw you as a friend, but as it stands now, his tight smiles and quiet chortles felt like a slap in the face compared to the mega-watt grins and regular peacockish behaviour he’d display with his other friends.

You hate yourself a little that it affects you so much. You know it shouldn’t, but you can’t help it. You liked Hangman. Although a little prideful and pricklish, you could see yourself getting along with him quite well, could exchange banter with him nicely, if he’d ever actually give you a chance. It certainly didn’t help that you weren’t immune to the way he looked, perfect in every single sense, smoulderingly hot even when he wasn’t trying. He was exactly your type, right down to a T, including, you suppose, the fact that he didn’t want you at all.

It had been bothering you more and more recently, and where once you would just shrug him off, now you realise, you’ve been actively avoiding hanging out with your friends, just to sidestep the kick in the guts that came every time he fixed you with a level, seemingly emotionless pity-smile. This week would mark one year since the night you’d been dumped and subsequently picked up again, and if you’d thought about it for longer than five seconds, you’d have agreed with Halo that you should have been celebrating with all your friends.

Phoenix easily waves down the boys, and soon enough your tall standing table is filled out with the rest of the team, and you let yourself relax for a moment as you accept several hugs, the longest of which is with Javy, who shakes you a little as he does, before he reaches for your drink and finishes it off in one.

“Happy one year, bay-bay!” he announces cheekily in the face of your protest, and you playfully swat him away. Coyote relents, but leans back just enough, with his mouth open, and you roll your eyes, before plucking the maraschino cherry from your now empty glass and placing it between his teeth.

The display is enough to make you laugh genuinely, and you watch with a far more relaxed and happy grin as Javy pushes back from the table, pointing at you, Phoenix and Halo.

“Another?” he asks, quickly gathering everyone’s orders and announcing the first round was on him as he disappears toward the bar. Unfortunately, that is when you realise his empty spot at the table is stepped into by someone else, and despite yourself, you can’t help but look.

If you hadn't known that he’d only just arrived, you might have fooled yourself into thinking Hangman been here all along, with how natural he looks leaning with one arm against the table, his eyes scanning the club behind you over your head as you take him in.

You refrain from cursing at just how good he looks in civvies. It was rare you’d see him in anything aside from either his flight suit or his tan uniform, and you’re fairly certain the only other time you had was at one of Dagger’s many beach parties, where he’d been barely dressed at all. Now though, Hangman is filling out a pair of dark wash jeans and a silk jade-green button down like nobody's business, his hair for once not slicked back and styled for work, and he has what you can only assume must be several days worth of stubble.

He looks goddamn good, and you almost vibrate all the way across the room because of it.

Bright green eyes suddenly lock on to yours, and you most hope he calls you out for staring, teases you relentlessly, but after a moment, he simply nods at you, and turns inward to the table.

“You look great,” he says simply, and after letting out a quiet sigh, you choose not to let this ruin your night.

“Thanks, so do you,” you reply, maybe a little sadder sounding than you intended. Hangman glances back over at you and your heart skips just a little when he lifts his chin at you.

“Same dress you were wearing the night that asshole dumped you, right?” His voice holds slightly more humorous inflection than usual and you hate yourself a little bit more for living for the crumbs he gives you.

“Yeah. figured it was thematic or whatever. Look at me now, and all that,” you wave a hand, and really try hard not to sound so glum this time, but you’re not sure it works. Hangman cocks his head, and you swear you see a playful glint spark in his eyes just as he opens his mouth, but unfortunately you never get to hear what he has to say, because Javy chooses that moment to reappear, placing down an armful of drinks and beers right between you.

With the reappearance of his friend, Hangman seems to go back to ignoring you, and you go back to pretending that it doesn’t bother you.

—

Five minutes ago you had been dancing wildly and laughing with Rooster and Phoenix, three drinks down and getting your giggle on. Now though, you’d managed to lose both your friends in the crowd, which had been okay at first, you weren’t exactly a wallflower and didn’t mind getting your flirt on with a stranger or two, but now, you were wishing hard that at any moment either Rooster or Phoenix might show back up again and save you.

While you weren’t a wallflower, you also weren’t anywhere near as cock-sure as Halo or Phoenix, you weren’t the type of girl who felt comfortable stamping on a creep’s foot and telling him to fuck off and that you weren’t interested.

Which is exactly what you wanted to do right now.

You were trying to be polite still, for some reason, but the drinks in your system prevent you from really reacting as necessary, even as you attempt to move the hands of the guy you're dancing with back to your hips and away from your ass.

“Hey, look, I’m going to get a drink!” you yell over the music, trying to extract yourself from this guy, but just as your luck would have it, he nods happily and makes to move with you, his hands still trying to feel you up.

You move anyway, hoping that at least you might be able to lose him in the crowd, but your new shadow seems determined to stick with you. You really don’t know at this point how to shake him, and as a last resort, you desperately begin scanning the edges of the crowd for any of your friends, so you can try and make eyes for them to bail you out.

Strangely, all your friends seem to have disappeared from the table you’d left them at, even Rooster and Phoenix are nowhere in sight, but you do catch sight of something familiar toward the bar. For once you don’t dread the sight of Hangman and his expressionless gaze, and for once, you attempt to maintain eye contact with him as he glances almost dismissively over at you.

Maybe it’s the look on your face that causes him to doubletake back at you when he briefly looks away, but whatever it is, you’re glad for it, because the next thing you know, the blond is frowning at you, his eyes flickering between you and your unwanted companion. You watch as he straightens up from leaning against the bar, his face filled with the kind of determination that you had only seen on him during the more heated rounds of pool at the Hard Deck.

You could almost let out a cry of joy when he pushes away from the bar and begins beelining towards you, seemingly making sure that he doesn’t lose sight of you even despite the throng of people that he has to weave in and out of. When he’s only a few metres away, his expression shifts from almost angry, into an easy cocky smile that he’s never directed toward you before. It nearly throws you off step, but even if it had, it wouldn’t have been an issue. In a few short strides, Hangman is in front of you, his arm smoothly slung around your shoulder and he uses it to tug you a few steps into his side, and away from your prior dance partner.

“There you are,” he says sweetly, actually sounding glad to see you for once. In your sheer relief at his rescue, you let your hand fall to his chest, your fingertips gliding over the soft silk of his shirt, which doesn’t go unnoticed by him. You blink up, mouth open to utter a soft thank you, and get ready to excuse yourself from the other man’s company, but a tugging at your hand cuts you off.

“Uh, I thought we were getting a drink,” the other guy interrupts, looking accusingly between you and Hangman. The blond barely even looks at him, an insult you know well, before he’s focused back on you, and arm around your shoulder pulling you even closer into him, and forcing your dance partner to release you.

“I’ll take it from here,” Hangman says to him, though he’s gazing at you, doing a damn convincing job of seeming lovesick. “You thirsty, sweetheart?” he adds as he begins to turn you, lead you away from the scene, and you find yourself embarrassingly speechless, only able to nod at for once being on the receiving end of Hangman’s notorious charm.

“Whatever, just so you know man, she didn’t say she was taken,” you hear from behind you.

“She shouldn’t have to.” Hangman doesn’t even stop moving as he turns his head to shoot back, though his voice is filled with more annoyance than you’ve ever heard from him before. You could almost trick yourself into thinking he was actually mad on your behalf.

“Fucking slut.” The words are just loud enough for the both of you to hear, and even though you tense up at the accusation, you expect the both of you to keep moving, at least until you’re away from this guy. That doesn’t happen though. Hangman does stop this time, though unlike before, you don’t see a trace of anger on his face. Instead, he takes a step back toward the other man, his arm dropping from your shoulders to wrap snugly around your waist. He smiles wide and full, completely infuriatingly, and you see him size up the creep, look him deliberately up and down before he tips his head and opens his mouth.

“And yet, she’s still not going to fuck you,” he stays smiling, wide and cheshire-like. You feel yourself drop into a pool of complete and utter enamour with him, as at last he pulls you away again, leaving your unwanted partner behind, mouthing dumbly at the killer of a takedown he’d just endured, now totally forgotten by the both of you.

You’re still recovering from the utter annihilation when you finally reach the bar, and at last Hangman lets his hold on you drop, and he comes to stand next to you at the bar. He’s still grinning, though it looks like it's to himself, but it widens ever so slightly when he glances down at you while motioning for the bartender. He orders himself another beer, and the same cocktail Javy had stolen from you earlier before you’re finally able to get your thoughts straight again.

“Thanks for that,” you say, nodding towards the dance floor. Hangman looks almost surprised for a few seconds before he shrugs and pays the waiting barman.

“S’nothing.” he waves you off, but fixes you again with a slight frown moments later. “Are you alright? You looked pretty upset when you were trying to shake him.”

You think this might be the most genuine emotion the man has ever shown you, and you’re too far gone to question why, for now you simply want to bask in it.

“I’m no good at telling guys to piss off. Mostly they get the hint, but sometimes… that’s why I always stick with Phoenix or Halo,” you explain a little bashfully. You know how confrontational Hangman can be, you’d seen it for yourself tonight, so you know he likely sees your lack of assertiveness as some kind of weakness. Maybe that was why he didn’t like you?

Hangman frowns again, deeply this time, and hands you your drink. For a while he doesn't say anything, but it makes you anxious the way he doesn’t stop staring at you even as he takes a good long drink of his beer. After a moment he relaxes somewhat and glances away. You’re hoping maybe he’ll drop it, or maybe some of your friends will come along and spare you whatever comes next, but he doesn’t, and they don’t.

Hangman points back toward the dance floor with his beer hand and fixes you with a hard, intent stare.

“You feel like that again, you come find me, alright? I’ll tell them where they can go,” the blond tells you firmly, making you blink and splutter, but he holds up his hand and waves you off before you can deny him.

“Halo doesn’t always come out with us, and Phoenix and Rooster are currently eating face, so,” he takes half a step toward you and leans lower into your space, almost making you stumble back. “Next time,” he slings his arm across your shoulder again and grins almost maniacally. “Let Hangman sort them out for you.”

For the first time you really feel like perhaps Hangman is warming up to you. No longer were you feeding off the crumbs of attention, now you see the man revel in your sputtering embarrassment, fully teasing you like you’d wish he would for the past year. You were in his sights now, and you feel your whole body trill with satisfaction.

#jake 'hangman' seresin fanfic #jake 'hangman' seresin x reader #jake seresin x reader #jake 'hangman' seresin #jake seresin #jake hangman imagine #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman x reader #hangman x reader

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notroosterbradshaw · 2 years

Text

The Boyfriend Experience - Part 1 / 2

5.6k words of Rooster being your super pretend boyfriend! A few swears, but it’s the Navy, goddammit! The fluffiness should make up for it.

"I don't see why you just don't take Rooster," Natasha muttered, nodding in his direction next to Payback at the bar, both animated, arms describing manoeuvres like excited little boys. "You guys are friends, he likes food, he obviously likes beer. Probably likes 'em if they're free too," she shrugged as if it was the simplest thing going around.

"Why would Rooster be remotely bothered to be my plus one to a wedding where he doesn't know anyone?"

"You'd be there, you said your sister and her husband are going too. There are three people he knows," she said simply. "He's single and an easy lay. Could be the perfect twofer for you."

"Natasha," you chastised her. "I don't want to sleep with Rooster."

"You've got two eyes," she hinted. "Everyone wants to sleep with Rooster."

"Then you sleep with him," you winked.

"Don't let Hangman hear your jokes," she snickered. "I cannot imagine the carry-on if he does," she looked over your shoulder to him at the darts. Bullseye, each and every time.

"Okay, okay. But look, I've known Rooster since I was a toddler, trust me. Not everyone wants to sleep with Rooster."

"If he knew you were the exception, he'd probably want to remedy that," she smiled as you rolled your eyes, sipping your drink.

"This wedding has just rolled around too quickly. I thought I'd find a way to get a date by now."

"Why did you accept a plus one then?"

"I think I answered a little too flippantly when asked if I needed one..." you admitted with a shrug. "Christa asked in one of those obnoxious, curious teasing voices, 'Are you going to bring a plus one?'"

"I hate those bitches."

"Yeah," you dipped your finger into the froth of your drink and put it to your mouth thoughtfully. "I'm tragic," you announced with a flourish.

"You're not tragic," Natasha said. "We just need to get you back in the game."

"Ew."

"Rooster is still an option."

"Why, in God's name, are you pushing Rooster?" you had to ask.

"He's a nice guy, you could do worse."

Looking across the bar, you asked, "Mickey still dating that girl?"

"Mickey, really?" she asked surprised.

"His smile is perfect. I mean, perfect."

"His dad is a dentist," she told you knowingly.

"There you go," you cracked a smile. "Option?"

"Nope, he is still dating her."

"Shit."

"Look, I'll go ask Rooster. Worst he can say is no..." before you could hiss at her to quit it, she was ducking and weaving through bodies towards him. You watched from your vantage point at the pool table and sighed dismally.

"Exactly. He can say no," you muttered to yourself, your gaze glued to your drink. Looking up and watching this car crash unfold would be brutal. You could not remember a time you'd ever been more embarrassed.

Natasha squeezed in between her friends as she began to state your case. You peeked a look at Rooster, his eyebrow piqued in interest as he tried to follow her explanation. Eventually, his gaze peered over at you, biting back a very humoured grin. Giving her his attention back, he pulled his beer bottle to his lips and nodded with a nonchalant shrug. Okay, that wasn't a terrible result but also you had no idea what she threw on the table and you were almost scared of the stipulations Rooster may've agreed to.

Payback looked up at you and gave you a 'wtf' face. "What's he got that I don't?" he called across the bar as Natasha pushed him back on his barstool.

"This wasn't my idea," you defended yourself. "Natasha Trace a lunatic."

"Certified crazy," Rooster raised his beer to you.

"That's Lt. Certified Crazy, thank you," she said. "And I got you a date. Get off my ass!"

"I'm sorry, Rooster," you said apologetically as he motioned you over with a wave of his bottle. He certainly didn't appear too perturbed. Grabbing your purse and glass, you made your way to him.

