#rooster bradshaw fluff

[katsu28]

sent and delivered

pairing: bradley "rooster" bradshaw x reader

summary: after your scheduled coffee date with bradley, your friendship progresses into something more over time. (7k)

part 2 to return to sender

warnings: swearing, some use of Y/N

a/n: hello again my tgm family!! went a little overboard with this, but thank you to my sweet @familyvideostevie, who came up with this beautiful friends to lovers plotline for a part 2 literal ages ago, and the lovely @starryeyedstories for putting me in my rooster feels again <3

You shouldn’t be so nervous for coffee with Bradley as you are right now. You’ve already changed your outfit at least twice, sifted through your pantry for a suitable accompaniment to coffee so many times you’ve lost count, and as the clock ticks its way to noon, genuinely debated on making an excuse to bail. 

A few careful deep breaths clears your mind a little, reminds you that no, you aren’t going to bail on Bradley. You’re going to see this thing through if it’s the last thing you ever do, fight or flight response be damned. 

You’re a jumble of nerves as you finally make your way over to his apartment, just like the first time you met him.

Only this time it isn’t because you were afraid he was an asshole (you know now that he was the in fact opposite), but because your crush on him has grown tenfold just overnight. 

See, you’d spent a good chunk of the time you were meant to be asleep last night on the phone chatting with him about anything and everything, never a lull in the conversation until the sun started to peek through the curtains and the birds began their daily morning song.

He’d sounded sad when you announced you had to grab a few hours of shut eye, but murmured a soft see you later that had your heart thudding a little faster in your chest. 

Maybe you even buried your face in a pillow and squealed a little the moment you hung up, but he doesn’t need to know that. 

You knock on his door firmly, shifting the package of Oreos from hand to hand nervously as you wait. 

The door swings open to reveal a smiling Bradley, and suddenly all your worries seem to fade away. 

He’s wearing jeans and a well-fitting Hawaiian shirt this time, which would’ve looked tacky as hell on anyone else, but Bradley found a way to pull it off. He still looks way too damn good for someone who’d been up the whole night. 

“Hey!” He exclaims, beckoning you inside with a smile. You mirror his smile, but before you can return his greeting, he brings you into a hug. He smells of fresh laundry and sea breeze and something heady that you can’t quite put your finger on but like nonetheless. “Long time no talk.” 

You let out a huff of amusement. “Right, because seven hours is just such a long time.” 

“Sure felt like forever,” He replies, reaching around you to shut the door. His arm grazes against the small of your back as he does, a fleeting touch that still manages to make you shiver. Maybe Bradley notices, because he lets his hand linger for another second, expression shifting into something softer as he eases the cookies out of your hands. “This for me?” 

“Uh, yeah! I hope you like Oreos, ‘cause it’s really all I had,” You say sheepishly, folding your arms around yourself in an awkward attempt to seem normal. 

“I love Oreos. Thank you.” He bobs his head quickly. “Anyways, welcome, come on in, make yourself at home.”

Bradley’s apartment has the same layout as yours, but other than that it looks like a completely different place. 

While you’d decorated your space with all sorts of odds and ends, posters and paintings and a plethora of knick knacks adorning your shelves, Bradley’s is…kind of empty, save for a few sports posters and some workout gear scattered in the hallway leading to the bedroom. A piano sits over by the window that gives the place some character, but other than that it doesn’t really look like this is anyone’s home. 

It’s as if he feels you taking in your surroundings, because he chuckles awkwardly, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. “It’s plain, I know. Definitely won’t be winning any awards for interior design.” 

“Oh, I dunno, the minimalistic look is really in these days,” You hum, shrugging nonchalantly. 

“You’re too nice to me. I’m not here a lot of the time, so I haven’t really done the whole ‘making it feel like home’ thing yet. I’ll get to it though.” He admits, kicking aside a lone pair of shorts. “Anyways, uh—forget this, why don’t we keep moving on into the kitchen?” 

The kitchen is much more interesting than the rest of the apartment, mainly the wall of postcards and photos next to the fridge that catch your eye immediately.

“Now, this is more like it!” You gasp, beelining for the wall to look at them. Postcards of sandy beaches, snowy mountains, and everything in between. Pictures of a younger and current Bradley with whom you assumed were his fellow Navy buddies, smiling wide for the camera like he’s having the time of his life. A few more older photos of a woman and a man who looks just like Bradley with a kid who you assumed was Bradley. 

You feel Bradley’s presence come up behind you, hear him inhale a sharp breath. “Those are my parents.” 

“You look just like your dad.” 

“Yeah, that’s what everyone says.” 

“And your mom is beautiful.”

“She was.” You know better than to pry any further than that. One day, maybe, but not any time soon. He sniffs once, then clears his throat. “You, um, you want some coffee?” 

You leave the wall to come settle on one of the barstools across the counter from him, propping your chin up in your hand as he pulls open a cabinet.  “Ah, the infamous coffee maker! Damn that thing is huge.”

“Don’t come for me, but I’ve still only figured out how to make one thing,” He warns, pointing at you with a mug. “Hope you like black coffee, ‘cuz that’s all you’re getting.”

“Black coffee is perfect.” 

“I have milk if you take yours with some. Only almond milk though. Supposed to be better for the bones, according to Hangman.” Bradley nods his head towards the fridge. “S’in there if you need it, help yourself.” 

“First the machine, now the milk—this Hangman must be a trustworthy guy if you take all your coffee tips from him.” 

Bradley laughs, a loud belly laugh that sends a tumbling feeling through your chest. “Dude’s a total knucklehead, but he means well. I think you’d like him.” 

“What’s that thing they say about a person’s friends being a reflection of themselves?” You muse teasingly, tilting your head. 

“I know you didn’t just call me a knucklehead!” 

“Your words, not mine.” You lift one shoulder, letting it drop with a look of feigned innocence. 

“Funny.” 

As always, conversation with Bradley is never dull. Even though you’d talked for hours on end the night before, there is no shortage of stories to be told, life stories shared over coffee and Oreos like you’ve known each other forever. 

Somehow you wind up here, talking about how you both ended up in the same apartment complex. You’d found this place on your own and were immediately sold on it. It was affordable, not too small but not too big, and quiet enough for you. Seemed like a perfect deal had fallen right into your lap. 

Bradley, on the other hand, had found it a completely different way. His friend Nat had been going out with a total douchebag of a guy who just so happened to be looking for a place at the same time Bradley had been, sharing his apartment hunt findings with her. 

She found out he’d been seeing another girl behind her back the whole time, kicked his ass to the curb, tipped Bradley off on the open spot in the complex, and Bradley swooped in to nab the place before the cheating son of a bitch could even blink. 

“You did not!” You gasp, covering your mouth with your palm in shock. 

“I did!” Bradley laughs, nodding enthusiastically. “Never liked the guy anyways. And what was he gonna do, confront me about it? Dude was a total coward, he wasn’t gonna come accuse me of jack shit!” 

“You’re smart, Bradshaw, I’ll give you that.” 

“Apparently not smart enough to know that my mail was being sent to the wrong apartment for months. Again, I’m really sorry about that.” 

“It wasn’t a big deal, I keep telling you that,” You insist, shaking your head. “I didn’t mind, really.” 

“How come you didn’t tell me earlier?” 

“Honestly? I thought you were kinda scary,” You admit sheepishly, ducking your head in embarrassment. 

It feels silly even admitting it, knowing now who Bradley actually is doesn’t fit your perception of him by a long shot. But at the same time, admitting it feels somewhat freeing, like you’re letting go of someone you never knew to make way for someone you’d really love to get to know more. 

Bradley’s eyes widens, mouth falling open just the slightest bit in shock. “Scary? Me?” 

“Yes, you! I dunno if you’ve seen yourself from another person’s eyes, but you look intimidating! You’ve got that whole big tough guy look going on, and I’m not great with confrontation.” 

“And what do you think of me now?” He asks softly, settling his chin in the palm of his hand as he meets your gaze intently. There go your nerves again, swirling in the pit of your stomach like a whirlpool threatening to suck you in. 

You inhale a deep breath, letting it come back out as a sort of breathy chuckle. “I think you’re not at all what I thought you’d be.” 

“In a good way or a bad way?” 

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“Anything I could do to sway the odds in my favor?” 

Your mouth is suddenly drier than a desert despite all the liquid you’ve been downing, palms clammy against the ceramic of the mug clutched in your grasp. 

You aren’t ready to answer that question, even though you already have an inkling of the things he could do. So you do the only thing you could think of to get yourself out of this situation. You change the subject. 

“I…um—I really loved the chandelier when I took a walk through of the place,” You blurt, jerking your chin over at the sleek fixture above the dining area to draw Bradley’s attention to it. “Really brings the whole place together. Or, it would if mine would stop flickering all the damn time.”

His face falls just the tiniest bit at the sudden change of subject, but his features twist in curiosity within a split second. “Wait, really?” 

“Yeah, yours doesn’t?” 

“No, mine’s been fine since I moved in. Have you tried taking a look at it, see what’s wrong?” 

You offer him a sheepish smile, bashful now. “This is really embarrassing, but I’m—I’m kind of scared that it’s gonna fall on me if I mess with it. Y’know, revenge of the light fixtures and all that?” Bradley’s mouth lifts at the edges, and you could tell he’s fighting another smile. “Don’t laugh at me! It’s a legitimate concern!” 

“Not laughing!” He clears his throat, giving his head a little shake to keep his composure. But even then, there’s no mistaking the amusement in his eyes. “Chandeliers are very scary.” 

“I knew I shouldn’t have said anything,” You groan, hanging your head. Bradley’s soft chuckle brings a flaming warmth to your cheeks. 

“I could…take a look at it, if you want?” 

Your head whips up to stare at him. “Right now?” 

“Today, yeah. If you’re free after this, I mean.” He shrugs, giving the spoon in his cup a few stirs. 

“For real?” 

“I have tools. I’ll take a look, see if it’s an easy fix and if not, we can call maintenance.” 

“You’re walking a slippery slope, Bradley Bradshaw. If you can get the chandelier working again there’s no guarantee I won’t be calling you for every other household problem in the future.” 

“No complaints here.” 

After you’ve both finished your coffee, Bradley grabs his toolbox from under the stairs, and now you’re both standing in the entryway of your own apartment. You feel him taking in your space the same way you did his, your cheeks flaming hot at the clutter of things all around. 

“It’s usually a lot tidier than this, I swear. I’ve just had a lot of deadlines at work and I haven’t gotten the chance to put everything back in its place.” 

Bradley just smiles, giving a noncommittal shrug. “S’no big deal. I like it.” Everything he got from spending more time with you, he could see it reflected in your space. And as cliche as it sounded, he felt more at home here than he did in his own apartment. 

He sets his toolbox down, grabbing a set of pliers and hopping up on the table with ease to poke around the chandelier for a while before fiddling with something. 

He climbs back down, wiping his hands on the front of his jeans and tossing the tool back into the box, planting his hands on his hips. “Looks like one of the wires was just a little loose. The bad connection caused it to flicker, but I tightened it a bit so it should be fine now. Maybe try it and see?” 

You hurry over to the light switch, flicking it on hopefully. Normally it would start to flicker immediately, but when ten seconds go by and the light shines bright, you beam. “So you’re an electrician too, huh?” 

“Hardly. One of my buddies is though. Sometimes he needs an extra set of hands so I tag along with him, see what I can learn.”  

“Well either way, you’re a godsend!” 

“Just glad I could help.” 

“Let me cook you dinner! I have—” You exclaim, shuffling over to the fridge and pulling it open only to be met with nearly bare shelves, save for a few containers of old fruit and condiments. “—nothing. I have nothing, because I was supposed to go to the store yesterday. Well, this is embarrassing!” 

Bradley had followed you to the kitchen, sliding onto one of the barstools coolly. “No, this is all very reassuring, ‘cause I’ve been meaning to go shopping too but I keep putting it off. Glad to see I’m not the only one with poor weekly grocery trip skills.” 

“I’m sure that was meant to be reassuring, but it really just makes us both sound sad,” You groan, slumping over onto your own stool.

“Your words, not mine,” Bradley chuckles, echoing your earlier words with a cheery smile. 

You roll your eyes playfully. “Okay, I can fix this!” You exclaim, holding up a finger as you open UberEats on your phone. “We could do Thai, burgers, pizza—” 

“You don’t have to buy me dinner, really, I’m just happy I could help.” 

“You can say no all you want, Bradley, it doesn’t really matter to me. You’re staying for dinner, and we can either compromise and get something we both want, or I’ll order something you hate,” You insist, trying to sound as firm as you could. 

“You don’t give up easily, do you?” 

You grin at him, eyes alight with mischief. “No, I don’t.” 

“I like that.” I like you, he wants to say. He doesn’t. 

“What’ll it be then?” 

“I wouldn’t say no to some pizza. Got a six pack back in my fridge I could bring over too, if you want.” 

“Sounds like a plan.” 

“Of beer, that is,” He adds. “No relation to my giant package.” 

“Oh, you asshole! You swore you’d never bring that up again!” You huff, leaning over to swat at him. Bradley dodges you easily, an easy smile playing at his lips. 

“Okay, okay! I won’t say anything else about it, I promise.” 

“You’re lying.”

“Yeah I’m totally lying.” 

-------

And so it began, a saga of texting Bradley to see if the things in his apartment were as defective as yours, him coming over to help fix various things, and you scrambling to show your utmost appreciation for his help.

A broken thermostat meant going downtown for dinner and drinks at some new restaurant “just to try it out”, a leaky sink resulted in him guilting you into a Mission: Impossible marathon (and a whole lot of insisting the main character looked exactly like one of his Navy higher ups). 

That soon turned into you and Bradley spending more and more time at each other’s places, doing fuck all but enjoying each other’s friendship. And over time, that friendship grew a bit more-than-friends-like—he’d always flirt with you, you’d flirt right back—but neither of you had the guts to do anything about it.

Lingering glances, brushing hands that lasted a little too long to be innocent, inside jokes only the two of you were privy to. You’re almost positive he feels the same way about you as you do him, but every time you want to act on it, you chicken out. You've never been one for putting yourself out there, and that hasn’t changed. 

You’re about to turn in for the night today, going to close the window in your bedroom only to realize that the lock on the frame isn’t sliding into place the way it usually did. 

After jiggling it a few times to see if it would prove a quick fix and finding that it most certainly doesn’t fix a thing, you reach for your phone, instinctively sending off a quick message to Bradley without even really having to think about it. 

y/n: quick question! what should i do if my window won’t lock? 

Not five minutes after you hit send, your phone buzzes, Bradley’s name flashing across the screen for a video call. 

It’s odd, because usually when you text about something in your apartment not working the way it's supposed to, he just shoots back a message saying he’ll be right over. It’s nighttime, so you were honestly kind of looking forward to seeing him in his grey sweats and bicep hugging black tee combo. 

You give yourself a quick once over in your phone camera, smoothing down any flyaway hairs before hitting the answer call button. There’s a few beats of nothing as the call connects, but he’s on your screen soon enough, somewhere you don’t recognize and half-shrouded in the dark like he’s under something. 

“Something’s wrong with your window?” He asks, brow creased in concern. 

“Hi to you too, Bradley.” 

“Sorry, hi. But your window, is the lock broken?” 

“I think so? Usually when I go to turn the plastic lock thingy it clicks into place, but I tried it like four times and it’s not clicking, so…” You trail off, pouting. “D’you—I mean, are you busy right now? Would you mind popping over to take a look?” 

“Shit, I’m sorry, I’m actually not home right now. Won’t be for another few weeks.” Bradley frowns, scratching at his cheek. “I’m overseas.” 

“Oh my god, Bradley! I’m so sorry, I didn’t know!” 

“No, you’re good! If I was home, I’d be over in a heartbeat, but uh, unfortunately,” He sighs, gesturing vaguely at his surroundings. “Here, flip the camera. Lemme see if I can see what’s wrong from here.” 

“Are you sure?” You ask, gnawing on your lip. It seems wrong, still having Bradley be your on-call maintenance guy even when he’s somewhere probably a thousand miles away. But he nods enthusiastically so you oblige, flipping the camera so it’s facing the seemingly broken lock. 

You watch him blink a few times and squint at the fuzzy video screen for a little bit before sighing again. 

“Sorry, Y/N. I can’t see shit from here.” 

“Yeah no, it’s fine.” You shrug, flipping the camera back to face you. You prop your phone up on your windowsill, settling into a more comfortable position to chat with him. “Where overseas are you?” 

“Afraid that’s classified, ma’am.” He bows his head in apology, but there was a teasing smile on his face. “See, I could tell you. But then I’d have to kill you.” 

You let out an amused chuckle. “Oh, really?” 

“Unfortunately. And you’re too pretty to meet that end, so I’m gonna have to keep my whereabouts a secret to save us both the hassle.” 

Pretty. Bradley thinks you’re pretty. 

You have to fight the smile threatening to break your composure. “How gracious of you.” 

“Isn’t it? I surprise myself sometimes,” He sighs good-naturedly, looking all too pleased with himself. “But seriously, talk to the super about your window, have them get the maintenance guy to take a look. Don’t think I’ll be able to sleep til it gets fixed.” 

“Aw, you worried about me, Bradley?” You tease, pouting playfully at him. 

He rolls his eyes. “You know I am.” 

“I’ll call the super tomorrow.” 

“Not today?” 

“I’ll let you know if someone breaks in through my third floor window.” 

“Hey, you never know! People are stealthy,” Bradley protests, shifting to a sitting position and subsequently hitting his head on the bunk above him. He lets out a hiss of pain, rubbing the top of his head with a grimace. 

“Some people are, but you’re definitely not,” You snicker, to which Bradley gives you another eye roll. “Are you about to go to bed?” 

“I was gonna, but I’d much rather talk to you.” 

That nearly makes you swoon. God, Bradley is good with his words. Damn him. 

“Go to sleep, I’ll let you know when it’s fixed. Wouldn’t want you worrying your pretty little head about me all night.” 

“Pretty little head,” He echos, tilting said pretty little head to the side. 

“It’s, uh, it’s just a figure of speech,” You insist, feeling your cheeks grow embarrassingly warm. Funny how they always do that whenever you’re talking to him. Or thinking about him. Or thinking about talking to him. 

Bradley just smiles again. “Sure is.” 

“Goodnight, Bradley.” 

“Night, sweetheart. I’m expecting that text to be there when I wake up.” He hangs up before you can register the nickname, but you can’t stop the giddy grin breaking across your face when you do. 

First he calls you pretty, now he’s calling you sweetheart. He’s getting bolder. You aren’t sure if that means he feels the same way about you, or if it’s just his personality. Even after you’d known him for almost six months, you still can’t tell. 

-------

Bradley rouses from his sleep at five on the dot, throwing himself into his Navy enforced routine until lunchtime, when he could finally sit down and check his phone. Upon powering it back on and glancing at the homescreen, he sees that he has two notifications from you. One of them is a selfie of you beaming next to your newly fixed latched window, sending him a thumbs up. 

Shit, you’re so pretty. It makes his heart ache to be away from home this time, not able to help you when you need it. 

The other is a text to accompany the photo. 

y/n: window is fixed. hope you sleep well tonight knowing no stealthy people are gonna break in :)

He snorts softly, a smile overtaking his face as he taps out a reply. 

bradley: i won’t worry my pretty little head about it anymore. 

y/n: you better not be texting me from the jet!! 

bradley: and so what if i was? i’d call it multitasking. 

y/n: i’d call it damn stupid, lieutenant. can’t have my handyman ditching me, so come home in one piece, k? 

“Now who in the world could you be texting that’s got you cheesin’ like a big ol’ idiot right now?” Hangman’s voice drawls from across the table, drawing Bradley’s attention away from his phone and to the rest of the squad, who all look at him with the same expectant expressions. 

“Five bucks it’s his girl from back home,” Payback chimes in, smirking knowingly. 

“I’ll take that action, please and thank you,” Fanboy replies, smacking his hand into Payback’s for a shake to seal the deal. 

“She’s not my—have you guys been creeping on my texts?” 

“Well, not creeping per se,” Phoenix reasons, holding her hands up in defense. “I was only trying to send myself that picture of Bob sleeping with that marker mustache when she texted.” 

Bob makes an incredulous noise, head whipping towards his front seater. “You guys said there were no pictures!” 

“Nothing, nevermind,” She hums, waving him off. “Back to the subject at hand. Y/N. Rooster’s girl.” 

“How d’you know her—hold on, how the fuck did you get into my phone?” 

“Your password is your birthday, dumbass. You should really change it, by the way. Cybersecurity is no joke.”

