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wittyminds · 1 year ago

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Show Me the Way Home

Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Anonymous:

Hey I’ve just seen you’re requests are open, could you write something angst and then fluff with Bradley, maybe they’ve both been snapping at each other and then they make up? Xx

CW: Angst, fluff, endangerment of life (idk)

A/N:

This is my first ever fic so please be nice :)

I've never written angst before so it was a gamble as to how this would go. So... enjoy?

It wasn't supposed to go like this.

Of course, everyone knew accidents could happen in the air but they're never expected. Especially this one.

But being surrounded by a dozen of very experienced pilots it was hard to remember about the dangers of flying and how one small mistake could take someone away from you.

Rooster had been watching your progress through the course with unwavering attention, staring in awe as you shot through the entire thing flawlessly. You were the best pilot here by far but even the strongest have to fall every now and then.

Literally.

He knew that placing Hangman with you had been a mistake as the two of you had been at each other's throats for years. A "friendly competition" back in their first ever course had led to a not so friendly rivalry that everyone knew about. Which made the situation even worse. When two competitive pilots are in the air it's all bound for disaster.

Maverick had set them all the task of shooting down two target planes, each earning them 'kill' points. Hangman had been determined to beat you but you were confident that both those points were yours. It was meant to be a team building task but the two of you were against even wishing the other good luck.

There had been one target left, leaving the two of you whizzing around, determined to leave the other in the dirt. You had taken the other one down moments before Hangman would have, resulting in a rather amusing string of expletives from him.

You had been chasing the final target, Hangman gaining speed on you when it happened.

"Hangman, Wraith, this is a team task! I don't want to remind you again!" Marverick's voice rang through the intercom but you didn't listen. You were so close, your target slowly circling the aircraft in front of you.

Rooster realised he had been holding his breath as you strained to close in on your target. The table groaned as he clenched his fist round the feeble wood, the surrounding pilots exchanging knowing glances.

"Just a little further." Your voice muttered through the intercom.

Hangman, who had been quiet for too long, suddenly sprung up in front of you, sending your concentration haywire. Was it too much to ask for a clean shot?

"What the hell, Hangman?" You gritted your teeth in frustration, slowing down so you didn't collide with his rear, "I nearly had him!"

Hangman only smirked, you could feel it through the intercom.

"And let you get all the kill points? I don't think so."

The target plane swerved to try take you off its tail but you both followed it, only slightly unnerved by the sudden change of direction. You could hear Hangman muttering as he tried to get a clean shot which seemed impossible at the new angle.

"This is bullshit." He muttered, suddenly pulling up to get a different angle.

His sudden manoeuvre had left you to fly straight through his jet wash with no warning.

Your plane broke into an uncontrollable spin, everything around you blurry and dizzying. A series of panicked yells escaped you as you spun and Rooster shot out of his seat, ice cold dread drenching his entire body. The room stilled to a deafening silence as you tried to eject from the aircraft.

"Wraith! Can you hear me? Wraith!" Maverick yelled but you were too panicked to answer, still trying to locate the ejection handle.

Rooster couldn't watch, your plane getting closer and closer to the ground with no sign of slowing. The thought of what would happen if it hit the rocks below with you inside-

His feet carried himself out before he could register it, the door swinging shut behind him as he marched out the building and to the safety of his truck.

There, everything would be fine.

You and Rooster had been catching feelings over the past months, each glance lasting longer, each graze of the hand full of electricity. There were moments when you would both lean in instinctively after quiet moments together only to realise how close you were before pulling away.

So, it stung when you stepped out of the emergency aircraft, dizzy and half conscious, to not find Rooster waiting. Your heart had dropped at the sight and you stumbled through the doors into the building with only the dream of his arms there to hold you.

After numerous questions and glasses of water, you were given a lift home from Phoenix. She had become the equivalent of your sister but even she didn't want to prod the wound of Rooster's disappearance with questions. You stepped out of her car with a tired farewell, to be greeted by the comforting sight of your home.

Inside there was ice cream, chocolate and far too many rom-coms to keep you distracted.

After a warm shower that would definitely raise her bill a ridiculous amount, you climbed down the stairs in your favourite sweater, a pair of slippers keeping your feet warm from the sudden change in temperature.

The weather had gone from clear to sour in a matter of hours, much like your mood.

How could he leave in a moment like that? When you weren't even sure if you would make it out?

Your thoughts were broken by a frantic knock at the door, the sound clashing with the thundering rain outside. You paused the film, halting Julia Roberts moments away from kissing Richard Gere.

You shrugged the blanket from your shoulders, shuffling the short distance to the door to notice a large shadow huddled under the small overhang above your door. You didn't need to guess who it was for a second as you swung it open to reveal a dripping wet Rooster, holding his jacket over his head.

A thousand thoughts erupted in your head and your nostrils flared.

"Oh, so you do remember me?"

An expression of pain flashed over his face but it was gone in a blurry second.

"Can I please come in?" His voice was pleading and you opened the door wider so he could shelter from the furious pelts of water.

As you shut the door again, he lowered his jacket from above his head to fold in his arms. He ran a hand through his soaking hair, the movement sending a slight jolt through you.

"I just want to say, I feel so shitty for leaving, Y/n. I really do." As he rambled on, you got a proper look at him, not listening as he continued to speak.

His eyes were wide, giving the impression of a puppy being told off for the first time and as you studied him, you noticed his knuckles were stained a slight red.

"What happened to your hand?" You interrupted him quietly and he froze.

You crossed your arms and frowned at him, waiting for a response.

His eyes fell from yours and he rocked back on his heels nervously.

"I punched...." His voice trailed off into a mumble and you strained to hear him.

"I swear to God, Rooster, tell me." Your voice rose and he sighed loudly through his nose.

"I punched Hangman!"

The words rang through the air and your arms fell from their knot. Anger flared in your chest and he rose his head to meet your eyes once more.

"You... what?" You spoke slowly and carefully, taking a step toward him.

"I punched him, alright? He was careless and could have killed you!" Rooster's voice rose and all signs of being nervous disappeared.

"No, not alright! It's not your duty to stand up for me! You clearly didn't feel the need to be there when I got back!" Tears stung your eyes at what he had done but you blinked them back.

"I had to leave! I couldn't stay in that room!"

Anger clouded all your judgement, all you wanted was for him to explain why not punch the guy who had accidentally sent your aircraft spinning. Why did everything have to be so difficult for the two of you? Why couldn't you just settle the stupid argument and get back to Julia Roberts?

You scoffed at him, "Right, because watching the plane go down was so much worse than being inside. What was so awful about the accident that you had to leave? Why cant you just let it go?"

"Because that's exactly how my dad died!"

Every retort building up in her faded with his words. He had never openly spoken about how his dad died except that he had been in a flying accident.

How could he not have told you this in your many deep conversations? Surely it should have come up at 3am with a bottle of vodka clouding your judgements. Maybe it was just one of those things that was meant to be forgotten in the soft, tender moments.

"How was I supposed to know that?" You finally uttered, too shocked to consider how he felt.

"You didn't, I know. But it scared me that you were up there in exactly the same position he was in before it happened." You could see his eyes swimming with tears, only he didn't blink them away.

"Then I don't understand how you're mad at me! It wasn't my fault!" Your voice suddenly went higher than normal and you fought to keep your emotions under control.

"I'm not mad at you!" His hands flew up to his hair and his jacket landed on the floor with a dull thud, "I was just terrified because the person I love most in this god damn world could have died and there was nothing I could do about it!"

You waited for his words to sink in and finally let tears roll down your cheeks.

"Y-you love me?" You whispered, all memories of anger flitting from your mind.

He closed his eyes for a moment, the heels of his palms digging into his eyes. You waited for a reply but he only muttered a series of incoherent words before picking up his jacket and shuffling past you to open the door.

Thunder rumbled angrily as he stepped back into the rain, drowning out any words said. You were too shocked to move or go after him. His words kept playing over and over in your hand, a broken record of what you had been hoping for for weeks. But all he said as he slammed the door behind him was a simple, "I'm sorry."

And then once again, he was gone.

As the door slammed, you flinched at the noise and watched his figure storm back to his truck. Rain battered her windows and you ran a hand through your hair in frustration.

You don't know what came over you, probably the countless romance films and books you had indulged in, but you found yourself wrenching the door open and running into the freezing cold rain. Your sweater was drenched in seconds and you squinted through blinding droplets as you sprinted towards Rooster.

He had just about made it to his car but you could catch him. Thunder drowned out your footsteps and when you tried to call his name, the wind howled over you.

Finally, you reached him and breathed out one last call of his name.

He turned round to see you, eyes sad and shoulders heavy.

"Y/n, I'm so sorr-"

But when you reached him you didn't even think before pulling the front of his shirt to lower his lips to yours. In one smooth movement you kissed him breathlessly, his hands flying to support your waist and hip. He didn't kiss back but just as you pulled away, his grip on you tightened, keeping you in place. Your heels lifted from the grass as he moved into him, bringing him closer.

This is what it should have always been. The two of you. Safe in each other's arms.

Just like the movies.

One of his hands moved up to your hair, cupping your head gently as his lips moved in an easy rhythm against yours. Rain ran down your faces, thunder sounding as you blocked out the rest of the world.

All that mattered was the two of you in this moment.

You both pulled back for air, resting your foreheads against the other's as you panted. A relieved laugh escaped you and you pressed another quick kiss against his lips. Your arms had snaked round his neck and you stood staring at the man before you, still processing what you had done.

"Rooster?"

You were too breathless to speak properly and he hummed quietly, nudging your nose with his.

"Take me to bed now, or lose me forever."

Your smiled as he kissed you deeply again, suddenly lifting you up to wrap your legs round his waist. Another laugh escaped you at his goofy grin but he cut you off with a kiss.

"Show me the way home, Y/n."

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megzscribbleznwordz · 3 months ago

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i saw that you do 12 oz mouse x reader (you did mouse for the request) and um. can. can you do roostre for my request please. please and thank you okay bye

I'm so happy there's someone else out there who wants X Readers for the 12 Oz Mouse show. It's one of the ones I saw for the first time most recently, and I'm very excited that other people likeys it too :3

Roostre

Roostre is a big sweetie pie with his lover. Like he’s so down bad for you it’s actually adorable

He loves it when you help him out on the corndog farm, accepting any help graciously and with strong appreciation. That’s probably how your relationship starts, helping out on the farm and having him invite you out on a date with him.

Roostre introduces you to the others fairly early on, excited to see you find a place in the friend group if you’re interested in doing so. He’s very casual with affection too, having no reservations about peppering you in kisses and calling you all sorts of sweet things while you’re with the others

He’s very skilled in the acoustic guitar, and loves to strum out tunes for you. Nothing Is nicer than just relaxing, the two of you, while he practices his craft and plucks out some notes for you. Definitely serenades you quite frequently

Roostre makes every date about reminding you what it is about him you love, showering you in compliments and sweetness, making delightful conversation, letting you know how much he loves you

Pet names include: Sweetheart, Sweet Corn, lovey, lover

Roostre is a very good listener! I feel like he isn’t the most chatty at social occasions, but he very much takes in and understands what everyone says. Especially you, he’s one of the best to come to with your problems. Roostre is the best at helping you out, or even just listening if that’s what you need.

#12 oz mouse x reader #roostre 12 oz mouse #rooster 12 oz mouse #12 oz mouse #adult swim #gender unspecified #gender neutral reader #gn reader

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rainbow-universe · 2 years ago

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Cute!! 💕💕

little wallflower | bradley bradshaw x hearing impaired!reader

disclaimer: hello all. i wrote this for all of my lovelies who have loss of hearing, or have any type of hearing impairment, or am hearing and want to read a cute little fic. i myself am hearing, and i took a bit of inspiration from me being bradley, seeing as i work with a wonderful person who's deaf, and they are SO helpful and encouraging in my journey to get better at signing. if there are any inaccuracies, i apologise profusely - i tried my best to research what i could. seeing as i'm not american, i am learning ssl, and hope that I got the american signs right. please tell me what you think?<3

warnings: ignorance about hearing disabilities (nothing malicious at all, just good ol' norm thinking), bob being the mvp and a sweetheart, cursing. no use of y/n.

word count: 2.5K.

description: Bradley had seen you sitting on your own many times, and was bewildered as to why no one was talking to you.

◇─◇──◇─◇◇─◇──◇─◇◇─◇──◇─◇◇─◇──◇─◇◇─◇──◇

Bradley had noticed you a few times, often sitting by yourself nursing a beverage. Sometimes you were looking at your phone, and other times you were just observing the surroundings, smiling softly at the people who milled around. Bradley had never really seen you interact with anyone at all, except for ordering beverages from Penny, and then you always showed her your phone - something that puzzled Rooster a little. Perhaps you wanted to see if she had a particular drink that wasn’t too easy to get ahold of? Either way, he was enthralled by you. The way your soft smile lit up your face, and the way you seemed to be a little bit of a wallflower intrigued him. He also found himself wondering why you were always sitting alone. He’d only seen you once with another person, a friend who was gesticulating as you laughed - it was a very pretty sound, he decided, before he was ripped away by Payback to play pool.

Bradley always walked into the Hard Deck thinking that this would be the night he’d go over and talk to you - ask what you were drinking, where you were from, if you’d like to go out with him… but every time he chickened out, afraid that such a pretty person wouldn’t want a ruddy naval aviator who smelled of jet fuel and couldn’t stay in one place for too long. He kept his distance for a few weeks, stealing longing glances whenever he could.

One day, as he was sipping his beer slowly, Phoenix approached him with a roll of her eyes “When are you gonna make a move, Rooster? You’ve been staring for weeks,” she inquired, raising a brow at her friend.

“Make a move? Rooster?” Hangman smirked, letting his sentence hang in the air to rattle Rooster a little “who are we talking about?” Jake continued, his eyes scanning the filled bar. Natasha nodded her head towards you, and Hangman followed her gaze.

“Oh them? Don’t bother Rooster, they completely ignored me the other day. Wouldn’t even respond to my question,” this had Bob scoffing out an uncharacteristic laugh, that sounded somewhat like he was telling Jake that he was being an idiot. Hangman furrowed his brows, looking at Bobs’ smiling face “what’s with him?” He muttered as the WSO went up to get another bottle of water.

Rooster simply shrugged, watching you make your way over to the bar, near where Bob was stood.

“C’mon Roos, go talk to them!” Phoenix gave him a gentle push in your direction, and Bradley could feel butterflies thrash around his midsection as he cleared his throat before approaching you. You seemed to be deep in thought, waiting for Penny to help Bob with his order.

Standing next to you, Rooster looked down and smiled at you, before saying hi. You didn’t seem to notice at all, and Bradley suddenly wondered if perhaps Jake was right - you completely ignored him. Now, Rooster thought of himself as well raised - he didn’t want to touch you without your consent, but he also didn’t want to give up, even though being ignored was a pretty big sign you weren’t exactly interested.

He had to, though - he had to hear you say you weren’t interested before he gave up. So he reached out gingerly, only hesitating for a second before softly tapping your shoulder. You jumped as if you hadn’t noticed him standing there at all, and as you turned to look at him, your eyes had turned wide with surprise.