"Me too," Payback mumbled. "We'd be so hot."

"Maybe next time?" you said apologetically.

"I bet you say that to all the boys," he said, faux sadness on his handsome features as he brightened and toasted you. No hard feelings, thank goodness.

"She actually doesn't," Natasha spoke up. "That's why she is in this mess. You literally don't say yes to any dudes."

"You can trash me after I leave," you reminded her thoughtfully, finishing your drink. Dammit.

"I got it," Rooster turned back to Penny, raised your glass to her with a quiet 'please?' and got off his stool, gently holding your side and guiding you onto it. She nodded back to him, while the bar was fairly quiet tonight, she was still serving others. "How did you get yourself in this pickle anyway?" Rooster had to ask. "This is the kind of thing that only happens in rom-coms," he still seemed to be getting off as "fake boyfriend" in your waking nightmare as a bridesmaid for an old high school friend. You honestly hadn't expected to be asked, you'd all gone your separate ways since then, but apparently, your friend had thought the friendship was still strong enough to count you as one of her eight bridesmaids. You weren't sure you had eight girlfriends to even consider something so ludicrous.

"Oh, it's way more embarrassing than it sounds," you admitted.

"I've heard this part already," Natasha announced. "Payback, feel like getting duped twice tonight?" she asked, heading over to the pool table. He shrugged and followed her willingly.

"Look, this is a lot. You don't have to do this if you don't want to," you told Rooster. "Regardless of what Natasha may've threatened you with."

"She didn't have to threaten me," he said and eased his lean frame back against the bar. "It's cool. I'm in town. I don't have to wear my dress whites though, do I?" he asked, a little begrudgingly.

"Oh, God no!" you exclaimed. "It's formal."

"I have a suit," he reassured you, his lips quirking. "Been a while since I wore it though. I was probably in high school," he reckoned, considering it.

"You were a little smaller then," you gently reminded him.

He nodded and hummed. "Thank you for noticing," he joked as you rolled your eyes, laughing, and he adjusted the collar of his silky Hawaiian shirt, ego placated for a moment. His shirts were so him, but gee, they were hideous. You always knew when the girls were talking about him because there would always be a hint in the description of his outfit. It happened a lot. The local girls loved Rooster, and from his reputation, he loved them just as much.

But in the end, he was just a nice guy, a really lovely guy. Friendly, funny when you least expected it, reserved and loyal to a fault but you'd known him so long to consider him anything else. A few years older, when you were kids, you were lumped together with the other juniors. He lost his dad so young (he'd admitted once or twice he didn't have many memories of him anymore) and his mother moved them away, closer to her family for the support of losing Goose and to help to raise Bradley away from the influence of the Navy. He came back to the Island when he was about 18 after his mother had passed. Base was home, but he'd flit in and out of Grandpa's house occasionally. Viper always had a soft spot for Bradley, and always kept a protective eye on him, especially after his fallout with Maverick.

Rooster, while his career progression was slow compared to those his age, was always earmarked to be one of the best.

His rapid progression through the ranks wasn't a huge surprise to anyone. He wanted to make anyone who stood in his way regret their actions, especially Mav, and show them that he was ready, willing and able to be the 1%. But the resentment for how his career was delayed when Mav pulled his papers to the Naval Academy, and remember a night with Rooster in tears as your grandpa tried to appease him and his rage for Mav's actions, had stayed.

"I hope you don't need a new suit," you told him dismally. "I don't want you having to spend anything - "

"Fake girlfriend," he cut you off, teasingly. "If I need a new suit, which I likely will, it's okay," he reassured you. "And it's probably about time, can't rely on the Navy to dress me for the rest of my life," he passed you the drink Penny had made you. "What's that?"

"Sloe Gin Fizz."

"Oh, you're one of those fancy girls," he nodded with a squint. "My imaginary bank account is gonna take a hit, isn't it?" You smiled as he smiled too, finally cracking and relaxing. "You're nervous," he noted.

"What gave it away?" you offered him a sip and he happily tried it. Licking the sweetness off his moustache, he gave you a 50/50 response.

"Don't be nervous. We've known each other far too long to be nervous around each other."

"It's not that, I just kind of wish I didn't accept a plus one and then wouldn't have had to go the stupid lengths to cover my ass."

"Let's just treat it as a bit of fun," Rooster suggested. "If it blows, we come back here and get drunk with people we like."

"Thanks, Roost."

He raised his glass to you. "You're welcome. So... am I allowed to get any phone numbers?"

Caught off guard, the plan was starting to unravel quickly as you noticed Rooster catch the eye of a pretty blonde near the jukebox. "Umm, yeah. Of course!"

He laughed and shook his head. "I'm kidding. I'll be the perfect fake date. No one's gonna know."

Those words would come to haunt you.

At Wedding Central the next weekend, you absent-mindedly played with your phone while chaos ensued around you. You had nothing to be concerned over, your hair and make-up were done, your dress was steamed, and you wouldn't change until everyone else was ready. Rooster had texted a moment ago and you were considering how to respond. ‘I'll see you at the reception - it's still cool I can miss the wedding, right? I won't be later than 7pm. I have to get to the gym, my body is crippled after training today.’

Your heart sank, you'd been fielding questions about him all day, you depended on him to be there tonight. 'Of course'. You texted back diplomatically. You were being ditched for lactic acid build-up, but knew it could be worse if he didn't try and work it off before have arrived... if he arrived at all.

Bradley 🐓: Just give me time to workout real quick, shower and change. I did all the other beautifying yesterday. I'll knock your friend's socks off, I promise. Maybe even yours.

You: It's all good, Rooster. I'll see you when I see you.

Bradley 🐓: I can try and escape earlier?

You: Don't be silly. It's all a bit mad here, hair, make-up, not enough champagne 🥂

Bradley 🐓: Try and have fun! Talk me up, play the game. I'll see you tonight.

"Are you sure he's still coming?" one of the bridesmaids asked as you had just been seated at the reception table. You traced the nameplate reading 'Bradley' and kind of wanted the earth to swallow you whole. It was a little after seven and entrees were starting to be served. It was a fair question, Rooster didn't owe you anything and he could ditch you at any time.

"Excuse me, gentleman, I caught the eye of a really cute bridesmaid before - " you heard a familiar rasp say behind you and you stiffened. He'd finally made it. Turning to that voice you'd know anywhere, you gave him a gentle smile. "Think I've found her," he added, patting the chest of some random dude and striding towards you, walking like he was on a runway. He looked incredible, so different from his usual jeans and shirt, so different from any flight suit. He moved towards you in a dark blue crushed velvet suit jacket, a darker shade of slim leg slacks, a black bow tie and dress shoes. His hair was slicked back, neater than usual, maybe even shorter. "Well, you look beautiful," he smiled fondly and leaned down to kiss you lightly on the corner of your mouth, surprising you. He murmured against your ear and only quiet enough for you to hear, "I know that was a lot, I'm sorry if I took it too far. I'm late, but I'm here now," he paused. "I'm not gonna let you down, okay?"

He gently cupped your chin, his thumb grazing your cheek. That kiss, you were finding it hard to shake off... "You look like a Disney prince," you said before you realised it was supposed to be a thought. His eyes shone with humour as he took his seat beside you, resting an arm on the back of your chair.

He creased into an easy laugh. "Not the look I was going for, not with this god awful mug, but I'll happily take it. Do I have to catch up, have you had a few drinks?" he teased.

"A champagne before the ceremony. Just foot in mouth right now," you touched the material on his lapel and smiled. Soft, so unlike Rooster. If he was anyone else's date tonight, you'd hardly have recognised him. "You look very handsome, Rooster."

"Thank you," he shrugged, a little anxious himself. "Your dress is no way as miserable as you described," his eyes pleasantly drifted over you, he wasn't trying to make you nervous or under his gaze, but to him, you looked spectacular. "You look amazing. Bet you've been fending off dudes all day."

You scoffed, shaking your head as he chuckled quietly. Hearing your name and being dragged out of your little bubble, you looked up as one of the other bridesmaids, single she'd repeatedly broadcasted, nodded towards Rooster. "Are you going to introduce us?"

Rooster introduced himself to some of the other bridesmaids and their partners, his knuckles grazing your back as he made small talk for a while, winning them all over instantly... just like you knew he would.

"It's nice out here," Rooster said a while later. You had just finished dinner and were wandering outside for some fresh air, enjoying the warm breeze under the stars at a small cocktail table among other couples. Little fairy lights dotted the area and tea lights adorned the table and bar. "You relaxing a little now?" He asked as a waiter stopped past with champagne. He nabbed two. He handed you one and gave you a gentle cheer. "You're doing great. You look really beautiful," he admitted again. It wasn't a secret you'd always been a little easy on the eyes. Rooster was always a little perplexed you'd never found the right person and settle down. He knew you'd had boyfriends on and off but Natasha had made a passing comment about you being a bit of a commitmentphobic, and he'd be lying to think it hadn't stuck with him.

You smiled. "You mean in this dress that me and seven of my closest friends in high school who I haven't spoken to since we went to college are all wearing in varying styles?"

"Well, you're wearing it well," he corrected himself, a small smile gracing his lips.

"Are you doing okay?"

"I'm okay," he said. "Look, I'm sorry about the kiss before. I thought it would be fun to grandstand and get everyone off your back for a while. Probably should have been a bit more considerate, not cool on my behalf."

"It worked," you laughed, sipping your champagne. "It's fine, really."

"Fine?" he replied, a little surprised. "Shit, that's disappointing."

Panicking, you added, "No, really. It was great. I bet you're a great kisser, Rooster."

He smiled and again, you knew he was goading you. "For the record, I've had no complaints," he raised his pointed finger. "That I'm aware of."

You gave him a wide grin. "I'm sure you haven't. You're absolutely loving this, aren't you?"

He laughed boldly now, easing back in his chair. "Well, yeah. But I'm on your side, I promise. Gotta make it believable. I think we're doing okay to now?"

"I think so. Think Michelle is into you?"

"Who's Michelle?" he squinted, trying to recollect.

"The brunette who was salivating over you as soon as you came to the table."

He laughed, smoothing his moustache. "Oh yeah, she's definitely keen. Up for a rumble for my honour?"

"Honour?" you repeated. "I think we all know those days are behind you."

"Ouch," he smiled, touching your knee. "We've discussed this, I'm here for you and only you. Michelle isn't my type anyway."

"What's wrong with her?" you challenged.

"Well, I'm here with you and she's making no secret that she's into me. What kind of girl does that?"

"One that probably doesn't see me as a threat," you figured with a shrug. He sighed, pursing his lips together.

"You're full of it, you're the hottest girl in there, whether you see it or not. And besides, I only have eyes for you, kid," he sat forward and took your hand, squeezing it tenderly. "You and me, okay?"

"Okay," you told him, his pep talk giving you some warmth.

Sipping his champagne, he asked, "Wanna know something?"

"What's that?"

"I am not a champagne guy," he made a face, putting the glass on the table, away from him as you giggled quietly. "Do you mind if I go and get a whiskey?"

"You're mad, this is tears from the gods," you told him as he cupped your cheek affectionately and wandered over to the bar. He stood tall against the other guys he was near, and that suit? Gee, it was well worth whatever he spent on it. He looked so sophisticated. Not to get you wrong, you always thought he was the coolest guy going around but he simply didn't give a shit about what he wore, if his Hawaiian shirts were any indication. He didn't care what anyone thought about it. He knew his career was cut-throat and the more you thought about it, you had to realise that Rooster was simply a survivalist. He'd gone through some real pain in his life. He had said that he didn't remember a lot of his dad before he died, but Carole raised her boy well.

"Good Lord, he scrubs up pretty good, huh? Shame he's not wearing his whites," your sister said, waddling over to the table you were standing at, helping herself to the free stool you helped her get on. "But I guess he'd show up the bride."

"He didn't want to wear them. I'm just glad I'm not completely desperate and dateless tonight. He could have worn a potato sack for all I care," you admitted, your gaze still on him as he made small talk with the bartender.

"He'd probably still look really good in a potato sack," she teased, adjusting her posture, her expanding belly not enjoying the far-too-expensive pregnancy dress she'd been forced to buy, coming up to the end of her second pregnancy. "But really, nothing is rumbling? No carnal need to just rip his clothes off and see what happens? Sometimes, cute friends can turn into cute lovers."

"Worry about your current situation," you pointed at her belly.

"Eyes work perfectly fine though. Rooster has grown up very, very well."

"Gee, your hormones are doing a number on you," you told her, biting back a grin. "You're married and pregnant," you reminded her, a little concerned for her husband.

"You'll remember this night one day and be like, 'gee, my older, wiser sister was right, I did want to climb him like a tree'."

"Climb who like a tree?" Rooster asked her, joining you both again, his hand skimming your lower back, leaving its place on your lower back where it had rested comfortably most of the evening. "I'm keen to know myself."

You laughed quietly, your sister a little lost for words at her poor timing. "Yeah, who again?"

Swallowing, she announced, "Look, I'm just going to put it out there. You're both single, you're both cute. This shouldn't be a fake date. This could really be a nice first date."

"I am so sorry, Rooster. She hit her head a lot as a child. And I know this... because I was the one who was pushing her," you told him, absolutely mortified but they both laughed. She finally walked away, satisfied with the chaos she had constructed.

"I mean, Annie's not wrong. We are cute," he figured. "I'm single - I'm sure I could do a lot worse than to date someone I enjoy as much as you."

Groaning, you hated the open mocking. It was all such a joke how pathetic you were.

"I'm just kidding," he whispered. "I know she's just trying to rile you up, don't worry about her. We're here and having a great time, let's just leave it at that. No need for any extra pressure," he raised his glass of whiskey to you. "Just take the night as it comes. And if anyone asks how I am in the sack, I expect you give them an 11/10, okay?"

You raised your glass and told him to fuck himself.

"Fair," he admitted. "Just relax. We're doing great if I say so myself. Stay close; I got you."

If there was one thing you were grateful for that evening, it was the happy couple who had decided on a sweetheart table that sat them together and the bridal party sat with their partners or friends, whomever it seemed to be. You were able to stay close to Rooster for most of the night, especially during the formalities.