“Whatever. She’s not my girl, by the way. If any of you cared to know. We’re just…friends.” 

“See that hesitation between just and friends? Bradshaw’s a liar!” Hangman whoops, drumming his fingers on the table. “He wants to be her boyfriend!” That last word comes out a teasing singsong, making Bradley roll his eyes. He’s right, of course, but he doesn’t need everyone knowing that. 

“Real mature, Hangman. Real mature.” 

“Can’t argue with the truth, Rooster.” 

-------

You soon discover that life is pretty boring without Bradley around. There’s nobody to bother when you get bored, nobody to make dumb jokes while you watch a movie, nobody to force you to go out even though you don’t want to. Bradley was always the one to do all those things with you, and he isn’t here. Sure, you’re still able to text and talk, but it isn’t the same. You miss him. 

So when your doorbell rings and you aren’t expecting anyone, your mind immediately goes to Bradley. You quickly give yourself a once over in the mirror in the foyer, making sure you look at least halfway presentable before pulling open the door excitedly. 

Bradley’s already beaming when your eyes land on him, but his smile gets even wider as he takes you in. He looks the same as the last time you saw him, although definitely better than he did on a grainy video screen. He’s a little tanner than you remember, shoulders a smidge broader, but still the same Bradley you’d grown some big feelings for. 

“Remember me?” He jokes, shoving his hands into his pockets. 

You give him a once over with a tilted head, frowning. “Sorry, no. I think you might have the wrong apartment.” 

“Oh, she’s funny now!”

“Okay, ouch. I’ve always been funny, Bradshaw,” You huff, but the smile stretching your lips tells him you’re anything but annoyed. “Welcome home.” 

You aren’t sure if you should hug him but you do anyway, wrapping your arms around his neck, breathing in his achingly familiar cologne. Bradley settles into your embrace almost like he’s melting, letting his nose drop into the dip of your neck as he hugs you back a little too tightly. Not that you’re complaining about it. 

“Glad to be back. Missed you.” He straightens up as soon as those last two words leave his mouth, backing away almost jerkily with a hand flying to rub the back of his neck sheepishly. “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

“I missed you too, Bradley.” 

The edges of his mouth quirk up into the beginnings of a smile. “So me and my buddies were gonna head to our usual spot for drinks tonight, kinda like a being back stateside, welcome home type thing. I’d really like it if you came with me.” 

“Oh, no, I couldn’t.” You shake your head profusely, fiddling with the hem of your sweater. Bradley’s head cocks in confusion. “It’s your time with your friends, I don’t want to impose.” 

“You won’t be. I want you there, I want you to meet them all,” He insists, looking entirely sincere. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Positive. Come with me, please.” 

You gnaw a little on your lip in contemplation, only managing to hold out a few seconds under his intense gaze before giving a small defeated sigh. “Okay. I’ll join you.” 

“Great!” He beams, looking rather pleased. “Now tell me everything that happened while I was gone. And spare no detail either, I need to catch up on the complex gossip. Did that kid Andrew ever stop banging on his drums until three in the morning? Does that family across the parking lot still go on walks with their wailing baby or has that sucker settled down yet? I need to know.”

After bringing Bradley up to speed on everything, it’s time to meet his friends. 

Rowdy isn’t sufficient enough to describe the Hard Deck. A Navy joint through and through, the whole place is decked out floor to ceiling with model jets and patches and other various related memorabilia.

The group Bradley leads you towards seems to be the loudest of them all, scattered out around a pool table in the back corner chatting amongst each other and looking happy to be home. 

The first person to notice Bradley’s arrival is a dark haired woman with a pool cue in her hand, which she swings his way upon sight of him coming up next to her, nearly taking off his head had he not stepped back a little. “Bradshaw! Tell Bagman he’s insane if he thinks he can chug a beer in under five seconds, tell him that!” 

“No, you tell Phoenix that I can do whatever I—well, hello there,” The blond man—Bagman, you assume—stops mid sentence when he lays eyes on you, dropping the offended look and aiming a pearly white smile your way. “And who might you be?” 

“Not gonna happen, Hangman,” Bradley warns. He looks entirely serious about it too. 

“Oh, so you’re the Hangman this guy always talks about,” You lilt, ignoring the gentle shove Bradley gives you in return. 

“Aw, Roo, you talk about me?” Hangman drawls, grinning wildly. “Way to make a man blush!”  

“Yeah, yeah, don’t flatter yourself.” Bradley rolls his eyes playfully, giving his head a shake before introducing you to his friends. Each of them has a unique callsign that seems to fit them perfectly. Your favorite name is Coyote because of how cool it is, but you’d never let Bradley know that. 

The woman Hangman had been bickering with, Phoenix, inhales a sharp breath, her eyes bouncing between you and Bradley with barely contained glee. “Oh my god, you’re Rooster’s girl! He’s been—”

Bradley clamps a hand on Phoenix’s shoulder before she can continue, cutting her short. “Alright!” He blurts, giving her a quick few pats. He angles his head towards you, offering a guilty smile. “Sorry about her, she’s drunk. Doesn’t know what she’s talking about.” 

“Move the hand or you’ll lose it, Bradshaw,” She says slowly, pinning him to the spot with a death stare. Bradley retracts his hand instantly, looking intimidated as he does so and Phoenix aims a grin your way. “He’s well trained, I promise. I think maybe you’ve had something to do with that?” 

“I dunno about training, but I’ve taught him a few tricks.”

“What am I, a dog?” Bradley splutters, looking from your grin to Phoenix’s and huffing out a sigh when you both nod. “I feel attacked! This is so unfair.” 

“I like you. We need to get you a drink,” Phoenix says very as-a-matter-of-factly, holding up her empty glass towards you as proof. “Any preference?” 

“Surprise me?” 

“Copy that.” 

You watch her retreat over to the bar, casting a quick glance at your surroundings to make sure nobody is paying attention before leaning in towards Bradley, who mirrors your actions almost instantaneously. 

“Rooster’s girl?” You chuckle, raising an amused brow. You’d never admit it out loud, but you like the nickname. It meant that he told his friends about you. Maybe not in the way you’d wanted them to learn about your existence, because he’d probably told them you’re just friends, but nice nonetheless. 

Bradley goes positively pink in the face. “It’s, uh—s’nothing, my friends just like to mess around.” 

“Okay.” You shrug trying to play it cool while simultaneously fighting the urge to squeal like a damn schoolgirl on the inside. You ought to earn some sort of medal for your performance. 

You soon fall into easy conversation with Phoenix and her backseater Bob when she returns with drinks. It isn’t until Bradley finally leaves your side to go play a round of pool with some of the other guys that she props her chin up in her hand, smiling knowingly at you. 

“So…you and Rooster?” 

“What about us?” 

“Are you guys…y’know,” She gestures vaguely in the air, tilting her head over at Bradley. “A thing?” 

“Oh my god,” Bob mutters, so soft you barely even hear it. He looks mortified at his partner’s very not subtle insinuation. “Nat, you can’t just ask her that.” 

“Oh no, it’s okay! We, uh—Bradley and I are just friends.” 

Phoenix doesn’t look like she believes you one bit, but she just nods reassuringly. “Well, just friends or not, you’re good for him.” Then she moves onto a new topic like it’s nothing, but her words echoed in your mind. 

You cast a glance over at Bradley a little ways away, where he’s chatting idly with another one of his buddies. 

You’re good for him. 

If anything, Bradley is good for you. He pushes you out of your comfort zone, he helps you come out of your shell. He’s the reason you’ve grown into a new person, one that the old you would never have even dreamed of becoming. 

Maybe your attention lingers a little too long, because he tears his eyes away from his conversation partner to meet your gaze, lips curling up into a grin as he nods at you in acknowledgement. Even from across the bar, you can see the soft twinkle in his eyes, the fondness and warmth in his smile causing your heart to swell in your chest. 

By the time you and Bradley decide to call it a night and head home, you already have an indefinite invitation to any and every squad function in the future (whether or not Bradley was present, Phoenix had added with a wink). 

“So…what did you think of ‘em?” 

“I like your friends. They’re nice,” You say earnestly. You mean it.

“Good. I’m glad. They really like you too, Phoenix and Bob especially,” He says casually, flicking on his blinker to turn left. You let out a pleased chuckle at that. 

The two of you chat like normal the rest of the way home once you both settle back into your usual back and forth, exchanging more stories from your respective lives until Bradley pulls into his assigned parking space. 

“Before I forget, I brought you back something.” 

“Oh?” You raise a curious eyebrow. 

He reaches over to your side of the car, fumbling around in the glove compartment for a few seconds until he procures what he’s searching for—a small postcard with a photo of a very picturesque beach. The corners are a bit bent from being shoved in there, but Bradley straightens them out as best he can before holding it out to you.  

Turning it around in your hands, you spot a note in his familiar chicken scratch on the other side, much tinier than you remember but only because it details how much he hated sharing a tiny bunk with Hangman, who was an avid sleep talker when he wasn’t snoring as loud as humanly possible throughout the entire night. 

One thing stands out to you though, the last sentence before he’d signed his name with a rather crooked looking smiley face—I miss you. 

“This town was near where we were stationed. I was gonna mail the card, but I wanted this first one to be special.” 

“Special?” You echo, tilting your head. 

“Yeah. Thought maybe it’d be fun if I send you one of these every time I’m deployed and you could start your own wall. That way whenever I’m gone and you miss me, it’ll—I dunno…remind you I’m coming home?” He finishes awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. 

You try your hardest to fight the smile threatening to overtake your face as you study the card intently. It’s very sweet of him, you think, that he wants to share this tradition of his with you. 

“Thank you, Bradley,” You say softly. “I love it.”

"I was hoping you would. I'm glad you do."

When he walks you right up to your door, he looks nervous, which isn't like him. You're about to ask him if he's feeling okay, but then he speaks.

“Hey, look, I—um, I’ve had a really good time these past few months, being your friend."

You frown a little. “Uh oh. Why do I feel like there’s a but coming?” 

“No! I mean, yes, but also—shit, okay, lemme start over.” Bradley shakes his head as if to clear his mind, taking a deep breath before continuing. “I’ve really enjoyed being your friend, but I don’t wanna be friends anymore.” 

Oh. 

Your heart may as well have fallen out of your ass at his words. Bradley didn’t want to be friends with you anymore? 

You must not have as good of a poker face as you mean to, because he quickly backtracks, eyes wide. 

“Fuck, no that’s not what I meant, I—jesus, I meant to say that I don’t want to be just friends anymore,” He blurts, letting his hands drop to his sides. “I really missed you while I was gone. More than I should’ve. And at first I just thought it was because we’re such good friends and because of how much time we’ve spent together lately and that’s why I felt like there was this chunk of me that was missing, but I realized it was more than that. I like you. A lot. So I don’t just want to be your friend anymore, I want to be…more.” 

Oh.

Bradley likes you. And you like him right back.

So, you do the only thing you can think of that will show him your feelings towards him. 

You lean forward, closing the gap between the two of you and kissing him right here and now. 

His palms smooth themselves down your back, fingers splayed across the expanse of it as he kisses you like his life depends on it. His mustache is scratchy, but you don’t mind one bit, not with the way he’s holding you against him, like you’re puzzle pieces slotting perfectly together at last. 

You pull away first with a hand against his chest, only slightly, just enough to look him in the eye when you tell him, “I like you a lot too, Bradley.” 

“Best news I’ve heard in a while,” Bradley sighs, tipping his head back with a sigh of relief. Then his brows furrow, eyes focusing above your heads. “Your light is out,” He says bluntly, squinting at the darkened bulb. “Did you know that?”

“Yeah, I know,” You chuckle. “I would’ve changed it, but the damn thing is rusted over, and my handyman has been out of town for a bit.” 

Bradley snorts, rolling his eyes playfully. “Hilarious. You got a spare lightbulb? I could change it right now.” 

“You could.” Now you’re feeling bold and you run with it, walking your fingers up his chest until they link around the back of his neck. “Or…you could change it tomorrow, after breakfast?” 

His brows fly high at that, tongue darting out to wet his lips nervously. “Tomorrow. Like, as in, you want me to stay the night here, and stay for breakfast in the morning?” 

“Well, yes. We’ve got some more catching up to do, don’t you think?” You ask innocently, though your insinuation isn’t quite so. Bradley’s inhale hitches in his chest at the silent message and he nods quickly, antsy now as you go to unlock the door. 

He’s on you the moment you get the door open, lips glued to yours even as you stumble across the threshold and into the foyer. 

“Wait, wait—” Bradley pants, pulling away only slightly. He’s got a hand skimming over bare skin under the hem of your top, mouth shiny with your lipgloss, and he’s telling you to wait. You raise an impatient brow. “As much as I want to—y’know, and I do, can we just…have a quiet night? I wanna take things slow, make sure everything is perfect.” 

“Okay,” You say, straightening out the collar of his shirt. You can get behind taking things slow. It takes some of the pressure off you to adjust to this big change. “Wanna find a movie to watch?” 

He perks up at that, grinning widely. “Hell yeah! There was some action comedy I wanted to see before I got deployed and I’m pretty sure it’s out on streaming now. Mind if we watch it?” 

You won’t tell him just yet since things between you are the newest they’ll ever be, but you’d gladly watch anything with him. Instead, you just nod. “Go for it. Mind if I go change into some comfier clothes really quick?” 

“Yeah, of course. I’ll be here.” 

Bradley’s queued up the movie on the TV already by the time you return, setting his phone aside when he hears you come back in. 

You’re not quite sure where you should sit, but then he extends a hand out towards you, beckoning you into the cozy space under his arm, and all your questions are answered. It feels like you fit right in when you nestle against him, head falling against his shoulder like its second nature to do so. 

“All good?” He asks, giving you a little squeeze and a fond smile. 

“Never better.” 

There’s no mistaking the happy gleam in his eyes, and you’re sure you have something of the same too. 

You think the whole mail mix up situation from a few months ago had been the best mistake to ever happen to you, because it led you to Bradley, who—and you might be a little forward with this thought—might just become one of the best things in your life. 

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[call-mi-jinx]

Endless Love (Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw) - Chapter 1

summary - Y/N Y/L/N and Bradley Bradshaw have had a rivalry ever since they both attended the same academy. Every chance they took, they always tried to one up each other. One day, Bradley takes the rivalry too far and Y/N ends up in the hospital with serious injuries. Will it make Y/N want to get him back twice as worse? Or will it make her realise that this rivalry between them is childish?

warnings - swearing, enemies to lovers, mention of serious injury, traumatic episodes, reader traumatised from what happened, smut, slowburn, seizures, flashbacks

Main Masterlist Bradley ”Rooster” Bradshaw Masterlist Series Masterlist

a/n - hello my lovelies! this is not the original first chapter becos i was a knobhead and accodentally deleted it so i'm going have to rewrite it ahaha. anyways, ta ta! xx

I had moved to San Diego from Manchester, England to get into the academy that would lead me to entering Top Gun. That was 2 years ago. I am now officially part of the Top Gun and I am dead fucking proud.

However, the first official day at Top Gun is tomorrow. Everyone who was accepted made a group chat and we all arranged to go to The Hard Deck to meet everyone and break the ice.

I'm driving in my red Toyota S2000, There It Go by Juelz Santana blasting through my speakers and the roof down. I've began to enjoy living in America, although I do miss my home back in Manchester.

I finally arrive at The Hard Deck, park my car, put the roof up and lock the doors. I make my way to the door, but suddenly two tall and muscular men burst through the door carrying a slightly smaller man. I pay them no mind and go into the bar.

I look around and when I see the khaki uniforms that we all have to wear I made my way over. I looked around the group and saw a woman with dark hair pulled back into a bun and brown eyes. I sighed in relief and made my way over to her.

"Thank god that there's another woman, I could not deal with all the testosterone on my own." The woman chuckled as she stook her hand out for me to shake.

"I'm Phoenix, you can call me Nat if you want though." I shake her hand a give her a warm smile.

"I'm Vandal, but you can call me Y/N." After making some small talk with her I buy a double whiskey from the bar and make my way back to Nat.

"What do we have here?" A cocky and arrogant voice boomed throughout the room. I turned to look at who it was and saw a tanned, blonde man standing in front of me and Nat.

"Vandal. You?" I raise a brow at him, I could tell he was the type of guy to immediately thinking he is the best out of all of us.

"Hangman. But you can call me Jake." He winked at me and I fake gagged at him. The smile faltered slightly but then he took a step closer to me and aligned his mouth to my ear.

"Just know you're missing out on one hell of a night Sugar." Nat punched him in his shoulder lightly and he flinched back.

"Back off Bagman, you're more passed around than a cigarette." Me and Nat laugh and he mocks hurt. He puts his hand on his chest and fake cries.

"Words hurt Phoenix." After actually talking to some of them, the door bursts open. Everyone turns to the door to look whose made such a ruckus.

Bradley fucking Bradshaw. Great.

We make eye contact and he smirks. He weaves through the crowd until he's about 3 feet in front of me. I could smell his shitty cologne from here, God it smelled disgusting.

"What are you doing here Shortcake?" That nickname made my stomach churn. He was so fucking aggravating.

"Well, seeing as I'm a damn good pilot, they asked me to join Top Gun. What you doing ere? Seeing what could've been?" I raise my eyebrow and curl my lip at him.

We always had a rivalry every since I joined the same academy as he did. We immediately started this sort of rivalry type thing. Well, he started it. Never found out why he never liked me.

"Actually, Sweetheart. I was asked to come to Top Gun as well." He had the smuggest look on his face I wanted to punch it right off. Prick.

"Well that's surprising, didn't know they'd let just about anyone into Top Gun." Bradshaw rolled his eyes and walked away to go meet the other guys.

"I sense some tension." Nat said in a sing-songy voice. Oh God not her too.

"Absolutely not, I do not like him one single bit. And he feels the same way about me." Nat raised a brow with a cheeky side-smile.

"Then what is going on between you two? Did one of you not call the other back?" Nat asked in a slight baby voice while pouting.

"We've just never liked each other, we always try to one up each other all the time. He treats it as a game, but I just want to be the best." Nat nodded and still had the side smile on her face.

"I just know you two are eventually going to go home together. It always happens like that." My eyes become as wide as golf balls. Absolutely not! Never! I told myself as I practically choked on my drink.

"Absolutely not! Now instead, let's enjoy our night before we have to wake up at the break of fucking dawn tomorrow." Nat nods in agreement as we head over to the bar.

This is going to be a long few weeks. Especially with Bradshaw here.

[halfway-happyyy]

into gold II {rooster bradshaw}

synopsis: rooster bradshaw’s emotional baggage could fill a cargo container ten times over. he is the single father of a precocious and bubbly six-year-old, and despite his best efforts, has fallen head over heels for someone arguably more damaged than him- his daughter’s first grade teacher.

characters- bradley ‘rooster’ bradshaw, frankie bradshaw, female ooc scout wallis (she/her pronouns)

or- the one where scout falls for Frankie before she falls for rooster.

word count- 2400+

read part 1 here

When Rooster allows himself a couple of rare moments to reflect on Sunday morning, it’s easy to feel blue about the state of all things. But then Frankie will tell him a joke she heard at school:

-What does a cloud wear under his raincoat?

I haven’t the faintest idea, Frankie.

-Thunderpants!

Or she’ll hand him a photo she drew of him in his… F/A-18? Or she’ll curl into his side in front of the television and fall asleep. And he'll know then, without a doubt, that he is the luckiest man in the world. He’s reminded of this fact as he rolls to a halt in front of Penny’s house. The beautiful sound of Frankie’s laughter floats in on the breeze through the Bronco’s open windows and makes him smile. He watches sheer joy bloom on her face as Maverick plays with her in the front yard, and something heavy tugs on his heartstrings.  

You should be here, dad.

Rooster exits the car to lean against the passenger door, not wanting to ruin their moment just yet.

“Papa!”

Frankie catches sight of her father and bolts from Maverick’s embrace to run into Rooster’s outstretched arms, and he reckons there’s no better feeling in the universe. He holds her to him, peppering the top of her head with dozens of kisses.

“Hi papa,” Frankie’s cheeks are rosy and she’s breathless from play.

“Hi Frankie. Did you miss me?”

She nods fervently, circling her tiny arms tighter around him.

“But you had fun with Mav and Penny, right?”

Frankie nods again.

“Well, well, well. You certainly look like you had a good weekend.” Maverick surveys the sight of Rooster with a wry smile.

The younger pilot laughs sheepishly and scratches at the back of his head. “There’s a reason I never really go out with those guys anymore.”

Maverick’s laughter is booming. “You deserved it, kid.” His gaze drifts to Frankie’s and he bends down to her level. “Go see Pen about some cookies before you leave, Frank. She just made a batch of fresh ones.”