“Hi, I’m so sorry. I’m Rooster— I mean, my name’s Bradley, but uh I’m called Rooster by— uh… I was just wondering if I could buy you a drink?” He was rambling. Since when didn’t he know how to speak to a beautiful person? He could hear Bob barely containing his laughter behind him, and he had to fight the sudden urge to throw an elbow back to shut him up. You blinked, opening and closing your mouth a couple of times, with a pained expression. Damn. He’d blown it. He sighed and nodded slowly “I get it, sorry to have bothered you,” he felt dejected as he turned to leave, but stopped as he felt your hand on his wrist, and heard a sound that resembled “No”. It was soft, and little too quiet to actually make it audible in the loud, boisterous environment you were in.

He turned back, looking at you quizzically as you lifted a finger into the air - signalling him to wait as you tapped away on your phone. A frustrated noise left your throat as you scrambled to find the notes app you’d installed on your phone.

“They can’t hear you,” Bob spoke up from behind Rooster, coming to stand beside his pilot friend. Bradley looked at him, bewildered - what did that mean? Bob quickly waved a hand in front of your face, and Rooster slapped his arm - what the fuck was he doing? That was rude as hell. Bob only shook his head and laughed at Bradley’s exasperated look.

As you looked up, Bob smiled at you before signing with his hands swiftly. Rooster took in how your facial expression went from relieved to elated, smiling as you replied with your hands.

“Do you want me to translate what my idiot friend said?” Bob spoke softly as he signed, making that beautiful laugh fall from your lips again. Oh my god, Rooster thought, both he and Hangman were fucking idiots. You couldn’t hear them. He almost groaned at his ignorance.

He thought of himself as a man that was very ‘with it’. He considered himself a feminist, he thought everyone should be treated the same and that no person held any particular advantage over any other - he felt that people could believe in what they wanted and say what they wished as long as it didn’t hurt or put others at risk. But he had actually never really ransacked himself about his knowledge about hearing disabilities, which he felt slightly ashamed over now.

He watched you nod with a big grin, and he had to trust that Bob translated what he said (favourably, he hoped, perhaps Bob would take pity on him and wouldn’t translate into ASL how he’d fumbled it all). He watched you furrow your brow as Bob signed something that Bradley could only guess was “Rooster”, tapping his forehead twice with his thumb, his middle finger and pointer finger forming a V. He couldn’t be sure, but it made sense in his mind.

You locked eyes with him and his heart stuttered a bit as you smiled, repeated the sign Bob had made to his forehead and softly spoke “Rooster?” And then pointed right at him.

“They’re asking if you’re called Rooster” Bob smiled, he didn’t doubt that Bradley had surely understood, but Bob could tell that Rooster felt a little frozen under your gaze - and he figured he’d help kickstart this conversation by breaking Bradley’s little trance.

“Oh, yeah! I’m Rooster. Or Bradley.” He looked at you and then Bob before hesitantly trying to copy the sign they had made. You laughed and moved closer, adjusting his hand so it was at the correct angle before nodding at him with a big smile. Oh god, those butterflies came back with a vengeance having you standing so close to him.

“How do you sign ‘thanks’?” Rooster almost panicked, looking at Bob - was he being rude by asking Bob instead of you? Bob just smiled and put his fingertips, his palm open but not spread, to his chin before sliding it outwards ‘thank you’ he said softly. Rooster repeated the sign to your smiling face, and he felt as if he could stare at the way your eyes twinkled happily forever. It made his heart clench.

“I’m sorry that I assumed you could hear me,” Bradley said and watched as Bob made a fist, circling it in the middle of his chest before signing something else that was too fast for Bradley to differentiate. You just smiled at him and shook your head, Bradley took that to mean “don’t worry about it”, your facial expressions were so vivid and beautiful to him.

You signed rapidly to Bob for a few moments, holding your phone out briefly before you stopped. Bob smiled and turned to Rooster “They say they’re pretty good at reading lips, and that you two can use the notes app or texts if they can’t understand. You’re on your own now, pal” Bob smiled, patting Bradley’s shoulder.

“Bob, thank you so much. I had no idea you knew how to sign!” Bradley sighed, really feeling surges of gratitude to the WSO. Bob smiled before replying that his parents couldn’t hear, and he learned to sign and talk at the same time.

“That’s fascinating,” Rooster replied with a smile as you signed something to Bob that made him laugh. “What did they say?” Bradley asked eagerly, and Bob shook his head. “They said they appreciated me translating, but that they had a hard time with my accent” Bob smiled at Roosters bewildered face.

“I’ll educate you later. Have fun, man!” He simply said before retreating to the pool table. You took a hold of his hand gingerly, and Bradley felt his heartbeat pick up slightly at the feeling of your warm skin against his.

Making your way to the table you’d occupied earlier, he sat down opposite you. He felt a little out of his depth at first, talking whilst your eyes flickered between his lips and his eyes - but as he got more used to you taking a moment to write down a reply, or speaking shorter sentences in response, he felt as he would with any other person. He just wished he could sign as efficiently as Bob did, it would make everything so much easier for you. He wanted to learn how to sign so you wouldn’t have to concentrate so much on reading his lips. Why hadn’t he learned from the jump? It seemed silly now that not everyone was taught sign language in school.

You spent the night in that booth, laughing and getting to know each other, finding that you had quite a lot in common. Bradley thought you were just the sweetest, and he tried his best to not offend you or ask stupid questions - though sometimes they slipped out anyways. Like when he asked what type of music you listened to. He could kick himself. He actually apologized profusely before he saw you shake your head before typing on your phone.

“I hear a little bit. They call my impairment ‘severe’, but I can still hear some loud noises, and I love music that has a lot of bass in it - I love the thrum of the melody it gives” you smiled kindly at him, and he smiled back, grateful that you didn’t seem to mind explaining the most obvious things to him.

“It’s okay to ask about, you know? I don’t mind if there’s anything else you’re curious about,” you’d typed in after a beat, showing him the screen. He read the words quickly, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, speaking slowly he asked how it was that you spoke - could you hear yourself? He felt stupid asking, but your voice was so sweet and soft, he was puzzled as to how one could form words without hearing them.

You smiled, typing away on your phone. You’d apparently lost your hearing after having learnt to talk, which made it easier to maintain the feeling of speaking certain sentences and words. You explained you preferred sign language, just because you couldn’t tell if your volume was too loud or too quiet, which explained why you’d spoken so softly, not wanting to seem like you were shouting.

Bradley smiled, mesmerized about your abilities, and he told you so as well. He could tell you were blushing at his compliment and that made him smile all the wider. Suddenly you took hold of his hand and held it to your throat before typing a quick “I can tell somewhat from how the vibrations feel in my throat when I speak - but it’s hard to tell what volume it’s at” and then you said “Rooster” out loud with that sweet voice Bradley had already come to love, even if it didn’t sound like everyone else. Perhaps that’s why he liked it so much. He could feel the vibrations that thrummed in your vocal chords, and he smiled. He’d never thought about any of these things.

You lifted your hand, raising a brow as if to ask a question, and he nodded - you placed your hand on his Adam’s apple. He laughed before saying that he thought you were beautiful. You smiled, looked down and blushed again before clearing your throat and slowly saying “You have a nice voice,”

Bradley beamed at the compliment “Yeah?” You nodded before typing “I can tell” with a little wink. God, he was a goner.

All too soon, Penny announced last round - and he made sure to swap numbers with you. You emptied your drink and typed out “I had a great time tonight. I’ll text you?” You smiled uncertainly, and he typed back “So did I. Please do text me so I know you’ve gotten home safe?” You grinned and nodded before wrapping your arms around his neck in a parting hug, waving goodbye sweetly before making your way out of the Hard Deck.

“Wow,” Rooster let out a breath as he made his way back to his friends who were slow to make it to the front door. Making eye contact with Hangman, Bradley groaned and said “Hangman, we’re fucking idiots,”

“I don’t even want to talk about it,” Hangman replied with a similar type of “fuck I’m dumb” groan. Bob was silently laughing behind them “That was absolutely golden,” he sniggered, throwing his arms around their shoulders and shaking them “Just two dumb pilots, huh?” He and Phoenix laughed.

“Jesus,” Rooster shook his head. “Bob. This was 'Rooster', right?” He signed and Bob nodded, laughing again “and 'thank you'” he repeated what Bob had showed him earlier. The WSO smiled and nodded at his friends eagerness.

“Can you help teach me sign language, Bob? I’d love to be able to talk to them better” Bradley sighed, wishing he could learn it all right this second. Bob smiled, he could tell this meant a lot to his friend, so therefore he said

“Of course, Brad. We’ll start with the alphabet tomorrow"

#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #top gun fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #gender neutral reader #bradshawsbitch

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starboundpix · 11 months ago

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ii. (love is) a greeting

it turns out the shiny metal scarecrow-esque thing is not a scarecrow and is most definitely offended. he's here to stay, though, so there's plenty of time to make up for that first impression.

daycare attendant x reader ✧ 1.8k words farm au, gender neutral reader, reader is a farmer, reader has a pet dog, hints of dca not being treated well in the past

note: a sun-centric part that has somehow grown into nearly 2k words >u< I promise moon will get his time to shine! (heh)

The crowing of your rooster wakes you up, blinking blearily and squinting at the rays of sunlight streaming through your curtains. You slowly sit up, shoulders and arms aching terribly, but you must get going with your day. There are always things to do on a farm.

After changing out of your pajamas, you exit your bedroom, only to nearly trip over Pluto. “Hey!” He whines and whimpers, circling frantically around your legs, barely giving you any room to move. Your eyebrows furrow and you kneel down, letting him put his paws on your legs as you gently grab his head, looking into his mismatched eyes of hazel and blue.

“What’s wrong, buddy?” His ears are soft as you stroke his head. Pluto slightly relaxes under your touch, but the little noises he makes do not subside.

Suddenly, he pulls his head back and takes little shuffling steps toward the stairs, eyes watching you all the while. You have owned your dog for many years now and know that Pluto will not act this way without good reason. Something uncomfortable stirs in your gut, but you follow your dog as he leads the way down the stairs to the back door of your house. Pluto’s whines increase in volume as you wrap your hand around the handle so you pause to stroke his head.

Whatever is out there—whatever is making Pluto so worried—better watch out. You know your dog will protect you with all of his might and you will fight tooth and nail to make sure he is safe.

Taking a deep breath, you push open the door–

–and are greeted with brilliant blue eyes and a giant smiling face of gold and yellow.

“New friend! I am pleased to-”

“Oh what the hell?” The words fly out of your mouth in a shriek and you whirl back inside toward the safety of your home, pulling the door shut behind you.

Over the blood rushing through your ears as your heart pumps furiously in your chest, you hear muttering through the door. “That was quite rude! I don’t think my greeting warrants a response like that.” A pause. Then, “Perhaps that’s not unexpected for people who live in the middle of nowhere.”

Your mouth falls open in outrage. With this cocktail of shock and anger rushing through your veins, you push open the door again, this time stepping completely through to shut it behind you. “I was startled, thank you very much,” you spit out.

A warm presence presses into your thigh. The reminder of Pluto being by your side is enough to calm your nerves a bit, enough to make you realize that this- this being—a… scarecrow? Your scarecrow!—does have a point. Just the tiniest bit. Taking a deep breath, you shut your eyes and reopen them to look what you once thought was your scarecrow in the eyes.

“Sorry,” you say. “I wasn’t expecting anyone to be at my door, least of all the scarecrow I set up in my garden yesterday.”

The not-a-scarecrow raises his hand to his mouth, which turns round in outrage. “A scarecrow? Scarecrow? I will have you know that we- I am a top of the line farm helper animatronic!”

You blink up at him. “So, um.” You were not prepared for anything like this at all. “So you’re a, uh, robot?”

“A robot?” he screeches, making you wince. The rays around his head shift in agitation. “I am an animatronic. A farm helper animatronic, unit ID 1987!” His teeth show in a smile, though you feel that he is anything but happy.

Hearing those words, you think of the booklet that arrived with his crate. Your aunt must have chosen the sun themed animatronic for you, and he certainly is no mere scarecrow. He’s sentient. He has a personality. A very unique one, at that. He seems a little prickly, although to be fair, you did sort of insult him multiple times in the span of five minutes. Not your best first impression.

The thought of this animatronic being a new companion around the farm makes you a little excited. It has been a while since someone who could actually communicate with words—not with barks or clucks or bleats—has been on your farm for more than a few hours. Not to mention, this is the first time you’ve encountered such an advanced animatronic.

Slowly, your lips curl up in a smile, a warmth rising to your face the first time since you’ve exited your home. “Got it! Hey, I’m truly sorry about my initial reaction. I mentioned to my aunt in passing that I really needed a scarecrow for my garden, so when I got a package from her, that’s what I thought you were.” Wringing your hands together, your expression turns sheepish. “I probably should’ve read the manual from front to back. I definitely wasn’t expecting someone uh, y’know, alive and at my door today. Your presence was a surprise, but it’ll be nice to have some help around the farm. So anyway,” You share your name, holding your hand out for him to shake. “I’m the owner here. Welcome to Monarch Skies Farm.”

The animatronic’s sky blue eyes break contact with yours and he looks down at your outstretched hand. There was a stiff smile plastered on his face the entire time you were talking, but now his faceplates shift so minutely that you barely catch the slight widening of his eyes. After a long pause, he stretches out a yellow and vine-etched arm, long fingers sliding against your palm. You don’t expect them to be this warm. It takes another moment before those fingers tighten around yours, and suddenly your arm is being pumped up and down with enough force to shake your entire body. Pluto starts barking in protest.

“Lovely to meet you, it’s great to meet you! I’ve never met someone quite like you before. Monarch Skies Farm is a beautiful name and there must be lots to do, oh yes. What should be done first today?” He finally lets go of your hand and pulls back a bit, much to your relief; although his hand was warm and comfortable, he’s still pretty much a stranger to you, and all that metal leaning into your personal space is not the best feeling. It feels like he isn't as peeved as he was before, but the hint of snark in his comments shows that he hasn't forgotten your reaction to him. Holding his hands behind his back, he rocks from heel to toe as he awaits your answer, head tilted to the right.

You settle your hand on Pluto’s head to calm him down. “There’s a lot to do today. But first, do you- uh, do you want me to call you by your ID? It was 1987, right? Or is there another name you go by?”

The animatronic stops moving completely. You blink up at him, watching as he seems to stare beyond you while he thinks, motionless. A long moment later, his faceplate rotates upright so he’s looking directly at you. “Oh, no, not the dreadful ID. It lacks a bit of everything, don’t you think? The little ones called me Sun, and that’s a much brighter name!” He winks at you, one bright blue eye vanishing under a golden eyelid.

Your eyes widen. “You really go by Sun? That’s what I named you when I- well, when I thought you were a scarecrow. All the bright gold and yellow and the rays around your face,”—you gesture at him—“made me think of the sun.” Curious, and also a little desperate to move on to avoid his piercing and unreadable gaze, you ask, “Were the children who called you that from your previous farm? What was the farm like?”

Sun takes a moment to respond. There is a strange tone to his voice when he says, “Yes, the little ones from my previous farm gave me this name. They are such wonderful children!”

“O-okay.” He obviously avoids answering your question about his old farm, but you don’t want to press too hard, especially when you’re just getting to know him. Clapping your hands together, you move on. “I’m not sure how the previous farms you were at did things, but I think I should first show you your room. After that, I can give you a tour of the farm. How does that sound?”