"And for the first dance," the MC announced after the speeches and cutting of the cake, "We'd like to introduce our newly betrothed to the dancefloor."

"Come on, come dance with me," your groomsman said, not looking at Rooster as he offered you his hand. You kind of had no choice, the first dance was for the couple and the wedding party usually joined them toward the end, it would be embarrassing for all if you ducked out. You gave Rooster a small 'sorry' which he didn't show the least amount of displeasure to.

"Hold on," he took your other hand and carefully kissed your knuckles. You gave him a small smile, hoping he didn't notice the heat that was blistering through your skin. Gee, Rooster was good. Tonight would surely get everyone off your back, even if for a little while. "Take care of her, buddy," Rooster play-threatened with a wink as the guy gave a 'yeah, whatever' in response. Roster's eyes squared up on the back of the guy as he led you to the dancefloor. Would fucking hate to lay you out, he thought, watching as you were guided into your partner's arms. Sitting forward, Rooster sucked his teeth. He didn't think he liked that guy all that much.

But credit where credit was due, your partner was a good dancer. Respectful as you swayed together to Megan Trainer's ‘Like I'm Gonna Lose You’.

After waiting what he assumed was a reasonable amount of time, Rooster stood to his full height, buttoning his suit jacket and moving with purpose to the dancefloor. He could sense you weren't uncomfortable in the arms of the groomsman you paired with, but he noted other couples were splitting for others and he took his chance. Sweeping in, he stood a considerate distance away. "May I cut in?" he asked as your partner stopped and looked up at him - now, it wasn't to say Rooster was intimidating, but he was certainly asserting himself. "I'd like to have this dance with my girl," he said, the questions over.

"Oh, uhh, sure," your groomsman said, a little perplexed, gently dropping your hand and Rooster stepped in with a smile, silently asking for your hand in his. He brought it to his heart and you'd bet you could feel it pounding under the deep blue crushed velvet of his jacket. He put his other hand on your hip, his thumb finding the right place against the cut out of the dress that he was able to feel your skin as he pulled you flush against him. His body was hard and strong, just as you expected. You smiled up at him as his thumb grazed your skin, telling you he knew, and he was there.

Resting his chin against your hair, he carefully swayed you to the quiet beat of the rhythm. There wasn't much left of the song but he didn't miss a single note as the melody changed and some dance tune commenced.

"Whatcha doing?" your sister's husband asked, as she took a few photos of yourself and Rooster dancing to the wedding song on her phone.

"On their first wedding anniversary, I'm going to present this photo to them and say I was right. And I will be gleeful," she said in false maniacy.

"They look like an actual couple," he admitted. "He's good for her. He could protect her, love her."

"They'd be good for each other. Rooster needs someone he can be himself with. No bravado, no pretences, someone to make a life, maybe a family, with. And she won't take any of his shit."

"Definitely not," he laughed, as the song ended and they watch you and Rooster look at each other with gentle smiles. "Fake dating, my left nut."

Your sister nodded. "Didn't think it could possibly work out this well, but they're just perfect for each other."

"Which one do you think will ruin it though?"

A name long-cursed in your family rolled off your sister's tongue, "The Navy."

"Lt. Bradley Bradshaw, ma'am," he introduced himself, offering his hand to the newly wedded couple later that evening. "Congratulations."

"Oh, you're in the Arm - "

"I'm a Naval Aviator," he corrected her with a smile, but he didn't want to correct her on military ranks tonight.

"Bradley, this is Sarah, who I went to high school with, and her new husband, David," you introduced them.

"I'm so sorry I couldn't make it to the wedding earlier today," he tugged you close to him again, his fingers drawing undescribable shapes on your bare shoulder and you placed your hand on his tummy. He looked down at you with an easy smile. It was the first time you had reciprocated any affection and he'd certainly noticed. "But what a wonderful reception. Everyone seems to be having a great time."

"Oh, thank you," she said. "We're so happy you could come. We are looking forward to seeing more of you, Bradley."

"Me, too," he said, softly.

"So you fly today?" David asked Rooster excitedly.

"Yeah, man," he nodded. "Most days," he replied.

"How many G's you pull?"

Looking up at Rooster, you saw the quirk of his lip. You had watched this once or twice before and it was always kind of hilarious. Dear Rooster had a fanboy... the guys who were kind of obsessed with local pilots and would chat their ears off, desperate to hear all about the firepower mainly to the detriment of the cornered pilot. "Today?" he sipped his whiskey, coolly.

"Sure..." you kind of drowned the rest out, your fingers absently slipping under his jacket and tracing the curves and ridges of his hard-earned, extremely well-worked abdominals underneath. Rooster made a pained face, trying to wriggle away, his hand catching yours and laying it flat against him.

"Hey, sweet girl?" Rooster finally got your attention, eyes dancing with mirth and a small smile on his face. Your friends watched the scene with keen interest, they wanted to see you interact.

"Hmm?" you looked up as he bent down to whisper how ticklish he was. "Oh," you said, bashfully taking your hand away as he clutched it again, keeping it there. Your hand was pressed into his rock-hard stomach and did your tummy... flippity-fucking-flop?

"It's okay," he slid his fingers between yours, interlocking them tight against him. "Your friends just asked how long we've been dating. I said we've known each other for a long time. My old man was in the Navy. You probably know her grandfather was an admiral, so we kind of had always known each other," Rooster said, squeezing your hand. "Always had a little crush on the Admiral's granddaughter. Everyone did! I'm just the lucky one who she gave the time of day."

You shrugged, your cheeks burning, the well-versed plan you'd texted back and forth about the last week coming well into fruition, it was exactly the situation you'd both been waiting for. "Everyone always joked how cute a couple we could be. We just never saw each other like that."

Rooster looked deeply into your eyes. "Clearly we were both crazy. So, we got super drunk, and I kissed her. Luckily," he raised a hand as your friends laughed, utterly charmed by him. "Luckily for me, she didn't slap me. She actually kissed me back. Would have broken my heart if she rejected me," he was so fucking smooth, you chewed back the laughter that threatened to spill from your lips as the bride just stared at Rooster with heart eyes, another unassuming fan of Rooster Bradshaw. "I'm wild about you," he whispered, nuzzling into your neck and you gently cupped his strong jaw, thumb padding against the wiry skin of a scar. While you'd always noticed them, you'd never felt them under your touch. For a moment, you might have believed it as he kissed your jaw, modest but not uncalled for in the moment.

"You two look so happy," your friends told you sincerely.

"We're so glad to have met you, Lieutenant," David said. "Thank you for coming, thank you for bringing him!" he said to you.

No one ever addressed Rooster like that outside of official duties and he almost wanted to grant at ease. But he'd by lying that he didn't feel a bit like a movie star when he replied, "Please," he held out his palm. "Call me Rooster."

"Awesome, Rooster," the couple chatted to Rooster a while longer before Sarah sidled up to you with that glare of someone ready to start digging for dirt. You gave a weak smile, maybe, kind of relaxing in Rooster's arms. You let go of his hands and gently wrapped your arms around his waist and he adjusted his posture to cater to you.

"He's super hot," she said as you looked up at him, the arm that wasn't dipping into the cut on the back of your dress flailing wildly as he graphically discussed a dogfight at training with some 'Texan dick' (of course he's talking about Hangman). So animated and vivid, he never really spoke about his job to you and frankly, you didn't want to ask. But you were just entranced watching him speak so passionately. "So, tell me," she whispered, ushering you closer. "The sex?"

Poor Rooster was too distracted to hear, but his moment was coming. "An eleven," you replied, you massaged his sides still well-hidden under the jacket, and if Rooster wasn't paying attention before... he surely was now. "Twelve on really good nights."

His smile almost ripped his face in half.

"Oh, my God!" Sarah exclaimed. "I can only imagine. His body is crazy like he just pressed weights before he got here."

And it dawned on you - yes, he needed to rip lactic acid after being in a jet all day, cool. But had he worked out to ensure his jacket strained over his biceps? That his straight leg slacks were tight over his thighs? Also, yes. You couldn't help it and snuggled into his chest as he paused to look down at you with a gentle smile and wrapped his other arm around you, his thumb caressing the tendrils at the base of your neck.

It was very believable on all fronts.

"Rooster is very giving," was all you said, pretending to zip your lips, he pressed you just a little closer.

"I'm so damn happy for you. Make sure you keep an eye out when I throw the bouquet, I'll be aiming for you!"

"Please don't," you said before Rooster nudged you to be polite. Nothing had got past him. "There are so many other eligible people here, so desperate to catch it!" you corrected yourself as he nodded, encouraging and congratulating your tact.

"It's early days, I don't think we're ready to get married yet," he teased. "But I'd marry her tomorrow if she wanted me to."

"That is just the sweetest thing," she said. "Ugh, you guys are definitely next!"

So sweet, such bullshit, you looked up at him as he pouted back down, his facade cracking under the pressure of wanting to laugh so fucking hard. It was like selling candy to a baby.

The Boyfriend Experience 2 / 2

masterlist.

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sorchathered · 26 days

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Jake and Bradley are talking very animatedly at the table as Phoenix crosses the mess hall, ushering her to move quickly so she can join in.

“Shhhh!!!! You’re too damn loud Rooster, someone is going to hear!”

“Oh shut up, we don’t have much time until he gets over here. Nat!! We need your opinion.”

“Oh God, what? I just wanted to eat my lunch in peace.”

Bradley peers behind her and then ducks his head to whisper at her.

“We think Bob has a girlfriend.”

She rolls her eyes at them and Bradley flails his arms towards Jake-

“Seriously! Hangman tell her!”

“Ok so he hasn’t come out with us in almost 3 weeks and then today-“

Bradley cuts him off because he thinks he can see the WSO entering the mess hall.

“Today he stepped out of the showers and is COVERED in scratch marks and bruises. So unless he suddenly joined fight club he’s definitely seeing someone.”

They all snap their mouths shut as Bob sits down at the table with his lunch, looking them over like they’ve all grown three heads, Natasha attempting to stifle giggles as she tries to eat her salad.

“Hey…guys…What’s going on?”

He looks bewildered and the boys are looking anywhere but at him, Nat clears her throat but still can’t seem to stop her giggles.

“Bob, why don’t you tell us what you’ve been up to the past few weeks, apparently the boys are sad that you don’t come out with us anymore.”

Jake is trying to signal for her to shut up, Bradley meanwhile looks like a deer in headlights.

“Is that why yall are being so weird? Seriously? I went out of town last weekend to pack up my storage unit in Lemoore and this weekend I’ve been moving in to my house with my wife. Yall are welcome to come by when we get it all settled, I’m sure she’ll want to host some sort of get together, she lives for that stuff.”

Jake drops his fork, blinking several times to process and Bradley is catching flies with his unhinged jaw, neither of them seem to be able to process what he just said meanwhile Natasha is cackling.

“What’s their deal?” Bob says to Nat and she just claps him on the shoulder.

“Oh Bob, those poor boys thought you were sweet and innocent, just wait until they find out about the kids.”

“YOU HAVE KIDS?!”

#top gun maverick #bob floyd #warm up #I’m bored #secret wife is my favorite trope #Bob fucks #top gun maverick fanfiction

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sunlightmurdock · 8 months

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Ok rooster & mav's daughter...maybe they're just hooking up currently but she's been in the trenches with her feelings for him for yearsss and then he gets hurt or something during training & she's a mess and mav says he's going to be ok but she's so torn up and it forces them to DTR right in front of mav who is confused beyond belief & not angry yet because of the shock

Omg omg yes!! So I’m just imagining a scenario in which Bradley’s in the hospital after a big accident and Maverick has been sat in the waiting area for like eighteen hours straight, waiting for Bradley to be allowed visitors after an emergency surgery

And you’re there sat beside Maverick feeling sick to your stomach because you straight up just almost lost the love of your life and can’t say anything about it, and it’s been absolutely eating you up inside, to the point that you just can’t hold it in anymore.

So finally you let out a really big breath and put your head in your hands and say, “Dad, I need to talk to you about something.”

But maverick is too busy staring at the door to Bradley’s room and gnawing at his nails to notice. So, you try again, just a little louder.

“Dad. I need to talk to you about something important.”

Maverick’s brows crease together as he cranes his neck to watch the doctors speaking together in Bradley’s hospital room. Your heart feels like it’s in your throat and you feel like you’re going to explode if you don’t get this off of your chest.

“Mav. I need to tell you something important, right now.” But it’s too late, because a doctor just left Bradley’s room and Maverick leaps to his feet as they start to walk over to the two of you.

The doctor smiles politely.

“He’s awake, he’s doing well, but he’s very tired from the medication,” And then he turns his attention towards you, smiling sincerely as he nods in your direction. “He’s asking for you.”

And your eyes just go wide. Maverick’s head whips around, looking swiftly between you and the doctor.

“For — For her? — For you? Why would he be asking for you?” Maverick stumbles, the colour draining from his face. He starts speaking faster and faster and you just know that he’s on the verge of losing it.

You’re stuck, holding your breath for a second as you try to figure out how to approach this topic. Unfortunately, you handle stressful conversations about as well as Maverick does, and you pick the ‘rip it off like a band-aid’ approach.

Taking a big, deep breath, you pause for just a second before letting it all go. “I’ve-been-sleeping-with-Rooster-for-a-year-and-a-half. Sorry, dad.”

Maverick is never rendered speechless for long. There’s a split second where he’s shocked into silence, just staring at you, and you use that to your full advantage. He’s left behind as you duck around him and rush for Bradley’s room. He stares back at the doctor in front of them, both dumbfounded by what you just said.

You slow down as you walk into Bradley’s room, sucking in a sharp breath as your hands fly up to cover your mouth.

He smiles weakly, his face battered, bruised and cut up. His hands, his knuckles, his arms. You know he must be in so much pain under all of that morphine. He swallows, “Hey, baby.”

“Rooster, you big dumb idiot.” You whimper, rushing for him and crawling into the bed beside him. He groans softly and you remind yourself to be gentle. You’ve never had to be gentle with him before. “Oh my god, look at you.”