Frankie squeezes Rooster’s hand and dashes off in the direction of the front door.

“You bringing her down to the beach?” Maverick asks.

Rooster nods. “Dogfight football Sundays are her favourite. Will we see you there?”

“Penny and I wouldn’t miss it.” Maverick affirms.

His expression is unreadable; Rooster gets the feeling he’s about to ask him something, when Frankie bursts from the house, her tiny hands laden with two bulging Ziploc bags of homemade chocolate chunk cookies.

“Looks like you won the jackpot, Frank.” Rooster muses and watches her place the cookies carefully into her green dinosaur backpack. “Well, we should probably head out sweetheart. Did you thank Mav and Penny for hanging out with you this weekend?”

The elder pilot bends down so that Frankie can wrap her arms around his neck. “We had a good time didn’t we, Frank?”

“Yeah Mav!” She grins and plants a sloppy kiss on his stubbled cheek.

“Don’t get too carried away with your goodbyes, Frank. Mav and Penny are meeting us at the beach in a little bit.”

Rooster watches her beautiful blue eyes widen in sheer delight.

“Dogfight football!” She squeals and doesn’t waste a second before jumping into the back of the waiting Bronco.

~

“You’re late, Bradshaw!” Jake yells an hour later and is about to rib him some more, but he falters when he notices Frankie in tow behind him. “Well, if it ain't Frank the Tank!” He jogs to where they’re standing and gathering her into his arms, spins her around in dizzying cirlces. The girlish trill of her laughter fills the humid saltwater air around them.

Rooster marvels at how well Jake does with children and reckons with a wry smile, that perhaps there’s still hope for the elder pilot yet.

“I’m wearing the boots you got me!” Frankie exclaims, excitedly.

Jake bends down to get a good look at the fire-engine red cowboy boots he had picked up for her on his last trip home to Austin.

“So you are, and might I add that they have never looked more stunning on anyone else before.”

Frankie’s cheeks glow pink- she’s about to say something else when she notices Scout a little way beyond the crowd and her eyes widen in delighted surprise.

“Miss Wallis!”

Scout’s eyes light up when she catches sight of her, and she raises a hand in greeting. “Hi Frankie!”

Rooster hadn’t considered her being there; figures that if he had known, he might have thought twice about coming. Especially with Frankie.

“What on Earth are you doing at dogfight football, Miss Wallis?” Frankie’s chest heaves from running through the sand to get to her.

Scout catches Rooster’s gaze for a second and he remembers instantly, the feeling of her hand in his two nights ago and how it felt like he’d known her for years instead of a mere couple of hours, and it’s all he can do not to gather Frankie in his arms and take her back home.

To spare them both heartache that would ensue sooner or later.

“Well, a little birdie flew by and told me that there was going to be a football game on the beach today, and I figured maybe I should drop by to cheer everyone on. What do you think?”

“I think that’s a good idea, Miss Wallis. Can we do it together?”

“I’d like that, Frankie.” Scout beams widely and holds out her hand for Frankie to take, which she accepts happily.

Despite the girls' enthusiastic cheering, a grueling hour passes beneath the relentless San Diego sun, and Rooster (out of breath and embarrassingly sunburnt) is the first to admit that he’s played better games. Jake and Coyote take turns teasing him mercilessly about it, but he can’t seem to take his eyes off Scout and Frankie gallivanting up and down the beach like a couple of old friends. Frankie picks out shells and rocks that strike her fancy, and Scout drops them into the pockets of her sundress for safe keeping.

When Frankie catches up with Rooster and Penny a mile down the beach, she’s breathless with triumph. “You’ll never guess how many shells I found, Papa. Look at this one,” She whispers and opens her tiny palm to reveal a miniscule, speckled cowrie shell.

“That’s a pretty cool one, Frank. You'll have to add it it to your collection." Rooster eyes Scout’s dress, which had been knee-length thirty minutes ago, and was now hanging around her ankles, the hem of it damp from sand and saltwater. "Did you thank Miss Wallis for hanging onto them for you?”

“I did, Papa. Can I go show some of my shells to Bob and Phoenix?” Rooster nods and watches Frankie bound away, her red boots kicking up a sandstorm as she disappears down the beach.

Scout clears her throat. “For what it’s worth, I think it’s why they make these dresses with such deep pockets.”

Rooster turns to her then; wishes for a moment that fate had intervened seven years earlier, instead of two days ago.

There’s no such thing as ‘right person, wrong time’ Bradley. The right person will never come along at the wrong time.

He hears his mother’s voice so clearly some days, it’s as if she’s still around somewhere.

“I never got to thank you for Friday night.” Scout finally offers.

Rooster frowns. “What for?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard such a fantastic rendition of a Jerry Lee Lewis song. It’s like you were born to play it.”

Rooster muses at how close she came to the mark. “I don’t have very many memories of childhood before the age of six, but my old man used to love that song.” They wander back to the group of pilots and significant others that had elected to stay after the game for the bonfire.

Jake's busy tossing the football back and forth to Coyote, but when he notices Scout, he winks and asks, "How'd I look out there, Wallis?"

She’s about to respond but Phoenix beats her to it, her tone deapan. “Like a magnet for melanoma, Bagman.”

A chorus of laughter erupts, and all Jake can do is roll his eyes and say, “It seems we have a comedian in our midst, friends.”

“You looked a picture of unbridled athleticism, honey.” Scout giggles by way of putting the flames out, and drops into a seat next to Maverick.

Rooster takes this opportunity to introduce the two. “Maverick, this is Scout Wallis. She just so happens to be Frankie's teacher."

The delicate creases next to the elder pilot’s eyes deepen as he offers her a wide beam. “So, it’s you we have to thank for the plethora of silly jokes Frankie likes to tell us.”

Scout’s cheeks redden before she offers a sheepish shrug. “It turns out that in the state of California, bad jokes are a prerequisite for primary schoolteachers.”

Maverick’s laugh is hearty and booming, but when it subsides, his expression is thoughtful. “In all seriousness though, you’re doing a wonderful job with her.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Captain. Frankie is a dream to have in the classroom.”

If Maverick wonders how Scout knew to refer to him by his naval rank, he makes no mention of it. Rooster, however, does wonder. He's about to ask her about it when Penny leans over and says, “You were at the Hard Deck on Friday night, weren’t you?”

Oh shit.

Maverick’s eyebrows rise in mild amusement.

“I was yeah,” Scout admits. “I had the pleasure of a very special performance.” She winks at Rooster who fights the urge to drop his gaze.

“Let me guess, he hit you with the old tried and true, Great Balls of Fire?”

“He sure did,” Penny laughs. “Had the whole bar in a tizzy.”

“His dad used to play that song on the piano like his life depended on it.” Maverick murmurs, by way of explanation.  

Rooster could see the wheels turning behind those beautiful eyes of hers again, and where he had never easily shared any part of himself with Frankie’s mother, he was struck suddenly by the want to share every part of himself with Scout. This notion made him uncomfortable for a multitude of reasons; least not of which was because his best friend, who seemed just as crazy about her as he was, was only a couple of feet away.

“I take it there’s history between the two of you?” Scout's voice shatters the muddled silence.

Rooster laughs and glances sideways at the surrogate-father figure before him. “Yeah, something like that.”

The night unfolds the way in which Sunday nights often do for Rooster and Frankie: with an abundance of friends and family, the warm salty air a salve for their souls. Frankie and Scout take a couple of turns throwing the football back and forth; Rooster notices the spiral Scout has on her and grows even more bewitched by the woman before him. When she’s had enough for the night, she drops into a seat next to Penny, their quiet chatter a soothing comparison to the hoots and hollers of the pilots around them.

A little while later, Frankie (exhausted from the day’s events, and with a stomach full of sparkling water and hotdogs) wanders over to where Scout’s seated, climbs onto her lap, and promptly falls asleep. Rooster watches Scout’s arms instinctively circle his daughter’s slumbering figure, and a chunk of ice the size of texas chips away from his heart. With a slight pang, he knows their time to leave has arrived.

“You’ll be hard-pressed to pry them apart, Bradshaw.” Jake’s Southern drawl is thicker under the weight of the couple of beers he had under his belt.

“Don’t I know it.” Rooster sighs and pushes himself from his seat to wander over to where Frankie and Scout are. He drops down into the sand in front of Frankie to rub the flat of his palm over her small back.

“Is it time to go?” Scout whispers.

Rooster nods and waits a second for Frankie to stir. “Come on Frank, it’s time to go home to bed.”

His daughter opens her eyes, her expression stupefied from the weight of sleep. “I don’t want to, Papa.” She pleads.

Rooster kisses the top of her head. “I know, sweetheart, but it's time.” She lets him lift her into his arms without any more fuss. It only takes a second before he feels the steady rise and fall of her chest against his shoulder to know that she’s back to sleep. He turns to Scout, not wanting to say goodbye but accepting the inevitable. “It was a pleasure seeing you again today.”

Scout gazes up at him. “The pleasure was all mine, Rooster. She’s a great kid.”

It’s only after they’ve returned home for the evening, Frankie tucked into bed, and his own eyelids fighting the lulling tug of sleep that he remembers Frankie’s precious shells. He makes a mental note to text Jake about them tomorrow. He lets his mind drift back to that wondrous woman before sleep settles in for good; wonders again how she knew Maverick’s rank, and how she possesses an ease to military life that most civilians don’t usually have.

Maverick stops by the next morning for coffee before Frankie’s awake for the day.

“There’s something going on between you and Frankie’s teacher.” His tone is mild and lacks any accusation.

“Well you certainly are direct this morning, aren’t you?” Rooster takes a deep sip from his mug, savoring the slightly bitter taste of the roasted beans on his tongue, before he answers no.

Maverick shifts in his chair. “But you’d like there to be?”

Rooster hesitates before nodding.

“You have to tread carefully here, kid. Frankie’s crazy about her.”

And so is Jake Seresin.

“Yeah well, Jake beat me to it, so there isn’t much else to say.”

Maverick’s viridian gaze twinkles knowingly in the light pouring in through the kitchen window, giving his head an almost imperceptible half-shake. “The feeling was mutual, Rooster. Everyone knew it.”

They sit in silence for a moment before Rooster asks, “Did you wonder how she knew to call you Captain? You weren’t wearing anything that gave you away.”

Maverick finishes the rest of his coffee and sets the mug down against the wooden tabletop. “What did you say her last name was?”

“Wallis.”

“She teaches at Mason elementary?”

Rooster nods.

Maverick shifts again in his seat and closes his eyes as if he were sifting through a mental rolodex of memories. “I believe her husband was top of his class at NAS Fallon in 2016. A truly great fighter pilot.”

Rooster blanches. “She's married?”

Maverick grows somber. “He died in enemy combat almost five years ago now.”

[selencgraphy]

— 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐒

prompt drabble series - nonverbal ways to say ‘i love you’

9 - buying something that reminds you of them

prompts from promptingyou

PAIRING: bradley bradshaw x m!reader (reader is referred to using he/him pronouns)

TAGS: established relationship (mlm), definitely out-of-character for all tgm characters mentioned but idc, this is self-indulgent and made from my imagination, envision a stardew valley chicken plushie!

A/N: omg first off, sorry for not posting at all. life got a little crazy and so my writing brain was just not functioning at all. here’s a bit of top gun maverick and bradley bradshaw fluff to make up for it :) happy reading!

WORD COUNT: 325

masterlist || request box <3

“Close your eyes.” His eyes squinted as you walked up to him with your hands behind your back, the biggest grin on your face.

“Why…?” he drawled, his eyebrows furrowing even further in apprehension. Even with his hesitance, he allowed you to stand between his legs and rested his hands on your waist.

Your eyebrows scrunched as you gave him your best puppy eyes. “Please, B?” After a few beats, he slowly shut his eyes, his head still tilted upwards from when he was looking up at you. With one hand, you removed his hands from your waist to sit in front of him before placing the gift in his hands. “You can open your eyes now,” you whisper as you place a quick kiss to his forehead.

Peaking slowly as he opened his eyes and looked down, almost scared to find out what large and heavy item you had placed in his hands, he was met with the sight of a stuffed chicken plush, its feathers a dark shade of orange. Taking in the stuffed animal, a smile grew on his face in amusement. “What is this?”

“A baby chicken for the resident chicken,” you explained, hesitating on the last word.

He groaned at your word choice, resting his head against your stomach. “Not you too, babe. Jake is such a bad influence.”

You chuckled at his annoyance. “A rooster is a male chicken, Mr. Bradshaw,” you teased. 

“Whatever,” he mumbled quietly, his pout practically audible as he spoke. Running a hand through his hair, you gently guide his face to look back up at you. “Do you like it though?”

Bradley’s eyes softened. “I love it—I love you.”

At his words, your cheeks redden. He always seems to know how to make your heart skip a beat. “Sap,” you jab. “I was walking past this cute store while I was at the mall earlier and immediately thought of you.”

“And I’m the sap.”

Bonus:

[romerona]

Ethera Operation!!

You're the government’s best hacker, but that doesn’t mean you were prepared to be thrown into a fighter jet.

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Awkward!Hacker! FemReader

Part I

This was never supposed to happen. Your role in this operation was simple—deliver the program, ensure it reached the right hands, and let the professionals handle the breaching.

And then, of course, reality decided to light that plan on fire.

The program—codenamed Ethera—was yours. You built it from scratch with encryption so advanced that even the most elite cyber operatives couldn’t crack it without your input. A next-generation adaptive, self-learning decryption software, an intrusion system designed to override and manipulate high-security military networks, Ethera was intended to be both a weapon and a shield, capable of infiltrating enemy systems while protecting your own from counterattacks in real-time. A ghost in the machine. A digital predator. A weapon in the form of pure code. If it fell into the wrong hands, it could disable fleets, and ground aircraft, and turn classified intelligence into an open book. Governments would kill for it. Nations could fall because of it.

Not that you ever meant to, of course. It started as a little experimental security measure program, something to protect high-level data from cyberattacks, not become the ultimate hacking tool. But innovation has a funny way of attracting the wrong kind of attention, and before you knew it, Ethera had become one, if not the most classified, high-risk program in modern times. Tier One asset or so the Secret Service called it.

It was too powerful, too dangerous—so secret that only a select few even knew of its existence, and even fewer could comprehend how it worked.

And therein lay the problem. You were the only person who could properly operate it.

Which was so unfair.

Because it wasn’t supposed to be your problem. You were just the creator, the brain behind the code, the one who spent way too many sleepless nights debugging this monstrosity. Your job was supposed to end at development. But no. Now, because of some bureaucratic nonsense and the fact that no one else could run it without accidentally bricking an entire system, you had been promoted—scratch that, forcibly conscripted—into field duty.

And your mission? To install it in an enemy satellite.

A literal, orbiting, high-security, military-grade satellite, may you add.

God. Why? Why was your country always at war with others? Why couldn’t world leaders just, you know, go to therapy like normal people? Why did everything have to escalate to international cyber warfare?

Which is how you ended up here.

At Top Gun. The last place in the world you wanted to be.

You weren’t built for this. You thrive in sipping coffee in a cosy little office and handling cyber threats from a safe, grounded location. You weren’t meant to be standing in the halls of an elite fighter pilot training program, surrounded by the best aviators in the world—people who thought breaking the sound barrier was a casual Wednesday.

It wasn’t the high-tech cyberwarfare department of the Pentagon, nor some dimly lit black ops facility where hackers in hoodies clacked away at keyboards. No. It was Top Gun. A place where pilots use G-forces like a personal amusement park ride.

You weren’t a soldier, you weren’t a spy, you got queasy in elevators, you got dizzy when you stood too fast, hell, you weren’t even good at keeping your phone screen from cracking.

... And now you were sweating.

You swallowed hard as Admiral Solomon "Warlock" Bates led you through the halls of the naval base, your heels clacking on the polished floors as you wiped your forehead. You're nervous, too damn nervous and this damned weather did not help.

"Relax, Miss," Warlock muttered in that calm, authoritative way of his. "They're just pilots."

Just pilots.

Right. And a nuclear warhead was just a firework.

And now, somehow, you were supposed to explain—loosely explain, because God help you, the full details were above even their clearance level—how Ethera, your elegant, lethal, unstoppable digital masterpiece, was about to be injected into an enemy satellite as part of a classified mission.

This was going to be a disaster.

You had barely made it through the doors of the briefing room when you felt it—every single eye in the room locking onto you.

It wasn’t just the number of them that got you, it was the intensity. These were Top Gun pilots, the best of the best, and they radiated the kind of confidence you could only dream of having. Meanwhile, you felt like a stray kitten wandering into a lion’s den.

Your hands tightened around the tablet clutched to your chest. It was your lifeline, holding every critical detail of Ethera, the program that had dragged you into this utterly ridiculous situation. If you could’ve melted into the walls, you absolutely would have. But there was no escaping this.

You just had to keep it together long enough to survive this briefing.

So, you inhaled deeply, squared your shoulders, and forced your heels forward, trying to project confidence—chin up, back straight, eyes locked onto Vice Admiral Beau "Cyclone" Simpson, who you’d been introduced to earlier that day.

And then, of course, you dropped the damn tablet.

Not a graceful drop. Not the kind of gentle slip where you could scoop it back up and act like nothing happened. No, this was a full-on, physics-defying fumble. The tablet flipped out of your arms, ricocheted off your knee, and skidded across the floor to the feet of one of the pilots.

Silence.

Pure, excruciating silence.

You didn’t even have the nerve to look up right away, too busy contemplating whether it was physically possible to disintegrate on command. But when you finally did glance up—because, you know, social convention demanded it—you were met with a sight that somehow made this entire disaster worse.

Because the person crouching down to pick up your poor, abused tablet was freaking hot.

Tall, broad-shouldered, with a head of golden curls that practically begged to be tousled by the wind, and, oh, yeah—a moustache that somehow worked way too well on him.

He turned the tablet over in his hands, inspecting it with an amused little smirk before handing it over to you. "You, uh… need this?"

Oh, great. His voice is hot too.

You grabbed it back, praying he couldn't see how your hands were shaking. “Nope. Just thought I’d test gravity real quick.”

A few chuckles rippled through the room, and his smirk deepened like he was enjoying this way too much. You, on the other hand, wanted to launch yourself into the sun.

With what little dignity you had left, you forced a quick, tight-lipped smile at him before turning on your heel and continuing forward, clutching your tablet like it was a life raft in the middle of the worst social shipwreck imaginable.

At the front of the room, Vice Admiral Beau Cyclone Simpson stood with the kind of posture that said he had zero time for nonsense, waiting for the room to settle. You barely had time to take a deep breath before his voice cut through the air.

“Alright, listen up.” His tone was crisp, commanding, and impossible to ignore. “This is Dr Y/N L/N. Everything she is about to tell you is highly classified. What you hear in this briefing does not leave this room. Understood?”

A chorus of nods. "Yes, sir."

You barely resisted the urge to physically cringe as every pilot in the room turned to stare at you—some with confusion, others with barely concealed amusement, and a few with the sharp assessing glances of people who had no clue what they were supposed to do with you.

You cleared your throat, squared your shoulders, and did your best to channel even an ounce of the confidence you usually had when you were coding at 3 AM in a secure, pilot-free lab—where the only judgment you faced was from coffee cups and the occasional system error.

As you reached the podium, you forced what you hoped was a composed smile. “Uh… hi, nice to meet you all.”

Solid. Real professional.

You glanced up just long enough to take in the mix of expressions in the room—some mildly interested, some unreadable, and one particular moustached pilot who still had the faintest trace of amusement on his face.

Nope. Not looking at him.

You exhaled slowly, centering yourself. Stay focused. Stay professional. You weren’t just here because of Ethera—you were Ethera. The only one who truly understood it. The only one who could execute this mission.

With another tap on your tablet, the slide shifted to a blacked-out, redacted briefing—only the necessary information was visible. A sleek 3D-rendered model of the enemy satellite appeared on the screen, rotating slowly. Most of its details were blurred or omitted entirely.

“This is Blackstar, a highly classified enemy satellite that has been operating in a low-Earth orbit over restricted airspace.” Your voice remained even, and steady, but the weight of what you were revealing sent a shiver down your spine. “Its existence has remained off the radar—literally and figuratively—until recently, when intelligence confirmed that it has been intercepting our encrypted communications, rerouting information, altering intelligence, and in some cases—fabricating entire communications.”

Someone exhaled sharply. Another shifted in their seat.

“So they’re feeding us bad intel?” one of them with big glasses and blonde hair asked, voice sceptical but sharp.

“That’s the theory,” you confirmed. “And given how quickly our ops have been compromised recently, it’s working.”