You can’t quite determine what he is thinking from the expression on his face, but Sun gives you a shallow nod so you open the door to your home. “Come on in!” Turning away from him, you enter your home with Pluto walking beside you.

You miss the sight of Sun’s fingers twitching, a stiff smile on his face with blue unblinking eyes, his faceplate rotating a few degrees. He hesitates before finally following your retreating figure into your house.

Sun runs a finger along the top of the dresser in the guest bedroom, revealing a streak of dark brown wood under the layer of dust that had gathered on the surface over time. You were telling the truth; this guest bedroom really has not been used in a while.

Now this bedroom is his. His!

“This place could use a good cleaning,” he says to himself, rubbing his fingers together so the dust they had picked up floats back onto the dresser. His hands rest on his hips as he turns in a slow circle, taking in the room.

It’s a decent size for a regular human, he thinks. Cozy, with warm earthy colors and extra cushions on the armchair and bed. Small trinkets decorate the dresser and bedside desk in a way that personalizes the space yet is not too cluttered.

Useless. Moon pushes the thought to Sun.

“W-well,” Sun says, “we may not sleep like a regular human but it can be nice to lay down while charging! At any rate, this is much better than the horse stall.”

Still dirty.

Sun can’t really dispute Moon on that. The urge to find some cleaning supplies and wipe down every surface in this- their room is strong, but Sun remembers that you are waiting to show him around the farm and get started with your tasks for the day. Perhaps he’ll ask you after finishing the tasks, if it isn’t too much of a bother. You’ve proven yourself to be rather nice despite your initial reaction to him at your back door this morning. But-

Be careful.

“Yes, yes, I know. Can’t trust adult humans too easily; they’re not like the children!” Despite saying this, a small spark of hope travels through Sun’s wires against the disapproval he can feel from Moon. He exits his bedroom with a bounce returning to his step, heading to where you wait for him by the front door.

Perhaps, as Sun sees more of the farm and gets to know you, he and Moon will grow to like Monarch Skies Farm. He tries to squash the doubt that Moon sends his way.

note: and there we go! we've discovered that sun will now be a resident of the farm! as for moon? he remains to be seen. literally. >.< thank you so so much for reading! i'd love to hear your thoughts c:

series masterlist ✧ part one ✧ part three

#fnaf x reader #dca x reader #sun x reader #moon x reader #fnaf sun x reader #fnaf moon x reader #daycare attendant x reader #my writing #(love is) a seed that grows #misc: pix writes #type: game #game: five nights at freddy's #ch: moon #ch: sun

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staplegrapes · 1 year ago

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Bust a Move (Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader)

Description: Omaha convinces the squad to go line dancing. For as much as you enjoy dancing by yourself, you can't seem to peel yourself off the wall. You hope to be am invisible bystander, but that doesn't fly with Bradley Bradshaw.

Word Count: 2.6K

TW: None

A/N: It is implied the reader is either a pilot or WSO but it does not go into detail. No use of Y/N.

✨Gender Neutral Reader✨

When Omaha suggested line dancing after training today, you were fully convinced the pilot was joking. Never, once in your months of working with him, had he mentioned it before. Sure, he was from the Midwest, it made sense, but still. You would never have guessed that 5 hours later you would be watching Omaha absolute kill it on the dance floor.

You had heard of Dixon's Country Bar in passing. Even having never been through these doors before, the wooden floor, cowboy memorabilia on the walls and the dim lights didn't surprise you one bit. What surprised everyone is that it appeared Omaha was a regular here given the remarks thrown his way the moment your crew walked through the door.

"Neil! Good to see you bud!"

"Hey! Save some chicks for the rest of us!"

"These your pilot friends?"

When did this man have time? You wouldn't claim to know everything about him, but it feels like you should have known this. Makes you wonder what you don't know about the rest of the squad. But at least now you knew how well they danced.

Rooster, Payback and Fritz picked it up without any issues. You knew Rooster and Payback could dance, but there's a difference between just dancing and picking up choreography as fast as they currently are with no practice. Or maybe they did have practice? Were you the only one who didn't line dance on the weekends? Well, obviously not.

Harvard, Yale and Fanboy were doing their best to keep up with the other three. A little stumble here and there was pretty normal, but they were doing well enough you were slightly impressed. But if a dance had too many spins or was too fast, the three of them often excused themselves off the floor to grab another drink.

And then there was Bob.

Oh, Bob.

You could have predicted this, but Bob was... struggling. Despite both Phoenix and Halo attempting to help him out, it was a battle. He seemed to always get the hang of it by the end of the song, which seemed frustrating. You couldn't tell by his face though. He was having a blast and that is all that mattered.

Coyote was quite good at this as well. Early in the night his smooth moves were catching plenty of looks. Yet, you didn't see much of those moves later on. He was now on the sidelines cashing in on some of those looks, trying to "pick up some digits" as he would say. Same with Hangman, except he barely tried to dance, just flirt, as usual. You barely saw the man step foot on the dance floor unless it was to follow some girl.

Not that you could judge honestly. Your crew had already been here an hour and you had yet to even inch near the dance floor. And it seemed odd, since you've always liked dancing alone in your kitchen. The unfamiliar environment and your lack of knowledge of these dances created some sort of invisible glue between your shoulder blades and the wooden wall. You should have realized you were gonna be the stick in the mud tonight. You should have stayed home. But no one seemed to notice too much. They were all having a great time, so you continued to sip your drink and enjoy the show. So there you stand, homing all the drinks, past and present. That was to be your excuse if anyone were to ask.

Harvard downed his third beer as he headed back for the dance floor. You looked back down to your drink. It was slightly cooler than room temperature now. You weren't the designated driver, but you also just didn't feel like drinking here. If you were gonna dance, which you kept saying you were gonna do you weren't gonna be able to do it well, inebriated.

You weren’t having a bad time. Watching your colleagues drunkly dancing was quite amusing. Watching Bob have the time of his life was nothing short of joyful. Still, something was uneasy in your chest. You felt like a burden for not being able to leave the wall. Either way, you stayed and watched, breathing through the slight anxious feeling in your chest.

It was well into the night, despite this, Rooster was still wearing his sunglasses. He felt they added to his ensemble. It also made it easy to keep stealing glances of you from the side. Something about the way you were standing there was setting off alarms in his head. He could tell something was off. Not that you were one to cut loose often and be the center of attention, but you didn’t seem genuinely content in your spot. Maybe you weren't feeling well? Maybe something or someone made you uncomfortable? Maybe you were tired? Was training rough on you today? Whatever it was, he saw through the facade.

Between songs he decided to go check on you. Slapping Payback and Omaha on the shoulder as he passed by, he slips off the crowded floor. As the lights changed between songs, growing brighter, even with his aviators he was struggling to see you as he got closer.

You saw him making his way over. Oh boy, you knew he was gonna tease you about this. You just didn't have the same ability to let go and relax like he did. That's what you liked about him. You always worried your inability to do just that was what he didn't like about you. As he gets closer and out of the lights, he pulls his aviators off and hooks them onto the collar of his tank top.

"That wall heavy?" He asks in a raised voice as the next song begins to blare over the sound system.

"Huh?" You're not sure if you heard him right. He walks up next to you, not quite so close to the wall, but close enough to hear you over the crowded room.

"I mean, you're holding that wall up. It's a pretty big wall, with all that wood paneling..." He nods towards the wall.

"Oh shut up." you chuckle.

He smirks as he takes another sip of his drink that's been keeping you company at the table. Looking back to the dance floor as the song hits it first repeat, he turns back to you.

"So, what's the song?" He questions, looking down to you without dropping his head. His expression is one of pure intrigue. As if whatever the answer is, is something that he's been dying to ask you. Yet, you don't even know what he means.

"What song?"

"What song is gonna get you out there?" nodding towards the floor.

You shrug. "I dunno. I don't really know any of these, let alone the dances."

"You wanna hear a secret?" He whisper-yells (the softest he could possibly speak and you'd still hear him), leaning down to you. You tilt your head in his direction.

"Me neither." He smiles.

"Yet, somehow you're nailing all these dances?" You retort unconvinced giving him a playful smack on the side of his face which he attempts to block with a grin. He nods his head laughing.

"I wouldn't say I'm 'nailing' them all. Did you see me during that Watermelon one? I had no clue what was happening."

"You're telling me you've never done this before?" you press further.

"Well," he leans back against the wall, "not never, but it's been awhile." his silence is not enough for you and he catches your expectant look before shrugging and continuing. "I had a few friends college who'd go out line dancing once or twice a month. I tagged along occasionally. The songs are different now."

You hummed as your eyes wandered back towards the dancing. A few minutes of silence holds over the two of you.

"So what is it then? You're shy?" He looks down into his drink. You shrug, not knowing if he sees it or not, but silence would answer his question, so it is just as well.

"I dunno, Rooster. I just can't seem to peel myself off this wall."

"Well, is there room for two?" He leans closer to you in an endearing manner.

"No, Roos, go back, you don't have to stay up here with me."

"I've been dancing for an hour. I want a break."

"Suit yourself" you mumble into your drink.

"You want me to keep dancing when I claim to be exhausted? What if I pass out?"

"I'm sure someone will give you mouth to mouth." you smirk. He smiles turning back to face the crowds.

"I'm sure you would."

You blush. How was he so casual about throwing comments around like that? Your comment implied he was getting attention, nothing more you made sure of it. Did it not phase him that he just implied the two of you... Bradley Bradshaw. "You’ve been hanging with Hangman too long." you say, diverting your face away from his gaze as casually as possible.

He laughs. A full laugh. He has such a good laugh. It puts you at ease. For a moment, you're able to forget you're blushing at his comment and this feeling of overwhelming anxiety from this whole night. It's just you and him joking as usual.

You two stand there for awhile more. Some of the crew tries to pull Rooster back to the floor, but he just shakes his head. You can't stop the small feeling of joy when Rooster chooses to stay with you. Makes you feel your company cannot possibly be THAT bad.

"You dance though, don't you?" he questions

"Uh yeah, once in awhile. Why?"

"Your foot is tapping right now." he quips, his gaze dropping to your foot.

You freeze up, realizing he's right. He pushes himself off the wall with his shoulder to get a better look at you offering you a hand.

"Alright, you're gonna dance at least once. Deal?"

You wanted to say no just to avoid the situation. But the way he had come up to check on you, the way he's staying with you without actually making you feel guilty, you couldn't leave him hanging. You take his hand and shake it.

"Um, sure." You mumble. He smiles as he goes back to lean on the wall again.

"We'll wait for a good one." He notes with a wink as the two of you watch some girl reject Hangman for the third time that night. It was just not his night.

Your situation aside, you and Bradley were marveling over the fact there had yet to be one song Omaha didn't know. Every song he breezed through it like it was as easy as reciting the alphabet. The two of you could pick out the other regulars, but most of them had certain ones they were less familiar with. That was not the case with Neil "Omaha" Vikander. His consistency was popular with the crowd for sure. It was endlessly entertaining to see this new side of him.

"Alright, here it is." Bradley says, shaking you from your thoughts a few songs later. He grabs your (finally) empty glass placing it on the table along with his, grabs your wrist and pulls you towards the floor. In that moment you finally feel your shoulders leave their contact from the wall and it felt great, still your stomach was doing backflips in an anxious response. You would have likely felt more anxious if it had not been for Rooster's firm but comforting grip on your wrist as you two navigated the crowd. Eventually he found a spot near the back edge of the floor. No one would be trying to walk through there, or hopefully look back there. You were nervous enough as it was.

As you attempted to calm yourself, you realized you recognized the song.

"Footloose? Really?" You ask him, as the extended intro played. He beams at your familiarity with the song.

"Of course! It's a classic. One of my mom's favorites." You didn't miss how his smile lit up a little more when he mentioned his mom.

"Isn't this song fast?" You question.

"It's not that bad. It's pretty easy. Just follow me ok?" you nod as your eyes dark around the floor but Rooster slaps your arm lightly to grab your attention. "Don't worry about the people around us. They're doing their own thing.” And you then noticed how he had put you in the spot closest to the corner, that way you only had one person in front of you and him next to you. You appreciated the less pressure of this spot and he probably knew that. Before you could think too hard about it, the song started to pick up.

"You ready?" He smiles to you doing a few hops shaking out his shoulders.

"No clue." you shrug with a smile. No going back now.

And he was right. The dance itself really was not too hard to pick up. Were you a natural? Not in the slightest. Yet, you felt like you did much better than you had actually expected. Some of the moves weren't far from what you did in your kitchen. When you do mess up you look to Rooster who starts you talk you through it with a smile and a string of encouragements "There you go!", "That's it," "A natural, what did I tell ya?". It calmed you just enough to pick up the moves before the next verse. Every few moments when you were actually getting the moves, you'd dare to look over to Rooster who would be looking right back at you with a wide grin splitting his face. When the song ends you can't help but laugh looking back to him

"Hey, that was great." He raises his hand and you give him a high five. The two of you are just smiling at each other before you're interrupted.

"Aye, you finally made it down here!" Payback calls out, making his way over. "C'mon give it another song!" He does a little shimmy and you smile. Once you got out here it was easier, it was just that initial push off the wall. So that's what you did and yes, you were not good. But having Payback and Rooster beside you, it didn't feel like you were being a bother. Both of them were just glad you were on the floor. The whole squad, minus Coyote and Hangman who are still trying their best to not leave here alone tonight, migrated their way towards the three of you and it was a good time.

Eventually the night comes to an end as 2 AM hits the clock. The crew, including Coyote and Hangman, heads outside and after saying farewells heads in different directions. Of course, Bradley and you are the only two who are parked in the same direction. So you walk in a comfortable silence down the street.

"Thanks for helping me get out there tonight." you thank him after a few moments.

"I didn't do much. You just needed a push." He shrugs.

"Yeah, but if you hadn't, I wouldn't have had as much fun as I did."

He nods silently. A block passes by and he finally breaks his uncharacteristic silence just as your car comes into view.

"Hey, if you want to, we can always go again." he adds nonchalantly.

"Yeah, I kno..." but he cuts you off before you say any more.

"Just the two of us." he finishes.

You pause, processing what he just said.

"Figured maybe that would be less pressure." He shrugs, obviously trying to ease the tension his last phrase just created.

"I might have to take you up on that." You smile, having a hard time looking up from the ground the closer you get to your car, feeling his eyes are still on you.

"Hey," He calls and you know he's trying to get you to look at him, which you grant him that silent request.

"I hope you do." He tilts his head down in sincerity.

"Have a goodnight." He smiles and pats the side of your upper arm, as he spins around and heads back towards his Bronco.

"You too! You smile standing by your car.

He turns back as he continues walking.

"Already did." he chimes with a wink.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Every summer is gonna be a Top Gun summer from here on out.

#top gun fanfiction #top gun #top gun maverick #top gun maverick fanfiction #character x reader #reader insert #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster x reader #rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster top gun #rooster x you

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daddy-cake · 11 months ago

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Krueger x Mexican!Reader Headcanons

Y'all already know the drill, this is all sfw and Gender Neutral!Reader

No use of any Y/N variations

A/N: I'm Mexican and in love with him... I just had to. This place needed more Mexican!Readers anyways🙄

MEXICO RAHHHH🇲🇽🇲🇽🇲🇽🇲🇽✊🏼✊🏼✊🏼✊🏼

Reader is also implied to not be part of the military. Sorry not sorry <33.