“I’ll be alright.” He tells you, his eyelids heavy from all of the medication that he’s on.

Blinking back tears, you swallow thickly. “I thought I was going to lose you.”

Bradley’s brows knit together as much as they can without causing pain, he gives a small shake of his head and lifts his hand as much as he can with the broken ribs. You lean closer so that he can hold your cheek in his palm.

“I thought about you. The last thing I remember thinking is that I just couldn’t do this to you.” He admits quietly. You can hear a small tremble in his always strong voice. You look up at him, eyes brimming with tears. Faintly, you can hear Maverick being told to calm down in the hallway. Bradley’s drugged up enough to not have noticed yet.

You lift your hand to touch him and pull it swiftly back to your chest. You’re not sure what you can touch anymore, what won’t hurt.

“I love you.” Bradley mumbles. He takes a big breath, the first one he has been able to take since the accident that isn’t painful. Modern medicine is incredible. His hand drops from your cheek and wraps around yours. You take his hand in both of yours and bring it up to your lips, gently kissing his knuckles.

“You’re just loopy. It’s okay.” You whisper, hoping that really he isn’t. He closes his eyes and gives a tired shake of his head.

“I feel so fucking tired,” He mumbles. He gives your hand a small squeeze. “Promise you won’t leave.”

Your eyes widen as you hear the door push open behind you. Maverick stands in the doorway, his eyes widening as he takes in the sight of you two so close together. He’s still processing.

Slowly, you turn your attention back to Bradley and lift one of your hands to gently smooth his hair back. He leans into your touch.

“I’m not going anywhere, I promise.” You kiss his knuckles softly once more and Bradley hums happily.

“I’m not loopy. I do…” He stops and inhales tiredly, not quite a yawn. He’s beyond exhausted, he doesn’t even notice Maverick’s presence. “I do love you. I have. I did — before this.”

Blinking back tears, you rest your cheek against his hand once more. You lower your voice to a whisper, so that this moment is just for the two of you. “I love you too.”

He’s back to sleep quickly. You stroke softly at his hair, keeping your fingers entwined wit his as you shift delicately to turn around to look at your furious father.

“Not now, Mav.” You breathe out, quiet.

Maverick shakes his head. “No. You’re right. Not now. But we’re going to talk about this. We’re going to have a big conversation about this.”

He walks slowly into the room and settles into the chair beside Bradley’s bed. His hands curl into fists, you watch him prop his chin on one and turn back to check on Bradley.

“He’s lucky he’s already in the hospital.” Maverick mutters bitterly.

“Dad.” You warn, turning quickly and shooting him a swift glare. He sits back and folds his arms over his chest.

#bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #miles teller #bradley bradshaw smut #rooster x you #rooster bradshaw imagine #thots night (:

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tongue-like-a-razor · 2 years

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Faking It | Part I

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x F!Reader

Summary: Fake dating your friend, Bradley Bradshaw - what could possibly go wrong? Your sister is getting married and you need a date. You enlist Bradley's help and the rest is history.

CW: none that I can think of except that the reader's height is described as shorter than Rooster's.

This idea has been plaguing me so I had to get it out haha Hope y'all enjoy!

Bradley watches you skeptically. You have yet to convince him that pretending to be your date for your sister’s wedding is an outstanding idea. Your mother has undoubtedly invited a whole slew of bachelors because she thinks you might need some help in the romance department. You decidedly do not. Despite the fact that you are struggling to even get a fake date.

You make a face at him. “I will owe you,” you say. “Anything you want.”

He shrugs. “I don’t want anything.”

You roll your eyes. “C’mon, Bradshaw,” you plead. “I’ll do your laundry for a week.”

He purses his lips, not looking overly enticed.

“I’ll come over once a day and do all your dishes.”

“We’ve got Hangman for that.”

“Hangman does your dishes?” you ask incredulously, trying to picture Jake Seresin in an apron with a dishtowel thrown over his shoulder.

Bradley chuckles. “He lost a bet last week.”

You let out a soft laugh, then get back to business. “I’ll clean your room,” you offer.

“I’ll have you know that my room is immaculate,” Bradley replies.

You scoff. “Then do this for me out of the goodness of your heart!”

Bradley chuckles slightly. “I don’t know, Y/N. This is a big ask.”

“Please, my mother is rounding up all the eligible males on the western seaboard as we speak.”

Bradley laughs. “What does your mother have against landlocked states?”

“I don’t know. Political ideology?”

Bradley snorts. “Have you asked Hangman?”

You groan. “Please don’t make me ask Hangman. He will never let me live this down.”

Bradley nods. “That is true.”

“It’s just a weekend. A few photos here and there. Some superficial chitchat with my grandparents about the importance of educational funding for our nation’s youth. My niece loves airplanes so you can tell her all about your latest mission” –

“My classified mission?”

“Well, leave out the classified parts,” you retort impatiently.

Bradley contemplates your proposal while your mind scrambles trying to determine something that might make it worth his while.

“Free drinks for a week,” you say, wiping the already dry bar to give your free hand something to do.

Bradley raises his eyebrows. “You can’t do that.”

You roll your eyes. Bradley Bradshaw will never go along with a scheme unless it is one hundred percent above board. “Meaning I will pay for them. I get a discount on the alcohol.”

Bradley gives you an amused look. “So, you wish to buy my services.”

You let out a frustrated groan. “I told you, I will do anything you want.”

“Well, I don’t want you paying my tab,” he replies casually.

You lean into the bar with a heavy sigh, bringing your face closer to his. “You are really grinding my gears, Bradshaw,” you say.

His eyes lift to your face as he lets out a wry chuckle.

“Do you really think a weekend with me will be so torturous?” you ask.

“Nah,” he says, leaning back in his stool nonchalantly, but you wonder if he does it to expand the space between your faces. “I wasn't actually going to refuse. Just like to see you sweat.”

He chuckles, ducking as you go to smack him with the towel you just used to wipe the bar.

…

“Aunt Barb is a hard-ass,” you say in a low voice, turning your head toward Bradley as your aunt makes a beeline for you at the rehearsal dinner. You end up talking into Bradley’s shoulder because he’s so much taller than you and he instinctively lowers his head so he can hear you better.

“What’s that, shorty?” he mutters, and you roll your eyes at the nickname. But the next moment, you can feel his breath on your forehead and you gulp when his palm flattens against your back. You had been the one who'd asked him to pretend to be your boyfriend, but you hadn’t actually considered what that might entail. Apparently, it entails Bradley Bradshaw’s hand on your lower back and a woozy sensation in your gut akin to a 200-foot roller coaster drop. You aren’t too fond of roller coasters.

You glance up at him and your eyes meet for a split second. Bradley promptly straightens his back. You let out an unsteady sigh and say, “Aunt Barb will be questioning you; be prepared. Have you read my notes?”

Bradley gives you a pointed look. “Of course, I read your notes.”

But as Aunt Barb approaches, you feel Bradley’s touch along your back waver until his hand finally drops at his side.

“Y/N!” your aunt exclaims, giving you a kiss on each cheek. She blinks up at Bradley expectantly.

“This is Bradley,” you say. “This is my aunt, Barb.”

Bradley holds out his hand. “It’s great to meet you,” he says.

Aunt Barb gives him a crafty smile. “Is this your boyfriend, Y/N?” she asks, but her question is directed more at Bradley than at you.

Bradley returns her smile. “That’s me,” he replies, giving you a quick glance.

“Oh, good,” your aunt says. “We were starting to get worried after that whole fiasco with Steven.”

You stare at her as Bradley turns to you. “Who’s Steven?” he asks.

Aunt Barb gives him a probing look. “You don’t know?”

Bradley eyes you inquisitively. “Should I?” he asks, still looking at you.

“Her ex, of course,” Barb continues. “He’s here, you know?”

You peel your gaze away from Bradley to look at your aunt. “What? Why?”

She shrugs. “He’s friends with the groom, of course. Or have you forgotten?”

You grimace. You don’t remember Steven being exceedingly close with your sister’s fiancé, so the fact that he somehow weaseled his way into this function aggravates you greatly.

When your aunt walks away, Bradley turns to you with his eyebrows raised. “Steven wasn’t in your notes.”

You give him a sour look. “He wasn’t supposed to be here.”

Bradley shrugs. “Still think you should’ve mentioned him. Was it serious?”

“Nope,” you respond curtly, ready to put the topic to rest.

Bradley seems to sense your reluctance to engage in this particular conversation and drops the subject. “Shall we go grab some drinks?”

You’re about to respond when your mother appears before you and you nearly bump into her. “Mom!” you exclaim in surprise.

“Y/N, why are you so jumpy?” she asks.

You shoot a nervous glance in Bradley’s direction, but he appears unfazed. “Afternoon, ma’am,” he says, bowing his head slightly.

Your mother looks over at Bradley with a judgemental air. “Are you the aviator?” she asks with a hint of distaste in her tone.

“Indeed,” Bradley responds, giving you a confident look before glancing back at your mother.

But your mother is no longer paying Bradley any attention. She turns back to you. “Steven is here,” she says.

You let out a sigh. “Yes, I know, mother.”

She gives you a knowing look before glancing back at Bradley. “We all thought they were going to get married,” she says with an artificial smile.

Bradley raises his eyebrows and nods his head slowly. “You must be disappointed,” he says.

Your mother seems pleased with his response and nods at Bradley vehemently. “They have a lot of history,” she says.

You close your eyes. “Mom, stop.”

“I’m just saying, he’s here,” your mom says. “Do with that what you will.”

You blink at her. “I will do nothing.”

Bradley watches you squirm sympathetically and, when you glance up at him defeatedly, he takes you by the hand. “Ma’am, it’s been a pleasure,” he says and starts to pull you away. “We just want to hit the bar before the first course.”

“Sure.” Your mom gives him a quick nod and throws a pointed look in your direction.

You cling to Bradley’s hand gratefully, even going as far as clutching at his arm with your other hand just to get away faster. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” you whimper.

He looks down at you, squeezing your hand. “It’s why I’m here, right?” he says.

“Right,” you agree, feeling his bicep flex under your fingers as his hand tightens around yours.

…

After dinner, you make your way through the crowd to the bathroom. The evening is nearly over and it seems that you and Bradley have put on a reasonably convincing charade. Bradley’s relaxed disposition has made the evening infinitely more enjoyable than you could have imagined and you find yourself feeling almost sorry that the night is coming to an end. Almost. Because, after all, you won’t be able to take a real breath of relief until you’re in the comfort of your room.

You’re lost in your thoughts as you walk back to your table and you completely miss the fact that your ex-boyfriend has spotted you and is heading your way.

“Y/N!” he exclaims as if he’s surprised to see you attending your own sister’s wedding rehearsal.

You blink at him in alarm. “Steven,” you say with a slight grimace, kicking yourself for not checking your surroundings before making your way across the open floor.

Your eyes scan the tables, desperately searching for Bradley. When you locate him, you can see that he’s already watching you.

Steven steps closer to you, holding out his hands. “It’s good to see you, Y/N,” he says, leaning in for a hug.

You recoil as he tries to put his arms around you. “Is it?” you ask, holding up your hand to keep him back. The last time you saw him, he was throwing every insult imaginable in your direction.

Over Steven’s shoulder, you can see Bradley getting out his seat and starting to make his way toward the two of you, a stony expression on his face.

“You look great,” Steven continues, finally lowering his arms.

“Uh, thanks,” you say uneasily just as Bradley steps around Steven to face him.

“Everything alright here?” Bradley asks, his eyes sliding between you and Steven.

“Mm-hm,” you say, instinctively shifting closer to Bradley as Steven continues to scrutinize your every move.

“I’m Bradley,” he introduces himself, confidently extending his hand to Steven.

“Steven.” Steven takes his hand tentatively and you can see the slight wince on his face as Bradley crushes his hand in a handshake.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Steven,” Bradley says, and you look up at him sharply.

“Oh, really?” Steven lifts his eyebrows, giving you a smirk.

“No,” Bradley replies flatly.

Steven blinks at him in confusion, clearly taken aback.

Bradley slides his arm around your waist possessively and you lean into him slightly, relieved that he’s playing his part so perfectly.

Steven gives Bradley a hostile look which Bradley expertly returns. Then, he lowers his face, saying, “Drink?”

“Yes, please,” you say, letting out a sigh.

“You take care, Steven,” Bradley says, wheeling you around in the direction of the bar.

Part 2

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its-the-pilot · 8 months

Text

Waves | Rooster x Reader

| Waves Masterlist | Masterlist |

My first Top Gun fic, please be nice and enjoy!

Summary: Fourteen years after leaving without saying goodbye, Bradley Bradshaw comes back into your life. (Mav's niece!reader)

Warnings: swearing, adult banter

Length: 2k words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Working on this as a series, let me know what you think and if you want to see more!

Message or comment to join the taglist!

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Chapter One

“Bradshaw, as I live and breathe.”

Bradley immediately recognized the voice behind him without needing to turn around. He shook his head before downing the shot of bourbon in his hand and throwing his next dart, scoring 13. He’d never claimed to be good, but the unwelcome distraction didn’t help. “Hangman. You look… good,” he replied flatly, turning to face his fellow aviator.

Both men were wearing their service whites, customary for the mixer held for TOP GUN students the night before beginning training. “Well, I am good, Rooster. I'm very good. In fact, I am too good to be true,” Hangman gave his usual smirk as he picked up Rooster’s last dart from the table and threw it, hitting the bullseye without even looking. “Didn’t think they let old timers in.”

They had met a few years earlier in flight school, and they instantly had a rivalry of sorts. Bradley had been several years older than the rest of the pilots in the program, due to not being able to attend the Naval Academy like he wanted. It took him years longer than it should have to become an aviator, and there was a bit of a chip on his shoulder because of it. Hangman, cocksure as ever, had instantly picked up on that weakness and exploited it to the best of his ability, pointing it out every chance he got. Some things never changed.

“Didn’t think they let assholes in either, but here you are,” Rooster shot back, taking a long pull from the beer on the table beside him before moving to gather his darts off the board.