You tapped again, shifting to the next slide. The silent infiltration diagram appeared—an intricate web of glowing red lines showing Etherea’s integration process, slowly wrapping around the satellite’s systems like a virus embedding itself into a host.

“This is where Ethera comes in,” you said, shifting to a slide that displayed a cascading string of code, flickering across the screen. “Unlike traditional cyberweapons, Ethera doesn’t just break into a system. It integrates—restructuring security protocols as if it was always meant to be there. It’s undetectable, untraceable, and once inside, it grants us complete control of the Blackstar and won’t even register it as a breach.”

“So we’re not just hacking it," The only female pilot of the team said, arms crossed as she studied the data. “We’re hijacking it.”

“Exactly,” You nodded with a grin.

You switched to the next slide—a detailed radar map displaying the satellite’s location over international waters.

“This is the target area,” you continued after a deep breath. “It’s flying low-altitude reconnaissance patterns, which means it’s using ground relays for some of its communication. That gives us a small window to infiltrate and shut it down.”

The next slide appeared—a pair of unidentified fighter aircraft, patrolling the vicinity.

“And this is the problem,” you said grimly. “This satellite isn’t unguarded.”

A murmur rippled through the room as the pilots took in the fifth-generation stealth fighters displayed on the screen.

“We don’t know who they belong to,” you admitted. “What we do know is that they’re operating with highly classified tech—possibly experimental—and have been seen running defence patterns around the satellite’s flight path.”

Cyclone stepped forward then, arms crossed, his voice sharp and authoritative. “Which means your job is twofold. You will escort Dr L/N’s aircraft to the infiltration zone, ensuring Ethera is successfully deployed. If we are engaged, your priority remains protecting the package and ensuring a safe return.”

Oh, fantastic, you could not only feel your heartbeat in your toes, you were now officially the package.

You cleared your throat, tapping the screen again. Ethera’s interface expanded, displaying a cascade of sleek code.

“Once I’m in range,” you continued, “Ethera will lock onto the satellite’s frequency and begin infiltration. From that point, it’ll take approximately fifty-eight seconds to bypass security and assume control."

Silence settled over the room like a thick cloud, the weight of their stares pressing down on you. You could feel them analyzing, calculating, probably questioning who in their right mind thought putting you—a hacker, a tech specialist, someone whose idea of adrenaline was passing cars on the highway—into a fighter jet was a good idea.

Finally, one of the pilots—tall, broad-shouldered, blonde, and very clearly one of the cocky ones—tilted his head, arms crossed over his chest in a way that screamed too much confidence.

“So, let me get this straight.” His voice was smooth, and confident, with just the right amount of teasing. “You, Doctor—our very classified, very important tech specialist—have to be in the air, in a plane, during a mission that has a high probability of turning into a dogfight… just so you can press a button?”

Your stomach twisted at the mention of being airborne.

“Well…” You gulped, very much aware of how absolutely insane this sounded when put like that. “It’s… more than just that, but, yeah, essentially.”

A slow grin spread across his face, far too entertained by your predicament.

“Oh,” he drawled, “this is gonna be fun.”

Before you could fully process how much you already hated this, Cyclone—who had been watching the exchange with his signature unamused glare—stepped forward, cutting through the tension with his sharp, no-nonsense voice.

“This is a classified operation,” he stated, sharp and authoritative. “Not a joyride.”

The blonde’s smirk faded slightly as he straightened, and the rest of the pilots quickly fell in line.

Silence lingered for a moment longer before Vice Admiral Beau Cyclone Simpson let out a slow breath and straightened. His sharp gaze swept over the room before he nodded once.

“All right. That’s enough.” His tone was firm, the kind that left no room for argument. “We’ve got work to do. The mission will take place in a few weeks' time, once we’ve run full assessments, completed necessary preparations, and designated a lead for this operation.”

There was a slight shift in the room. Some of the pilots exchanged glances, the weight of the upcoming mission finally settling in. Others, mainly the cocky ones, looked as though they were already imagining themselves in the cockpit.

“Dismissed,” Cyclone finished.

The pilots stood, murmuring amongst themselves as they filed out of the room, the blonde one still wearing a smug grin as he passed you making you frown and turn away, your gaze then briefly met the eyes of the moustached pilot.

You hadn’t meant to look, but the moment your eyes connected, something flickered in his expression. Amusement? Curiosity? You weren’t sure, and frankly, you didn’t want to know.

So you did the only logical thing and immediately looked away and turned to gather your things. You needed to get out of here, to find some space to breathe before your brain short-circuited from stress—

“Doctor, Stay for a moment.”

You tightened your grip on your tablet and turned back to Cyclone, who was watching you with that unreadable, vaguely disapproving expression that all high-ranking officers seemed to have perfected. “Uh… yes, sir?”

Once the last pilot was out the door, Cyclone exhaled sharply and crossed his arms.

“You realize,” he said, “that you’re going to have to actually fly, correct?”

You swallowed. “I—well, technically, I’ll just be a passenger.”

His stare didn’t waver.

“Doctor,” he said, tone flat, “I’ve read your file. I know you requested to be driven here instead of taking a military transport plane. You also took a ferry across the bay instead of a helicopter. And I know that you chose to work remotely for three years to avoid getting on a plane.”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks. “That… could mean anything.”

“It means you do not like flying, am I correct?”

Your fingers tightened around the tablet as you tried to find a way—any way—out of this. “Sir, with all due respect, I don’t need to fly the plane. I just need to be in it long enough to deploy Ethera—”

Cyclone cut you off with a sharp look. “And what happens if something goes wrong, Doctor? If the aircraft takes damage? If you have to eject mid-flight? If you lose comms and have to rely on emergency protocols?”

You swallowed hard, your stomach twisting at the very thought of ejecting from a jet.

Cyclone sighed, rubbing his temple as if this entire conversation was giving him a migraine. “We cannot afford to have you panicking mid-mission. If this is going to work, you need to be prepared. That’s why, starting next week you will train with the pilots on aerial procedures and undergoing mandatory training in our flight simulation program.”

Your stomach dropped. “I—wait, what? That’s not necessary—”

“It’s absolutely necessary,” Cyclone cut in, his tone sharp. “If you can’t handle a simulated flight, you become a liability—not just to yourself, but to the pilots escorting you. And in case I need to remind you, Doctor, this mission is classified at the highest level. If you panic mid-air, it won’t just be your life at risk. It’ll be theirs. And it’ll be national security at stake.”

You inhaled sharply. No pressure. None at all.

Cyclone watched you for a moment before speaking again, his tone slightly softer but still firm. “You’re the only one who can do this, Doctor. That means you need to be ready.”

You exhaled slowly, pressing your lips together before nodding stiffly. “Understood, sir.”

Cyclone gave a small nod of approval. “Good. Dismissed.”

You turned and walked out, shoulders tense, fully aware that in three days' time, you were going to be strapped into a high-speed, fighter jet. And knowing your luck?

You were definitely going to puke.

Part 2???

[warnersister]

Personal Space

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x reader

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

Pt. 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Get off me.” “Yup, yep, sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Mitchell finally Top Gun.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay get off of me now.”

Pt. 2

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Hotter Than Texas | Part IV

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x F!Reader

A/N: My friends, I'm finally posting an update. Y'all are extremely patient XD Hope you like it!

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

Aka it's a road trip, strap in.

CW: swearing, age gap (10 years)

WC: 2200+

Part I | Masterlist

It takes Bradley a good long minute of staring before he can formulate a thought worth sharing, and the worthy part is highly debatable. “I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” he finally says.

You furrow your eyebrows at him in offence. “Excuse me?”

Bradley squeezes his eyes shut and rubs his face as though, with this action, he could effectively erase the last five minutes of the evening. If only he hadn’t asked. What had possessed him to ask? He slides his hands slowly down his face just as the server delivers a plate of tortilla chips and cheese dip to your table. The truth is, he just can’t picture you in a uniform, conforming. You are one of a kind – the antithesis of the military mold. “Why?” he asks, instead of voicing any particular opinion – of which he has many.

You shrug. “Because I can.”

Bradley grimaces. “You’ve got to have a better reason than that.”

“Why? Because you did?”

Bradley watches you wearily. “Because it’s not easy. Because it’s the fucking pits, actually.” He sighs heavily. “Because it’s all consuming –”

“You told me to follow my gut.”

Bradley takes a beat, flabbergasted. “Obviously, that was before I knew which direction your gut was pointing.”

You purse your lips and glance down at the untouched queso on the table. “I want to fly,” you say quietly.

Bradley stares at you. “Take a vacation,” he says. “Get a window seat.”

You fix him with a cold look. “You ass.”

“Come on,” he responds with a small smile. “You’re not going to tank half a decade of your life just to sit in a cockpit.”

You stare through his eyes right into his soul. “You don’t think I can do it, do you?”

Bradley groans uncomfortably. “That’s not it at all. On the contrary, I think you can do pretty much anything you want. I just don’t think you’d be happy doing this.”

“You can’t possibly know what would make me happy. You don’t even know me.”

Bradley nods despite being hurt by the comment. He’s only known you for a couple of days, sure, but somehow, it feels like a lifetime. “You’re right,” he says, suddenly losing his appetite. “I barely know you. You probably shouldn’t have even told me.”

You roll your eyes and gather about a pound of queso onto your chip. “Are you seriously going to sulk all through dinner?”

“I’m not sulking,” Bradley replies, irritated that you’ve noticed.

“I told you because you asked,” you say. “But nobody else knows. And I’d like to keep it that way until everything is finalized. I don’t want to be swayed.”

Bradley raises his eyebrows. “You want me to keep this from your brother?”

“Mmhmm,” you mumble around the chip in your mouth.

“Are you crazy?” Bradley hisses. His relationship with your brother is strained enough as it is. And crushing on his baby sister is bad enough without also lying to Jake on top of it all.

“Pretend you don’t know,” you suggest.

It’s Bradley’s turn to stare you down. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” he sighs wearily, “I want you to be swayed. You can’t just join the Navy on a whim –”

“This isn’t a whim –”

“Do you realize the implications here? You are signing your life away. That’s it. It’s not yours anymore. You want that?”

“There’s more to it than that.”

“Sure, but that’s the main part. You don’t get to decide anything anymore. Where you live, how you live, if you live. They decide for you.”

You shrug. “I can live with that.”

Bradley shakes his head. “Do you want that?”

You give him a meaningful look. “Do you regret your decision?”

Bradley releases a steady sigh. You got him there. “No,” he responds grudgingly.

“So, obviously, there’s more to it than just completely renouncing your freedom.”

There is, and he wouldn’t give it up for anything. But still, something tells him that it’s not for you. “You’ve made up your mind?”

You swirl another chip in the cheese, deliberating. “I think so.”

Bradley watches you soak your tortilla until it’s soggy, wondering how any of this is real. “Okay, I won’t say anything.”

…

The next few hours of the drive are mostly silent. Bradley concentrates on the route rather than his unfortunate exchange with you while you spend the time looking out the window. Not that there is much to see on the interstate, but that doesn’t seem to deter you.

He feels bad. He was kind of hard on you – and perhaps a tad overbearing considering he isn’t a close friend who might have any influence over your decisions. You didn’t tell him because you wanted his input. You told him because Bradley’s a nosy prick who wouldn’t let it go until you did. And now you’re mad at him and you have every right to be.

Truthfully, he considers that this may be the best-case scenario. The two of you were becoming far too friendly and Hangman would certainly have noticed. This way, he can drop off his passenger in ten hours’ time without a second thought and be on his way. No drawn-out goodbyes, no clumsy embraces, no guilt-ridden conversations with brother dearest. Yes, this is how it should have been from the start. Awkward silence, buzzing radio, peace and quiet.

Bradley eyes you inconspicuously as he checks his rearview mirror. Your expression is completely stoic as you stare straight ahead, ignoring Bradley’s presence completely.

Bradley looks over at you more obviously; he can’t help it. But you turn your head to look out your own window.

Bradley sighs. “Now who’s sulking?” he says.

You glance at him bitterly but say nothing at all.

“Look, I’m sorry, alright?” he says, sounding more impatient than apologetic. “You just took me by surprise.” Everything about this trip has taken him by surprise, if he’s being honest.

You fold your arms over your chest mutely.

“Don’t be mad,” Bradley says.

You look over at him sharply. “Trust me, darlin’, this ain’t mad.”

Bradley smiles at you despite himself. “Well, that’s worrisome.”

You roll your eyes but the corners of your mouth lift microscopically. “I’m just … irked.”

Bradley pulls his lips in to keep from grinning as this might irk you further. “I’m sorry for irking you.”

You draw in a deep breath, as though you’re trying to gather the strength to continue coexisting with an imbecile like Bradley. But then you release it and say, “I know that it was unexpected,” you say calmly. “And I know that you’re concerned.”

Bradley nods solemnly at the road ahead of him rather than at you.

“Which I appreciate, I suppose,” you continue, shrugging.

Bradley furrows his brows apprehensively. “I just want you to think it through,” he reasons. “And part of thinking it through is discussing it with someone who’s been in your shoes.”

“Maybe,” you respond. “I guess I’m just worried someone will talk me out of it.”

Bradley nods again. Somebody talking you out of it is exactly what he had in mind.

“Anyway,” you say, reaching over and placing your hand on Bradley’s thigh. “Friends?”

Bradley, whose leg is tingling so intensely under your palm that it nearly spasms, looks over at you feebly. “Friends,” he manages to say, although it comes out as a half-whispered croak.

…

“Should we call roadside assistance or something?” you say, skeptically eyeing the wrench in Bradley’s hand.

Bradley gives you an amused look and crouches down before the flat. “You think I’ve never changed a tire?” he calls back over the roar of traffic trying to beat rush hour on the I-10 as he starts to loosen the lug nuts.

“I think you might stain your shirt,” you respond, still sounding hesitant.

“I’ll be careful,” he says, positioning the jack under the Bronco. “Stay back from the road, will ya?” he adds when you walk around the car to observe the flow of traffic.

“I’m looking for a tow truck,” you say absently, craning your neck.

“We don’t need a tow truck,” Bradley replies emphatically. He rises from his squatted position and walks around the vehicle to where you’re standing. “Can you please step back?” he repeats patiently, placing a hand on your arm. “You’re making me nervous.”

You turn to face him, your back to the speeding cars on the freeway. He just missed the last exit when his tire blew, so he had to pull off onto the shoulder, which isn’t the safest place to stop.

“Maybe you should wait inside the car” – like he’d originally suggested – but Bradley doesn’t voice that part.

“I’d rather stretch my legs,” you say, twisting your hips to one side and then the other as though you’re loosening your joints.

Bradley watches you wryly. “Can you stretch them over here?” he asks, pulling you right up to the concrete barrier.

“How’s the tire coming along?” you ask, eyeing the raised back end of the Bronco.

“It’s coming,” Bradley retorts with a smirk. “It’ll come faster if you behave.” In all honesty, Bradley didn’t anticipate the amount of supervision you’d require. Not that he’s averse to keeping an eye on you. After all, you’re pretty easy on the eyes.

You raise your eyebrows at him. “Am I misbehaving?” you ask with a mischievous smile.

Bradley does a double take just as he’s about to go back to attend to the tire. He’s not surprised at the way you’ve interpreted his statement; he meant for it to be misconstrued. Although, now that you’ve responded in kind, he’s sort of speechless, especially since you were giving him the silent treatment not two hours ago.

You push off the barrier and approach him slowly, your eyes holding his gaze temptingly. You place a hand over his chest and Bradley experiences something he imagines is akin to being struck by lightning – but infinitely more enjoyable. You proceed to sweep your fingers over his pecs while Bradley proceeds to dissolve beneath your touch. “You got your shirt dirty,” you say matter-of-factly, as though you might as well be dusting a mantelpiece.

Bradley, very much shaken by this interaction which he’s clearly misread, gulps and takes a hold of your hand before you can continue to brush at him. “It’s an old shirt,” he responds, trying to keep his voice as calm and as steady as he can.

“What if it won’t come clean?” you ask sadly.

Bradley watches you for a moment, captivated and bewildered in equal measure. “I have other shirts,” he reassures you.

“I like this one,” you say, tugging slightly on the lapel.

“Alright, well, I can soak it overnight, I guess.”

“You guess?” you ask reproachfully.

Bradley stares at you in confusion. “Yeah, I guess – listen,” he pauses to emphasize his point. “It’s kind of a dangerous place to be discussing laundry.”

You glance up at him, your eyes searching his. “Are you gonna kiss me, Brad Bradshaw?”

Bradley blacks out for an entire three seconds, then says, “Here?” because he hasn’t even let himself rehearse this type of situation. And now, he’s evidently unprepared. He gulps again but his throat is so dry it feels like he’s been chewing on dust for the last half hour. “Do you want me to?” he stammers.

You shrug, as if you could take it or leave it. “If you want.”

Bradley, so immersed in the moment that he forgets entirely their precarious position on the shoulder of the interstate, blurts out, “I’ve wanted to since the moment you called me the dorkiest guy at the station.”

You giggle. “Is that all it takes?”

“Apparently.”

You take a step closer to him, your eyes drifting down to his chest where you tentatively place your hand right over his heart. “You were also the cutest,” you say, lifting your gaze to meet his again.

Bradley, who’s riding a fine line between delight and delirium, tries to hide his growing grin as he verifies, “You think?”

“With a great sense of style.”

Bradley snorts, picking up on your facetiousness. “Accessories sold separately,” he mutters as you tug on his open Hawaiian shirt. He takes a step toward you obediently.

You eye him mischievously, a staring contest for the ages. “Kinda had my heart set on the whole package.”

Bradley’s insides violently convulse, but he can’t fathom a more pleasant experience. He’d really like to tell you that it’s yours, whatever your heart desires. He’d really like to sink his hands into your hips and pull you in, press himself against you, watch as your lips part in anticipation. And he’d truly give just about anything for a taste of your mouth, of the skin on your neck, of…

He takes a step back, clearing his throat awkwardly. “I – uh – gotta finish this while there’s still light.”

You blink at him in surprise but quickly regain composure. “Sure, of course, sugar,” you respond nonchalantly. “I won’t get in your way.”

Bradley sighs mournfully. “You’re not getting in my way.”

You hold his gaze boldly. “Well, I was about to, wasn’t I?” you retort with a knowing smile.

Bradley briefly closes his eyes. “Yeah,” he admits, opening them back up to look at you. “Yeah, you were.”

You hold your hands up mildly, as if to indicate that you’re conceding. “Won’t happen again, Lieutenant.”

Bradley, who receives this statement with as much disappointment as would a toddler deprived of his Halloween candy, grimaces. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he replies, knowing full well he's bound to break before the two of you ever reach Dallas.

Tag List

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[daisyfieldrecs]

Bradley Bradshaw Fics

Old Habits Die Hard| Series| Warning in Each Chapter| @roosterforme

Right Girl, Wrong Time| Series|Warnings in Each Chapter| @roosterforme

Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw| Series| Warnings in Each Chapter|@roosterforme

Singing in the Sanctuary| Series| Warnings in Each Chapter| @arcane-vagabond

Strangers Like Me| Mini Series| Warnings in Each Chapter| @arcane-vagabond

Amhrán na Farraige| One-Shot| Angst, Smut| @arcane-vagabond

Welcome Home, Rooster Bradshaw.| One-Shot| Smut| @bradshawssugarbaby

Heartbreaks & Happy Birthdays| Angst, Allusions to Smut| @sorchathered

Wrong Number| One-Shot| Fluff, Lil Smut| @roosterforme

Never There| Pt.2| One-Shot| Fluff, Angst, Alllusions to Smut| @bobby-r2d2-floyd

Meet The Teacher| One-Shot| Fluff, Allusions to Smut| @bradshawssugarbaby

Personal Space| One-Shot| Fluff, Allusions to Smut| @warnersister

Mad About the Boy| One-Shot| Smut but not?| @bussyslayer333

There was something ‘bout you| One-Shot| Smut| @bussyslayer333

Off to the races| One-Shot| Smut| @bussyslayer333

Looking for somebody (to love)| One-Shot| Smut| @bussyslayer333

Fell in Luv| One-Shot| Fluff, Allusions to Smut| @bussyslayer333

Untitled| One-Shot| Allusions to Smut| @bussyslayer333

little wallflower| One-Shot| Fluff| @bradshawsbitch

Hotter Than Texas| Pt.2| Two-Shot (?)| Fluff| @tongue-like-a-razor

stranger.| One-Shot| Smut| @promisingyounglady

[rootedinrevisions]

Rooster Comes Home to His Girls

SUMMARY: There are not a ton of plot points, just Husband and Dad Bradley coming home to his girls.