Warnings: All of these just silly goofy

MASTERLIST

First time meeting your family is going to be Krueger's last.

The family wasn't so happy to hear that you fell in love with a white man.. They could have let it slide if he was American because most Mexicans are a suck up to Americans... but Austrian? Grandma was literally crying at the news and praying for the family, she was claiming that the family was truly doomed. The only thing that will get the family to calm down is you reminding them that he isn't from Spain or Argentina. Heavy on Argentina.

Family is going to be calling him "El Barbie" in a derogatory sense. You tried to tell him that it was a compliment and means that's he's tough in Spanish.

Your dad definitely tried to bond with him by taking him to rooster fight. However, the two came home and your father was beyond mad. He starts claiming that Sebastian is bad luck because his rooster, who has a streak of wining 20 tournaments, lost. Got rubbed by the egg afterwards.

Sebastian isn't too pleased with the environment. Parents are having an argument, kids are running around screaming or crying, music is playing at full volume, one of the dogs are barking, the tías are gossiping, La Rosa de Guadalupe is playing, Grandma rubbing him with the egg and praying, Grandpa is working on the roof, and some cousin is vacuuming.

When dinner came around... lord help this man. He wasn't prepared for the spice that only he could taste. Had tears trying to escape then he had to excuse himself from the table and go outside to regain his composure. The whole family was muttering "No aguanta nada" the whole time.

To say he was relieved to hear that you two were going home is an understatement. He preferred more of a quiet environment than one that is loud and makes it very apparent that he's not welcomed there.

When you two arrived at your own place he was ready to just pass out. He was warned that the place was going to be busy, but he thought he could handle it and it wasn't that bad since he was a soldier... he should've listened to you.

The next day was spent inside and not even letting an ounce of the outside in. Krueger dearly needed it to just regain his sanity from the pervious day.

Everything was going fine until when he wanted to prepare something for lunch. He was looking all over the kitchen for the pots and pans until he finally gave up and asked you where you kept them.

"Why are they in the oven?"

"You don't put them in the oven?"

Krueger at one point received a gift that was rooster from you and was so confused why you would gift him this. At first, he thought it was some sort of joke gift from you until he realized it was a genuine gift after a few seconds of silence. Doesn't even know what to do with it, so he ended up giving it to your dad. Dad was not happy.

The one time the both of you went out to dinner, he was not expecting other guests to keep telling you two to have a good meal as it wasn't a thing in all of the countries he has lived in.

Was told by you not to speak at all when you two were out on the streets or else y'all would get jump. Krueger doesn't listen to the rules though.

When you left your Banda music on while doing some chores, he was about to turn it off but he got really into the music.

Got a chihuahua simply because you begged for one and he found it somewhat funny that despite their small sizes they are very protective. Also it was between that or the stray xoloitzcuintli down the street that's been there for around 10 years.

100% brags about thechihuahua, saying he has a vicious dog that could kill anyone. Everyone thought he got a Rottweiler for a long time.

La Quebradita. Trust once you teach Krueger the basics, y'all gonna be making your cousins and their partners jealous. Considering he's part of a PMC and once in the military, he obviously is gonna have some strength. That strength comes in handy when you two want go all out in a Quebradita competition.

Considering Krueger was once part of the military, he obviously would be sort of tidy considering that they engraved that trait into his head when he first joined. So yes, he would help you clean around the house. HOWEVER, laundry duty is always on him. Simply the way that you'll probably fold clothes would just trigger something in him like a sleeper agent.

You'll always have to be the first to initiate any sort of "I love you"s. He doesn't know why, but he just can't bring himself to say it to you.

When Sebastian is away on missions, he often times receive texts from you that revolves around staying safe. He can't help it, but to have a small smile plaster on his face.

There will be some point in the relationship that he would just go off the grid and/or no contact for a few days. It's not that he hates you. It's just that considering the life he has lead, he definitely needs some points to take a step back to recollect in a way. Also to stay away from authorities, but let's not take about that.

Would never go into any sort of detail about his background besides being part of the military. He'd never once talk about his parents or why he's no longer part of said military. To you he's kinda of an enigma. You know so little about him, but he knows so much about you. You that it was unfair in a sense. However, no matter how much you try to get answers, he'd never budge. So after awhile, you start chalking things up to him having a strained relationship with his parents (which in a lot of Mexican households would probably mean that his parents were absolutely vile if you go no contact with them) and possibly leaving the military on his own terms.

Krueger would go great lengths for a mangonada. Me too bro, me too.

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lilithslittleworld · 7 months ago

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Masterlist <3 (By Fandom, character, and type)

Just a little reminder link to my character list and that requests are open!!

Twilight Saga:

Quileute Pack

Seth Clearwater:

Formal Crushing (fluff, oneshot)

Jacob Black:

New Moon if Edward had never come back (Chapters)

New To This (fluff, smut Jacob x Reader oneshot)

Cullens

Alice Cullen:

Our Little Secret (Alice x Bella smut)

Bella Swan/Cullen:

Our Little Secret (Bella x Alice smut)

Headcanons:

How Bella’s (and Alice’s) Graduation Party Actually Went (or should’ve gone): (headcanons)

Divergent Series:

Peter Hayes

All For You (smut, angst, some fluff. oneshot)

Jeanine Matthews

The Exception (fluff and angst oneshot)

Four/Tobias Eaton

Intruder (Four x reader smut, oneshot)

His Girl (Four x reader fluff, oneshot)

Character Headcanons:

How The Divergent Characters Would React To You Being Injured\In Pain (angst, fluff, headcanon)

Harry Potter Universe:

Weasleys

Fred Weasley:

Ambulo Aqua (Fred x fem reader, fluff)

Harry Potter Guys

Oliver Wood

Locker Room Tales (Oliver x gender neutral reader, fluff)

Harry Potter

The Chosen One (Harry x reader, smut)

Marauders era

Remus Lupin

What Better Way to Relax Than Sex? (Remus x fem reader, smut)

Harry Potter Headcannons

Doing It With The Harry Potter Characters Is Like (smut headcannons)

Top Gun Fandom:

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw Hanging In There Series: Part 1 Jake "Hangman" Seresin Hanging In There Series: Part 1

The Hunger Games Series

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elvisabutler · 2 years ago

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elvis presley x reader

give you my heart ( rated t, big daddy elvis ) come and trim my christmas tree ( rated m, big daddy elvis. the smuttier version of give you my heart. ) sentimental over you ( rated g, big daddy elvis fluff. ) the happiest place on earth is here with you ( rated t, 60s elvis. ) catharsis ( rated m, sub big daddy e. gender neutral reader. ) teddy bear ( rated t, big daddy elvis, plus size reader. ) i got a feeling in my body ( rated m, 60s elvis sugar daddy. work in progress. ) never, no never, a baby, baby like mine ( rated m, 70s/big daddy elvis. sequel to my baby’s sure his love’s secure from kinktober. work in progress. ) make you know it ( big daddy elvis showing female reader how good sex can be. work in progress. ) orpheus ( elvis x priscilla x reader. sequel to gravity. work in progress. ) watch the smoke pour out the doors ( rated m, vampire elvis ) is this a sexual buffet or a comeback special? ( rated m, incubus elvis. co-written with @prompted-wordsmith ) teeth grown sharp and glowing red ( rated me, incubus elvis. sequel to is this a sexual buffet or a comeback special? co-written once again with @prompted-wordsmith. ) queen of graceland verse ( that one breeding kink-ish series ) masterlist professor presley ( big daddy ) masterlist beyond the sea verse ( selkie elvis ) masterlist gunmetal masterlist

elvis presley x original female character

spark masterlist ( never famous big daddy electrician au with war ptsd, elvis the pelvis mentions and tragic married women oh my. rated ) quiet on the set masterlist ( late hollywood elvis gets directed by alfred hitchcock's daughter and falls head over heels in love and shenanigans happen. ft. elvis as stanley from streetcar named desire and as rooster from true grit. )

elvis presley

caught in a trap masterlist

#*masterlist #masterlist #*admin #elvis presley fanfiction #that last one is more i mean technically it doesn't necessarily have a pairing so where do i put it?

120 notes · View notes

rainbow-universe · 2 years ago

Text

wow. this is so beautifully written and it flows perfectly and it’s just ajdhkskshs incredible. wow. this is fantastic 💗💗💗💗

good enough

bradley "rooster" bradshaw x gn!reader, 8k words tw: MAJOR MISCOMMUNICATION TROPE. divorce, cussing (lots of f bombs at some point), lots of arguing, angst, at one point, reader is said to have had depression before. the reader and bradley are both idiots and neither one of them can properly deal with shit. macho man rooster ends up letting fear gets the best of him and he literally ruins his own life bc of it LMAO, possibly ooc if you squint, possibly questionable actions when it comes to friends, this is dramatic as hell (and i loved every minute of it), self-doubt, angry characters, regret is strong here, rooster fears death and makes it a personality trait™ a/n: based on the song "good enough" by maisie peters. sorry for all of the tws, but i just wanted to try and mark all the boxes. but fr i love bradley. this is purely a play on the song i named, and is just a piece of fiction. a dramatic piece of fiction. like literally take rooster and place him in some angsty romance novel, but cut out the smut. that's this. i am also so sorry for the length of this. i just... started going and i couldn't stop. LMAO

Your heart lurched to your throat as you stood there, his head turned away from your lips—he was avoiding your touch. He didn’t have to say it for you to realize it.

You hesitantly smiled, backing down. Maybe he just had a bad day. It happened pretty often, so taking it personally wouldn’t have benefited you in any way.

He was your favorite person, and you knew you were his. You two were best friends until the end of time. That’s how it had been since even before you two got married—that’s how it would stay.

The television that sat in the living room had long since been turned off. The fan perched in the corner of the room silently hummed along, providing little relief to the California heat that plagued your home.

"Rooster," you began, rubbing the back of your neck. Sweat stuck to the palm of your hand, and you grimaced as you quickly wiped your hand off on the seat of your pants. "How was your day? I know it's been busy—"

"—we need to talk," he said, cutting you off.

He didn't even give you a chance to question things as he walked past you, sitting down on the sofa in your shared condominium. You blinked slowly at your husband, but you gave a small nod. Your feet moved on their own accord as you sat beside him. You placed a hand on his knee, and he only pulled himself away from you.

You swallowed thickly, nerves getting the best of you. Had you done something to offend him recently? Did something happen with Maverick again? You had thought they were doing well—the videos Natasha had sent you were proof enough of that. It warmed your heart to know that he was finally finding himself in this crazy world.

Maybe it was just hot. Yes, that’s it. The heat was getting to him. It had been getting to everyone on base, and at work. It wouldn’t surprise you if it was the same thing here.

"Bradley…?" You said nothing more than his name, watching him with nothing but pure adoration behind your eyes. He meant the world to you. There was nothing he could say or do to change this, even if he was avoiding you.

The man looked at anything but you. His dark brown eyes stared at the black television, and then they moved to the grey carpet just beneath his boot-clad feet.

You must have just vacuumed. He could see the indentations, and that’s what he chose to focus on as he searched for the right words to say. But they never came.

"I want a divorce," he said.

It was so simple. Those four words.

And just like that, your world came crashing around you.

Where was this coming from? Did you do something to upset him?

The words swirled around in your brain, repeating over and over until it hit you like a freight train, knocking the air from your chest. He wants a divorce.

You sat on the edge of the black sofa, eyes fluttering shut as you took in a deep breath. Your hands rested in fists on top of your thighs as you wracked your mind for an explanation. You couldn't find one.

There was nothing that could justify whatever this was.

How long had he been thinking about this?

"Where… where is this coming from?" you asked. You just had to know.

"I don't want to talk about it. Just… please."

"What?" You looked up at him in disbelief. "You—you want to divorce me but you won't even give me a reason?" you asked. Your eyes burned as you held back your tears. You couldn't cry. Not now. If you cried that first tear, then surely, they would never stop.

"I have never asked you for anything, Y/n. Please, just say yes.”

"I don't understand where this is coming from, Bradley," you said, reaching forward to take ahold of his hand. "Please. Talk to me. I want to understand what's going on."

Rooster clenched his jaw, looking down at your hands. Your wedding band glinted in the soft glow of the light overhead. The beautiful piece glared at him as he fought to find the right words to say—but nothing he could say would make this better. Not now.

The words left him without a second thought.

"I don't love you."

Oh.

Oh, no.

No, no, no. He couldn't be serious. He couldn't be telling you the truth right now. He did love you. He married you! Why would he ever ask you to marry him if he didn't love you?

Why would you plan your life together if he didn’t love you?

But even though you could create more and more questions in your mind, trying to placate every emotion coursing through your veins, nothing made sense.

You pulled your hand away as your tears finally began to fall. If he didn't love you, you wouldn't force him to be with you any more than he wanted.

Rooster inwardly grimaced, but he wasn’t about to let you see that. He needed to be strong—he needed to save face and keep on digging in the same grave he had started.

"Just… just tell me when."

"When what?"

"When did this happen? When did you fall out of love? I—I thought you loved me, Bradley. I love you."

He pursed his lips. He seemed to hesitate as he allowed his eyes to meet yours. Rooster's blood rushed to his ears, and his fingers itched to grab onto something. To grab onto you. But he couldn’t. He couldn't even look at you properly when you looked so sad, but he forced himself to do so anyway. You deserved that, at least. You deserved to be looked at when he was ending the relationship you fought so hard to keep.

"I don't know. It just… happened."

He was lying. He had to be lying. There was no way he was being honest—he loves you. He loves you, and this was all just some bad dream. Some bad joke that Hangman put him up to. Maybe Fanboy was in on it, too. Surely, someone put him up to this. They had money in a bowl somewhere, waiting for your reaction so they would know who won. He’d whip out his phone soon and text them the result.

But the way he looked at you… you knew he was telling you the truth. He wanted a divorce. This was happening, whether you wanted it to or not. There was no cruel bet, no ulterior motive.

This was happening.

Every moment of the past three years pierced your brain—Bradley asking you out in the middle of the Hard Deck. Meeting his friends. Picking out your wedding rings. Becoming Y/n Bradshaw. The kisses you shared. The whispered conversations, the happy smiles, the—

He was your life. He is your life. You love him more than life itself.

But he loved you.

Loved. Past-tense.

He did love you. Something changed. What had changed?

You abruptly stood up, roughly wiping your tears away. You couldn’t do this. You couldn’t be near him right now. Your heart was far too heavy, weighed down by the immense burden of his confession.

"Alright," you said. "I… I won't force you to stay with me. I would never do that to you, Bradley. I would… I would never, ever want you to do anything you don’t want to do.” You held back a sob, fists balled at your sides. “We can get a divorce."

Relief spread across his face. He couldn't smile, though. This ended up being a lot harder than he expected it to be.

"Thank you," he said. He stood up, towering over you like usual. "I appreciate it."

You gave a curt nod, averting your gaze. Your tongue poked out, nervously wetting your lips as you cleared your throat. He appreciated it.

Were you just a joke to him?

"I will… I will make arrangements. I will leave by next week."

"What? You don't have to do that. There's no rush—"

"—I'll leave by next week," you cut him off, no longer looking at him.

What was he doing? You didn’t need this. You didn’t need him. As you took a step forward, the tears began to fall. Your husband forced himself to stay put as you rushed off to your bedroom, slamming the door shut behind you.