The younger man chuckled, the insult seeming to roll off him like water off a duck’s back. “C’mon now, Rooster, we’re old buddies! Some older than others,” He smirked, sneaking in another jab as he patted him on the back. “Don’t take it so personal.” Hangman did a quick once over of the bar, his grin still firmly affixed to his face as he noted the number of women in attendance for the evening. “Plenty of delectable dessert options tonight, why are you holed up over here all by your lonesome?”

“I’m here to fly, not fuck my way through Coronado.”

A boisterous laugh escaped the tall blonde’s mouth. “Someone doesn’t know how to take advantage of a situation when it presents itself. Your callsign really is fitting.” Straightening his uniform, Hangman’s eyes locked on to a pretty woman approaching the bar. “If you can’t get laid in Whites, you just don’t know what you’re doing. Watch and learn, Rooster.”

Bradley rolled his eyes and turned back to his dart game, draining his beer as Hangman walked away. As fun as it might be, he had no desire to watch him make a fool of himself in front of an entire bar with his cocky attitude.

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

You recited the drink order for your table a few times in your head as you walked up to the bar, raising your hand to get the bartender’s attention. Your coworkers Kendra and Hazel had wanted to come out tonight, knowing that the new crop of TOP GUN candidates would be here, dressed to the nines. You hadn’t been interested but they wore you down, telling you they would pay for your drinks if you just kept them company for a few hours. You secretly hoped it wouldn't take them long to find a couple guys to take home, so you could get on with your uneventful evening of laundry and prepping for work.

“3 beers, 3 vodka shots,” you ordered, passing a $5 tip across the bar. Sliding onto a barstool as you waited, you made a cursory glance around the bar and groaned to yourself, shaking your head. You couldn’t understand what the appeal was, most aviators had more balls than brains and were just looking for a quick lay.

It only took a minute of waiting for your drinks before you felt a warm, solid presence accompanied by a pair of hands resting on the bar top on either side of you, covered in white sleeves. “Not interested,” you said in a sing-songy voice, not even needing to look up to know it was a new TOP GUN aviator standing with his chest pressed gently against your back.

“Not even gonna give me a chance?” He asked, his southern drawl coming out as he leaned close to your ear.

You turned as much as you were able with his body so close and gave him a look, your eyebrow raised. He was handsome, tall and blonde, with striking green eyes, but his uniform was enough to turn you off. “Nope. I don’t date aviators.” Lord knew you had a lifetime’s worth of experience with them.

Your uncle Pete “Maverick” Mitchell had raised you from the time you were eight years old, after your parents died in a car accident. Growing up around Navy pilots gave you an aversion to them, and in your line of work, that was more helpful than you could imagine. You worked with aviators day in and day out in your job as an Aerospace Psychologist, and getting personally invested with the pilots would have consequences.

He chuckled, leaning back only slightly to allow your movement as his eyes traveled over your body. You wore a cabernet colored maxi dress with wedge sandals tied to your feet with white ribbons, like pointe shoes, and you had never felt more exposed than you did right then as he licked his lips, looking at you like prey. “You’re in the wrong place then, darlin’. We’re all aviators around here.”

“Well aware,” you sighed, turning back to the bar and waiting for your drinks. When the bartender approached and set your drinks down, you smiled warmly at her. “Thank you, Penny.”

The older woman grinned back, always happy to see you. She’d known you most of your life, though she was in and out of it at the will of your uncle, a typical flyboy incapable of settling down. You would never understand why she kept coming back to him after he broke her heart so many times. “Who’s your friend?” she asked, looking him over briefly. Penny knew how you felt about Navy guys, but she enjoyed teasing you.

“Not my--”

“Lieutenant Jake Seresin, ma’am. Callsign Hangman.” He offered his most charming smile as he cut you off and lifted his right hand from the bar to offer it to Penny.

You immediately took the opportunity to duck under his arm, grabbing the drinks on the bar in front of you. Penny laughed as Jake watched you slide away from him and head back to the table with your coworkers. “Better behave, she’s the owner,” you called back, your hands full of glasses.

“A pleasure, Lieutenant,” she took his hand and shook it before wiping down the bar where your drinks had just been. His eyes followed you across the bar, and she snapped the back of his hand with the towel. “You won’t wear her down. She’s got a million reasons not to go anywhere near Navy guys. There’s plenty of other fish in the sea.”

When you got back to your table, you snuck a glance back toward the bar, watching Penny give Jake what she was sure was a warning about you. He didn’t look phased though, and within minutes he had moved on to another girl a few seats away at the bar, repeating the same move he had done with you.

“Predictable,” you muttered, rolling your eyes as your coworkers chatted, rating the various aviators in the bar. You largely ignored them as you took a long drink from your beer, looking out the window at the sun setting over the ocean when you heard the tinkle of piano keys interrupting your thoughts. The old upright in the bar hadn’t been played in as long as you could remember, usually the only time you heard it at all was when someone got too drunk and fell into it.

From your seat you could only see the back of the man playing, but you could tell he was an aviator. Dressed in his service whites, his broad shoulders were pulled back with perfect posture as he tapped away at the keys, getting the feel for the instrument before he started playing an all too familiar song.

“You shake my nerves and you rattle my brain, Too much love drives a man insane…”

The sound of his voice made your stomach flip as if you were in a F/A-18. “No fucking way…” you breathed, not taking your eyes off of the back of the man’s head as he played.

“What?” Kendra asked, stopping her conversation with Hazel to turn in the direction of the piano player, then back to you, confused as to your reaction.

You didn’t answer as you stood, your steps cautious as you made your way across the bar in his direction. It couldn’t be. It had been nearly fifteen years since you last heard from him, the night he left for the last time.

Without saying goodbye.

“Jesus, Bradshaw! Not this song again! Is it the only one you know?” Hangman complained, not far from the piano and chatting up what was probably his fourth girl of the evening. Hearing his name was all the confirmation you needed.

Bradley wasn’t deterred by Hangman’s whining, instead he just continued singing, the bar joining in. He had always been good at being the center of attention when he wanted to be.

“You broke my will, but what a thrill, Goodness gracious, great balls of fire!”

Moving closer, you slipped into his line of sight without a word, a combination of emotions you didn’t understand bubbling up inside of you. He looked just like his father from the pictures you had seen, but at the same time he was still the teenager you had known so long ago.

“I laughed at love ‘cause I thought it was funny, You came along and…”

Looking up, his voice trailed off and his fingers faltered on the keys, making a sour note as he made eye contact with you. There was a long, awkward moment of silence as the entire bar watched on, curious as to what was happening.

He couldn't believe you were standing in front of him. The last place he had expected to find you was anywhere near anything having to do with the Navy, even if it was just a bar. And now here you were, staring at him as if you were seeing a ghost. Though he supposed he didn't look too much different. “You look good, Dimples.”

Your breath hitched in your throat at the nickname, and before you knew what you were doing, your hand reached out and slapped him across the face as hard as you could. The same hand flew to cover your mouth as you gasped at the realization of what you did. He didn’t immediately turn his head back to face you, and it made you feel even more nauseous.

It was so quiet a pin could drop. Embarrassment flooded over you and your eyes moved around the bar frantically before landing back on Bradley. When you realized his eyes were still on you, a sob only muffled by your hand escaped before you turned and ran out the back doors to the beach, barely stopping to get your purse and tell your friends you were going home on your way out.

There was no way this wouldn't be the talk of North Island tomorrow.

It remained silent until the door to the deck slammed shut behind you, then people started whispering amongst themselves, stealing glances at Bradley. Hangman had a smug grin on his lips as he stepped up behind his fellow aviator, clapping a hand on his shoulder as he leaned down to speak quietly.

“Damn, Rooster. I thought I was the only one who could earn that level of ire from women. Kinda hot, right?”

He shoved Jake’s hand away and stood, grabbing his cover off the top of the piano before heading toward the door you had exited from. “Fuck off, Bagman,” he snapped, hoping you hadn’t gotten too far.

Chapter Two

#bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x oc #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw angst #bradley bradshaw fluff #bradley bradshaw fic #top gun maverick #top gun fanfiction #top gun fic

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ohtobeleah · 7 months

Text

Sixth Sense // Mickey Garcia

Summary: A freak accident occurs at the Hard Deck and Fanboy is faced with the challenge of being left to care for you, his not so official girlfriend.

Warnings: Mickey Garcia x F!reader. Hurt/Comfort. Gas explosion resulting in hearing and vision loss.

Word Count: 1.7k

Author Note: Day Three of Whumptober. Prompt I chose: Sensory Deprivation. Thank you to @ailesswhumptober for the prompt list.

Whumptober Masterlist | Main Masterlist

“Holy shit, what the hell was that?” It all happened so fast, so fast in fact that the explosion that ricocheted through the Hard Deck didn’t register a sound until a few seconds after the fact.

Patrons laid strewn across the bar, ducking for cover under tables and bars. Glass from the windows had sliced unsuspecting patrons as it blew apart from the force of the blast. Food and beverages littered the floor, thrown in the panic of the moment as all inside ducked.

“Everybody okay?” Jake Seresin stayed shielding Natasha Trace with his entire body. “Is anyone hurt?” His arms pinned her down against the hardwood floor at either side of her head. Seconds ago—they’d been arguing over a long standing disagreement over who could tie more Cherry stems with just their tongue in three minutes. Now, Phoenix had never been this close to a man she could hardly stand.

“Yeah—we’re good!” Rooster replied as he looked around, he’d been knocked on his ass by the bast. Coyote was right beside him, as was Payback. The three of them had been indulging in a game of darts to see who could knock Hangman down a peg or two on the leaderboard. “Bob? Fanboy? You guys okay?”

“I think we’re alright?” Bob groaned as he pushed himself up off the ground—peanuts were crushed all over the ground around him. Mickey sat back on his knees scanning the Hard Deck. He couldn’t see you. There was a small cut on the side of Mickey's face but other than an artificial flesh wound, he was relatively unscathed from the unsuspecting blast that had pummeled through the Hard Deck.

“Anyone seen Y/n?” Fanboys eyes continued to scour the entire expanse of the Hard Deck as he rose to his feet and dusted himself off. “Yo, guys—anyone see Miss Barkeep?”

“She was heading out back to help the gas guy change out the—“ Bob didn’t even need to finish his sentence before he’d connected the dots. “Oh god, Y/n.”

A gas explosion.

Mickey took a few seconds to register where his best friend's mind had gone, but then he realised. In those few seconds where Fanboy couldn’t breathe he knew he couldn’t live without you before he had a chance to really have you.

Sure, the two of you were friendly. Probably more than most friends would be. Sure, you sometimes spent the night in Mickey's bed after he’d stay back and help you shut the Hard Deck up. Sure, he spent lazy Sunday mornings with you in the kitchen making breakfast and drinking coffee more often than not. And sure, the two of you enjoyed each other’s company, blatantly flirted beyond belief and made sure to always text each other when you got home, finished work, and stole secret kisses here and there when it was just the two of you. But. You weren’t official.

And that may have been Mickey Garcia's biggest mistake.

“Y/n!?” There you were. “Oh my god!” Lying unconscious on the ground a few meters away from where the gas bottles were kept behind the Hard Deck. Penny kept a tight ship—they were locked behind a wire cage that made sure patrons couldn’t fuck around. Something must have gone wrong during the change over, because the gas man wasn’t too far away from you.

“Hey—hey!?” Mickey was by your side in an instant, the second his eyes caught your body lying there—thrown away and discarded like you weren’t the most important person to him, he was by your side. “Amor? Can you hear me?”

Rooster had already called for paramedics to attend the scene while Hangman and Phoenix had begun to do whatever they could with their advanced first aid training—using the Hard Decks first aid kit to fix small cuts and abrasions on patrons from lying shards of glass.

“Y/n?” You had a pulse, Mickey knew that much. But you weren’t waking up. “Please—come on Amor, you gotta wake up for me.”

“This guys dead—“ Payback calls out. Mickey's mind fills with worst case scenarios the longer you were down for. “He’s got no pulse and the back of his head’s cracked.” He’s an ex paramedic, he knows. “I'm gonna start chest compressions, see if I can bring him back, how’s the kid?”

You weren’t just shy of Fanboys age, he was the youngest in the group after all. Top of his class, intellectually gifted enough to graduate highschool three years earlier than most ever would. But to Paybacks forty one? You were still a child, in his mind anyway.

“She’s breathing.” Is all he says before your stirrings. “Hold on! I think she’s waking up!” There’s nothing but a ringing in your ear. A sharp high pitched buzzing that’s incessant and ear piercing. You groan at the sound as you try to blink away the clouded vision that’s plaguing your eyes. But nothing can get rid of the thick fog like blur. “Y/n—it’s me, you’re okay, I’ve got you—“ But you can’t make out who it is. You can’t hear anything but that annoying ringing that won’t go away. Your head hurts, holy shit what the hell happened?

“I—“ You stutter out. “I can’t see.” It sends Mickey's heart racing inside his chest, even more so than it already was. “I—I can’t see—“ You can't even hear yourself talking so you just assume you’re talking far too quiet. But in reality you're screaming, screaming so loud you’re straining your neck. “I CAN'T HEAR!”

“Hey—I’ve got you.” Mickey doesn’t know what else to do besides try and calm you while medics make their way around the Hard Deck. “I love you, yeah?” Payback hears Mickey say it before you ever do and his heart breaks. You don’t deserve this. Neither does Fanboy. “You’re gonna be alright Amor, I’m right here.”

But all you do is cry. You can’t hear a single thing being spoken or see a single thing in front of you. All there is before you are shadows of light and darkness. Mickey's hands squeeze yours and you feel it. His signet ring—the one his Abuela brought him many moons ago. But you know in the darkness and uncertainty that it’s Mickey at your side.

“If she’s lost senses, Mick, it's gonna be a head trauma of some sort.” Payback keeps going with his chest compressions. “Is there any sign of blood?” You squeeze Mickey's hand a little harder as he goes to pull away to check. You squeeze so hard that he can’t let go, you’re far too afraid of being left alone in the dark. “Fanboy?”