WORD COUNT: 1.4k

WARNINGS: None (Pure fluff on this one)

TAG LIST: IN COMMENTS

A/N: I need something fluffy in my life and saw this picture on Pinterest and the idea just kind of flowed from there. Between everything going on in the country today and the stuff that's been going on in my personal life the past six months or so, I needed some pure, sickeningly sweet fluff. So here it is! Hope you enjoy!

The quiet hum of the baby monitor filled the kitchen as you stood at the sink, rinsing out a bottle. The rhythmic motion had become almost meditative over the past few weeks, a small way to keep yourself grounded while you waited for Bradley to come home. It had been a long deployment, and the days had felt heavier as they passed, each one marked by the absence of his presence, his laugh, his steady, calming voice. Now, he was finally on his way back, and your heart beat faster with every small sound outside, every imagined footstep near the door.

Suddenly, the soft creak of the front door reached your ears, and you froze, breath catching in your throat. You turned just in time to see him step into the house, his duffel bag dropping to the floor as his eyes found yours. For a moment, the world seemed to stop. He looked a little worn, a little tired, but his eyes shone with the same warmth, the same love, that had carried you through his absence. And just like that, the weight you’d been carrying slipped away.

You barely noticed dropping the kitchen towel as you moved toward him, your feet quickening until you were close enough to feel the warmth of him, smell the familiar, comforting scent of his cologne, and the hint of jet fuel that clung to his clothes.

Bradley pulled you into his arms with a gentle strength, as though he was afraid you might break, his hands settling firmly against your back as he held you close.

“I missed you so much,” he murmured, voice rough with emotion as he buried his face in your hair.

His embrace felt like home, solid and sure, grounding you after weeks of doing everything alone. You leaned into him, closing your eyes as his hand gently cradled the back of your head, holding you close, as if he never wanted to let go.

“I missed you too,” you whispered, feeling tears well up as you clutched him tighter, the reality of having him here again making your heart ache in the best way.

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, letting your eyes drink in every detail of his face—the familiar curve of his jaw, the warmth in his gaze, the slight shadow of exhaustion under his eyes.

And then, without a word, he leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss that was soft, tender, and filled with all the words he hadn’t been able to say. You kissed him back, pouring all your relief, your longing, and your love into that moment. His hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb gently brushing away a stray tear as he deepened the kiss, as if he needed to reassure himself that you were really here, that he was really home.

But then, the soft crackle of the baby monitor brought you both back, followed by a familiar whimper, a little cry that quickly turned into a wail. You sighed, feeling the exhaustion return as your mind shifted back to reality. You started to pull away, ready to go to her, but Bradley stopped you, his hand gently catching yours.

“Hey,” he murmured, giving you a soft smile as he looked toward the monitor, where your daughter’s cries continued. “I’ve got it. Let me take care of her.”

You hesitated, feeling the instinct to take over, to keep doing what you’d been doing alone for so long. “Are you sure? I don’t mind—”

But Bradley shook his head, his expression gentle but firm. “You’ve been doing this on your own for weeks. Let me be the dad for a while,” he said softly, his eyes filled with a tenderness that made your heart swell. “You look tired, sweetheart.”

You let out a breath, feeling the truth of those words hit you. “It’s been… a lot, but it’s okay. It’s what I signed up for.”

He gave a small shake of his head, his expression softening into something even more tender. “No, it’s not okay for you to do this alone. Go, relax. Take a bath, take the whole night off. I’ve got her.”

You felt the last bit of tension in your shoulders finally start to ease, the exhaustion you’d been holding back settling over you. You nodded, giving him a grateful smile as you whispered, “Thank you, Bradley.”

He gave your hand a reassuring squeeze before he let go, watching you with that same soft smile as you stepped back, finally allowing yourself to let him take over.

You paused at the doorway, glancing back as he turned and headed down the hall toward the nursery, his broad shoulders silhouetted in the soft glow of the nightlight spilling from your daughter’s room.

You took a deep breath, letting yourself sink into the silence, the weight lifting as you headed to the bathroom. It was strange, letting go of the constant watchfulness, but you trusted him completely. He was here now, and that was all that mattered.

In the bathroom, you ran a warm bath, sinking into the soothing water as the tension slowly faded away. For the first time in weeks, you allowed yourself to truly relax, closing your eyes and letting the warmth envelop you. You didn’t have to be on alert, didn’t have to listen for every small sound—Bradley was here, and he had everything under control.

After a while, you slipped into your pajamas, feeling more refreshed than you had in ages. You padded quietly down the hall, and as you passed the nursery you heard your daughter’s laughter  filling the air.

Quietly, you made your way to the doorway and peeked inside, stopping when you saw Bradley kneeling beside her crib. He had a teddy bear in his hand, making playful growling noises as he wiggled it toward her, his eyes bright with joy. Each time the bear touched her belly, she erupted into giggles, her little hands reaching out to grab it.

You leaned against the doorframe, smiling as you watched them. Bradley’s face softened as he looked at her, all the strength and resolve he usually wore dissolving into pure love. He was so gentle with her, the way he brushed a strand of hair from her face, the way he whispered silly little things to make her laugh as if he was trying to make up for every minute he’d missed while he was away.

You felt a tear slip down your cheek, but you didn’t wipe it away. Moments like this remind you why you fell in love with him in the first place.

Even after everything, the deployments, the late nights, the lonely stretches—you knew he was worth it.

You then watched as he picked her up, bringing her into his arms in a cradling position. He began to sway gently as he whispered to her, his voice a low, soothing murmur. She reached out and curled her little fingers around his thumb, her big, sleepy eyes fixed on him as though she was entranced.

You leaned against the doorway, watching the two of them, your heart full as you took in the sight of your husband cradling his little girl, his own eyes filled with pure love.

“Daddy’s home. I’m so sorry I was gone for so long, but I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere.” He whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Your daughter blinked up at him, her little hand reaching up to touch his face, her tiny fingers brushing against his cheek. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, a tear slipping down his cheek as he held her close.

You felt your own eyes misting as you watched him with her, the quiet love and devotion in his expression a balm to your soul. He looked over, noticing you in the doorway, and gave you a small, tender smile.

“Caught me,” he said softly, a touch of playful warmth in his voice.

You walked over, wrapping your arms around him as he shifted slightly, making room for you to lean in, resting your head against his shoulder as you looked down at your daughter. “I love seeing this side of you,” you whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to his shoulder.

“She’s grown so much,” he murmured, looking over at you with a mixture of pride and sorrow. “I feel like I missed so much.”

You shook your head, stepping closer, resting a hand on his arm. “She’s been waiting for you, Bradley. We both have.”

“I’m here now.” He reached up, his hand covering yours, a silent promise in his touch. The three of you stood there in the soft glow of the nursery, wrapped in a moment of love, peace, and quiet joy—a moment you knew you’d hold close to your heart, long after he had to leave again.

For now, though, he was here, and everything was just as it should be.

[katsu28]

hi Kait!! might i be able to request "Black Dahlia - a lie" with Bradley bradshaw pleaseeee thank you!

ngl i think i got a little too carried away with this but man oh man did i have fun, pls enjoy!

black dahlia: a lie, bradley "rooster" bradshaw x reader, rooster is a total simp, 2.3k

Rooster had a staring problem. Sometimes he spaced out in the middle of a training debrief without realizing he was looking straight at Phoenix the whole time, sometimes his furrowed brows made Maverick think he was angry at something when in reality he was just focused. Sometimes he creeped random people out because he just…didn’t know he was staring. 

But most times, the unsuspecting focus of his staring was you. There was just something about you that had his eyes searching for you in every room he entered, drew his eyes to you every time you entered. He just couldn’t help it. Everything about you, from the way you laughed, to the way that you said his name, to the way your eyes sparkled when you smiled at him. Even the way you elbowed him in the ribs when he made a terrible joke had him hooked on you. 

And you had no idea. 

“Rooster. Rooster, you didn't laugh at my—what are you even looking at?” Hangman sounded deflated, but once his eyes tracked Rooster’s line of sight to you he knew what was going on in that feathery nicknamed brain of his friend. He’d known it pretty much all along. It was an unspoken thing, but he knew. Everyone knew. Everyone except you, apparently. 

“Oh, I see it now. You don’t like my jokes as much as you like Y/N.”

Rooster tore his gaze from where you were chatting with Penny at the bar to see Hangman with his hands on his hips, looking entirely too smug. “Sorry, what?” His ears had picked up the blond man’s jest, but surely he’d heard it wrong. 

“There’s no shame in admitting it. You have a crush on her.” 

“I’m not ashamed, I’m just—” 

“So you do have a crush!” 

Rooster scowled, brows pinching in the middle as he gripped the neck of his beer a little tighter. “I’m a grown man, I don’t have a crush.” 

“So you’re in love.” 

“What? No, I’m not—we’re…friends, that’s it.” 

“You’re a terrible liar, Bradshaw.” Phoenix cut in, poking him in the gut with the end of her pool cue. “Cut the shit and let us know how you really feel.” 

There really wasn’t any way out of this other than to tell the truth, so he sighed. “Okay, so maybe—just maybe—I might possibly have some feelings for Y/N.” 

“Yeah, and those feelings are called love,” Hangman said smugly, an ever present smirk gracing his face once again. He wasn’t wrong. He was actually right on the money, but Rooster would be damned if he let that son of a bitch know he was right. 

“Screw you, Hangman. I’m not talking about this anymore.” 

He thought he must’ve sounded more serious than he’d intended, because Hangman actually shut up for once, zipping his lips with an imaginary key before miming throwing it over his shoulder. Phoenix just nodded, knowing well enough not to push her luck with the subject. 

Nothing about the conversation was mentioned the rest of the night, especially not when you’d made your way back over to the group of them and stayed for a while. Rooster almost forgot about it until a few days later. 

Flight training had let out for the day a little later than usual, nearing half past seven when the pilots were finally trailing into the parking lot to go home. 

“Up for a round at the Hard Deck, fellas?” Hangman offered. There were a few mumbled declines to the invitation scattered amongst the squad and he looked disappointed. Leave it to Hangman to still have energy for a beer after the grueling day they’d all just had. 

Rooster had half a mind to say no too. All he wanted to do was go home and sit on the couch and probably do nothing for the rest of the night, that’s how tired he was. He wandered towards where he’d parked the Bronco this morning, getting almost halfway there when he heard Hangman’s voice again. 

“Phoenix, c’mon, I know you’ll do me a solid this time. I’ll buy. I’ll even let you win at pool!” 

“No can do, Bagman, I’m in a time crunch—gotta get to Y/N’s house.” 

Upon hearing your name, Rooster froze, willing himself to walk away, but his curiosity won out very quickly. He turned around as casually as he could, hiking his duffel a little higher on his shoulder. “Everything okay?” 

“Yeah, she’s fine. She asked to borrow a necklace for her date tonight, so I gotta pop over there before she heads out.” Phoenix shrugged, patting her jacket pocket. Rooster couldn’t help the way his eyebrows flew up in surprise and she noticed, knowing smile already gracing her lips. “Everything okay with you, Bradshaw?” 

“Fine. It’s, uh—no, yeah everything’s good.” He mumbled, clearing his throat. Hangman coughed from behind him, sounding suspiciously like ‘bullshit’, but Rooster paid him no mind. He was more focused on the fact you were going on a date with someone else. Someone that wasn’t him. 

Then again, who the fuck did he think he was, having some kind of bullshit thoughts about who you went out with. He had no right, he knew that. But that didn’t stop him from feeling like he’d just been punched in the gut. 

“Hey, why don’t I drop it off for you?” He blurted, pressing his lips into a thin smile. Phoenix looked confused. He was confused at himself too, honestly. What the hell was he doing? “I just, I mean your place is the opposite way and I’m gonna pass her neighborhood anyways, so…I can do it.” Now she looked amused. 

“Since when did you get all helpful and shit?” 

“Pretty sure I’ve always been helpful.” 

“You sure there’s no other reason why you’re volunteering to see her? None at all? Maybe one starting with L and rhyming with shove?” Hangman chimed in, grinning wickedly. Phoenix nodded in agreement, her smile now mirroring his. 

“I’ll shove you, Hangman. Shut up.” Rooster said sharply. He turned his gaze back to Phoenix. “No. No other reason. I’ll drop it off on my way home and that’s it.” 

It was a bold faced lie and he knew his friends saw right through it, but he didn’t really care. 

“Okay. Suit yourself.” She shrugged, fishing the necklace out of her pocket and pouring it into his outstretched hand. “Would ya look at that, Bagman? Looks like I’m free to beat you at pool after all.” 

“I’m not buying you a beer anymore, that was a one time offer and it’s expired,” Hangman protested, much to Phoenix’s chagrin because she scoffed. 

“Like hell it has! You promised a free beer and a win, I expect you to deliver. But make an effort to play fair, don’t just throw the game ‘cause that wouldn’t be a good look for me.” 

Rooster could hear their bickering until he hopped into his car, but he peeled out of the parking lot in a blink, on the move to you. 

He didn’t have a wisp of a plan in his mind when he pulled to a stop in front of your place. His hands shook where they were clenched around the steering wheel and he was sweating a little bit, but he had no idea what he was going to say to you. He just knew he needed to say something. 

Five minutes and countless unhelpful self pep talks later, Rooster was finally ringing the doorbell, necklace in his pocket but still no clearer on what his end goal was. His mind went even more blank when you opened the door, because shit, you were breathtaking. 

You had on a pretty dress in his favorite color and you were adjusting the strap of your heel when you laid eyes on him standing on your doorstep. Putting aside the confusion on your face at the sight of him and not Phoenix, Rooster would rank this as one of his favorite moments ever. 

“Bradley?” You sounded concerned, nose crinkled to match. “What are you doing here?” 

“Uh…” He trailed off, probably sounding completely stupid as he blinked at you dumbfoundedly. You said his name again, a little louder this time, and he snapped out of it. 

He dug around in his pocket clumsily until his fingers closed around the delicate chain and pulled it out, letting it dangle from his hand as he held it out. “Nat asked me to swing this by on my way home from base.” He didn’t want to tell you it was actually him who insisted on being the one to save the day. That would sound too weird, maybe even borderline creepy. 

Your eyes lit up at the sight of your awaited necklace and you beamed, beckoning him into your front hallway. “You’re the sweetest, Bradley. Thank you so much, you really didn’t have to detour.” 

“S’no problem. What’s a few more minutes on the road to help a friend?” 

“Maybe a few more minutes.” You said sheepishly, looking a tad embarrassed. “D’you—would you mind helping me put it on? I’ve never been good at clasping them on my own.” 

“Oh! Uh, yeah. Sure.” He moved behind you, trying not to inhale too sharply when you moved your hair off your neck. God, all he wanted to do was whirl you around and kiss you. Instead, he decided to make some small talk to get his mind out of where it shouldn’t have been in the first place. “So…you’re going on a date. With who? Maybe I know ‘em.” 

“Probably not. He’s not Navy, I met him at the gym a few weeks ago. His name’s Vinny. He’s a boxer.” 

Vinny. Sounded like an asshole name. 

“Didn’t know boxers were your type.” He said casually, working deftly to latch the tiny hook. 

“Yeah?” You sounded amused. “And what exactly do you think my type is?” 

Me, he wanted to say. But he held his tongue, instead opting for a noise of nonchalance. 

“That’s a shame. Would’ve thought you of all people would know.” 

“Why?” 

“You’ve always seemed to know me best.” You said simply. Rooster’s fingers fumbled the clasp in surprise. “When I’m down, you always know how to make me smile. When I’m upset, you seem to know exactly what’ll help. You know everything I like, everything I hate. You know me like the back of your hand. How is that?” 

“I…pay attention.” 

“So that means you know Hangman’s favorite song? Fanboy’s comfort movie? What about Phoenix and Bob’s secret handshake?” You weren’t facing him, so he had no idea if you were being serious or not, but he was stumped. 

His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, brain scrambling for any shred of an excuse for not knowing any of those answers. He paid attention, yes, but only to you. Rooster’s fingers brushed along your bare shoulder softly in lieu of a response, too tender of a moment for two friends to be sharing. 

“Don’t go.” He breathed. You froze, and Rooster swore it was the longest few seconds in his life. But then you turned around, wide eyes searching for his. Your lips parted like you were about to say something, but he shook his head, inhaling a shaky breath. “Don’t go on that date.” 

“Why?” Your voice was impossibly quiet, so much so that he wouldn’t have heard you say anything at all had you not been this close to each other. 

“Because when Phoenix mentioned it, I felt like I’d just done an inverted dive. And not in a good way, I’m talking about the ‘I’m about to puke’ feeling. Because I can’t stop thinking about you even though I should be thinking about anything else, because I don’t know what I’d do if we weren’t friends. Because I don’t wanna be just friends anymore.” Rooster admitted, trying to keep his voice as steady as possible. He was too far in now to quit and run away with his tail between his legs. This was happening, whether it was a good idea or not. “Because…I’m in love with you.” 

You just blinked at him slowly, processing his words the best you could. He could practically see the wheels turning in your head, and it did nothing to quell the ball of nerves turning over in the pit of his stomach. 

Forget what he was feeling earlier—this was definitely the longest few seconds of his life. It felt more like an eternity. 

He was about to apologize, to say sorry for dumping out his feelings for you right before you were about to go on a date with someone else, but you beat him to the punch with something much, much better. 

You grabbed him by the collar of his jacket and you kissed him. Hard. 

More surprised than anything, it took him a beat to register what was actually happening, but his hands slid around your waist to splay across your back when it finally sunk in. He backed you against the nearest wall, but took special care in slipping a hand behind your head so it didn’t bounce off it, all while never letting his mouth leave yours. Your hands found their way to his broad shoulders, roaming around the expanse of flexed muscle shifting under your palms. 

It wasn’t the perfect kiss. It was clumsy and messy and a little overexcited, but it was perfect to Rooster. He could only hope you were thinking the same. 

He finally (albeit reluctantly) pulled away a bit, just enough to give you some air. “What do you think? Are you—does this mean what I think it means?” 

You smiled, linking your hands behind his neck. “I think…I’ve come down with a nasty case of food poisoning and I need to cancel my date.” You said softly.

Rooster nodded solemnly. “And I think I should stay. Y’know, in case you need anything during this awful bout of said food poisoning.” 

“That’s a good idea.”

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[call-mi-jinx]

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw

smut=✮, fluff=❀, angst= ☁︎

Oneshots

I’m Here Honey❀

Her❀

Series

Endless Love✮❀☁︎

[halfway-happyyy]

into gold IV {rooster bradshaw}

synopsis: rooster bradshaw’s emotional baggage could fill a cargo container ten times over. he is the single father of a precocious and bubbly six-year-old, and despite his best efforts, has fallen head over heels for someone arguably more damaged than him- his daughter’s first grade teacher.

characters- bradley ‘rooster’ bradshaw, frankie bradshaw, female ooc scout wallis (she/her pronouns)

or- the one where they break each other's hearts.

word count- 3200+

part one

part two

part three

Scout spends the better part of her Saturday evening declining drinks from what she can only assume are some of San Diego’s finest gentlemen. So, she is surprised to find that come one o’clock in the morning, her entire world is spinning on its axis with no intention of letting up anytime soon. She reckons it might have been the three tequila shots taken at her grade partner (and dear friend) Lou’s behest. It could also have had something to do with the whiskey flight she consumed that Lou had ordered but never actually touched. Whatever it was, has led her out into the balmy evening air, with her finger poised precariously above Rooster’s phone number.

All the text messages he’d sent since the last time they shared dinner, had gone woefully unanswered. Scout could easily pin the blame on ‘end of the year chaos’ but something told her he’d see right through it. Someone bumps into her from behind just then, causing her finger to graze the number and with a sudden gasp, she hits decline. For a moment she thinks she’s successful; the moment passes, and her phone begins to vibrate with Rooster’s incoming call.

“Hello?” She hiccups.

“Scout, are you alright?” He immediately sounds concerned.

Fighting the bile rising in her throat, she takes a breath of fresh air, but all she gets is a lungful of acrid cigarette smoke- compliments of the young woman standing a little too close to her.

“Hey, I know this is a long shot because we haven’t spoken in a while and it’s totally okay if you can’t because of Frankie, but I was wondering if you would be able to pick me up?”

If she were any less inebriated, she might have heard his feet hitting the hardwood floor beneath his bed. She might have heard him bounding down the staircase, or the jangle of his car keys as he fished them out of the ceramic bowl in the front hallway.

“Frankie’s with Mav and Penny tonight. Where exactly are you?”

Scout turns to the person beside her and asks where they are. “I think it’s called the Whiskey House?”