You found little comfort in the blankets that now surrounded you, tears wetting the pillow on which you rested your head night after night. You found little comfort in the place you spent with your husband, time after time, lamenting how much you loved each other. Planning the future of your life—of your family. Of your relationship that should have only grown in love.

The memories of this bed burned in the back of your mind. You could hardly breathe as the sobs plowed through your body.

This wasn’t fair.

This couldn’t be real.

Rooster slowly sat back down, burying his face in his hands. His elbows dug into his thighs, a choked sob catching in the back of his throat. He couldn’t believe he allowed himself to say that to you. It was far from the truth. But there was nothing he could do about it now.

This was for the best.

This would keep you safe.

As the sun peered through the grey curtains, setting just beyond the horizon, Rooster stood up. He wiped his tears away, instantly hardening. He had done this time and time again. He would hide, folding back into himself like a metal chair—he’d be there for people when he was needed, but he would be just out of the way until then. He wouldn’t bother you any longer than he needed to.

This was for the best—you wouldn’t have to live your life wondering what could have been.

If he died, that was that. You would move on, and he could rest peacefully in the afterlife.

His father hadn’t ever given his mother a chance to do something like that. He wouldn’t be making the same mistake.

Three years had passed.

Three, long and grueling years had inched by, taking your misery along with you. The New Year would pass over and over, and the only thing you would write on your resolution list was: Move on.

But you never could. That list ended up in the garbage only weeks after drafting it up.

How could you when the love of your life left as he did? How could you when you knew he was the only thing that kept you going, even if you were hundreds of miles away?

They would never say it out loud, but your friends never quite said anything about why he divorced you—why he fell out of love. But why would he tell them something like that? Rooster generally kept to himself. It wasn't something that he would have been very honest about, to begin with.

You knew they knew something more, but they never said anything. You never expected them to, either. They were your friends as much as they were his, and they had been his friend for far longer. You couldn't blame them. Whatever they knew—that was his business. But you kept silent, allowing yourself to wallow in self-pity for more than you should have.

But just like you couldn't blame them for keeping his secrets… who could blame you?

You had your own life before Rooster, yes, you did. You didn’t depend on him. You were independent, and you had your own interests and everything. You didn’t need him. But with his confession, it was as if everything you had ever known had been tossed out of the window of a speeding car in an instant, shattering against the run-down pavement. Pieces flew everywhere—you'd never be able to find them again, let alone put them back together.

You'd never have enough glue for something like that.

You would never be able to repair the gaping hole that was in your heart.

And you knew it was silly. You shouldn’t have ever let yourself trust someone so completely. But you never thought something like that would happen. Rooster was so easy to love.

He was such a happy person—he exuded confidence. He was the epitome of an amazing human being. And yet, he still fell out of love with you.

You never believed someone could just fall out of love so easily.

So, instead of remaining in the very place you felt like you were sinking in, you did what you thought was best. You packed your things and moved to Virginia. At least there, you'd be far enough away that he'd never find you. The mileage did little to comfort you, but it was something.

At least here, you felt like you could breathe.

Changing from the west coast to the east coast was drastic—but you adapted. You had to. You couldn't continue living in the very place that was threatening you at every given minute. You couldn’t continue on in a place where at every corner, something reminded you of him. It was driving you into a familiar depression—one that you had known before Rooster, and one that you would now know after Rooster.

When you left, Phoenix was devastated. Other than Bob, you were her closest friend. She never stopped talking to you—she never stopped being friends with you, even when you moved across the country. When Phoenix asked you to come in to visit, you hesitated. But then she promised you that Rooster wouldn't be there. That he would be visiting some family he had up north—his girlfriend's family. He would be using this free time to get to know them better.

You wouldn't say you were happy for him. Hell, that was far from the truth. Despite the fact you no longer wore your ring on your finger, it was always on a chain around your neck. Your heart still beats for him, no matter how many times you had tried to move on. And you did it all. You tried everything that Google said to do. One night stands, going out with strangers, having people set you up, hell, you even tried therapy. But it never worked.

Why would it? Rooster was the love of your life. He was the one you had seen yourself dying with—he was the one you wanted to grow old with. And he didn't want that in you. He didn't see the same things.

He didn’t see your relationship as a rising sun just beyond the mountain tops. He was already there with the setting sun, disappearing beyond the horizon. He had been there, at the end of your relationship, far before you even had a chance to find the middle. He had made peace with the end. You couldn’t even find peace in the beginning.

After much pestering and a FaceTime call from both Phoenix and Bob, you were convinced to join them back in California for a week. But your only condition was that Phoenix would be paying half for your plane ticket. She agreed in a heartbeat.

So that's why you stood here now, in front of the old dormitory in which you used to visit your friends in. You had already been to the hotel you'd be staying at, and you took a taxi to the base.

The grey building towered over you, making you feel far smaller than you actually were. Memories sat behind those walls, waiting for you to relive them, even if you didn’t want to.

It only took one text message to Natasha before she came barreling down the sidewalk, pulling you into a bone-crushing hug. Bob was not far behind, and Hangman was taking his sweet ole time. You didn't know he'd be around, but you felt better knowing he was—you had been close before Rooster sent in the papers. He helped you pack and get your things to Virginia.

You hugged Phoenix tightly, smiling up at her.

"It's been too long!" she nearly shouted, excitement running through her body. As she pulled away, Bob pulled you into a hug. He greeted you as he had so many times, with a hug and a simple ‘hello.’

Last but not least, Hangman sent you a smile. He pulled you into a hug, despite the fact he used to be one of the last people you would expect it from. You melted into the hug, unable to stop yourself from smiling.

"It's… it's good to be back. I'm glad to see you guys."

"Coyote, Payback, and Fanboy are already at the bar. Said they'd just meet us there. You ready?" Phoenix grinned.

You were as ready as you would ever be. You gave a small nod to your friend, and before you knew it, you were on your way to the very place you met your ex-husband. The Hard Deck.

It was suffocating, standing in that corner all alone. Your friends played pool, and you watched as the different colored balls sunk into the pockets that lined the edge. Hangman stood off to the side, beating some stranger in darts.

Rooster had always been good at that.

Lost in your mind like you had been so many times before, the sound of a glass falling at the bar made you jump.

And then you saw him. Your own glass slipped through your fingertips, crashing onto the floor. Shards littered the wood floor. Phoenix yelped your name in surprise, coming to your side immediately.

"What's wrong?" she asked, placing a hand on your arm to try and comfort you. You continued to stare, and she eventually looked in the direction of your gaze. Her eyes widened in surprise, lips parting as she tried to find something to say.

He wasn't supposed to be here. He wasn't supposed to be anywhere near you.

And he was looking right at you.

"Y/n, it's okay, he's not—"

You pulled your arm away from Phoenix, taking a couple of steps back before you took off running in the direction of the restrooms. It was as good of a hiding spot as anywhere, and you'd be able to collect yourself before going back out there. You couldn’t possibly run past him—he’d stop you. Or at least, try to follow you. Phoenix would make him leave. Surely, she wouldn't just let him stay.

You locked yourself in a stall, sitting down on the toilet seat. You took in a deep, releasing a shaky breath as tears clouded your vision. A hand pressed to your mouth, elbows digging into the meat of your thighs as you tried to keep yourself calm.

This wasn't happening! She promised he wasn't here. Why would she lie?

Maybe she didn't know.

The bright light in the bathroom was far too much.

The dripping water from the sink struck the porcelain—plip, plip, plip.

The noise from the bar was deafening as you sat there, chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. Loud voices echoed through the building, striking your ears in an instant. But the more you cried, the more your sobs became the only thing you heard.

It had been ages since you cried over him, so why now? Why were you so triggered by just seeing him?

You tried to calm yourself down but to no avail.

You loved him. You love him. You never stopped. You couldn't just stop.

You tried so hard. You spent years trying to forget the man who ripped your heart in two with four simple words.

But the universe had a funny way of working. It seemed to work against you in every way possible, no matter what.

You could never win.

You would never win.

No matter what, you were never good enough.

You hadn't been good enough in school. You weren't good enough at work. And you hadn't been good enough for Rooster, even when you were married. You weren't good enough for him, now, either.

There was a knock at the bathroom door before you heard it creak open. Your breath hitched in your throat as you tried to keep quiet, choked sobs caught in your chest.

Worn shoes popped up underneath the stall door you found refuge in. Those same damn shoes you bought him once for Christmas, four years ago. He had been so excited—they were almost the exact same pair his mother had bought him one year for his birthday. His father's favorite brand—his favorite style of shoe.

God, you searched everywhere for those damn shoes.

And he kept them.

Silence enveloped the bathroom, save for your stifled sobs. You rested your shoulder against the old paneled walls, squeezing your eyes shut as you tried to ignore him. But he knew you were there. It was far too late, now.

Rooster stood there, fist raised to knock on the stall door. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. What would he even say? What would have been good enough?

Three years had come and gone without you. Three long years in which he felt as if he was drowning, just existing. He would have been better off launching himself into that ocean, the same as his father. His wedding band was stuffed away in some kind of pocket, always near him or on his person in some way. He tried to get over you—one-night stands, blind dates, even going as far as asking Hangman to find him a girl.

It worked, for a while.

He started dating Kristie—a sweet woman who worked as a nurse on base. But she saw right through him. She knew who he was, and what was going on in that head of his.

She wasn't mad—a bit disappointed, yes, but it didn't stop her from breaking up with him and canceling their planned vacation up north together.

She wasn’t you. She would never be you.

And he didn’t think he would ever see you again.

Rooster found himself in the middle of the Hard Deck, never once expecting you to be there. None of the Dagger Squad had said anything about you. He didn't know you were even going to be in town.

He felt like he couldn't breathe when he laid eyes on you.

The yellow lighting cast a soft glow on your skin. You were beautiful. You had always been beautiful, but damn, you looked even more beautiful now. Maybe it was just the years that had passed him by.

The walls of his small corner of the world couldn’t fall on him sooner.

The glass that crunched under your shoes became the only thing he heard until he watched as you ran back into the hallway.

In a split second, Hangman was beside him, obviously pissed.

"What the hell, man? Why aren't you with Kristie?"

"She broke it off."

Hangman clenched his jaw. He couldn't believe this was happening, but then again, Rooster had his head far up his ass more often than not. Hangman punched him in the arm, just enough for it to hurt.

"You need to leave," he said, watching as Rooster recoiled in pain.

"What?" Rooster looked at him in surprise. "No."

"Yes!" he exclaimed. Was this idiot really that much of an asshole?

This time, Phoenix spoke up, her arms crossed over her chest. "We promised you wouldn't be here. You're supposed to be up north. You're supposed to be far away from here!"

"You promised?" Rooster stared her down.

"Well, yeah, you asshole! You broke their heart. They didn't even want to come here in the first place. God, I should've just gone to see them instead of dragging them out here," Phoenix groaned, rubbing her forehead with the back of her hand.

Rooster hesitantly took a step forward.

"Rooster, get out," Hangman said, voice low.

He shook his head. He needed to talk to you.

"Rooster!"

He broke out into a run, and before Hangman could follow, Phoenix grabbed his arm.

"What the hell?" he stared at her in disbelief.

"Just let it happen," she said.

"Let what happen? Watch Y/n get their heart stepped on all over again?"

"Just… just let it happen."

Phoenix would wait for you to berate her, later. But for now, she could only wish her friends would try to make up. She could only wish that Rooster would gain a pair and grow up. Her heart ached for you as she watched Rooster run back to the bathrooms, knowing that she couldn’t ever take the pain away from you. The only one who could do that was Rooster, himself, and even then, she wasn’t sure if that would happen.

And now, he found himself standing there, the silence deafening in the small space. The light was bright in the enclosure—brighter than he remembered. His hand was still hovering, his arm growing heavy as he debated on knocking.

Should he just leave? Should he do as Hangman said and walk out? But he couldn't just leave. Not now. Not when he knew he made the biggest mistake of his life, telling you all that bullshit.

You used your sleeves to wipe your tears away as you shakily got to your feet. Your fingers struggled to even unlock the stall door, but when you did, you swung it open. Rooster had to back up just to avoid being hit with the metal.

The two of you just stood there, bright light casting shadows onto the old tile floor. Not a word was said as Rooster stared at you.

You were exactly as he remembered, if not better. You had changed your hair since the last time he saw you. He kept the mustache, and his hair was still cut the same. You kept the same style and the same makeup (or lack thereof).

You still looked at him the same… even if it quickly changed into one of anger.

You were still so beautiful.

His voice caught in his throat. He wanted to talk to you, but he couldn’t think of anything to say to you. Nothing he could say would make things better.

He was such an idiot.

You stepped forward, walking to the stark white sink. You grabbed a few paper towels and wet them before carefully wiping the remnants of your tears. You stared at your reflection in the rounded mirror, your lip caught between your teeth as you hiccuped.

"Y/n?" Rooster tentatively began. He raised a hand to touch your shoulder.

You immediately moved away from his touch, glaring in his direction.

His fist clenched beside him as he watched you.

You tossed the paper towels in the trash and pushed past him, quickly leaving the bathroom.

"Y/n," he repeated.

As you walked, he followed.

Your friends stood in their respective corner, knowing they should intervene. Yet they stayed, hoping that somehow, Rooster would fix his fuck up. They couldn’t keep watching the two of you fight some imaginary battle—they couldn’t watch the two of you wish your life away for something that was quite literally at the tips of your fingers.

Phoenix wasn't too sure if he'd be able to fix this. Hangman honestly wanted to hang a man.

You shoved the doors open, walking into the cool California night. It wasn’t like the cold in Virginia. Virginia’s winters were unforgiving—the snow that would fall would chill you to your very core. Virginia winters would put southern California to shame in an instant. At this very moment, you wished you were there, standing in the chilling wind, begging for some kind of relief—at least then, your body would become numb even if your mind was still running a mile a minute.

Nothing could have prepared you for what had transpired. Nothing could have prepared you for seeing the man you fought so hard to forget.

With no car, you continued walking. You'd call a taxi at some point. Right now, you just needed to breathe.

But you had yet to realize Rooster was still following you.

The man grabbed ahold of your wrist, making you stop in the middle of the damn parking lot. Cars and trucks alike littered the parking spots. A few people walked past you as they went into the bar, ignoring the tension that stood in the middle of it all.

You whipped around, jerking your arm away from him with wide eyes. "What's your fucking problem?!"

Rooster paused, body going rigid as he waited for you to continue.

You had never yelled at him, even when he asked for a divorce.

"Why the fuck are you even here? You're not supposed to be here! You have a fucking girlfriend. Get away from me. I don't ever want to see you again."

Tears sprung to your eyes once more. You tilted your head back, wishing they would just stop. The stars stared down at you, mocking you where you stood. The sky was so close, and yet so far away.

God, would this man ever make you stop crying?

"Y/n—"

"—just go away! I don't want you here!"

"Please," he began, "I need to talk to you. I need to apologize."

"Apologize?! Oh, that's rich! Just leave me alone. You did enough damage when you asked for a divorce. Just leave me alone."

"Y/n, please," he continued. "You… please just hear me out."

"I heard you out once, and it was the worst fucking time of my life," you said. "I'm not listening to you ever again."

You turned back around, set on leaving—this time a bit faster. But his words grounded you in your spot, heart leaping to your throat once more.