“I—I dunno, probably! She probably hit her head on the ground!” Mickey manages to wiggle free just one of his hands so he can push your hair out of your face. “Shhh—I’m right here.” He tries to soothe you once again, but your cries are just too heartbreaking. “Amor, I am right here with you—I’ve got you.”

“Please don’t let me die here alone.” Was all you mumbled out. You didn’t know what Mickey was saying or if he was saying anything at all. The ringing was all too deafening. But when you begged him to stay, to not leave your side. Mickey's heart shattered into a million different pieces. “Please don’t leave me.”

“I’m not going anywhere, I’m right here.” He traced your face with his fingers, just letting you know he was there with you. Your grip on his hand began to falter as you slipped into unconsciousness again, just trying to find some shelter from the ringing. “I’m right here with you.”

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

“Without the surgery your daughter might regain her vision but it’s only a slim chance Mrs Y/l/n—“ Doctor Perry spoke to the woman on the other end of your phone. Mickey had called her on your behalf from the other side of the country, she was already packing her things for the flight she’d booked to be by your side. “I’d say it’s barely twenty percent.”

“What about with the surgery?” Mickey asked as his eyes looked over you. You looked too peaceful to be in this situation. You knew he was there just by his touch alone. He made sure you knew it was him by his ring as he ran his thumb across your palm. “What’s the odds of her getting her vision back with the surgery?”

“Almost one hundred percent—if the surgery were to go well. If it doesn’t then she runs the risk of being permanently incapacitated for the rest of her life.” Doctor Perry was a little too blunt for Mickey's liking, but he appreciated the direct route. “She’ll regain her hearing, hopefully, her ear drums were significantly damaged in the blast but they should recover.”

“Do the surgery.” Your mother barked on the other side of the phone. “My daughter can’t be deaf and blind—what type of future would she have then? What kind of quality of life would she have?” Mickey couldn’t take his eyes off you as you slept. It was better this way, to keep you sedated. That way you couldn’t panic. But he thought about it while the doctor droned on to your mother about the surgery, that no matter the outcome you’d have a life with him. He’d take care of you—learn how to adapt, help you with anything you ever needed. Do anything you ever needed him to do.

A freak accident that took away two of your six senses shouldn’t be the reason your life ends. You were still alive and oh how Mickey Garcia was grateful to whatever God was on duty that day.

“Mrs Y/ln?” Mickey interrupted as he turned the phone back his way. Your mother silenced herself mid sentence to listen to what Mickey had to say. “I know we haven’t formally met before but I just want you to know that I’ve been head over heels in love with your daughter since she served me for the first time.” He explained all the while his eyes never left your perfect face. A face he really wouldn’t mind waking up to every day. “And I know there’s a hell of a lot of uncertainty about what may come, but I just want you to know that her quality of life doesn’t diminish if her sight can’t be restored or her hearing doesn’t improve.” Mickey could feel the tears streaming down his cheeks as he squeezed your hand, and as much as he wished none of this ever happened, he knew he couldn’t leave you know. Not ever.

“I’ve got her ma’am—“

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

Whumptober Tags 🏷️ @xoxabs88xox @oldermenaremyreligion @slut-f0r-u @emma-is-cool @armydrcamers @topguncortez @topgun-imagines @kmc1989 @els-marvelvsp @blindedbythelightt

#ailesswhumptober2023 #leahs whumptober Masterlist #mickey garcia #top gun fanboy #fanboy garcia x reader #fanboy angst #top gun mickey #top gun fan fic #top gun fan fiction

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pixierainbows · 7 months

Note

Hi Pixie! I have a question about Pixie’s experience with AAC. When Pixie first used AAC, what did Pixie say? Did Pixie ask for a drink or a bucket? Did Pixie say “guinea pig” or something silly? Did Pixie use it alone or only with a speech therapist?

My sister is nonverbal with severe intellectual disability. My sister has AAC iPad but does not have it always with her. Her caretakers will put it away most of the time because she does not use it to say what she needs, she only taps buttons that say random sentences. When her caretaker asks “do you want a drink?” My sister clicks the button “I have 2 cats.” And she clicks it again and again and again.

My sister’s caretakers say my sister does not understand AAC is for communicating, or maybe she thinks it is only a toy to make sounds. I think my sister can use AAC for both funny sounds and to say what she needs. Maybe if her caretaker let her keep the iPad with her always, my sister would have more communication.

Thank you for reading and even bigger thank you for answering (if Pixie can answer. It is okay if Pixie cannot)

When Pixie first get Pixie own AAC . is take very long time before Pixie touch buttons other than guinea pig .

For long long time Pixie just "say " things like “cow donkey llama alpaca pony horse Friesian draft horse goat pig sheep chicken rooster turkey duck “ and laugh at all the sounds pixies fingers can make .

take even more time after that , for Pixie touch buttons to actually communicate .

Pixie take long long time to realize could actually communicate with people , that is was possible thing . then even more time for Pixie to have reason to Want . to have reason to try communicate .

now , Pixie mostly not see any reason to try communicate with most people , seem like waste of time so pixie just not .

Can not know if more time with AAC device would mean more likely for sister to communicate . with device or some other ways .

Very possible sister is "babbling" with AAC device . like babies do with mouth . could also be play with make sounds . both are important part of babies learn to talk .

But . Can say . For Sure . if AAC device is not with person always , then person will never learn AAC device or communication with device .

#asks and answers #actually nonverbal #actually autistic #nonverbal #nonverbal communication #communication #aac user #full time aac user #autism #nonverbal autism

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roosterforme · 5 months

Text

How You Play the Game Part 9 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: You're too late for Bradley. It doesn't matter that you left your heart with him while you took some time for yourself, you need to move on like he did. But the truth is, he was ready for more weeks ago.

Warnings: Swears, broken heart, drunk Bradley, angst, fluff (18+)

Length: 3600 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! How You Play the Game masterlist. Banner by @thedroneranger

Bradley sat on his kitchen floor with the half empty bottle of cheap tequila Nat left at his house after they made margaritas for her birthday. It tasted disgusting, but he was already hungover, and it was the only thing he had left. You and he had opened that nice champagne that was stashed away in his refrigerator five weeks ago. The empty bottle was tucked away with his pots and pans, because for some reason he just couldn't get over you.

He just tried calling you until his phone died. He tapped your contact name in his phone, right there at the top of the list, no fewer than sixty times before his screen went black. But it never even went to your voicemail, and he had no idea what to send you in a text. He didn't even know what he was planning on telling you if you answered his calls. He just couldn't believe you'd been here.

He fucked things up royally by sleeping with Shannon. "Fuck," he moaned before downing a few more gulps, silently judging Nat's taste in booze and wincing. You were gone. Again. You'd been on his porch for about seven minutes by his best estimation, and then you left again after dealing the critical blow to his useless heart. You loved him.

He set the bottle down on the floor and stretched out on the cold tile with his palm resting on his face. His floors always felt a little chilly, even during the summer. He could picture you wearing his socks around his house along with his jersey. He could picture you in the hotel rooms, sitting on his lap with all of the buttons undone.

Bradley rolled onto his side and started to cry. You were wearing that fucking thing today. You'd all but told him you had been wearing it around for weeks. He closed his eyes against his throbbing headache and his tears and the overhead light and pressed his cheek to the cold floor.

You told him you loved him, and that hurt so fucking bad right now.

Hours later, Bradley woke up with his stomach churning, shivering on the kitchen tile. He sat up and his stomach lurched. A few seconds later, he was throwing up tequila into his toilet and praying this was all just a nightmare that he would wake up from. Shannon meant nothing to him, and he was an idiot for thinking she could help him move on from still being in love with you. He crawled over to the tub and turned the water to hot, hoping a shower would help him clear his head.

As he stood under the scalding stream, he leaned against the wall with one hand. He still had the selfie you sent him from his shower when he was at work. He had all the photos you sent him saved on his phone. He was dying to look at them again, but his phone was dead. The hot water was making him feel better and worse at the same time as he scrubbed every inch of his skin.

All he could remember was the way he felt so good when he was with you for those seven minutes earlier. If he knew how to reach you or where to find you, he'd do it in an instant. You told him you were writing for another media outlet, but he had no idea if you were still living in New York or not. All he knew was what you told him about going to Anaheim for an exclusive interview with the Ducks.

"Oh, shit," Bradley gasped as he quickly rinsed his shampoo out of his hair. When he was with you in Anaheim last month, you told him that you always stayed at the same hotel. The one next to the ballpark. Maybe you stayed there when you were covering hockey, too.

His heart was pounding faster and harder now. If there was a chance you could be there, he'd go up and try to find you. Perhaps you'd let him try to explain himself and hear him out when he told you he loved you. As he quickly climbed out of the shower, his head was still spinning. He grabbed onto the sink vanity and looked around. His house was a mess. He was a mess. His life felt like a disaster, but if there was even a small chance he could see you one more time, he was dead set on bringing you back here with him.

He fought through the urge to be sick again as he cleaned his bathroom while his bedding was in the washing machine. He finally folded all the laundry he'd been dumping onto his chair. Then he forced himself to eat some crackers before scrubbing the kitchen and making his bed. And all the while, he let his phone charge.

When he powered it back on, he tried calling you again, but you were still not answering him. He tried not to consider the idea that this time you really may have blocked his number. "Ace," he whispered, replaying everything you'd said to him this morning in his mind. You mentioned that article you wrote about the Detroit Red Wings, but it was posted earlier this week when he deleted the New York Times app from his phone.

Bradley collapsed on his couch in his clean underwear right in front of the coffee table which was still covered in baseball cards, and he downloaded the app again. His stomach was feeling better, his head was clear, and when he found the article, he started to read. It took him a bit to get to the part that he now understood was meant for him, and when he did, he read it over and over again.

I love Detroit. This is my seventy-ninth time visiting this city and eating the delicious square shaped pizza in the eight years that I've been writing for the New York Times. I've seen every major city in the United States countless times, and I've traveled all over the world. And while the articles I've written will live on in this format forever, the time has come for me to move on.

I'm leaving the Times, but I'll still be around, hopping from city to city. Just maybe with a little less frequency. I left my overworked heart in one particular town, and I'm hoping to get back there as soon as I finish my next piece. Ten days just wasn't enough. I'm going to need a lot more. I'm ready for more.

He'd been ready for more since he met you, and all he wanted right now was to find you and bring you back home with him. If you loved him this morning, Bradley was hoping like hell there was a chance you could still love him tomorrow.

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

The drive up to Anaheim was filled with tears as you replayed in your mind every embarrassing thing you'd told Bradley while you stood on his porch like an idiot. You poured your heart out to him while he had another woman inside. That bartender no less. He got back together with the bartender.

This is what happens when you drag your feet and take too long to get your shit together; you lose out on the only man who seemed to really care about you. Bradley told you he was falling in love with you that last night in his bed with his arms wrapped securely around you. And you'd wriggled out of his grasp and called a cab while you cried so you didn't have to feel the pain of a proper goodbye when he dropped you off at the airport.

But you were paying for it now in spades. This was much, much worse. Your heart wasn't made for this kind of aching feeling. It was hard to breathe, and your eyes were stinging so badly as you parked at the hotel, you could barely see. It wasn't even check-in time yet, but you carried your luggage inside anyway. Luckily you'd been to this hotel so many times, they gave you a room that was ready and let you have the key early. You were just thankful it wasn't the same room you and Bradley had spent three evenings in together.

Next time you stayed in Anaheim or San Diego for work, you'd have to find new hotels. As you let yourself into your room, the tears started up again. You wrenched Bradley's Padres jersey off and tossed it onto the floor along with your shoes, and then you curled up in bed. Your body shook as you sobbed and thought about the stupid golf ball that was in your suitcase.

For some reason, you thought you could have it all. You took the time you needed to cut ties with Greg and the New York Times in favor of a job that would give you more flexibility with a boss who was mellow. You did that because of Bradley. He'd been right the whole time, about everything. But at the end of the day, you could have the job you never dreamed you deserved but not the man who you wanted to be with.

You napped for most of the day, and when you woke up, you felt somehow even worse. You couldn't stop thinking about the way Bradley had touched your cheek this morning as you took a hot shower. He was looking at you with longing in his eyes, you knew that much for sure. It must have just been a shock to his system to see you there. You should have called him back sooner. You should have done a lot of things sooner, but it was too late now.

An hour later you were sitting on the bed eating a pizza while you dabbed at your eyes with a napkin. You turned your phone off earlier when you stopped to get gas after Bradley kept calling you. The idea of turning it back on was almost too much. You didn't want to listen to him explain that he was sorry, but he'd moved on. You didn't want to read a bunch of texts from him either, but you had to turn your phone back on eventually.

When you did, you swiped your notifications away without looking at them. And then you set an alarm for the morning so you'd have enough time to go out and get some coffee. There was no way you'd be able to sit in the same place you'd eaten the bad continental breakfast with Bradley. If you tried, you'd never make it through the interviews tomorrow.

Eventually you fell asleep to thoughts of Bradley's voice and his big body curled up behind yours. In your dreams, you hadn't missed your opportunity with him. In your dreams, you never left him in the first place.

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

Your alarm woke you up, and you got ready for the day. Your agenda was simple enough. Coffee. Hockey interviews. Then getting the fuck out of California. There would be no loose ends here now. No reason to keep your return date open ended. You could book your flight back to JFK for tomorrow morning. Maybe even a red eye tonight.

And maybe it wasn't too late to extend your lease in Manhattan after all. The east coast suited you. California was probably an overrated place for you to put down some roots. It was all just a dream anyway, and you'd woken up from it yesterday on Bradley's porch.

As you rode the elevator down to the lobby, you started slipping and thinking about his rough hands on your face. That was enough motivation for you to book your flight right now. You could fly out of Los Angeles tonight at 10:15 and land in New York as the sun was coming up. You were about to purchase the ticket as you walked through the hotel lobby when you heard his voice.

"Ace."

Your steps slowed to a halt as you squeezed your eyes closed. He was here. You shivered at the deep raspy sound of the nickname he'd given you, and when you turned to your right, you saw him. He was actually here.