She hears the Bronco roar to life in the background. “Alright, hang tight Scout. I’ll be there in about thirteen minutes, give or take.”

A sudden rush of loud music emanates from the open door as Lou stumbles out next to her. She wraps her arms around her frame and kisses her cheek, and Scout’s grateful for the cuddle as it helps to ward off the evening chill.

“How are ya, kiddo?” Lou asks.

A violent shiver wracks her before she hiccups and says, “I’ve been better. Who knew tequila and whiskey weren’t friends?”

Lou laughs. “We’ve always known that haven’t we? But rules go out the window when we play.” Reaching into her clutch, she retrieves a cigarette, positions it between her perfectly stained lips and lights it. “How will you get home?”

Scout’s bashful gaze travels to the ground and Lou laughs, breathlessly.

“You absolute minx. You called him, didn’t you?”

Scout’s cheeks burn and she nods. “Yeah. I did.”

“Good for you,” Lou takes a drag off her smoke and nods her head in approval. “He’s a good egg, Scout.”

Scout swallows. “How can you tell?”

Lou’s gaze drifts to her; there is something unreadable in those beautiful orbs of hers. “Well, for as long as I’ve known you, you’ve built up walls around your heart. And for good reason, I suppose.” She takes another drag and rests her head against the black brick of the building. “I can only imagine what losing a husband does to someone. But for as much as you want to resist it, you have let him, and Frankie dismantle some of those walls.”

Scout wants to say something else, but a wave of vertigo washes over her and she must lean against the wall to keep from losing her balance. The Bronco rolls to a stop in front of the bar. Rooster cuts the engine and joins Lou and Scout outside the entrance. And- goddamn, the man is a sight for sore eyes.

“Fun night?” He simpers and leans in to give Lou a quick hug. “Happy birthday, Miss Rutherford. Do you have a ride home?”

Lou ashes out the rest of her cigarette beneath the heel of her worn cowboy boot. “Sure do, thanks Rooster.”

“Of course.” His gaze travels to Scout’s, assessing her level of inebriation. “Let’s get you home, hmm?”

Lou presses another kiss to Scout’s cheek. “See you on Monday, sweet Scout. I do love you.”

Scout grins drunkenly at her friend. “I hope that you had the best birthday, Loumeister.”

Rooster helps her into the passenger seat, gently buckles her in and then settles in beside her. She mumbles her address to him, and then they’re off. Halfway through the ride, she asks if she can have the window down, knowing that the cool evening air will do wonders for the waves of nausea roiling in her belly. Rooster does as he’s asked and then says, “Scout if you think you’re going to be sick, you need to let me know, alright? Because I can pull over, I just need to know.”

She shakes her head, already feeling much better with the brisk saltwater breeze in her face.

“Don’t worry babe, I won’t be sick.” She murmurs, sleepily.

The term of endearment had been an accidental slip, but if she had been any less inebriated, she would have seen the smile that nearly split Rooster’s face in half.

When he gently shakes her awake fifteen minutes later, she is disoriented. He helps her from the car and holding her by the hand, leads her up the stone path to the front door of her duplex. When she drops the keys twice trying to fit them into the lock, he picks them up, unlocks the door, and follows her into the front foyer. Shrugging the jean jacket from her shoulders, he hangs it up in the front hall closet and follows her down the darkened hallway to her bedroom.

“I should go.” He murmurs.

And that’s the last thing that she wants, so she tries her luck a final time. “Please don’t.”

Regarding her in the low morning light, he finally relents. “Okay, Scout. I won’t.”

She tells him to come in after sixty seconds have passed. Shutting the door behind her, she frantically kicks stray pieces of clothing under her bed. Changing into a pair of pajama pants and a worn tank top, Rooster enters her room just after she’s thrown the last sock into the wicker hamper by her bed. She taps the space of made-up sheets next to her. “Let’s talk.” She yawns.

Rooster hesitates but does as he’s told and settles down next to her. “I’m not sure how much talking we’re about to do.”

“I’m sorry I’ve been so silent lately.” Scout whispers.

Rooster shakes his head. “No apologies.”

She gazes at him, and though her thoughts are the farthest they’ve been from sharp in a long time, she doesn’t think she’s ever seen someone more clearly.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you it was rude to stare?” He whispers, his honeyed voice is thick with the weight of looming sleep.

Scout smiles. “You have the most beautiful eyes, has anyone ever told you that?”

The smile fades from Rooster’s face, and the razor-thin scars on his cheeks stand out amongst the blush that floods them.

“Thank you for picking me up tonight.”

Rooster nods against the pillow. “That’s what friends are for, right?”

“Oh, poppycock.” Scout yawns.

“Poppycock? What are you, eighty?”

She shrugs. “Maybe.”

“You look amazing for eighty.”

She attempts a wink. “My plastic surgeon is a wizard.”

It’s silent for a little while before Rooster clears his throat. “That’s what we are though, Scout. We’re friends. And there isn’t much I wouldn’t do for a friend.”

And in her alcohol-induced drowsiness, Scout doesn’t realize she’s mumbled, “But I’ve always wanted more than that with you, Rooster,” out loud.

She wakes up the next morning to a dull throbbing behind her eyes- nothing a strong cup of coffee can’t remedy. The expanse of the bed next to her is empty, and she wonders if she dreamt Rooster had been there with her at all. It had seemed so real at the moment; the heady warmth of his hand in hers, the subtle dip in the mattress from his weight as he laid down beside her. She wonders then, with a fleeting feeling of shame, if she had said something to him in the clutches of whiskey that made him leave. With a sigh, she gets out of bed in search of coffee. To her amazement, Rooster is seated at the kitchen island, and when he sees her, he sets his phone down and offers her a slow smile.

“I was beginning to wonder when you might surface.”

She stands on tiptoes to retrieve two mugs from the cupboard beside the fridge.

“I thought I’d dreamt you.”

He clears his throat. “You didn’t. But if you require further confirmation, I could pinch you.”

She laughs. “No need. How do you take your coffee?”

“Black, please.”

It’s silent in the kitchen while she focuses most of her energy on making their drinks. There are a million things she could say, but none of them feel quite right so she settles for, “I’m sorry for last night.”

Rooster waves it off. “It’s not a problem, Scout. I was happy that you got a hold of me- happy to know that I was able to take you to a safe place.”

When she turns to view him in the growing morning light, she wonders for the first time, what it would have been like to meet him at the right time. She does her best then, to ignore the voice in her head that says, but now is the right time, Scout.

“Can I be honest with you about something, Scout?” Rooster asks.

She tries to fend off the sudden feeling of unease as she pours cream into her coffee. Joining him at the island, she slides his mug over and nods her head.

He purses his lips as if trying to figure out the best way to go about it all. “I don’t think that I can be just friends with you.”

Scout knows then that this is it; knows that if she can’t decide one way or the other, she will likely lose him and Frankie forever.

Rooster clears his throat. “And friends would be one thing- but Scout, I can’t even get you to respond to my messages.” Guilt manifests as a hard lump in the hollow of her throat. “I’m laying this all out on the line for you because I’ve had my fair share of loss and it’s made me hyper-aware of what I want for my life, and what I don’t want.”

She’s on the precipice of throwing it all in for him; she was there last night. But something is holding her back. Perhaps it’s the idea of finally having everything she’s ever dreamed of, and then having it all ripped away in the blink of an eye again that scares her so much.

“I was pregnant,” Scout says, softly. And she isn’t doing this for sympathy; she’s doing it because if she doesn’t get it off her chest, it may just crush her one day.

Rooster blanches and the color drains from his face.

She continues, knowing that if she stops, she may never start again. “I found out two weeks before Beau passed. I had meant to tell him, but then the mission happened, and I figured it would have been a pretty good welcome home surprise.” Scout swallows. “But then he died, and every fibre of my being wanted to die too. But I had the baby to think of. Even though it was only ever just going to be the two of us, I knew we’d be alright.” She clears the emotion building in her throat. “But when I went in for my next scan, they failed to find a heartbeat. And when I left the clinic that afternoon, it was just me again.”

Sorrow washes from Rooster in palpable waves.

“So, I know a thing or two about loss as well, Rooster. I know what it can rob a person of.”

Time, love, life.

“I am so sorry, Scout.”

She shakes her head. “That’s life Rooster. It’s no one’s fault. But I’m not there yet; I don’t think I’m capable of giving you and Frankie the kind of love you deserve.”

Words are meaningless after that; the shattered look in Rooster’s eyes says everything he can’t. He parts only after he's pressed a last, lingering kiss on her cheek. Scout feels the sharp knife of his absence immediately; where sunshine followed in his wake, a shadow now looms over her. She retreats to the darkened stillness of her room, crawling back under the weighted protection of her covers. After a while, her eyelids grow heavy and she gives in to the alluring siren song of sleep.

When she stirs awake hours later, her room is still bathed in the same indigo hue from the morning. She reaches over to the space of bed beside her, where Rooster’s body had been hours earlier and the ache to have him back in her orbit again is almost overwhelming. Something flips inside of her; and before she can talk herself out of it, she’s en route to Rooster’s house. She’s had the entire ride there to formulate what she would say to him when she saw him again, but the minute he opens the door to her, any semblance of an explanation evaporates into thin air. She almost expects him to be angry with her, but he’s anything but.

“I’d be out of my mind to let the two of you go, Rooster.”

This is me, laying everything out on the line for you.

In one swift motion, he has her pinned against the wall of the front hallway. His warm, slightly calloused hands (a product of working on planes in his spare time) caress her face as if it were the most precious thing in the world. His lips hover mere inches away from her own, and she shivers in anticipation as his breath washes over her in warm waves. He searches her gaze for anything in her eyes that might tell him to stop, and when he doesn’t find it, he gets closer to her still.

A small, wet cough sounds in the distance behind them, and Rooster pulls away from her as if he’s touched fire.

“Papa, I threw up.”

Frankie’s raw, fragile voice shatters the tension as if it were glass. Her Moana nightgown is covered in pink vomit, almost as if someone had thrown a full bottle of pepto bismol at her.

Rooster's transition into dad mode is seamless as he bends down to press a kiss to her forehead. “Oh, sweetheart. Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?”

His sympathetic gaze travels to Scout’s. “Do you mind getting her into the tub while I change her bed?”

Scout shakes her head. “Not at all,” She walks over to where Frankie stands and takes hold of her small, clammy hand. “Come on, Frankie. I know just what to do to help you feel better.”

Once in the bathroom, Scout helps Frankie rid herself of her soiled nightgown and gets her into the warm, bubble-filled bath. She watches the little girl carefully, searching for any sign that she may be sick again. “How’s your tummy doing, Frank?” She asks.

Frankie settles back into the lavender suds and sighs. “It’s much better now, Scout. I think I ate too much bubblegum ice cream before bed.”

Scout lets out a small, relieved laugh. “I’d say so.”

They’re quiet a moment before Frankie asks why Scout’s at their house so late.

Scout shrugs. “I missed you guys.” And it’s god’s honest truth.

This answer seems to satiate her because all she says in response is, “We missed you too, Scout.”

By the time she’s finished getting her cleaned up, Frankie’s eyes have started closing on their own volition. Scout manages to get her out of the tub, dried off and into fresh pajamas before she’s comatose. Rooster tucks his girl in, and they’re about to leave before Frankie’s tiny, mouse-like voice rings out into the humid air before them. “Please stay, Scout.”

“Of course I will, Frankie.” She squeezes Rooster’s hand, knowing that as soon as the little girl is asleep, she’ll find her way to his room.

“Goodnight, Papa.”

Rooster smiles. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“Alright, scooch over kid,” Scout whispers, climbing into bed next to her. Frankie’s head fits perfectly into the rounded nook of her shoulder blade, and the notion of it causes a happy tear to gather in the corner of her eye.

“Will you tell me a story Scout?”

She realizes now that the chances of ever denying Frankie of anything are entirely non-existent. “Anything you want, Frank.”

A persistent banging on the front door downstairs jolts Scout from a surprisingly sound sleep. She waits to see if the noise has roused Rooster yet, and when it doesn't, she peels herself from under Frankie’s impossibly warm body to investigate. Tiptoeing down the stairs, the banging grows ever louder. “I’m coming!” She calls out, somewhat irritated. It can’t be any later than seven o’clock in the morning. With a sigh, she swings open the door to reveal a beautiful, waifish blonde woman on the front porch. They stare at each other expectantly, and the longer Scout looks, the more she realizes how much Frankie resembles this woman.

“Can I help you?” Scout asks.

The woman scoffs. She’s about to answer when Frankie’s girlish squeal reveals her identity.

“Mommy!”

Scout doesn’t have time to register this information before the woman pushes past her to gather Frankie into her tan arms. She peppers the little girl with kisses and then turns to Scout, her expression disgusted.

“I’m Frankie’s mother. I’m taking care of her until Bradley returns from some sort of work thing.”

A mission.

An invisible trapdoor opens beneath Scout and she’s powerless to do anything but tumble right down through it.

Rooster appears from out of nowhere then, his beautiful brown eyes wide with shock and anger. “Sara, we’ve been over this before; you cannot just show up here like this,” His helpless gaze travels to Scout’s. “Scout, I can explain, just please don’t leave.” He pleads.

Scout’s mouth is void of any moisture; she couldn’t bring herself to say much even if she wanted to. She grabs the car keys next to Rooster’s and turns to Frankie, and all she can manage is, “You feel better today, Frank?”

The little girl nods her head, with tears swimming in her eyes.

Scout swallows back her own tears. “That’s good. Remember to tell Papa to keep on top of your medicine if your tummy starts hurting again, okay?”

Frankie nods and reaches both arms out for Scout to take her. Scout shakes her head, clears her throat and kisses her goodbye.

She doesn’t allow her tears to fall the way they need to until she’s put as much distance between herself and Rooster Bradshaw as possible.

[fiction-is-life]

Love Rooster, and this is so good!!

note: this is a blurb i wanted to write using a prompt from the winter wonderland sleepover because i wanted to add rooster to my masterlist.

prompt: “Don’t you ever do that again!”

warnings: not proofread, basically a rewrite of one of the scenes in top gun maverick but reader is taking maverick's place

❀ masterlist ❀

you first thought it was bad when rooster ran out of flares and you had to swoop in to cover him with your own. you then realized it got worse when you felt the impact of the missile slamming into your engine. it only continued to go downhill from there.

now, you were running through the snowy forest trying to get to rooster. you thought you'd lost him for a second earlier and your efforts had been for nothing when his fighter took a hit. however, relief soon found you when you saw his parachute. when you laid eyes on him, he was pulling off his parachute and beginning to bury it.

one second, you were filled with concern for him.

"are you okay?" you shouted as you ran closer to him.

"yeah, i'll manage."

the next second, you were angry.

your body showed no signs of slowing and you ran right into him with purpose, pushing him down.

he took off his helmet and looked at you incredulously. "what the hell?"

"what are you doing here?" you asked, your anger clear in your tone.

rooster had never felt more confused. "what am i doing here?"

"yes, what are you doing here? i didn't take that missile for you to be down here with me. you should be back on the carrier by now!" your eyes held a blazing fire that rooster had never seen before.

his brows dropped to a furrow as he tilted his head down a bit more to be at your eye level. "i saved your life."

"i saved your life," you challenged loudly, taking a step closer to him. "what the hell were you thinking?"

rooster inched closer as well, very much invading your personal space, but neither of you cared. "mav told us not to think!"

"i know!" you cried out, "why do you think i did that?!"

"i don't know, but don't you ever do that again!"

there was an intense moment between the two of you as you stared one another down. your breaths mingled together due to your proximity and your chests rose and fell quickly with them. both your eyes and his bounced between the others, each of you waiting for the other to do or say something.

it was ultimately you who broke the staring match.

it was like your body was acting before your brain could tell it what to do. you stepped the last little bit closer and wrapped your arms around his neck, letting out a sigh you hadn't realized you were holding in.

rooster wasted no time in circling his arms around your waist.

"you scared the shit out of me," you whispered, squeezing him a little tighter.

rooster's light chuckle made you feel a little bit better. "you scared the shit out of me first," he uttered before pulling back ever so slightly to look you in the eyes. "are you okay?"

"yeah," you tell him, trying to inspire confidence, though your voice doesn't match your intentions. you're scared and you know he is too, but you can't be scared right now. you both need to get back to the carrier. "so, any ideas on how to get out of here?"

"i was kind of hoping you had something," rooster commented, a small grin on his lips, "there's a reason your callsign is murdock. you're our daredevil. one of your crazy plans would be great right now."

a light laugh fell from your lips as you both pulled away fully from each other. your eyes search the trees around you while you wait for inspiration to strike. then, it hits you.

"if a crazy plan is what you want," you preface, reaching for rooster's arm to pull him in the direction you were going, "then a crazy plan is what you will get."

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[romerona]

https://www.tumblr.com/romerona/779775449552371712/ethera-operation?source=share

Omgg do you have the charlie angels reader draft?!?! If so, could you post it someday? I LOVE charlies angels ✨️✨️.

Heyyy, so, yessss I do have a small one shot I think? I never thought would see the light of day, so I polished it a bit because I am more than happy to share itttt, actually thank you for asking lol <3<3<3

Only Angels fly this high!

Bradley Bradshaw x Charlie's Angel reader!

You were never just Maverick’s daughter.

You were the girl who swept your district's science fair four years straight, the one who could solve a Rubik's cube in under sixty seconds without even looking flustered. You knew every Avenger’s and DC's origin story by heart, had an unshakable love for Aragorn and your textbooks, and could quote Star Wars like scripture.

With your braces gleaming, frizzy ponytails bouncing, and socks that never once matched, you were a walking storm of heart, brilliance, and sunshine. A true geek with a gymnast's poise, a mind too quick to sit still, and a laugh that could fill a room before you even entered it. You were fire and fizz and full of wonder— Pete Maverick Mitchell's daughter, sure, but unmistakably, undeniably you.

When your dad disappeared on those long, classified missions—off saving the world in ways you weren’t allowed to know, you just packed your bag like clockwork and headed to one of two places. Sometimes, it was to your godfather, Uncle Ice, who’d ruffle your hair and tell you, with that steady calm of his, that even though you hardly looked like your dad, you had the same fire in your eyes. The same stubborn spark. The same refusal to back down. He said it like a compliment, like a promise. You loved him deeply, truly. He was a quiet sort of anchor, a man who never needed many words to make you feel seen.

But most of the time, you went to the Bradshaws’.

Carol always welcomed you like one of her own, with a warm smile, a hug that smelled like fresh laundry and vanilla, and a plate of something home-cooked waiting on the table. Over time, their house became your second home, the place where you memorized the sound of their old floorboards and where you felt safest when the sky felt just a little too big.

And then there was Bradley.

Older. Cooler. Already growing into the kind of person you could only dream of becoming. He had this effortless way about him—music in his ears, sun in his smile, the kind of person that made rooms quieter and your heart louder. You followed him around with books hugged to your chest, spilling facts about superheroes and black holes, always hoping he'd listen—and he did.

He never rolled his eyes. Never made you feel silly for talking too much or knowing too many things. He let you tag along, called you “kid” with a grin that somehow didn’t sting, and made you feel like being exactly who you were, loud laugh, wild ideas, frizzy hair and all, was something worth being proud of.

You adored him.

Not in a way that needed anything in return, but in that pure, clumsy way that only happens when someone older and kinder and just out of reach shows you what it feels like to be seen.

When Bradley left for college, you told yourself not to miss him. You tried to tuck the ache away somewhere quiet, somewhere small, behind schoolwork, hobbies, competitions and all the things you used to ramble about to him when he’d pretend not to listen but always did. It wasn’t just that he left; it was that things changed.

You only saw him once after that. At Carol’s funeral. The air that day was thick with loss, the kind you could feel in your throat. You spotted him across the room—older, more tired, a stranger in the shape of someone you used to adore. You exchanged a look. Maybe a nod. Nothing more. Heavy. Wordless.

Calls stopped. Messages faded. And after the falling-out between him and your dad, whatever thread had quietly tied the two of you together just… vanished.

But even as time tugged Bradley further away, you never drifted from your dad. If anything, you clung to him tighter. You sent him everything—snapshots of you mid-flip in your gymnastics uniform, shaky videos of your band performing at school, newspaper articles of your victories, long, rambling letters from chess tournaments detailing every single move like it was a mission report. When you got your college acceptance letter, you didn’t just call him, you sent a copy with a doodle you’d drawn of the two of you in matching aviator sunglasses, grinning like dorks.

Because he wasn’t just your dad. He was your rock. Your anchor. Your hero in a flight suit. And no matter how many people came and went, how many versions of yourself you outgrew, he was always the one constant, the voice on the other end of the line who never once stopped believing in you.