"It was a mistake!"

You stared at the gravel that crunched underneath your feet. You could feel your pulse rushing through your body, fast and unsteady.

Nothing could have prepared you for that.

"It was a mistake, Y/n," he said, his voice far quieter this time. "I never should have asked for a divorce. I never should have said anything. I should—I should have just—"

"—what, toughed it out? Let me realize you stopped loving me when you started cheating on me or some shit?"

His eyes widened in surprise.

"What? No. No, Y/n… I… I never should have said anything. I never stopped loving you."

What?

You couldn't breathe—your lungs constricted in your chest, your heart beating rapidly against your ribcage. Your body burned as you looked up at the night sky, stars littering the vast ocean of darkness. They still mocked you, but this time, dark clouds rolled in. Perhaps the sky knew just how you felt. The moon cast a soft glow on everything in its path.

Tears blurred your vision once more.

He never stopped loving you.

You let out a sob, turning to face him.

"What?"

"I never stopped loving you," Rooster lamented. "I… still love you."

"Then… then… why?"

"I couldn't do it to you."

"What? Do what?"

"I couldn't die! I couldn't die and leave you a widow. I couldn't end up with the same fate my dad had, leaving you just the same as my mom," he said.

"Well you're not fucking dead, are you?!"

Rooster paused, lips parting to speak.

"You're not dead. You're standing right in front of me, telling me that the reason you fucking divorced me was because you didn't want me to be a widow?! I would have been less upset if you had fucking died!" You took in a deep breath, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “You did not have to do that. You did not have to make me miserable. You did not have to make me feel like the one person who loved me was an entire lie!”

Rooster winced. Your words pierced his soul like a sharp bullet, ricocheting off the crevices of his very soul.

"Fuck off, Bradley Bradshaw," you said, fists clenched at your sides. "I never want to see you again."

"But Y/n—"

"—no! No, I'm over you, you bastard! I don't love you anymore. I haven't in years. You're still in love with me? That's great. Fucking deal with it. You deserve to feel the pain of not knowing. You deserve to lose yourself in everything you thought was yours.”

Bradley Bradshaw had never felt as if he wasn't good enough. When he was faced with adversity, he worked harder. When he felt bad about something, he did more to try and overcome that. He had never felt as if anything he did wasn't good enough. But in this very moment, he stood there, wondering how in the world he could have fucked up so badly.

He wasn't good enough. He wasn't good enough, for you. That much was evident as he watched you once again walk away from him, disappearing into the night.

His eyes fluttered shut and he held back his tears as he stood there, waiting for lightning to strike him where he stood. Surely, it'd be better than having to go back into the Hard Deck after a screaming match like that.

He deserved it.

A hand on his shoulder made him flinch. He opened his eyes, head darting in the person's direction. Hangman watched him for a moment before he patted his back.

"You fucked up, man," he began, averting his gaze. "Now you've gotta fix it."

"But how?"

"For fucks sake, Rooster," he groaned. He ran a hand through his perfect hair, musing it from the stress of his friend. He couldn't believe he'd ever thought Rooster might actually be a pretty smart guy. This dude was dumber than a box of rocks, and this just proved it.

"They still love you, you know," Bob said, arms crossed over his chest. "We heard what they said, but they're just hurt. You really did a number on them."

He glanced over his shoulder. The Dagger Squad stood there, all watching him as he stood there, in the middle of the parking lot.

This… was all his fault.

Those four simple words should have never left his mouth. He should have been spending the last three years with you, not trying to forget you. Because if he were to have died in that time, it would have at least been with you and not with the overwhelming ghost of you haunting his every waking move. He could have at least left you behind knowing you were loved instead of wondering if he ever truly loved you at all.

Time passed slowly in the month it took you to finally calm down from the emotional rollercoaster Rooster had you on. You were back in your apartment, the east coast calling your name (even though the west coast screamed for your return; the sandy beaches and the salty water just weren’t the same, here).

Your heart ached—every romantic thing you saw made you want to cry. It all reminded you of your ex-husband, and now, there was no changing things. In your anger, you had told him you never wanted to see him again—that you didn't love him. You made sure he knew that when you left him standing in the middle of that damned parking lot.

What a lie that was.

But if he could tell lies, why couldn't you? Why couldn't you force him to live with the idea that you didn't love him, just the way he did that to you?

Regret became you.

You wondered if that’s how he felt all this time—regretful.

Did Rooster even have a bone in his body that was capable of feeling anything other than pride?

Maverick would know.

Did he know about all of this? He had been Rooster’s best man at the wedding. Surely, he knew something.

Your arm rested over your eyes, blocking out the sunlight that peaked through your curtains. Saturday mornings never got easier for you. Hell, no morning did. Getting up was a constant chore. You had already gotten ready for the morning, but you slipped right back into bed, not wanting to deal with the idea of being a live, somewhat functioning adult at the moment.

Your phone began to ring, loud and in your ear as you lay in bed, staring at the back of your arm. With a groan, you rolled over and picked it up.

Phoenix was calling you.

You answered after a moment of your fingers hovering over the bright buttons. You didn’t really want to talk to anyone.

"Hello?"

"Y/n? Hey! So, uh, quick thing, and I promise you I didn't know about it until Bagman just said something, but he gave Rooster your address."

Silence enveloped your bedroom as you processed what she had just said.

"What?!" You immediately sat up in your bed, gripping your phone with unforgiving strength. "What the hell!"

"I know," she continued, voice laced with worry—she didn’t know how you were going to take this. "I know, and I'm sorry. But, uh, he said that Rooster is probably gonna show up within the next hour or so. He caught the earliest flight out there."

"Why?"

"Why?" Natasha echoed. "Y/n, why do you think?"

You fell silent. You stared down at the blankets that pooled at your feet.

Day after day, you wondered if Rooster would show up, begging you to take him back. But the sun continued to set, day in and day out, and nothing changed. Nothing ever changed.

"Y/n, I know he's an asshole,” Natasha said. “I know he broke your heart. But… Rooster's been through a lot. He might not have realized how bad of an idea it was until he went through with it. He’s… he’s done nothing but regret it ever since.”

"I know he's been through a lot," you said, voice far quieter than it had been. "I know he has. But… but that's no excuse. We were married. I was his partner. He took that away… he took that all away.”

"There's no excuse for him," Phoenix said. "I’m not making one. You’re… you’re my very best friend. But if he shows up and you don't know what to do, you have two options. Turn him away, or… hear him out. Whatever you do, I’m here one hundred percent of the way.”

You swallowed thickly. Without saying anything else, you hung up the phone, tossing it onto your bed. You buried your face in your hands—it seemed to be the only thing you could do recently that would actually allow you to catch your breath.

And then, your doorbell rang.

That was far less than an hour.

The shrill ding of the bell resounded in your brain. You would have to get that changed to something less annoying.

Getting out of your bed and walking down the hallway was the easy part. It was opening the front door that made you want to die as your hand slowly grabbed onto the knob.

You can just turn him away. It'll be okay, you told yourself. He will leave if you want him to.

With much hesitation, you opened the door.

Rooster stood there, worried he had gotten the wrong door and Hangman had given him some shit directions. But as you appeared in the doorway, relief spread across his features. He was dressed in those same shoes you had given him. He wore a pair of jeans, and he wore one of those stupid Hawaiian shirts that he loved so much.

You still had the pink and yellow one you had stolen before you left him in the top left drawer of your dresser. It still smelled like Rooster… but the laundry detergent you had was the same exact one you had used when you were married to him.

Everything you owned reminded you of him.

"Y/n?"

"Bradley."

His eyebrows furrowed as he watched you. He nervously wrung his hands together as his eyes looked anywhere but you. This wasn’t that confident, macho man you knew. This wasn’t Rooster.

This was Bradley Bradshaw, in the flesh.

His heart was on the line, and he could only hope that the universe would grant him one last wish—let you believe him. Let you understand him.

He would understand if you turned him away. He would leave, and he would never bother you again. But he hoped that you’d accept him for who he is—for everything he has been.

Again.

Even though it took him so long to realize his mistake. Even though he made so many mistakes just to find himself trying to take it all back.

Rooster never thought he was perfect, but hell. The universe really didn’t give him the benefit of the doubt, did it?

"Listen, I know you said you didn't want to see me," he began. "But I can't… I can't keep doing this."

You stayed silent.

Bradley was a lot of things. Stupid, funny, a great, flaming ball of firey anxiety. And still, the love of your life, even now.

Nothing would ever stop that from happening, even if he shoved his hand in your chest, pulled out your heart, and crushed it right in front of you.

Even now, after all this time, you knew you loved him.

He took your silence as an invitation to continue.

"I love you," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I never stopped. I just… fucked up. God, Y/n, I fucked up so bad. I never should have asked you for a divorce. I never should have said any of that shit. I thought I was protecting you. But the only thing I ended up doing was hurting you more, and I never wanted that to happen.

"I love you, so much, Y/n. I never stopped. I… you are the love of my life. But… but even if I loved you, it wouldn't stop life from standing in the way. My dad died. He left my mom all alone. I couldn't do that to you. I couldn't bear the thought of you suffering, all alone, wondering what the hell you could have done to make things different. I couldn't let you have the same fate as my mom."

You stared at him, hands gripping the door.

"Why didn't you just talk to me?"

"I… I know I should have."

"So why didn't you?"

"I had already made up my mind…"

And once Bradley Bradshaw made up his mind, that was that. Most of the time, anyway.

Silence enveloped the two of you once more. Birds chirped in the background, cars honking in the backed-up traffic on the interstate not too far from your home. Life was still going on, just like it always would. Life would continue to find a way, even if someone left it behind—even if someone felt as if their world was crashing to an end.

Three years ago, if Bradley Bradshaw had shown up at your door, telling you he had made a mistake, you would have believed him. But watching him as he stood at your door this very moment, you weren't sure. You had every right to slam the door in his face, burning the image of his scared self in the back of your mind. But as you stood here, hands dangling down by your thighs, you knew you couldn't.

Were you stupid for what you were about to do?

Maybe.

But so was Bradley.

"I've started seeing a therapist," Bradley spoke, breaking the silence. "He said it would be good for me to at least… try to tell you why."

"Why you left me?"

He gave a small nod. "Yes. And… he made me realize it never should have happened. It was my fault. It was never yours."

You rubbed your eyes out of frustration, unable to stop yourself from sniffling. A groan escaped you, and he frowned in response.

"Y/n, I… words can't even begin to describe how sorry I am. I can't take back what I said. I can't change the fact that I asked you for a divorce because I was terrified of dying and leaving you alone. But… but I can do this," he said, licking his lips as he watched you.

You tilted your head in confusion, not sure where he was going with this.

Time moved slowly—just as slowly as it had when your world came to a startling halt.

He suddenly held out his hand, locking eyes with you once more. Dark brown eyes peered into yours; those same brown eyes you used to watch until you fell asleep in his arms. Those same brown eyes you stared into when you first said, “I do.” Those same brown eyes you looked into when he asked you for a divorce.

"Hi," the man said, a small smile appearing on his mustache-clad lips. "I'm Bradley. Bradley Bradshaw."

Your eyes widened, your heart leaping to your chest once more, but not because you were scared to face him. But because you couldn't believe this was really happening.

He… was starting over.

You were starting over.

Hesitantly, you took his hand, firmly grasping it before you shook it.

"It's so nice to meet you, Bradley Bradshaw," you said. Your eyes were still red from your tears, but you began to smile, pushing down the pain and regret of the last three years. It wasn’t worth it. The utter buffoon standing in front of you was worth it. "I'm Y/n Bradshaw," you continued with a grin. "Quite a coincidence, huh?"

Bradley just smiled, tilting his head to the side. You had never changed your name. In fact, you stayed the same, despite the icy shield around your heart. Not that he could blame you.

You were his Y/n. The love of his life—the reason he continued on, and the reason he believed in love, despite the fear that sucked the rational thinking out of him.

Because even when death knocked at his door, he knew you would be there. You would be there, just like his mom was for his dad.

Nothing could change that.

Not the divorce, not his lie that lasted for years. Not the untimely “confession” that left the two of you reeling for each other.

Nothing could change how he felt for you.

And with one instant, you knew your world was mending itself. You'd have problems—that you were sure. You’d have to work on communication; on both sides. But as you moved out of the way for Rooster to come in, you knew it would be worth it.

Love, no matter how much it hurt, was worth it.

Good enough or not.

"Why don't you come in, Mr. Bradshaw? I think we have a lot to catch up on."

He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek, taking ahold of your hand.

"Only if you'll have me."

"Of course, I will."

This was a start. A new start.

A good start.

You were both starting over. And although you wouldn’t ever say it out loud, a part of you was starting to realize that you may have always been good enough—sometimes, fear was stronger than anyone’s resolve. Fear could make even the bravest people pause; it could cause stupid decisions and brash opinions that change everything a person knows. Minds were a powerful tool that could hurt everyone in its path.

You lived it.

You were still living it.

But like any great thing, sometimes starting over is the best way to go. Sometimes, opening your heart back up is the only thing you can do to move on.

Those same brown eyes you fell in love with peered down at yours, and for once in the past three years, you finally felt at peace. You were good enough. You always had been.

And Bradley Bradshaw was a good man. A great man, even. But even great men can fall short. Even great men can make mistakes. It takes an even greater person to face those mistakes head-on, and an equally great person to forgive and continue on loving, even if they never stopped, to begin with.

#bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #gender neutral reader #rooster x reader #top gun fanfiction #auroracalisto

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blurredcolour · 2 years ago

Text

You Left Your Name On My Lips

“It's Not The Prompt. It's The Creator." Challenge

Prompt: "Last summer was one no one could ever forget. Now, a year later, character(s) still feel(s) the effects of that time.”

Summary: A rare professional opportunity reignites painful memories of what seems was never meant to be.

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Gender Neutral Reader

Warnings: Angst, Major Character Death in Retrospect, Discussion of Loss and Grief, Discussion of Graves, Military Inaccuracies, Political Inaccuracies, Several References to January 6 Capitol Riots, Minor Reader Injury, Blood, Hospital Setting, Brief Discussion of Prosthetics, References to Sad Maverick, Medal Ceremony, Surprise Ending. Rating - T.

Credit: Paramount Pictures

Author's Note: Reader has no gender or physical descriptions. Pronouns are used a few times as they/them. All images contain image descriptions for accessibility. Thank you very much for reading and happy one year anniversary to Top Gun Maverick!

Word Count: 7505

“You left your name on my lips, everyone I meet knows I loved you…” – Katherine Perez (@s.h.e.ispoetry)

The late afternoon thunderstorm broke over West Executive Avenue just as you left the safety of the Eisenhower Executive Office Building, hastening your steps into a run while you darted across the street toward the West Wing. As a member of the speech writing staff, you found yourself traversing this route often throughout the workday, but rarely at the direct request of the Deputy Communications Director.

Pressing the notebook in your hand into service as a make-shift umbrella, you hitched your laptop bag higher onto your shoulder and dashed into the building. You took a moment to ensure you looked presentable before signing in with security and heading towards the Communications bullpen. You paused at the corner of Ben Simkin’s desk, waiting for the Assistant to the Deputy Communications Director to finish his phone call so he could tell you how many minutes late your meeting would be.

“Looks like you just beat the rain.” Ben said as the phone rattled home into its cradle. “She’s only five minutes late so you can come right in.” He stood and led you through the open office door.