"Ace," he said again, softer this time as he took a tentative step closer to you. He looked tired, but his brown eyes were sincere as you really took him in. He was wearing a Toronto Blue Jays shirt along with his snug jeans. You'd missed him so much. Tears stung your eyes as you thought about how you had just wanted to get yourself sorted out before letting him know you were ready for him.

You sobbed softly as Bradley closed the distance to you, both of his hands coming up to cup your cheeks. He looked like he was in agony as he tilted your face up, and you could see tears in his eyes, too. "I'm sorry, Ace," he whispered. "I never want to hurt you."

You tried to shake your head, but he didn't let go of you. Instead he wiped your tears away with his thumbs as your lips quivered. "No, Bradley. I'm sorry," you replied as you cried. "I'm sorry I just barged in on you without any notice yesterday. And I'm sorry it took me too long to figure my shit out. I'm just really sorry I'm too late."

Even when you squeezed your eyes closed, tears were leaking down your cheeks. You should have been embarrassed as Bradley kissed your forehead, but you melted into him instead. "Ace, you're not too late. You could never be too late."

You gave yourself three more seconds of the comfort of his body against yours, and then you took a step away from him and wiped your eyes with the backs of your hands. "I should have never come to your house like that."

"I told you to," he replied immediately. "I reminded you that you knew where to find me. I wanted you to come back to me, but I thought you didn't want anything to do with me. Ace, it's been over a month, and I hadn't heard a word from you."

You nodded. "It's my fault. You moved on, and that's okay. I'll get over it." You started to turn away, not sure exactly where you should go, and then his hand was reaching for yours.

"I don't want you to get over it. I don't want you to get over me." His voice was pleading, but you couldn't even meet his eyes now as he held onto your hand. "I can't believe I fucked this up," he muttered looking at you with the saddest eyes.

"You didn't," you whispered. "I did. That girl you're with.... she's the one who works at the bar. I'm happy for you. She's the one you should be with. She'll be easier for you to date."

"What?" he asked, sounding confused as you pulled your hand away from his. You needed to get out of this hotel right now. You needed to be literally anywhere else as your tears started to overflow again. "Ace, there's only you."

When you headed for the exit, he was in front of you, reaching for you. "I need to go. I just... really need to go," you repeated, trying to get away from him, but you ended up in his arms as you cried.

"Baby, I'm not dating anybody. How could I? Not after you," he whispered as he held you snug against his body.

"You're not?" you whispered, wiping your face on his shirt.

"No." He kissed the top of your head. "Of course not. I've been a fucking mess without you. The last five weeks have been miserable for me since you left. I convinced myself I'd never get to see you again," he said, his voice breaking on the words. "And on Friday night, I got drunk and told myself that getting her to come home with me would take some of the pain away."

You held onto his shirt and forced your gaze up to meet his. "Did it work?"

He shook his head as he held eye contact with you. "No. And I'm an idiot for even thinking anyone else could come close to you. You're the Ace."

You licked your lips as Bradley took your hands tentatively in his and guided them around his neck. "So you're not dating her?"

"No. She and I are nothing."

"And you don't want to date her?"

"Absolutely not. I want to date you."

You couldn't help the smile that broke out on your face along with more tears. "Are you sure? Because it's still going to be hard, even though I switched employers, and I don't know if-"

But then he was kissing you, those strong arms holding you in place as you tipped your head back. You had missed this so much, the steady feel of his body and the prickle of his mustache. He kissed you like he was afraid you were still going to leave.

He didn't let go of you as he begged, "Tell me you meant what you said about me in your Red Wings article. Tell me you still love me."

You smiled and pulled him closer so his lips met yours again. "I meant every word. I left my heart with you, because I knew I needed to change some things before I could have you." Your lips brushed his as you promised, "I love you so much."

"I love you too, Ace," he replied right away, letting his forehead rest on yours. He was finally smiling now as he said, "Let me take you home. You should stay there with me. We can ship your stuff out, but you should stay."

He kissed the tears on your cheeks and then your lips until you were both smiling. "I have to interview these hockey players first. Feel like coming on another exclusive with me? Being my assistant again?"

His mustache brushed along your cheek, and he whispered your name. "Yes, but after that, you're coming back to help me organize my baseball cards after you change into a pair of my socks. And you're staying forever. It's non negotiable."

"It's non negotiable," you agreed.

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

Twelve weeks later...

You dragged your suitcase out to the living room where Bradley was just putting the finishing touches on the new bookcase you and he got to hold all of your important things. He had lined up some of his dad's baseball cards that he got certified next to your growing collection of sports biographies. You actually had time to read now that you weren't writing on the road nearly every day.

"Don't forget about this," you said, and he turned just in time to catch the blue golf ball you tossed at him.

His brow furrowed. "You're not taking it with you to Tampa?"

"No," you replied casually. "I don't really need it since you're joining me in a few days."

He set it down on the shelf next to the empty champagne bottle before stepping around the world's laziest dog and heading your way. "Okay, so I fly in on Friday night after Nat drops me at the airport here. Then you'll pick me up from the Tampa airport in your rental car. We'll make love in the hotel room, and then on Saturday we get to watch the Blue Jays play together."

Your boyfriend looked so excited, you ran your fingers back through his hair and kissed him softly. "We get to watch the Blue Jays together. Even though it's just a spring training game."

"It's a warmup for when we go to Toronto this summer," he reminded you. "And honestly, I'm just excited to get to do this with you."

He was wearing his Blue Jays shirt again, the one he told you he bought in a moment of weakness when he was missing you in November. He looked so good in it, you really didn't want to leave right now. But you had to. Velocity Report had been more than generous with their flexibility, and they let you hand pick most of your assignments. You'd chosen major league baseball spring training so Bradley could tag along with you.

"Can't wait until my best intern joins me in Florida."

"Shit. I guess I really am your dog walker now," he mumbled, leaning in to try to kiss you as you laughed.

You made out with him until his hands were up inside the Padres jersey you were wearing with your leggings. "I love you. I'll see you on Friday."

"I love you too, Baby. Friday night, you're all mine," he rasped as you walked toward the door.

"Oh, before I forget, you should check my new bio on the Velocity website. Abigail just uploaded it." You watched Bradley scrolling on his phone as you left the living room behind with a smile and headed out on your next assignment

....Known as 'Ace' to her friends and family, she's likely to be trying out all of the local foods when she's working. But when she's not globetrotting to bring you the best sports stories and interviews around, she can be found in San Diego where she lives with her boyfriend and their extremely lazy dog, Blue Jay.

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

Thanks for reading about Bradley and Ace! I love the comfort and care they so obviously give each other, and I think they belong together. Put down some roots in Cali, Ace. Thanks Kevin Costner from 1999. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

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shakespeareanwannabe · 3 months

Text

As You Wish, Chapter 3

Summary: When arriving at Camp Silver Star, Abby Floyd was anticipating a summer of adventure with an ocean separating her from the three people she loved most: her mom, her Uncle Bob and her Aunt Natasha. But after a run in with Charlie Seresin, an extremely familiar looking and irritating camper in a different cabin, her summer plans take a turn that neither girl ever could have expected.

Trigger Warnings: reader's children are described as being blond with green eyes because genetics are wild and Jake's genes are strong, reader is canonically Bob's sister, reader goes by Buttercup and is tattooed, swearing, verbal arguing, references to divorce, death of a character, injuries, misinformation about the US Navy and how it works (I tried my best)

Briefing Room, Classified Location, 11 years ago

Briefing rooms after missions go horrifically sideways were typically quiet. Those who were involved in the mission were usually too busy inside their own heads, trying to shove feelings and memories into tiny little lockboxes that would then get shoved into other boxes and hidden in the dark recesses of the mind, only springing free when things got…dark. The top brass was usually reading reports and gathering steam, preparing to bring the hand of God down upon the person (or people) who were responsible for the mission going…poorly. Therefore, the rooms were usually can-hear-a-pin-drop quiet, but they were never this…still. This silent.

The fifteen lieutenants stood in four rows and, while most of them were four people deep, the one missing a person stood out in cold contrast, as did the empty spot at the front of the room, where the team leader usually stood. Cyclone, Warlock and Hondo stood just past that spot; heads ducked together in a whispered conversation. Besides that, nobody moved. Nobody stirred. Not Bob, balancing on a pair of crutches with a cast bracing his leg up to his knee. Not Fritz, his arm strapped against his chest to immobilize it. Not Rooster, with a black and purple bruise on his temple, or Coyote, a neat row of stitches gracing his cheek, or Hangman, who felt a painful twinge every time he breathed, the binding protecting his bruised and fractured ribs pulling taut with every inhale. None dared to move or fidget.

Finally, Admiral Simpson moved into the empty space at the front of the room and sighed.

“Well, ladies and gentlemen…I don’t think I need to tell you what an absolute clusterfuck that was.” Fanboy flinched, his head ducking fractionally as the words carried clear across the gathering. “In fact, it was such an absolute clusterfuck that Rear Admiral Cain has decided to disband the Dagger Squad. Immediately.”

Jake heard Yale gasp behind him, and he would have too, if it weren’t for the sinking weight in his chest. The mission had been a clusterfuck, there was no doubt about it, but they had achieved their mission. He had risked his ass after watching Maverick’s plane get shot out of the sky, putting all thought of his little Charlie girl waiting for him at home and the whisper of ‘god damnit, Buttercup was right’ out of his head, and he had taken charge. He had been the one to pull Rooster out of his single-minded mission to avenge Mav’s death, he had been the one to take down the jet that had been targeting an ejected Bob and Natasha, and he, Payback and Fanboy had been the ones to deliver the payload in the end, effectively taking out the target.

He had brought all but one of them home safely, but he didn’t feel any sense of relief, or even grief over Mav’s death. All he felt was the warmth of his baby girls, curled up against his chest as he rocked them in their nursery. All he tasted was the sweetness of Buttercup’s kiss, all he smelled was that newborn baby smell that he swore to God was the best thing he’d ever smelled in his life. All he saw was Buttercup’s tear-stained face as she gathered Abby in her arms and left, the sound of the door clicking shut echoing in his ears. If his reaction time had been even a millisecond slower, he could’ve been in Mav’s position, and then what? What would happen to his Charlie then?

“…because of the nature of this mission, disbanding the Dagger Squad, and because you all are the best of the best, the Rear Admiral has decided to make you an offer. As you know, the Navy doesn’t often let you make very many decisions, so I want you to think carefully before you respond, because we do need your answer today. Your first option is to be absorbed into another Squad; in which case you would be shipping out today for your new assignments. Yes, Lieutenant Fitch, if both members of your team decide to go with option one, you will be keeping your WSO. Your second option is—”

The clatter of metal against wood stole the words from Cyclone’s lips, and everyone turned towards the mild-mannered, quiet, shy WSO standing behind the glaringly empty space in the third row.

“—retirement, with a full pension and an honourable discharge,” Cyclone finished, staring down at Bob’s nameplate, lying on the desk beside him.

“I think it’s pretty clear what I choose,” the WSO spoke softly, but no one in the squad could miss the barely tempered rage in his voice.

“Lieutenant Floyd—”

“Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“Granted,” Warlock stepped up next to Cyclone.

“I almost died on this mission,” Bob stated frankly, his gaze never wavering from Cyclone’s face. “I had to eject Lieutenant Trace and I from our aircraft after she was struck in the face by shrapnel that broke through our windshield and destroyed her helmet. Debris that came from Maverick’s plane.” The silence was heavy, tension mounting with every word, but Bob pressed on. “Nat’s never going to fly again. They already told me. And frankly, sir? I don’t know if I have it in me to bond with another pilot after holding my best friend’s body as we waited for rescue, already knowing that our team lead was KIA.”

Cyclone opened his mouth to speak, but a gentle hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“I understand, son. If you, or anyone else, decide to retire, know that you’ll be going with the full gratitude of the US Navy,” Warlock responded.

“Thank you, sir,” Bob saluted, then propelled himself out of line, crutching past the waiting rows of his friends and coworkers as he headed for the door. “I’ll fill out any paperwork you need, and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

“There’s no need to pack and go so quickly.”

“All due respect, sir, but yes, there is,” he came to a stop in front of Jake and fixed him with a steely look. “My family needs me. And if I don’t help them, who will?”

Jake swallowed painfully, his heart pressing against his aching ribs with every heartbroken beat, the roar of fear and shame and anxiety swirling around in his head, blocking out every sound other than the whispers of his regrets.

This wasn’t how his life was supposed to go. Football captain, homecoming king, star pupil of the Naval Academy, he flew through OCS and aced his ASTB. He was the only pilot of his generation with a confirmed air to air kill, handpicked for Top Gun and their top-secret uranium mission. And, on top of all of that, up until six months ago, he’d had the most perfect, beautiful wife waiting for him at home with their precious newborn twins.

Now, he was a divorced single dad of one beautiful little girl. A beautiful little girl that he’d had to leave in the capable hands of Penny Benjamin when the Squad had been deployed. A beautiful little girl whose sister he missed so incredibly much that it threatened to bring him to his knees. Whose mother had been right about damn near everything.

“Lieutenant Seresin?”

Jake blinked, his vision and hearing coming back into focus as Cyclone stepped down to face him.

“I’m going to be frank with you, Lieutenant. You’re the best of the best,” Cyclone stated, stepping closer. “Your skills in the cockpit are unmatched and you showed the type of leadership qualities we need in this line of work. There are whispers of promoting you due to your actions on this last mission. With the loss of Captain Mitchell and your actions on this mission, you are now the only ace pilot that the Navy has to offer. You’d have your choice of assignments, should you choose to stay. It would be a damn shame to lose you, son.”

Jake felt something squeeze in his chest, and this time it wasn’t his busted ribs. Being a Naval aviator was the only thing he had ever wanted to be, and Jake Seresin always got what he wanted. He should be elated, planning for his move to the best naval base in the country, where they would probably let him lead his own squad after the way he led the Dagger Squad home safely, tearing victory from the jaws of defeat. He could be Lieutenant Commander Seresin.

Buttercup’s tears and the clicking of his apartment door as it swung shut.