And then… you became something more.

Charlie's Angel.

Not long after you started college out in California, with wide eyes and ambition for your future, you were approached by a curious agency. The Townsend Agency. It wasn’t like anything you expected. There were no job postings or open interviews. Just a whisper, a test, and then a door you didn’t even know was there opened right in front of you.

What followed was a whirlwind training that pushed your body to its limits, missions that tested your mind and your morals, and partnerships that carved something fierce and beautiful into your soul. You weren’t alone in it, either. There were two other girls—no, women—who became your teammates, your family, your sisters in everything but blood. Together, the three of you tackled the impossible. Missions took you all over the world—scaling rooftops, decoding encrypted files on the fly, surviving car chases, shootouts, betrayal. It was thrilling. Dangerous. Meaningful. Just the kind of beautiful chaos you lived for. Like a good Mitchell. You always did love flying close to the sun.

That being said… you still haven’t told your dad.

Not because you didn’t want to. You did… do. You’ve come close a dozen times, standing at the edge of the truth with your phone in hand or your heart in your throat, thinking this is it. But it never felt quite right.

Because how do you tell Maverick, the legendary naval aviator, your fighter pilot of a father, that his little girl became a spy?

Not a doctor or a lawyer or a quiet observer behind a desk. No, you became an Angel, a full-blown, off-the-books, world-saving, chaos-wrangling secret agent. You jump out of planes sometimes without a parachute, trusting only your timing and a teammate’s hand to catch you. You've fought trained mercenaries twice your size in the back alleys of foreign cities. You’ve disarmed bombs with ten seconds left on the clock. Posed as arms dealers, infiltrated corrupt corporations, survived car crashes, scaled a glass building in Dubai with nothing but suction grips and nerves, hotwired a moving car in Paris while dodging sniper fire.

And somehow still walked away—bloody, bruised, but grinning with your sisters.

How do you sit your dad down and say, “Hey, remember how you used to panic when I scraped my knee on the monkey bars? Well, now I carry lockpicks in my heels and can kill a man with a paperclip.”

Your friends tell you to just do it. “He’ll understand,” they say. “He’s military. He gets it, he's done dangerous things all his life."

But you know better.

He was a father first. He always had been, even when he wasn’t physically there, even when he was halfway around the world, flying high above everything. His heart was always anchored to you. You were his little girl, his sunshine, his soft spot in a hard-edged world, who checked your helmet twice before you could ride a bike, who made you text the second you got somewhere, worried when you scraped your knee, when you stayed up too late studying.

He was Maverick. Top Gun. Hero to most. But to you, he was just Dad.

So no, it’s not easy. Not when you know the truth will make his pulse spike and his mind race to every worst-case scenario. Not when you can still picture his face the day you fell off the beam at your gymnastics meet and he looked like the world had ended.

But still… there’s a part of you that hopes—when the moment comes, when you do tell him—he won’t just see the danger. He’ll see the strength, the purpose, the pride.

That somewhere deep down, the Maverick in him will recognize the Angel in you... Today is not that day, though.

Not when you’ve finally managed to visit after months apart—not because you didn’t want to come sooner, but because life had a funny way of keeping you both busy. His schedule was packed with flights and trainings and whatever top-secret projects still pulled at the edges of his life. Yours… well, yours was classified. Let’s just say saving the world tends to mess with your calendar.

But now, with a rare stretch of time off, you showed up at his hangar-home like no time had passed at all. He met you at the door with that familiar squint and slow-building smile, arms pulling you into one of those hugs that made you feel twelve again, like the universe could shrink down to just the two of you and still be enough.

You showed off your latest toy—a vintage, growling Mercedes-Benz Heritage, sleek and silver, like something out of a Bond film. He gave it an approving nod, muttered something about it being too pretty to trust you behind the wheel, and you both laughed like no time had passed.

At some point, after he proudly showed you the new project he was working on—an old plane with more history than metal—you insisted on cooking. Said you wanted to treat him. He looked skeptical but stepped aside, letting you take over the tiny kitchen.

The thing is… you might know how to hack into secure government servers blindfolded. You can decode encrypted files while hanging out of a moving vehicle and disarm a bomb with nothing but a bobby pin, chewing gum, and sheer nerve.

But apparently, you still don’t know how long garlic bread is supposed to stay in the oven.

Smoke curled out of the toaster oven like a signal flare, thick and dramatic, as if announcing your failure to the whole Mojave. You stood there, spatula in hand, staring at what used to be garlic bread—but now looked more like a charred fossil.

“Dammit,” you muttered under your breath, coughing as you fanned the smoke with a dishtowel, trying to open a window that didn’t want to budge.

So, you stumbled out of the silver trailer—smoke still trailing behind you like you were escaping a failed op—waving the towel above your head, hoping to clear the air.

"Everything is fine, just give me a vacuum and a YouTube tutorial," you coughed, still fanning the smoky air like your life depended on it. The kitchen now smelled less like garlic and more like defeat.

Then you heard it—your name, called out in a voice that was both familiar and unfamiliar all at once. Warm but deeper. Steady. Older. You froze mid-wave of the dish towel, eyes narrowing as you turned around.

And there he was.

Bradley Bradshaw.

Holy. Shit.

"Bradley!" you gasped, the breath catching somewhere between shock and joy.

Before you could think, you dropped the towel, launched forward, and threw your arms around him. It wasn’t graceful—your elbow clipped his sunglasses, you nearly tripped over your own feet, and there was definitely still flour smeared across your shirt—but none of it mattered. The hug was tight, warm, all the things unsaid wrapped into a single, breathless squeeze.

“Oh, it’s been forever,” you said breathlessly, pulling back just enough to look at him.

You were grinning wildly, eyes dancing, completely caught up in the joy of the moment. What you didn’t notice—not at first—was how stunned he looked.

He blinked, almost like he wasn’t sure how to catch up.

“Look at you!” you said, poking his chest with mock offense. “You grew a mustache!!!”

Bradley let out a soft, incredulous laugh, shaking his head as if trying to make sense of it all.

“And you… grew up,” he said quietly, almost like he didn’t mean to say it out loud—like the realization had just hit him and slipped past his guard.

“Barely,” your dad chimed in from across the hangar, where he was wiping his hands clean with an old rag, smudged with grease from the plane’s engine. His voice cut through the moment like a well-timed punchline.

You turned just in time to see him eyeing the thin trail of smoke still drifting from the open trailer door.

“Please tell me you did not burn down my kitchen,” he said, eyebrows raised, half-exasperated, half-amused.

You held up your hands in surrender, cheeks flushed. “Not entirely! It’s still standing. Just… maybe don’t open the toaster for a while.”

“Great…” Your dad shot you a long-suffering look, then sighed like a man who’d seen combat but still wasn’t prepared for you in the kitchen. Then he turned to Bradley, wiping the last of the grease from his palms. “Hey, I wasn’t expecting you today.”

“Yeah… uh, just happened to be nearby,” Bradley said, almost too casually. Then he lifted the takeout bag in his hand. “And—looks like I showed up just in time.”

He gave you a small smile, the kind that was soft around the edges and held a hint of something else—something unreadable and warm.

,You grinned at the bag like it was the Holy Grail. “Ohh, like a psychic… or maybe Lady Fate herself. What you brought and please tell me you brought enough for an unexpected mouth?”

“I did,” Bradley smirked, giving the bag a little shake for dramatic flair. “Thai. From a little spot near the base—place looks like a shack but cooks like heaven. One of those joints where they always forget the utensils, but never mess up the order.”

You gasped like he’d just told you he found buried treasure. “My kind of place. Who needs forks when destiny delivers Pad Thai?”

Bradley chuckled, handing you the bag with a knowing grin. “Hope you still like spicy, because I told them to go easy—and they still said ‘mild’ was more of a suggestion than a promise.”

You peeked inside the bag, the smell already making your mouth water. “Perfect. I like my food with a little danger. Keeps me humble.”

Your dad chimed in from behind you, grabbing plates “You say that now, but let’s see you talk tough after the first bite.”

You shot him a look. “Says the man who thinks pepper is a bold seasoning choice.”

The three of you settled in around the small table—plates spread out, drinks poured, laughter drifting lazily through the warm air. Conversation flowed easily, the kind that bounced between memories, light teasing, and just enough catch-up to fill in the gaps years apart had left.

You asked Bradley about his life, his job—nudging him gently with curiosity, dancing around certain topics with the kind of practiced grace that would’ve made Bosley proud. You didn’t lie—you just knew how to steer. How to let a story breathe without giving away the details underneath.

While delicately munching on a spring roll, you hummed quietly, savoring the flavor, then murmured without thinking, “I’ve been craving them like crazy since I came back from Thailand.”

Bradley, mid-bite, paused and looked up with a mild tilt of his head. “You’ve been to Thailand?”

You froze—not visibly, just a flicker of hesitation behind your eyes. The kind of pause most wouldn’t notice. But Bradley had always paid attention.

Still, your smile was easy as you nodded, grabbing your drink for cover. “Yeah. Work keeps me traveling.”

Bradley leaned back slightly, chopsticks in hand, eyeing you with playful suspicion. “Yeah? What do you do, exactly? Something fancy, I imagine, if that car outside is any indication. Since when do you have that kind of taste, huh?”

You raised a brow, feigning offense. “Excuse me, I’ve always had taste.”

He snorted. “Right. Last time I saw you drooling over a car, it was that busted-up ‘Back to the Future’ knockoff you swore was the coolest thing ever. What was it? That rusty little hatchback with spray-painted flames and a bumper sticker that said ‘Flux This’?”

You laughed, nearly choking on your spring roll. “Hey, that car had personality. It was vintage.”

“It was a safety hazard.”

“It was charming!”

Bradley grinned, shaking his head. “You’ve upgraded. I’ll give you that. So, seriously—what do you do now?”

You smiled sweetly, taking another bite of your spring roll with practiced nonchalance.

“I’m a private art conservator,” you said, repeating the same polished line you’d fed your dad years ago—the one you’d carefully crafted to sound just vague and boring enough to kill curiosity.

Bradley blinked. “A what?”

“Art conservator,” you repeated, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "I restore paintings and sculptures—help private collectors preserve rare pieces. Lots of travel, lots of delicate work, very serious,”

Bradley glanced at your dad, who didn’t even flinch, too busy digging into his pad see ew like this was Tuesday.

Then he looked back at you, eyes narrowing slightly, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Seriously?”

You met his gaze, unblinking. “Dead serious.”

He leaned back in his chair, skeptical. “You? Art conservator? The same girl who once glued googly eyes onto her dad’s Elvis poster because—and I quote—‘It improved the emotional depth’?”

You shrugged, all cool confidence. “Every great artist starts somewhere.”

Bradley laughed, shaking his head. “Unreal.”

“Hey,” you said, pointing your chopsticks at him. “Don’t knock the hustle. Art is very fragile. Almost as fragile as, say… classified intel of the worlds economy on a microchip hidden in the frame of a nineteenth-century oil painting inside the vaults of the luvre.”

Both Bradley and your dad raised their eyebrows in perfect unison, like a synchronized team of disbelief.

You blinked, then raised your hands. “Kidding, pass the rice please."

Bradley chuckled and reached for the plate, shaking his head as he handed it over.

“See, that’s what I find unreal,” he said, his voice laced with something halfway between nostalgia and awe. “You were always… I don’t know. Too clever and smart for your own good.”

Your dad grunted in agreement, still chewing.

You tilted your head, scooping rice onto your plate with a lazy grin. “Is that your way of saying I was annoying?”

He smirked. “Terribly. But also kind of a genius. I always figured you’d end up running some multibillion-dollar tech company or… I don’t know, sending astronauts to Mars.”

You snorted. “Wow, aim high, why don’t you?”

He leaned his elbows on the table, studying you. “I did. You had that kind of brain, y’know? The kind that never turned off. It always felt like you were thinking ten steps ahead of everyone else.”

You paused for just a second, fingers tightening on the chopsticks before you smiled again, softer this time. “Still am, just not in the way most people would guess.”

Bradley narrowed his eyes slightly, playful but curious. “Yeah, I’m starting to get that.”

You returned to your food, casually scooping rice onto your plate, but you could still feel Bradley’s eyes on you—curious, watching like he was trying to piece together a puzzle he didn’t know he’d started.

“So,” you said, changing the subject with a too-bright smile, “what about you, Lieutenant Mustache? Still flying? Still breaking hearts?”

Your dad let out a soft snort, clearly enjoying the turn of the conversation.

Bradley leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, giving you a look. “I’ll have you know the mustache has become a very powerful asset.”

You raised a brow. “Does it come with a security clearance?”

“Practically,” he said with mock pride. “Still flying, still in uniform… just with slightly more facial hair and responsibility.”

“Terrifying,” you muttered, hiding a grin behind your drink—because in all honesty, that mustache looked damn good on him. Not that you’d ever admit it out loud. At least not yet.

There was a beat of silence after that, easy and warm. The kind that settles between people who’ve shared enough history to skip over the awkward parts. Three lives woven through time, scattered and now briefly realigned. It felt like no time had passed at all—and somehow like everything had changed.

Your dad stood with a quiet groan, stretching his back as he grabbed the empty soda cans and crumpled napkins.

“I’ll grab more,” he said casually. “Napkins, too, since someone eats like she’s still thirteen.”

You shot him a look. “Rude.”

“But true,” he replied over his shoulder, disappearing inside the trailer.

And just like that, you and Bradley were alone.

The hangar fell into a soft, ambient quiet—just the hum of the overhead fan, the distant creak of the cooling engine, and the sound of Bradley’s thumb absentmindedly tapping the rim of his drink.

He looked over at you, eyes thoughtful. “So… ‘private art conservator,’ huh?”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly. “Still hung up on that?”

“Just trying to picture it,” he said, tone teasing but curious. “You, in gloves, hunched over a painting with a little brush.”

You leaned in slightly, resting your elbow on the table. “What, you don’t think I’ve got the patience for restoration?”

“I think you’ve got the precision,” he said, eyes not leaving yours. “I’m just not used to you being quiet for long.”

You smiled slowly, the kind of smile that said you’re not the only one who’s changed. “People grow up, Bradshaw.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, gaze flicking down and then back to you again. “Apparently, they do.”

The tension between you wasn’t thick, but it was there, like static. Familiar and new, cautious and curious. It buzzed just beneath the surface, waiting- your phone began to ring.

The sudden sound made you flinch just slightly, dragging you out of the moment. You set your plate down with a reluctant clink and fished the phone from your pocket.

Bosley.

Your eyes flicked to Bradley for half a second—he was watching you, still relaxed but alert, picking up on the shift in your energy. You forced a smile, one hand already tucking the phone to your ear as you stood.

“Gimme a sec,” you said casually, stepping away from the table, from him, from that dangerous almost-moment.

You put the phone to your ear, trying to keep your voice casual. “Hello… Yeah, okay. I’ll be right in.”

You hung up, slipped the phone back into your pocket, and took a moment to school your features before turning back around. A practiced smile curved across your lips—effortless, easy. You walked back to the table like you hadn’t just been called back into a secret life.

Bradley was still seated, watching you with mild curiosity, like he knew something wasn’t adding up but didn’t know quite what.

“Everything good?” he asked, tone neutral but eyes searching.

“Yeah,” you said with a shrug that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Work. Something I need to take care of.”

Before he could say more, your dad emerged from the trailer with two cans of soda under one arm and a bundle of napkins in the other.

“Alright, I brought backup—oh.” He paused, catching the shift in your expression, one you always wear when you need to leave impromptu. “You leaving already?”

You gave him an apologetic look. “Duty calls.”

He sighed, handing over a soda anyway. “Figures. You show up after a year, almost burn my kitchen down, steal my spring rolls, then vanish.”

You grinned and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Classic me.”

Your dad chuckled, shaking his head. “Don’t be a stranger and text me ass soon as you get there.”

"Of course and don’t worry I'll come back as soon as I can."

You turned to Bradley, catching his gaze again—still curious, still trying to piece together the puzzle of who you were now.

“Guess I owe you a proper catch-up,” you said softly.

He stood, nodding slowly. “Yeah. You do.”

And just like that, you slid into your sleek silver Mercedes, the engine purring to life beneath your fingertips like it knew exactly where you were going—and why. One last glance in the rearview mirror caught the faintest reflection of your dad watching from the hangar, soda in hand, and Bradley still standing by the table, napkin clutched loosely in his fingers, brow furrowed like he wasn’t quite ready for you to disappear again.

You gave a small wave—half playful, half I’ll be back—then pulled out of the dusty lot, tires crunching against gravel as the sun dipped lower behind you.

Back to the mission.

Back to the life they didn’t know about.

Back to saving the day, as usual.

Y/N: Heyyy hope you enjoyed ittttt. There's something about Top Gun x Charlie's Angels that just scratched my brain just right, y'know? One of my favs movies ever.

[callsign-mayhem]

heaven is a place on earth (b.b)

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female!Reader Word count: 4.6k CW: Smut and swearing. MINORS DNI.

A roller rink with the Daggers, a bet with Bradley Bradshaw, and a photo booth that’s about to get way too hot. Lose the game, make the move—neither one of you is backing down, especially when the stakes are so high.

Rollerskating was—of course—Mickey’s idea. Who else, at the ripe age of 32, would suggest it when faced with the question of what to do on a Friday night?

It had come about earlier in the week when Javy complained that he was bored of spending every Friday at The Hard Deck. At first, you were shocked to hear it, but the more you thought about it, the more you realised that you felt the same. The Hard Deck was great and would always be the Dagger Squad’s designated hangout spot, but you could do with a change.

Everybody agreed, but by Thursday night, there was still no plan for the following evening. Jake had suggested a country bar in the city, which you and Reuben had liked the sound of. Turns out, you were the only ones.

Natasha had suggested sushi, but you weren’t a fan and Mickey didn’t think it was exciting enough for your first Friday adventure away from The Hard Deck.

You were getting ready for bed when the text came through to the Dagger Squad group chat.

And that’s how you found yourself lacing up the old pair of skates you’d dug out from the back of your closet.

‘Since when do you own rollerskates?’ Jake retorted.

‘Since college.’ You replied. ‘I got a lot of use out of them. I had a friend who loved skating, and she forced me to buy a pair.’

Jake raised a brow. ‘Doesn’t match up with the version of you I have in my head.’

‘You’re just annoyed ‘cause I’m gonna show you up. Bet you’re shit at skating.’ You smirked.

Bradley, who was lacing up his own skates next to you, huffed a laugh. Jake’s shit-eating grin faltered. He was getting that look he always got when he challenged someone.

‘How hard can it be?’ He asked, full of fake bravado.

‘It’s harder than it looks.’ You told him.

‘Ten bucks says you fall on your ass before I do.’

You looked up at him and smirked, reaching your hand out so you could shake on it. ‘Oh, you’re so on.’

‘Material Girl’ by Madonna blasted through the overhead speakers, and disco lights spattered the rink with colour. The neon-coloured seats outside the rink were shaped like giant blobs of paint, and the Daggers were spread across three of them, getting ready to make total fools of themselves.

Bob shifted uneasily as he eyed his feet, trying to figure out how to stand up without sprawling flat out on the ground. You stood up easily and glided over to him, earning you a whistle from Reuben.

‘You okay, Bobby?’ You asked, even though you already knew the answer.

He offered you a weak smile. ‘I’ve never skated before.’

‘That’s okay, I’ll help.’

You held out both hands and he took them tentatively. His palms were slick with nervous sweat, and you had to swallow a laugh. It would only make him more nervous if he thought you were making fun of him.

‘Alright, on the count of three. One…two…’

And then you pulled him up. He couldn’t straighten his legs at first, and he wobbled a bit, but after a couple of seconds he was standing up straight and steady.

‘There you go.’ You praised. ‘Easy peasy.’

Nat, who was leaning against the edge of the rink waiting for everyone, clapped.

‘Now you’ve actually gotta move, Floyd.’ She called out.

Bob glanced at her nervously.

‘Ignore her. You fly in multi-million dollar jets every day, Bob. You can get yourself from here to the rink.’

Thankfully, this turned out to be precisely the right thing to say. You held on to one of his hands, and the two of you gently edged over to Nat. It took longer than it should have, but he was still upright by the time he got there, so you counted that as a win.

‘Well done.’ You beamed.

You were about to step out onto the rink when Mickey called out your name.

‘Can I get a ride, too? I’m stuck!’ He yelled.

You rolled your eyes. ‘This was your idea!’

‘Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I know how to skate!’