“Thanks, Ben. Definitely got in here at the right time…” You muttered, watching the deluge cascade against the windowpane.

“I saw you’re on holidays next week, going anywhere exciting?” He asked, leaning against the doorframe to indulge in a moment of friendly conversation.

You had always enjoyed Ben’s personable warmth. Particularly in contrast to the brusque efficiency of Faith Watson, the woman who shared administrative duties for the Communications team. It was always a good day when you got a reply from Ben rather than her.

“Just back to visit the family, they are constantly complaining they don’t see enough of me. I don’t see enough of me…” The pair of you shared a laugh before his line began to ring again and he hurried out to answer it quickly.

A flash of lightning flickered through the dimly lit office, thunder cracking and rumbling promptly in its wake as you settled into one of the chairs across the empty desk. Your thoughts turned back to the possible reasons why you had been summoned here when your eyes skidded to a halt on the file folder resting on the cluttered yet orderly desktop. The three letters scrawled in a black marker sorely in need of an ink refill sucked the moisture from your mouth, making you squirm in your chair uneasily.

MOH

“So sorry to keep you waiting.” Your boss suddenly burst into the room, and you stood quickly as she turned on a few more lights to fight off the gloom of the storm.

“N, not at all. How can I help?” You asked quickly, sitting as she assumed her seat behind the desk and gestured for you to sit as well.

You watched with trepidation as her hand stretched out to land on the very same folder that had evoked such a physical reaction within you just moments before. Shit.

“As you’re well aware, we have a Medal of Honor ceremony coming up this Friday. I’ve just gone through the latest draft of the speech and Michael has done a wonderful job, but it is missing…. something. Some sense of who the Lieutenant Commander was.”

Your tongue darted out to wet your lips nervously as you tried to take steady breaths, nodding to show that you were listening as you held your notebook on your lap in a ruthless grip.

“It’s my understanding that you knew him?” She tilted her head, eyeing you thoughtfully as you slowly nodded, wondering from exactly where this information had reached her.

“Yes, I did.” You somehow managed to voice.

“I know this is perhaps an impossible ask, but given your talent with words as well as your personal insight, I was hoping you might agree to take a pass at it?” She tented her fingers in front of her lips, assessing your reaction thoughtfully.

There was a reason she was sitting behind that desk. She had just made an incredibly difficult request wrapped within a compliment and tied with the bow of a professional opportunity. And while your initial, visceral reaction was to refuse, the rational and professional part of your brain interceded.

“I would be honored, ma’am.” You nodded, wishing your voice sounded more confident, but still thrilled that you had been able to speak.

“Thank you. I consider this a personal favor and will not forget it.” She glanced back at the rain pelting against the windowpane behind her and frowned. “Why don’t you get Ben to find you somewhere in the West Wing to work on this. A lot of people will have left for the day, and we need to get this finalized as quickly as possible.”

“Thank you, I will get started right away…” You gulped and reached out for the folder, tucking it close against your body as you tried to leave her office at a reasonable pace instead of the headlong flee that was burning to be released from the muscles of your legs. “Ben?” You cleared your throat as your voice came out slightly brittle and shaky. “Do you think you can find me a hole in the wall somewhere in this building?”

He raised an eyebrow before turning to his computer, clicking around. You raised your own eyes to the ceiling above you, calling upon whatever higher beings you could think of to grant you strength and patience.

“Follow me.” He said at last, though in truth it had been a sum total of forty-five seconds, before he led you through a maze of corridors and down a set of stairs into a plain office. “Usually held in reserve for the Deputy Chief of Staff’s Office…they are clearly not using it right now…You ok?” He eyed you skeptically and you swallowed tightly, offering a nod and a tight smile.

“Just in for a late night is all.” You clarified.

“Well, the kitchen is open for another two hours so maybe get some food now.” He advised. “Or you’ll be eating a hot dog on the corner, and you’ll never find this room again.”

The laugh that his comment pulled from you brought with it faint relief from the tension you had been carrying since your meeting and you nodded, setting your things on the dated wooden desk.

“Thank you, Ben. Have a good night.”

The door shut behind him with a careful click as you went about setting up your laptop, connecting to the network, and settling into the questionably supportive chair before at last you had no choice but to turn your attention to the file folder you had been dutifully ignoring. As you loaded the word processing file of the speech from your email, you tugged the packet closer. Opening it slowly revealed a copy of the medal citation and other documents pertaining to the ceremony on the left side, while the redacted Naval personnel file of Lieutenant Commander Bradley Nicholas Bradshaw lay on the right.

With unsteady fingers, you moved to lift the personnel file before suddenly losing your nerve, curling your fingers back into a fist and turning instead to read over the medal citation.

The words blurred into a kaleidoscope of colors behind the tears that flooded your eyes, refusing to be blinked away any longer. Everything had changed that day, just over a year ago, when Bradley Bradshaw had sacrificed his life to save everyone on board the aircraft carrier upon which he had been serving. You had found out a week later, along with the rest of the world, when the news broke on CNN. Truthfully, as his ex, you had not been entitled to anything more.

The cold hard truth that your relationship, ended by mutual decision in the late fall of 2020, was well over, had not made his death any easier to bear. It had, rather, clarified a fact you had been desperately trying to deny – you were still very much in love with the man and ending your relationship based on your diverging career paths and the 2,500 miles between you had been the worst mistake of your life. And now he was never going to come home.

Slumping over the back of the chair, you sealed your palm over your mouth as the sobs rose in your throat, unbidden yet unstoppable. Hot tears spilled from your eyes, scorching their way up along your temples as each exhale wracked your body with grief that remained as raw and unresolved one year on. His absence from this earth had created a jagged chasm in the pit of your stomach – one that refused to be filled or covered over no matter how hard you worked or what failed relationships you had pursued.

Grounding yourself by digging your heels into aggregate flooring and sinking the nails of your free hand into the distressed wood on the underside of the desktop, you managed to slow your breaths. To cram the agony of your grief back into its cage beneath your breastbone, leaving you an exhausted wreck in the gathering dark of your borrowed, subterranean office. You searched through your laptop bag, hoping you might have saved some napkins from that last time you’d eaten out, but you were disappointed to find nothing more than a few pens.

Seriously considering wiping your face on your shirtsleeves, you looked up startled at the knock on the door before Ben’s face appeared through the small gap as he opened it. He tutted gently as he took in your barely recovered composure.

“I thought as much.” He murmured gently before sliding into the room with a box of tissues, a tray of drinks, and two takeout containers.

“Ben…you are a saint…” You croaked and paused, not sure which of the items he set on the desk you wanted the most before ultimately settling on the tissues.

Turning slightly in your chair, you made quick work of mopping your face and blowing your nose as discreetly as possible in the small space afforded in the office. After discarding the used tissues, your next priority was a cold beverage, sighing deeply after you took your first sip.

“You even got my favourite.”

He grinned proudly, snacking on French fry from his meal, having settled into the only other chair in the room.

“I could just tell…”

“A saint, Ben.” You reaffirmed before carefully tucking into the meal he had procured for you.

A few bites in you remembered yourself and quickly fished out your phone, sending him a funds transfer for the food.

“Oh, that wasn’t…” He muttered after he checked the resulting notification on his phone. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

You sniffed thoughtfully, swallowing your bite as you shook your head.

“I’m not, but I still really appreciate this, Ben.”

“So, you didn’t…just know him did you…” He asked hesitantly and you paused with a bite of food raised to your lips before taking the food into your mouth and shaking your head again.

“No Ben,” You clarified after swallowed. “I was very much in love with Bradley Bradshaw. Still am I suppose, even though he’s…gone…” The final word of your sentence seemed to catch in your throat reluctantly, and you coughed a little to force it out.

Ben frowned deeply and looked over the folder laying open on the desk.

“I’ll talk to her, there’s no way she can ask this of you…”

“No! No, I…I agreed to do it, it’s an opportunity to touch a Presidential speech directly and independently. I don’t get those very often Ben. And I. It’s something I can do for him, one last time.” Your throat constricted again ominously so you nodded, hoping that sufficiently rounded out the thought you were trying to communicate.

Ben inhaled deeply, holding his breath in inflated cheeks, before exhaling it through pursed lips as he nodded.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” He tilted his head.

“This,” you gestured at your nearly completed meal, “has already helped more than I can say. Thank you.”

His soft smile was a balm to your aching heart – by no means a cure, but it had a soothing effect.

“Did you want to talk about him?”

“I don’t think. I don’t think that I can quite yet, Ben. Maybe someday? I’d like to…someday….”

“When you’re ready then.” He stood to collect the remnants of your meal, moving toward the door. “Are you alright if I head home?”

“Please do! You really didn’t have to stay for me. But thank you.” You nodded and he smiled warmly before stepping out, leaving you to the quiet of the office.

Taking a few deep breaths, you put some background music on your phone to help you focus on the task at hand before pulling up the speech to review what had been written thus far. The Deputy Director had not been wrong, there was a dimension missing. Typically, interviews were conducted with the honoree’s family, but Bradley had no close family left to speak for him. You knew that one of the main reasons he had chosen to stay out in California, rather than returning to Virginia, had been to reconnect with Maverick – Captain Mitchell, but he did not seem to be a man of many words.

At least he had not been that night when he showed up at your apartment door bearing a handwritten letter from Bradley. It had taken him several weeks to track you down; your personal details including phone number and address were unlisted for your safety and security. Working in politics had taken on an entirely different level of risk after January 6, 2021, but even before that you had made the choice to be as difficult to find as possible.

He had not had much to say as he stood there in his dress blues, other than to confirm your name and give you his condolences. He had delivered some prescribed line about Bradley’s bravery before disappearing down the stairs of your building, leaving you with the worn envelope, your name scrawled on the front in Bradley’s handwriting.

Shaking your head to physically clear the thoughts from your mind, you turned your focus back to the cursor in your word document, blinking at you expectantly, before beginning to type out an additional paragraph.

Words fall utterly short when we try to describe who someone was. We must look to their deeds. The words “Reckless disregard for personal safety” in his citation are striking. Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw had a history of fearless determination. He was unafraid of pursuing his goals despite any obstacles in his path, and twenty-two-months prior to the events of July 2022 was fully prepared to lay down his life for his superior officer.

“He even risked disciplinary action to call his ex from work during the Capitol Riots of January 6…” You sniffled aloud, shaking your head fondly.

You had been working for a prominent Senator during that time, doing some paperwork when the crowd infiltrated the Capitol building. Alone in the office, the rest of your colleagues in the chamber staffing the Senator, you had been frozen by panic and uncertainty. The unexpected vibration of your cellphone on your desk had been jarring, particularly when Bradley’s name accompanied it on the screen.

You had taken the call, whispering beneath the Senator’s desk, and he had talked you through barricading the door, through making the office appear unoccupied. You had heard someone begin to reprimand him on his end of the line, but he had continued to speak to you calmly, reassuringly.

“You’re going to be alright, just keep low, keep quiet, and keep that umbrella in your hands, ok?”

“O…k…ok Bradley.” You had whispered, not sounding nearly as sure as he had.

“I have to go now…” He had apologized gently.

“You’re damn right you do, Lieutenant Commander!” You had heard the sharp bark of his superior much closer this time.

“Thank you!” You had risked a little more volume to give him your emphatic gratitude before ending the call, feeling somewhat more prepared to deal with whatever might come down the hall.

It was the last time you had spoken to him.

You realized now that you should have called him back, but at that the time life had been moving so fast. As soon as the building was made safe, the voting had resumed. And then the transition team had called offering a position on the speech writing staff in the White House. The whirlwind of activity had been shifted into a higher gear of intensity at that point until the next time you looked up was to watch the report of his death on CNN.

Filled with a sudden curiosity, you turned to his personnel file, gnawing on your lower lip as you leafed through the papers contained within. You let out a gasp when you came across the notation that a nonpunitive letter of caution was delivered to him on January 7, 2021. While the contents of these letters were typically private, it was not hard to guess just what message Bradley’s superior officer had delivered to him.

“Oh Bradley…” You sighed fondly, shaking your head before turning back to your keyboard with renewed inspiration.

After two hours of writing, shaping, and polishing, you felt confident enough to submit your version of the speech to the Deputy Director. Sending the email, you carefully packed up your laptop before tucking the contents of the Bradley’s personnel file and citation back into the ceremony folder with a quiet reverence.

Stopping by her office, you were not surprised to see her still there working away. You dropped off the folder and wished her a good night. The rain had let up during your time working underground, leaving a blissfully cool evening, free of the usual summer humidity. Due to the late hour, public transit was quieter on your commute home, and your street almost tranquil. Dropping your keys and bills from your mailbox on the kitchen counter, you found your steps leading you to your bedside table of their own volition, filled with a desire to reread Bradley’s last words to you.

You sat on the edge of you bed, turning on the lamp there, and fished the worn envelope out from the bottom of the drawer. Carefully unfolding the familiar creases, you traced your eyes along his slanting penmanship.

Tilting your head back to prevent any stray tears from soiling the paper, the idea to laminate the pages to preserve them flitted through your mind once again. And yet the idea of putting a barrier between you and his words remained so off-putting that you shook you head. You carefully tucked it away for next time, dragging your tired mind and body to the shower.

The final draft of the speech was presented at the Communications team meeting the next afternoon, accompanied by your heart hammering beneath your ribs and a knowing grin from the Deputy Director. It was your version, untouched from the night before. There was no formal announcement, no by-line, but the people who needed to know, knew the authors of that speech. And you were indisputably one of them. As you were making your way out of the room, your boss stopped you, extending an invitation to the ceremony on Friday.

“I recognize it might be difficult…” She stated, giving you an out, but you took a breath to steel your resolve and shook your head.

“I’d be honored to attend, thank you.”

“Wonderful, I’ll have Ben set it up in your calendar.” She smiled before excusing herself to answer a call on her cell.

The building was a flurry of activity the day of the ceremony. The sheer extent of it – uniformed personnel and staff rushing through the lobby, the buzz of conversation – set your teeth on edge as you stepped into the West Wing that morning. Rather than making your way directly to your meeting, you decided to stop by Ben’s desk as he had an innate talent for picking up on the root cause of chaos as this seemed far beyond the usual for this type of occasion.

As you entered the Communications bullpen, his eyes widened when they met yours and he hardly seemed aware of the phone receiver pressed to his ear, belatedly uttering an apology before ending the call. He glanced around before lurching to his feet and grasping your elbow, pulling you into the notably empty Deputy Director’s office.

“You should sit.” He said with no preamble.

“Good morning, Ben, it’s lovely to see you too. I had a good sleep thank you for asking.” You greeted him with plenty of sass and a raised eyebrow.

You were already feeling snappish this morning, nerves frayed by excess emotion, and whatever sudden onslaught of chivalry he was experiencing was unwelcome.

“I’m sorry. The ceremony today has been postponed indefinitely.” He frowned, gesturing at one of the empty chairs hopefully but you shook your head as your stomach sank.

“Indefinitely? I don’t understand. These things don’t get postponed, they are thoroughly researched and perfected and…what on earth happened?!” You realized your volume had gradually increased to reach something akin to a shout as he winced, and you frowned. “Sorry…”

“You’re not going to sit, are you…” He sighed and you shook your head impatiently.

“Ben…” You said warningly.