Those bright baby blues that were just now starting to darken into the very same light green he saw in the mirror every morning.

The powdery scent of diaper powder and formula, and the solid warmth and weight of his baby girl in his arms.

“With all due respect, Admiral?” Jake pushed through the catch in his throat. “It would be even more of a damn shame for my daughter to lose her dad. I’m all she’s got. I…I can’t let her down. I can’t let her ever think there’s a chance in hell that her daddy ain’t comin’ back to her. I’m afraid I have to thank you for the opportunity and request that you tender my resignation. Sir.”

Cyclone sighed, a wave of disappointment cresting over his face as he opened his mouth to argue, to convince him to stay, but a firm hand gripped his shoulder.

“We understand,” Warlock reached out and shook his hand. “Thank you for your service, Lieutenant Seresin.”

Jake nodded, shaking his hand before turning and saluting Cyclone. “Thank you, sir.”

“I…I’m with him.” Jake turned and saw Javy saluting the two members of the brass.

“Coyote…”

“Whatever you’re about to say, don’t. I followed your ass on the football field, I followed your ass to the Naval Academy, and now I’m following your ass out the door. You’re not the only one Charlie’s got, man. You both got me.”

“And me.”

The two men turned to see Rooster fiddling with his name plate.

“Bradshaw…” Cyclone’s voice rose in shock.

“My mama never wanted this for me,” Bradley continued, as if he hadn’t heard him. “I know she didn’t. Hell, my mama never stepped another foot on a plane after my daddy died. She was too terrified of bein’ in the air, thinkin’ I might lose her too. I used to think that flying brought me closer to my dad, that I could feel him when I was alone in the cockpit.” He unpinned his name plate carefully, studying the engraving. Lt. Bradshaw. “I can’t feel him anymore,” he murmured. “I’m older than he ever got to be. And now Mav’s gone…” Rooster sighed. “I don’t think I’ll be able to shake this last mission, sir. I’d be a detriment to any team I join, and I don’t want to put anyone in that position. So…I’m walking away.”

“I…understand. Thank you, gentlemen, for your years of service.”

Rooster saluted, then the three men walked out of the briefing room, the weight of their actions blanketing them.

“So…what now?”

Jake rubbed at his ribs. “We go to Mav’s funeral…then I guess we go home.”

“And where exactly is home?” Rooster drawled. “I can’t imagine you want to stay in your apartment after…everything.”

Jake shook his head, his tactician’s brain kicking into high gear. “Javy?”

“Yeah, man?”

“I think it’s time we introduce Bradshaw here to some Texas barbecue.”

The Brig, Camp Silver Star, Present Day

“Amelia? You…you knew?” Charlie yanked at the t-shirt that felt like it was closing in around her neck.

Amelia kicked off her rainboots, shed her yellow raincoat, and shuffled towards them, gingerly taking a seat on Abby’s bed.

“Yeah…I knew.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Charlie’s hands clenched rhythmically as she tried to breathe.

“I didn’t know the two of you were here at the same time,” Amelia soothed. “I found out that day that cantaloupe ended up in the fruit salad. You both came to me to ask about it, and I went to find my mom right away. That’s when she told me that she had sent emails about the camp to your aunt and uncles, offering a friends and family discount if you came for these specific weeks.”

“A-Aunt Penny knew too?” Charlie croaked.

“She did. Charlie, I—”

Charlie shook her head, sending her blond braid flying, the end whipping at her face with the force of it. “No. No. This is all a coincidence. It has to be one big coincidence. My dad and your m-mom…them knowing each other doesn’t mean anything.”

“Charlie…” Amelia started, but Abby felt something snap inside of her.

“You’re not actually stupid enough to believe that, are you?” she spat. “Why can’t you just admit that it all makes sense? Our parents knew each other, they got married, and they had us. We have the same birthday, we look identical, and we have these pictures to prove it! Why is that so difficult for you to see?”

“Because it means he lied to me!” Charlie shrieked, burying her head in her hands. “He lied to me. My whole life. He hid my mom and my sister from me for twelve years! He’s my best friend, we tell each other everything, we do everything together, and he lied to me!”

Charlie’s shoulders shook with the force of heavy sobs as the wind whipped at the windows, making the cabin shake. She’d asked her dad about her mother for years, and he had never told her. And neither had Javy or Rooster, who so clearly knew her mother too. Her chest ached with the sting of betrayal, and she had no idea how she was supposed to go home and look her three favourite people in the eyes after finding out they had been hiding such a massive secret from her.

Charlie flinched as she felt an arm wrap around her shoulders, and she sniffled as her head was tugged onto Abby’s shoulder.

“W-why aren’t you angry?” she whispered.

“I honestly don’t know,” Abby murmured back, staring sightlessly out the window. “I know that I should be. I know that my mum and Uncle Bob and Auntie Nat lied by omission by not telling me about you and dad, but I just…can’t.”

“Why would they do this to us?” Charlie scrubbed at her face with the sleeve of her sweater. “How is it legal to say that each parent gets a kid, and they never have to see the other one?”

“They had a custody arrangement…” Amelia had moved to kneel at the edge of Charlie’s bed.

“What sick judge would agree to something like this?” Charlie hiccupped as Abby removed her arm and leaned forward, desperation shining in her eyes.

“No one,” Amelia sighed and turned her face downwards. “Now, I don’t have all the information. I was just a kid when your parents split up, and my mom and Mav tried to shield me from the worst of it. All I know is that they got engaged after dating for like a really short amount of time, then your mom found out she was pregnant with you two, and they eloped in Las Vegas. Mav was pissed.”

“Why?”

“Didn’t he like my mum?”

“He loved your parents, both of them. Hangman was a pain in the butt, but Mav wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. After that first mission they flew together, when Hangman saved Mav and Rooster’s life, nobody really cared that Hangman was cocky. The way he could needle at the other members of his squad, it only ever pushed them to be the best that they could be. I know Mav saw a lot of good in your dad, and he really cared about him. And your mom? I think Mav loved your mom because she really helped bring Hangman down to earth. He once told me, ‘Buttercup keeps Hangman’s feet on the ground while his brain is racing through the sky’,” Amelia chuckled. “God, I loved hanging around with your parents. They were so cool.”

“Wait…Buttercup?” Abby bit her lip. “That’s what my aunt and uncle call my mum. Well, that and kiddo.”

“Yeah, nicknames around Miramar kinda just…stuck. Your dad started calling your mom Buttercup, and that was that. She was Buttercup from then on.”

“She even has a buttercup tattoo on her collarbone,” Abby said excitedly, her mind racing with the implication.

“That’s great and all, but can we get back to the story? Why was Mav angry?”

“Because he wanted to be there when they got married,” Amelia laughed quietly. “The Dagger Squad got chosen to do an air show in Las Vegas, and Hangman was able to work it so that your mom could come. Mav didn’t question it at all, even though he knew they were engaged and expecting. Your dad had to do 200 pushups when he got back for not telling Mav the plan so that he could be there,” Amelia giggled. “But I never heard him complain about it. He thought your mom was worth it.”

“So then…what happened?”

“Like I said, I don’t know. My mom and dad split when I was younger, and I guess my mom thought that watching one of my favourite couples in the world split up might bring up some bad memories, so she and Mav sheltered me from a lot of it. I know they had a really bad fight, they both said some things, and then they split, and they each took one of you.”

“H-how did they decide who to take?” Charlie trembled.

“I honestly don’t know. But I know it was never supposed to be permanent. The custody arrangement, I mean.”

“Then what happened? Why did they keep us from each other?”

Amelia shrugged. “I know that it was partly your dad’s deployment schedule. It was hard to set up a visitation schedule when Dagger Squad was being called into action so often. Then, the pandemic hit, and nobody wanted to be sending really young kids on international flights where they could get sick and potentially have lasting complications. After that, I really don’t know.”

Charlie took a deep, shuddering breath as Abby chewed on her lower lip. The cabin was silent, save for the wind and rain lashing at the windows.

Finally, Amelia sighed. “I know this a big revelation for the two of you, and I hate to leave when you probably have a billion more questions. But I do have to get back. I’ll be back later tonight to collect your tray, and I’ll hopefully have more time to answer your questions. Okay?”

Abby nodded but Charlie sat stock still, staring into space.

“Charlie?” Amelia called softly, ducking her head to catch her gaze. “Are we okay, hon?”

Charlie nodded mutely and Amelia returning it with a tight-lipped smile. “I’ll see you both later.”

“Bye Amelia,” Abby called softly as the door swung shut behind her.

Silence fell for a brief moment before Abby looked over at Charlie.

“What are you thinking?”

“Shhh…” Charlie hissed, but Abby didn’t take offense. It was clear from the deep set of Charlie’s eyebrows and the pensive look in her eyes that she was planning something. No…plotting something.

Abby shrugged and walked over to the small card table that held their trays of food. Two small Thermos’ of chili, an array of Ziploc bags filled with cheese, chili flakes, bacon bits, and sour cream, and two snack sized bags of tortilla chips were seated neatly on the silver trays, and Abby felt her stomach grumble.

She had just sat down to her freshly topped chili when Charlie moved, sitting across from her with a steely look in her eyes.

“Charlie?”

“I want to get to know my mom,” she stated simply, as though she was saying that the sky was blue or that grass was green.

Abby nodded eagerly. “I know! I can’t wait to get to know dad! Maybe we could call him together on Friday and talk to him together? And then we could do the same for mum!”

Charlie shook her head. “No. I mean really get to know her. I want to meet her in person. I want to be able to hug her. I want to spend time with her, and I want to be able to do that without having to spend time answering questions about how we found each other or her trying to tell me about what happened between her and dad.”

“I…I want that too,” Abby confessed, though Charlie’s words were confusing her. “And we can do that. Once they know that we know, we’ll be able to use that custody agreement and see mum and dad, and each other, more often.”

Charlie shook her head again. “You don’t understand. I don’t want to talk to dad. Or Rooster. Or Javy. They lied to me for my whole entire life! I’m so mad at them that I’ll probably just scream the whole time we’re talking to them. Besides, whose to say that they won’t make excuses and not let us see each other again? What happens if they just decide that I can’t see mom and you don’t get to see dad?”

“They wouldn’t do that!”

“Abby, they already did do that!” Charlie reached out and grabbed Abby’s wrist, her gaze pleading. “Don’t you want to get to know dad without having to deal with all of this? Don’t you want to be able to meet him and get to know him without all the awkward stuff, like him asking you what your favourite colour is or what you got for your tenth birthday?”

“Well…yeah. Of course, I do. But…how would we do that? It’s not like I could just go to Texas when camp is over.”

“Why not?” Charlie’s eyes shone bright with excitement. “Who says you couldn’t just take my boarding pass and fly to Texas to meet dad? Who says I couldn’t just take your boarding pass and fly to London to meet mom?”

“Charlie, you sound insane,” Abby gently removed her hand from her wrist and picked up her spoon. “First of all, I don’t have a boarding pass. I fly stand-by because my uncle is a pilot and gets me on the plane for free, so long as he’s the one flying. Second, we might look a like, but there are still some cosmetic differences! My hair is shorter than yours, I have pierced ears, and we have different accents. They would certainly notice all that. And third, our parents have known us since birth. Surely they would be able to tell that we’re not us!”

“We can fix those things!” Charlie leaned forward. “I can teach you all about my life in Texas. I can show you the layout of the ranch, which cows to avoid, how to tack up my horse at home. I can teach you all about dad and Javy and Rooster. I can cut my hair! And listen, it’s not even that hard to fake a British accent. Pip, pip, cheerio!”

Abby snorted. “And what? You expect me to teach you all about London? Where to catch the tube, the layout of the flat, where the best fish and chips are? You want me to tell you all about mum, and where Uncle Bob hides his glasses cleaning cloth, and how not to stare at Auntie Nat’s scar? You want me to start talking like a cowboy? And what about my ears being pierced?”

“Why not?” Charlie begged, her green eyes shining. “We’ve got like a month to teach each other everything we would ever need to know. And we both have cell phones, so it’s not like we would be completely cut off from each other. If I had a question, I could just text you and ask!”

“Charlie, you sound ridiculous!” Abby threw her spoon down and rubbed her eyes. “There’s no way I can teach you about my life in a month. You want us to try to pull one over on the people that know us best. It would never work.”

Charlie bit her lip then leaned in for the kill. “I saw the way you lit up when Amelia mentioned mom’s nickname being Buttercup. I know how excited you got when you realized that mom has a tattoo of a buttercup. I know you were thinking the exact same thing I was.”

“Which is?”

“That if the people around her still call her Buttercup, maybe she still has feelings for dad. The nickname obviously meant enough to her that she got it tattooed on her body, and she hasn’t tried to get it removed or anything.”

“Mum, she…she’s never dated,” Abby admitted quietly. “She always says she just doesn’t have the time, but…I’ve always hoped that maybe it’s because she still has feelings for my dad.”

“Dad is the same way,” Charlie whispered. “He says I’m his best girl, but I know from Rooster and Javy that dad could be going on lots of dates if he wanted to. They love to tease him about it, and he tells them that he’s too busy with me and the ranch. But I know it’s because he still loves mom.” Charlie reached for her wrist again and this time Abby didn’t pull away. “Abby, if we do this, they will eventually have to switch us back. I’m not suggesting we do this forever. We can get to know them for a bit, then tell them the truth, and they’ll have to meet to switch us back. And when they meet…”

“…they could fall in love again,” Abby murmured.

“They could. Or, at the very least, they can talk and figure out a schedule so we don’t have to be separated again. C’mon…isn’t it at least worth a shot?” Charlie blinked over at her; the puppy dog eyes she had learned from her dad shining in full force.

Abby sighed. “Do you really think we can do it?”

“We’ve got a month, we’ve got social media, and we’ve got access to the computers once a week. I don’t see how we couldn’t pull this off.”

Abby chewed on her bottom lip. “O-okay…but if I don’t feel comfortable with this later, I want to be able to change my mind.”

“Done.” Charlie stuck her hand out and Abby grasped it, pumping it twice in the air with a grin on her face. “Now…let’s get to work.”

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