You whizzed over to where Mickey was standing. He smiled sheepishly as you took his hand and repeated the same steps you’d taken with Bob. Mickey almost fell over, but he was right by the rink by that point, so he grabbed the edge to stop it from happening.

Effortlessly, you spun around. ‘Okay, anybody else?’

Bradley rolled over almost as effortlessly as you had. He was wearing one of his more ‘out there’ Hawaiian shirts, and the pink flowers seemed to glow in the dark. Honestly, you were a bit gutted that he didn’t need your help—it would’ve been a good excuse to hold his hand.

He leaned down so you would be able to hear him. ‘Hangman needs help, but he’s too proud to admit it.’ Bradley murmured, his breath warm against the side of your neck.

You hoped he didn’t notice the goosebumps that broke out across your skin.

‘I wouldn’t help him even if he asked.’ You retorted.

Javy and Reuben managed to get over to the rink's edge without much trouble, but Jake was checking his phone one last time and ensuring it was secure in the pocket of his jeans.

‘What’re you waitin’ for, Hangman?’ You shouted.

He rolled his eyes, and you and Bradley both laughed.

Jake on roller skates reminded you of a baby deer that hadn’t learned to walk properly yet. You suspected you would be ten bucks richer in the next five minutes.

Madonna gave way to ‘Take On Me’ by Aha, and Bradley nudged your arm with his elbow.

‘I love this song, let’s get out there. Hangman will catch up.’

His smile and joyous energy were infectious, so you followed him onto the rink without a word, and without looking back at poor Jake who was stuck behind a group of kids who were skating better than he was.

‘It’s the carpet.’ You heard him say. ‘I’ll be fine once I get off the carpet.’

Reuben, Coyote, and Nat were right behind Bradley and you. You mistakenly thought it would be a while before any of them could catch up on you, but then Nat glided past you, her dark hair billowing out behind her.

‘Whoa, Phoenix! I thought you couldn’t skate!’ Bradley exclaimed.

She spun around, so she was rolling backwards. ‘I never said that. There are plenty of things you don’t know about me!’

She sped off. Reuben and Javy tried to catch up, but their glides weren’t long enough, and they wobbled a lot.

‘You’re shuffling, not skating.’ You instructed. ‘You need to push the tips of your toes into the floor and then push forward.’

They wore matching confused frowns, and you huffed in annoyance. ‘It’s hard to explain. Just watch my feet!’

When the song's chorus kicked in, you pushed off and started taking long strides across the rink. When you got close to the edge, you leaned to your left to get around the corner, and then picked up your speed. It felt like being 21 again, carefree and full of boundless energy.

By the time Mickey, Bob and Jake finally joined the rest of the squad on the rink, you'd done three loops.

Reuben and Javy watched you closely; before long, they were building their confidence. Bradley was skating next to them, watching you with an impressed smirk.

It was easily the most fun you’d had in months.

Especially when Jake got too cocky, sped up and went straight into the barrier around the rink. You felt it in your body when he smashed into the floor.

You got to him quickly and helped him back onto his feet.

‘Are you hurt?’ You asked.

‘Just my pride.’

You grinned, clapping him on the shoulder. ‘In that case, you owe me ten dollars.’ You said, and then you were on your way again.

Nat was teaching Bob and Mickey the same technique you’d taught Javy and Reuben, who were now racing each other around the rink. You’d slowed down next to Bradley to watch the commotion that was sure to end in tears.

Not five seconds later, the same group of kids that had gotten in Jake’s way were right in their path. The pair of them were going way too fast to stop, and before you could shout, the whole lot of them were in a pile on the floor. Both you and Bradley doubled over in hysterics, unable to breathe properly.

You were laughing so hard that you almost fell over. Bradley grabbed your waist with his big, strong hands, steadying you immediately. The warmth of his touch through the skin-tight fabric of your tank top was something you doubted you’d be able to forget anytime soon.

‘Easy, sweetheart.’ He said gruffly.

Your heart pitter-pattered, loud and fast enough that you were sure he could hear it over ‘Heaven Is A Place On Earth.’ Your mind wandered to the other places you wouldn’t mind those hands being, and you were nearing dangerous territory. Like, not-being-able-to-look-Bradley-in-the-eye-without-kissing-him territory.

But then Mickey rolled up beside you, the rest of the Daggers in tow, demanding your hand. Apparently, there was a first time for everything, because suddenly, you’d all made one long link. A friendship link, as Mickey had so gleefully yelled. You were skating around the rink in one long chain, laughing and singing along to Belinda Carlisle. It was a neon-coloured, cotton-candy scented dream.

Nearly two hours passed. The time flew by so quickly that when someone announced over the intercom that the seven o'clock group had only 5 minutes left, you were genuinely gobsmacked.

‘There’s no way we’ve been here that long already!’ Mickey exclaimed.

‘I know right,’ you said, pretty bummed out. ‘We’re gonna have to come back, I really enjoyed tonight.’

Nat looped her arm through yours. ‘I think even Hangman enjoyed himself towards the end.’

Jake was in front of you, trying to learn how to skate backwards with Bradley, who kept catching your eye on purpose.

There had always been chemistry between you, but nothing had ever come of it. In actual fact, tonight was the most obvious the two of you had been about it.

Unfortunately, you didn’t have time to dwell on this too much, because you had to get off the rink. The group chatted happily as they removed their skates and put their shoes back on. Everybody else had rented skates, so you went outside to wait while they returned them.

After two hours of skating, the fresh air was a relief. Your skates were tied together, slung over your shoulder, and you closed your eyes and lifted your face to the sky, breathing deeply. A night with your squad always left you feeling whole in ways that alone time didn’t.

‘Y/N!’ Bradley called.

You turned around to find him standing in the doorway holding what appeared to be two beers.

‘There’s an arcade upstairs, and bowling. You comin’ back in?’

This wasn’t part of the plan, but you were happy that the night wasn’t over yet.

‘What, so I can kick your ass at every game?’ You teased.

Bradley cocked a brow, the corner of his mouth twitching as he suppressed a smirk. God, you wanted to kiss that stupid mouth.

‘How about we make a bet of our own?’ He said, watching as you strolled over to him.

You didn’t stop until you were right in front of him, close enough that if you stood on your tiptoes just slightly, your lips would be touching.

‘What do you have in mind?’

He stared at you intently, eyes dark with lust. His brief glance at your glossed lips was a dead giveaway. ‘First one to lose a game has to make the first move.’ He rasped.

You looked up at him through your eyelashes, and he released a short, exasperated breath.

‘Deal.’

Reuben, Javy, Bob and Mickey were locked into a serious game of bowling. You weren’t sure, but you thought they were playing for money. Nat and Jake were playing air hockey—rather viciously. After dumping your skates, you and Bradley set about choosing a game to play.

Mickey had really lucked-out by finding this place. The arcade was chock-full of different games and amusements—so many that you were overwhelmed by choices.

Bradley suggested Mortal Kombat, to which you politely declined. You counter-offered the race car sim, but Bradley wasn’t feeling it.

After playfully debating pros and cons for most of the games, the pair of you found yourself in front of Dance Dance Revolution.

There were so many pros for this one. For one, you kicked ass at DDR. For two, you would be in close proximity the entire time. You could accidentally trip him up or something.

Bradley shook his head slowly. ‘Uh-uh. Nope.’ He made a point of popping the ‘p’.

‘Why?’ You whined. ‘Please, it’ll be fun. Besides, I suck at this game so I’ll probably lose anyway.’ You lied.

Bradley eyed you suspiciously. Then, he got distracted and he trailed over your entire body. You might as well have been standing naked in front of him, for the way it made you feel.

He licked his bottom lip and you shivered. ‘Fine. Dance battle it is.’

You stepped onto the DDR platform, rolling your shoulders as the neon lights flickered over the screen. Bradley took the spot next to you, cracking his knuckles like he was about to go into battle.

He glanced over, that cocky smirk already tugging at the corner of his mouth. ‘Think you can keep up with me, sweetheart?’ He teased, nudging your shoulder.

The machine beeped, the song selection flashing across the screen, and you scrolled through the options with deliberate slowness, dragging out the moment just to watch him fidget. His hands settled on his hips, chest rising and falling as he exhaled through his nose. Oh, he wants to win. Badly.

But when you finally picked a song and stepped back, Bradley leaned in—just enough for his breath to ghost over your cheek—and murmured, ‘Hope you don’t get too distracted.’

The countdown ticked down, and the first notes of the song exploded from the speakers. The arrows rolled up the screen, and you both moved in sync, feet tapping out the rhythm like it was second nature. You were laser-focused—at first. But then you glanced over, and Bradley was watching you, not the screen.

He was still nailing every step, his body moving effortlessly, but his eyes? They flickered over to yours, his smirk widening when he caught you looking. Oh, he was playing dirty.

‘You’re slowing down, sweetheart.’ He taunted over the pounding bass, his voice smug and dripping with amusement.

You gritted your teeth and snapped your gaze back to the screen, doubling down—faster steps. Perfect timing. Your score started climbing, matching his. But then—distraction struck back.

Bradley suddenly rolled his hips with the beat, his arms lifting slightly like he was actually dancing instead of just playing, and your brain stuttered.

‘Oh, come on.’ You huffed, missing an arrow.

His laughter was rich and victorious, but you didn’t have time to glare at him. The song kicked into high gear, the steps coming rapid-fire, and you forced yourself to focus, willing your feet to move faster, faster, until—

The screen flashed.

PLAYER TWO: GAME OVER.

Your heart sank as you realised what just happened. One tiny misstep, one moment of distraction, and—

Bradley whooped, punching the air. ‘And that, sweetheart, is game.’ He crowed, stepping off the platform with the swagger of a man who knew exactly what was coming next.

Your stomach flipped as he turned back to face you, grinning like the cat who got the cream. ‘You remember the bet, don’t you?’

Oh, you remembered.

And from the way he was looking at you—his lips slightly parted, his hands twitching at his sides like he was holding himself back—so did he.

You’d felt pretty confident up until about five seconds ago, and now the rug had been ripped out from under you. The DDR machine was in a poorly lit corner at the back of the arcade. Panicking slightly, you scanned your surroundings, trying to devise a plan. What if someone saw you? Were you supposed to kiss him?

Then your attention was snagged by the photo booth against the opposite wall. It was nestled between the back wall and a claw machine full of Jellycats. If this next part went well, you made a mental note to bring Bradley back here and make him win one for you.

Now you had a plan, your confidence was slowly trickling back in. After one more glance around the space to make sure none of the Daggers were watching, you grabbed Bradley’s hand and pulled him towards the photo booth.

‘Romantic.’ He quipped, a shit-eating grin to rival Jake’s plastered on his face.

If you thought DDR was close quarters, this was something else entirely. The bench was just big enough for the two of you.

You pushed the button to start it up, and prepared to pose for the first picture.

You knew the first one would be cute, because you and Bradley were both grinning like lovesick fools. As the countdown began for the second picture, your confidence finally hit max capacity…

Without giving yourself time to back out, you put your hand on the top of Bradley’s thigh and just before the camera snapped, you (not so) gently grabbed his dick. Now you were the one sporting the shit-eating grin, and Bradley’s head snapped towards you. That move had made him practically rabid.

You stared each other down, the countdown totally forgotten about. It didn’t matter, anyway. You were perfectly on time without even trying.

One minute, you were staring, and the next, Bradley was on you. Your hands were in his hair as he pulled you onto his lap and let both of his hands rest on your ass. The kiss was sloppy and frantic; you didn’t dare stop even though you were breathless. You’d been waiting a long time for this. You silently thanked your past self for choosing this little white tennis skirt. You could feel Bradley’s hard-on through your underwear.

His hands, which were on top of your skirt, now reached under so he was touching bare skin (another thank you to your past self for the pretty white thong). This only seemed to intensify the moment, because his lips moved to your neck. It was your turn to make noise when he began sucking on the sweet spot just below your earlobe. Honestly, you hadn’t meant for the moan to escape you, but it had, and he’d definitely heard it.

Bradley stopped only to tease you. ‘Oh, you like that do you?’

‘B-bradley.’ You breathed.

‘Okay, okay.’ He whispered. ‘I’ll carry on.’

And he did. You became a squirming, writhing mess on top of him, and he was eating it up. You’d lost the bet and you wanted to take some control back. While he was busy kissing your neck, you undid the button and zipper on his jeans, and reached in. You were sly and quick about it, and he barely had enough time to register what you were doing before you were palming his dick over his boxers.

Bradley’s breath caught in his throat as he tilted his head back up to look at you. His eyes were all pupil, and his cheeks were as red as the photo booth curtain. How was it possible for a man to be so fucking sexy and so adorable at the same time?

You had him right where you wanted him. Or so you’d thought. Stupidly, you found yourself getting distracted by the size of him, and that’s when he took two fingers and slipped them underneath the wet fabric separating you from him. All he had to do was make one stroke, and you were mewing in his lap.

‘Unless you want me to fuck you in this photobooth,’ you snapped. ‘You better cut that shit out.’

A deep, husky chuckle rolled through him, vibrating against your chest. You were half-joking, but he took your threat seriously. Adjusting slightly, he pulled his jeans down so they were at his knees, and then let you resume your former position. If you shimmied forward slightly, you’d be sitting directly on his dick, just his boxers and your flimsy underwear between you. Luckily for you, you didn’t have to decide whether to do that or not, because Bradley gripped your thighs and pulled you forward.

Dizzy with lust, you reached around and pulled his length from his boxers. Following your lead, he pulled your thong to the side, and slowly pushed two fingers deep into the heat of you. You bit back a moan that would have been far too loud, and his smirk was so frustrating that you had to cover his mouth with yours to hide it. He licked your bottom lip, and you let him taste you. It was a good distraction from the noises you were thinking about making.

‘I don’t have a condom.’ He whispered against your lips.

You were in such a state of ecstasy that you could barely get two words out. You just about managed to say one, which was simply ‘pill.’

He chuckled darkly again, and you tightened around his fingers. ‘Can you give me a full sentence, pretty girl? I need to make sure we’re both on the same page.’

He was being genuine, but he also couldn’t help himself. He added another finger and watched your eyes roll into the back of your head.

‘Sweet girl?’ He prompted.

You had a death grip on his bicep. ‘I’m. On. The. Pill.’ You said through gritted teeth.

‘See,’ he whispered, positioning himself beneath you. ‘That wasn’t so hard, was it?’

‘I’m gonna get you back for that someday, Bradshaw.’

‘I look forward to it.’

His tip pressed against your entrance. Briefly, you wondered what would happen if one of the Daggers, or some random stranger, came down to this end of the arcade. But then you were sinking onto Bradley’s cock, and the worries just melted away. As he gripped your hips and to help you get a rhythm, the phrase ‘rearrange my guts’ took on a totally new meaning. You groaned, and Bradley captured your lips in a brief kiss.

‘Quiet, sweetheart.’

Something about his commanding tone made it harder to keep quiet. You bit down on your lip to keep from shouting his name at the top of your lungs.

You were having sex. With Bradley Bradshaw. In a photo booth.

If Bradley hadn’t suddenly grabbed your hips, lifted you slightly, and started thrusting up into you, you would’ve laughed.

‘Fuck,’ he stuttered. ‘You feel so good.’

You were close. You tightened around him and he groaned again—it was your new favourite sound.

‘I’m-’

‘Me too.’

And then both of you were coming. Hard. His head rolled back as he tipped over the edge and spilled into you. It felt like someone had used your nerve endings to light a match.

You rode out your highs together, and when you were spent, you let out a long, shaky breath.

‘Holy fuck.’ You said.

Bradley ran a hand through his hair. ‘Well, I hope you like souvenirs, baby, ‘cause we’re keeping those pictures.’

You laughed. ‘We should probably get out of here. We’ve been missing a while.’

He kissed you again, for good measure. ‘I need to ask you something.'

You cocked your head. ‘What?’

‘Was that a one time thing?’

‘I really, really hope not.’

Back at the bowling lanes, Jake and Nat had joined in the fun. When you and Bradley appeared, everybody turned. Jake grinned wickedly. You locked eyes with Bob and he diverted his gaze very quickly. Nat was glaring at Bradley like a disappointed mother. Mickey and Reuben both handed Javy twenty bucks. All of this happened over the course of five, extremely drawn-out seconds.

‘You two were gone a while.’ Nat pointed out, folding her arms.

You and Bradley glanced at each other, unsure how to approach this situation.

‘We were playing Dance Dance Revolution.’ You told her. ‘I lost a bet.’

‘Really.’ She droned, sounding almost bored.

Oh, she knew alright.

You scrambled for something to say, tried to ignore the heat of everyone’s eyes burning into you. It was like they could see your sinful act written all over you.

And the ground might as well have opened up and swallowed you whole when Nat said: ‘Take any nice pictures?’

A/N: Just a little one shot while I try to motivate myself to finish my WIPs. This is my first time writing smut, so if it sucks, go easy on me.

[simpforrooster]

actually, it’s captain.

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x f!reader

summary: request for @kpopgirlbtssvt. rooster’s girl is hit on by Top Gun students.

t/w: touch her, you d i e trope. cursing. mentions of alcohol.

Rooster leans against the bar, laughing at something Penny tells him. His jeans hang low on his hips, and he’s wearing the Hawaiian shirt you bought him for his birthday.

Rooster’s hand slaps the bar as he continues to howl. Penny and Mav exchange a look. Maverick murmurs something to Penny. Your guess would be “it wasn’t that funny.”

You throw back the rest of your drink. As your glass returns to the table, a group of men circle you, all clad in khaki. Must be new Top Gun recruits.

“What’s a pretty little gal like you sittin’ here alone for?” one of them asks you, his accent very similar to Hangman’s.

“Mind if we join ya?” the second asks. Before you can reply, two of the slide in across from you, while the one who spoke first sits next to you. His burly arm comes up around your shoulder. You stiffen under him, feeling small.

And not in the way you feel with Rooster. He makes you feel small, protected, but also empowered. This guy has a hold on you like he’s claiming you. Telling every other guy in the bar he plans on taking you home.

“This here’s Crane and Sorry,” he points to the two in front of you. “And you can call me Pleasure. As in, it’s a pleasure to meet you. As in, the way all ladies feel after a night with me.” He winks. He actually winks.

Your brain is so shocked, you can’t form words. You should take this guy’s arm and bend it behind your back, the way your dad taught you. You should give him on of your grade-a verbal lashings.

But you don’t. The sheer audacity of this man has you frozen.

You try to make eye contact with Rooster, but Pleasure’s frame blocks your view.

“Get your hands off my girlfriend, asshole.” Rooster’s voice makes a relieved breath come from your mouth. His tone of voice would make anyone run for the hills, but it leaves you full of wanting.

Pleasure chuckles, meeting Rooster’s gaze. “Actually, it’s Lieutenant.”

Crane and Sorry exchange an amused look. Rooster’s face is set in a hard line. He reaches for Pleasure’s bicep, ripping him from the booth.

“I said to get your hands off my girlfriend, asshole.” Rooster is a whole head taller than the aviator that just had himself draped on you.

“Shouldn’t leave your girl all alone, dick.” Pleasure tells him, bowing up. Rooster’s mouth pulls up on the left, giving him one of his infamous cocky smirks. Second only to Hangman’s.

“Actually, it’s Captain. And I hope to God you’re in one of my classes. Lieutenant.”

At this, you see Pleasure audibly gulp, knowing he’s fucked up. Rooster still has a death grip on his arm.

“Come on, man. Make my day,” the words come out laced with venom.

Before things can get out of hand, you hop out of the booth and high tail it to Penny. Quickly giving her a synopsis, she rings the bell, signaling these guys need to be thrown out. Hangman, Omaha, and Coyote each grab one of the guys and drag them to the exit.

Rooster joins you at the bar, taking your face in his hands. Those brown eyes roam over you, searching.

Your hands come up to cradle his face, “Roos, I’m fine.”

“When I saw him draped over you, I saw red. Nobody touches my girl.” He leans down to place a kiss against your temple. Rooster’s words have your toes curling in your shoes. You’ve never seen this side of him.

You lower your hands to his shoulders, threading one of them in his curly hair that’s definitely longer than Military regulation.

“You’re the only one I want touching me,” you murmur in his ear, your face flushing.

“Yeah?” he murmurs back.

Not trusting your voice to not come out completely needy, you nod.

“Come on, guys. Quit being disgusting,” Maverick says to the two of you, feigning gagging.

Penny pops his hand over the bar, eliciting a laugh from him.

Rooster ignores him, placing a deep kiss onto your mouth.

“Take me home, baby,” you say, taking in those brown eyes.

“I don’t know, pretty girl, I don’t think I can get further than the Bronco,” he winks.

masterlist.