“Lieutenant Commander Bradley Nicholas Bradshaw has been located alive in Kuwait and was air lifted to hospital in Germany during the night.”

You realized that Ben’s lips continued moving after the word ‘alive’, but your ears were filled with a dull buzzing. All of the blood in your body felt as though it seeped out of the soles of your feet into the plush office carpet, and you crumpled to the floor.

The bright glare of the fluorescent lights on the ceiling and Ben’s frantic face greeted your return to consciousness and you hissed at the pain in your right cheek, reaching a hand up to find a tender spot. Your fingers came away smeared faintly with blood.

“You clipped the corner of the desk on the way down…are you ok?!” He looked you over quickly, finding a tissue to press against your cut.

“I think…I think so. Ben. Repeat what you said…” You looked to him, terrified to be optimistic.

“He’s alive.” He could barely contain his grin, squeezing your shoulders as he punctuated the statement with your name. “He’s alive, after all this time, he was hiding somewhere and…I don’t have all the details yet, but…they obviously want to put the medal around his neck once they get him home.” He looked around suddenly. “But you! You should call in sick right now and buy a ticket to Germany. Go. Go to him.”

Your eyes whirled around the room, trying to find something to focus on to help you process the fact that man you had just help eulogize in a Presidential speech had in fact survived his act of reckless disregard for personal safety. Ben pulled the tissue away from your cheek and your eyes were drawn to the bright red contrasting sharply against the white between his fingers. Everything seemed to crystalize in your mind, and you looked to him quickly.

“I have to go.”

“Yeah, you do.” He grinned wider. “I’ll start texting you flights, get out of here.” He quickly slapped a bandage onto your cheek from the nearby first aid kit before shooing you out of the office.

You darted back to your desk, leaving your sick message on the Deputy Director’s voicemail and texting Ben that you had done so. He replied that it was duly entered into the attendance log and then spammed your phone with flight deals. You got home, throwing together a suitcase and grabbing your passport within an hour, flight booked to leave in three hours. Turning around quickly, you changed out of your suit into something more appropriate for a long-haul flight, before heading to the airport.

Six hours later, you found yourself pushing long-cooled airplane food around its sectioned tray as your eyes stared unseeing at the movie on the screen in the back of the headrest in front of you. Your mind was too busy mulling over the improbability, the impossibility, of it all to focus on the film you had chosen to distract yourself, the meal you had chosen from the options on the flight attendant’s cart.

How, in this era of hyper-interconnectedness, had a Bradley gone unfound for over a year? You knew from his citation that his was the only American plane in the air at the time, from the investigation records that they only had radar and radio communications to rely upon to detail the events before his plane crashed. Courtesy of those same records, you knew a covert operation had been undertaken to examine the crash site in enemy territory. That some form of remains had been recovered, identified, and buried in Fort Rosecrans National Cemetery in San Diego.

Yet the postponement of a Medal of Honor ceremony was unprecedented. It would not have occurred on the basis of mere speculation or rumor. Ben’s report that Bradley was alive must be true, but how it was possible was entirely beyond your comprehension.

Landing in Frankfurt at five thirty in the morning local time, you were then faced with nearly three hours of public transportation before you finally arrived at Landstuhl Regional Medical Center. You had barely slept or eaten, but Ben’s bandage was still securely in place on your cheek. At least that was something in your favour.

After all you had overcome to arrive at the nursing station in Germany, you had not expected to be thwarted by a dour-faced Army sergeant.

“Are you family?”

“Well, no, not exactly but I…”

“Authorized personnel and family only.” He replied firmly, looking down his hawkish nose at you and you frowned down at the flecked pattern on the worn laminate countertop.

“Add them to the list, they are family.” A voice interceded from the other side of the l-shaped desk, and you lifted your eyes quickly to see Captain Mitchell standing there. “Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw will want to see them.”

He looked younger than the last time you had seen him. As though the weight of the entire Navy had been lifted off his shoulders. There was, perhaps, even the trace of a smile in his eyes as he nodded for you to hand over your passport so the long-suffering sergeant could add you to the list of approved visitors.

“His room is this way, come on.” He tilted his head toward the wide, sterile hallway and you found your feet rooted to the spot, unable to take another step after flying thousands of miles on the word of your colleague. “Truly. He will want to see you.” Captain Mitchell assured you and, swallowing roughly, you found the will to propel your body into motion once more.

Captain Mitchell stepped into the room first and you carefully set your luggage in one of the chairs by the door, inhaling sharply as you heard a voice you thought had been silenced forever.

“Heya Mav, thought you were going for coffee…” Bradley rasped.

“Found something better on the way…” He turned to the side to reveal you, standing there like a deer in headlights, staring at a very alive Bradley Nicholas Bradshaw.

He was thinner than the last time you had seen him, having endured who knows what hardships in the name of survival over the past twelve months. His normally tan skin had lost its glow too, most likely from the necessity of hiding, and his customarily trimmed moustache had expanded down his cheeks and jaw into a full beard. Lack of sunlight had kept his chestnut hair dark as well, grown long in luscious waves. Yet he was still unmistakably the man that kept a firm hold over your heart, long frame barely fitting on the bed, propped up in a sitting position beneath a white and blue flannel hospital sheet.

Your name fell from his lips in a whisper, and he looked quickly between you and Captain Mitchell.

“You sure I’m not dead?”

Blinking rapidly as tears threatened to flood your vision, you and Captain Mitchell shook your heads at the same time.

“No Rooster, you’re definitely alive, they’re definitely here, and I’m definitely going for that coffee now.” Captain Mitchell excused himself and you walked over to the hospital bed slowly, trying to remember how to breathe. In and then out.

You did not need to faint again, especially not in front of Bradley.

“Hi…” You said quietly, feeling suddenly shy. Even draped over a hospital bed after a year of being declared dead Bradley was still the most attractive man you had ever laid eyes upon. Even with a full beard. Perhaps especially…

He held out his hand to you and you quickly took it between both of yours, sighing softly at the reassuring warmth of his skin as he guided you even closer to his bedside. With his free hand, he reached up to run his fingers along the bandage across your cheek.

“What happened?” He frowned.

You huffed a self-deprecating laugh and shook your head.

“Close encounter with a desk while fainting.” You muttered. “Are you ok?”

“You fainted? When?” He looked you over, concern knitting his brows tighter.

Typical Bradley, ignoring any concern you might have for him. Unchanged in the least.

“About…fourteen hours ago, I suppose?” You grimaced.

“Because of me.” He said flatly and you conceded with a nod. “I’m sorry…”

“Please…Don’t apologize, it was the best news. I…I just happened to fold like a deck chair.”

His lips twitched into a grin which you echoed happily.

“Such a softie.” He teased.

“I’ll have you know I fought off the QAnon Shaman with that umbrella, thank you.” You boasted playfully.

He squinted at you quizzically and you registered that perhaps he was not quite well enough for that level of humor.

“Not really, I was removed to a safe room shortly after our call. Thank you again Bradley. Thank you for taking the time to write me that letter, as well. For asking Captain Mitchell to bring it to me. It meant a lot.” Your voice trembled, betraying your heightened emotions.

He shook his head. “I’m sorry I was such a moron and never said any of those things to you until I thought I was going to die.”

Shaking your head quickly you lifted his hand, still clasped between yours, and kissed the tips of his fingers.

“I’m just as guilty…I mean I technically haven’t even apologized to you in return. I wrote you a letter in reply, but I left it in San Diego...at…” You trailed off not wanting to discuss the gravesite you had visited. “I love you. I never stopped and I’m sorry I was also so stupid…” Your voice wavered with emotion as you forced yourself to meet his gaze.

“I love you, too.” He murmured and shifted his hand between yours to lace your fingers together tightly. “There was never a pair of idiots better suited for each other.”

You laughed tearfully, wiping at your eyes with the cuff of your sleeve and shaking your head.

“Never.” You agreed. “Are you comfortable? Can I get you anything?” You asked, looking around the anonymous, off-white room filled with the typical hospital equipment. It could have been located anywhere in the world, for how similar it looked to every hospital room you had ever had the misfortune to see.

“Yeah…come here…” He crooked the index and middle fingers of his free hand, gesturing you closer.

You immediately leaned over the railing of his bed, shifting closer.

“What is it?” You asked, wanting to be of assistance.

“A kiss.” He grinned, slipping his fingers around the back of your neck as soon as you were within his reach.

“Oh.” You murmured, eyes flicking up to meet his warm, whisky-colored gaze, before assisting him in closing the distance.

It was tentative at first, a gentle brush of mouths that sent a familiar rush of warmth through your veins and had your breath shuddering against his damp lips. His breath caught audibly in his throat before he tugged you closer, pulling your lips to his firmly as you pressed your still-entwined hands into the mattress beside his head to brace yourself. The fingers of your other hand delved greedily into his longer-than-usual curls, relishing in their silky feel as he rumbled happily against your lips.

Finding your synchronized rhythm after all these years, both of your lips parted to deepen the kiss. You sighed deeply at the familiar taste that was unmistakably his, mixed with the salty tang of tears as one or both of you were crying. A deliberate knock and polite cough had you tensing before pulling back quickly, untangling your fingers from his hair carefully before stepping back to allow what looked like a team of doctors to enter the room.

You slipped out into the hall when they initiated their exam, wanting to give him his full privacy, and sank into one of the chairs near the desk where the unpleasant sergeant offered you a glare before turning back to his work. The output of energy, and ebb of adrenaline, caught up to you then and you found your eyelids sinking heavily as you rested your chin on your palm, elbow balanced on the arm rest, dozing until one of the medical team gently shook you awake.

“Sorry. Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw is asking for you…” She apologized as you blinked up at her sleepily, but you smiled quickly and shook your head, heading back into the room again, noting that Bradley’s countenance was more serious than when you had parted.

An empty food tray sat on the bedside table – you had apparently slept through meal delivery.

“Everything ok?” You asked quietly, carrying one of the empty chairs over to sit beside his bed as he looked you over, sighing softly. You noticed the team had dropped the side rail on his bed and left it lowered, making him more easily accessible to you.

“I suppose I owe you an explanation of where I’ve been. Of what happened.”

“Bradley, you owe me absolutely nothing. You can share with me whatever you wish whenever you are ready but there is no obligation involved.” You frowned, reaching for his hand, which he squeezed softly as he stroked his beard thoughtfully with the other.

“Let me start with the fact that I am not unscathed? I…You went to my grave, you all but said as much.” You nodded guiltily in reply, and he squeezed your hand against reassuringly. “I left a piece of myself behind in that plane, after the missile hit, before I could eject.”

You furrowed your brows in confusion, looking him over as he looked pretty whole to you, until your eyes trailed lower, and you noticed only one peak at the end of the bed when there ought to be two. Your eyes widened as your heart rate picked up, but you did your best to take a steady breath and assume a neutral expression before turning back to him.

“Your leg?” You asked gently.

“My left foot.” He confirmed with a nod, voice tight. “I assume that’s what they found and used as confirmation of my death. There’s not an awful lot left usually when we burn in. That’s what is probably buried in San Diego.”

“I’m so sorry, Bradley…” You shifted to stand, sliding your arms around him in a careful hug, pressing your cheek against the top of his hair as he buried his face in your neck.

You held him reassuringly, hands pressing into his back soothingly as his arms wrapped around your waist, clinging to you until his heavy breaths evened out and he leaned back to look up at you.

“They have to do more surgery, to properly fit a prosthetic. A sympathetic family found me, cauterized it, kept me alive, moved me around to other like-minded people until they could smuggle me to Kuwait…It’s never stopped hurting…” He whispered and you frowned softly, kissing his forehead.

“Oh Bradley…” You whispered in reply, arms tightening around him protectively, wishing you could bear just a little of his burden, ease even a fraction of his pain.

He lay his head against your chest, and you lifted a hand to stroke his hair soothingly.

“They want me to get stronger and then they’ll send me state side for surgery and rehab…they’re thinking Walter Reed…”

You hummed thoughtfully, trying not to take too much pleasure in the thought of him being in Maryland.

“It’s a good hospital.”

“Close to you.”

“I’d come as much as possible. You’d be welcome to come stay with me if you need a place.” You murmured, noting how his torso was growing heavier against you. “Why don’t we lay you down, hmmm?” You suggested softly and he nodded, complying sleepily.

You rearranged his blankets carefully to tuck him in, settling into the chair at his bedside and taking his hand, watching as he fought with his heavy eyelids.

“Shhh rest, Bradley, it’s ok.”

“Stay…?” He asked, eyes flashing open one last time to lock onto yours pleadingly.

“Of course I’ll stay.” You nodded and squeezed his hand, smiling as he nodded back, surrendering to his exhaustion and falling asleep.

You were not far behind, laying your head on the bed beside your clasped hands, letting sleep overtake you as well.

You awoke to the feel of warm, calloused fingertips stroking down your jaw, your lips curling up at the corners at the pleasant sensation before you forced your eyes open in the low light of the hospital room. Any sense of time had abandoned you somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean, but it was still dark outside the windows and a glance around the room revealed a sleeping Captain Mitchell, slumped back in the other chair near the door.

Looking back to Bradley, who’s touch had roused you, he mouthed a soft sorry, to which you shook your head in reply.

“You ok?” You whispered.

“Hungry.” He confessed and you smirked a little.

“I’ll find something ok?”

He nodded gratefully and you pressed a soft kiss to his lips before easing your stiff body from its less-than-ergonomic position in your chair. You both shared a wide-eyed look at the crack your neck emitted, glancing over at Maverick, who thankfully slept through it all. You stopped by the nursing station, grateful to find a friendly lieutenant on duty who directed you to a vending machine with sandwiches at the end of the hall.

Suddenly inspired to hunger of your own, you procured a few from the machine that thankfully accepted American currency before returning to the room to partake in your feast with Bradley. Once you’d cleared away the wrappers and the crumbs, he leaned in to whisper in your ear.

“You said you wrote me a reply…did you save a copy?”

You swallowed and eyed him for a moment, wondering how it was possible for someone to know you so very well. While you had written the letter to him on compostable paper, hoping to leave as little an environmental footprint as possible, a part of you had needed to keep of a record of your words to him. Thus, you had taken a photo of your handwritten letter and saved it on your phone.

You pulled the device out of your pocket, ignoring the knowing grin on his features as you pulled it up, squinting a little at the intrusive brightness before holding it out for him to read in the dimly lit silence.

He raised his eyes as he came to the end, the glow of the screen causing the unshed tears in his eyes to shimmer. You leaned up to kiss his temple before whispering.

“I’d like to amend the ending…. You’re home now, thanks to every power in the universe, and whatever comes next, we get to figure it out together.”

He licked his lips slowly, setting your phone down on the worn flannel, before cupping your face to guide your mouth to meet his warmly.

When at last, nearly a year later, the President delivered his rewritten speech and secured the blue ribbon of the Medal of Honor around Lieutenant Commander Bradley Nicholas Bradshaw’s neck, you watched from the front row with a raised mark on your cheek. Bradley fondly referred to it as your ‘rescue mission battle scar’ and pressed his lips to it with delightful frequency, letting the whiskers of his once again neatly trimmed moustache tickle your cheek.

The seat you occupied was that of his beloved partner, rather than standing in the corner as an anonymous White House staffer. It was the seat that you had always been meant to occupy and one that would never willingly vacate again.

Top Gun Masterlist

@tgm-all4one

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