#teenage Bradley Bradshaw

[eternallyungrateful]

I need a ff about teenage Bradley stealing Mav's motorcycle to impress his friends or whatever. Getting into a accident and Icepops and Mavdad losing their minds

[bobonboard]

Somewhat out of the ordinary for me, but have this fic I wrote 😁👍

Teenage Bradley angst for the soul ‼️

[cowboysandpilots]

Teenage Bradley: am I in trouble?

Maverick: take a guess.

Teenage Bradley: ...no?

Ice: take another guess.

[pilvimarja]

[friend-lover-traitor-narrator]

*the morning after Ice got a promotion*

Teenage Bradley: Hey, um, I know you're a happy couple and I'm proud of Ice too for getting that promotion but there really wasn't any need for me to hear you celebrating tonight.

Ice (turning red like a tomato): ...

Mav (smirking, to Ice): Aww, he's proud of you.

*Mav still smirking and without any comment handing Bradley a pack of foam earplugs*

[lesbiradshaw]

bradley & carole moodboard for suffering purposes

[billkill]

Cyclone: That was such a bad word, Bradley. I wonder who your example was, since I hadn't expected you to use such a foul language. Oh, welcome Mr. and Mr. Kazansky-Mitchell...

Iceman: We heard you.

Maverick: What the fuck did you say, Bradley?!

Iceman: I guess you need no further explanation...

[roosterforme]

Hey Em, idk if ur taking requests rn but could u maybe do something where teenage bradley or jake react to reader getting a lip piercing? 😭 i just got one recently and i’ve been thinking abt it sm. Love your writing 🫶🫶

Nonny, I'm going to include this with my teenage dirtbag collection from a few months ago, because it's a perfect fit! This is for my 2k followers party!

Bradley's unrequited crush on you stretched all the way back to freshman year when you were both fourteen years old. You had accidentally spilled chocolate pudding on his shoe in the school cafeteria, and when you laughed and simply said, "Oops," he fell half in love with you.

Now he was seventeen and about to graduate, and he'd never so much as asked you out. You were next to him in alphabetical order, and he saw you every day at school. And he'd never even so much as told you he liked you. 

After Carole dropped Bradley off at the football field to get ready for his commencement ceremony to begin, he was told to line up in alphabetical order. "Great," he muttered, shuffling up next to you alphabetically. "Hi," he managed to say, and you turned to face him, spilling your drink on his shoe.

"Oops," you said, and Bradley's eyes caught on the tiny lip piercing at the corner of your mouth. That wasn't there yesterday. And if he wasn't fully in love with you before, he sure was now. "Sorry, Bradshaw."

"I really like you," he blurted out, and you smiled at him before turning the other way as the line of students started moving forward. Bradley's heart was pounding as he followed you to the folding chairs and sat down next to you. He was probably going to die of embarrassment before he got his diploma.

He listened to the speeches and tried to focus, but your leg was brushing his. And then he felt your fingers on his hand, and he looked at you right when you said, "I really like you, too."

Then you kissed him. During the speech the valedictorian was giving. Right in front of everyone. Bradley was sure he would hear about this from his mom later, but he didn't care. Because he could feel your lip piercing rubbing along his own lips.

And then you settled back in your seat like nothing had even happened. But your fingers were still linked with his. And after you both had your diplomas, you told him your phone number, which he immediately memorized. And the next day, you let him feel your lip piercing with his mouth again.

[daggerspared]

inspired by the fact that in the pictures in maverick’s hangar, teen bradley’s a brunet. obviously this is cuz they’re miles’ pictures but well

---

“so do you dye your hair now or was this part of your angsty phase i’ve heard so much about?”

jake raises the picture of bradley closer for inspection. the teenager in the picture is definitely his boyfriend—he has all the same facial features except for the mustache—but the second-most glaringly obvious difference is the fact that the curls peaking out from underneath his baseball cap are a dark brunet instead of the lighter honey color jake’s so accustomed to.

bradley laughs a little, hooking his chin over jake’s shoulder to see the picture for himself. “well, mav’s already shown you me as a baby, so i guess i have to admit that teenage-me was trying a little too hard to be cool.”

“a little? babe, c’mon you wanted to join the black parade so bad.”

maverick pipes up from just behind them. “do you want to see the pictures ice took after the first time he snuck out to a party? i’ve kept them for exactly this purpose.”

“the what?” jake asks, delighted.

bradley groans. “mav i thought you said the hangover was punishment enough.”

“oh, no baby goose, this punishment has been 20 years in the making.”

unfortunately for jake’s ever-growing blackmail stash against his boyfriend, they’re interrupted by a buzzing sound from bradley’s pocket. “phoenix,” he says, holding up the phone, “gotta take this.” he presses a kiss to jake’s temple before he crosses to the other side of the hangar.

jake’s attention drops back to the photo in his hand. some surly teenager with a major case of baby face, but also hints of the strong man he’d come to be. 

mav shifts to stand next to him. he gazes down at the picture, the sheen of nostalgia in his eyes. “i remember when we caught bradley with that stupid hair dye all over himself and half the bathroom. we made him scrub it off the tiles, but he was too proud of his new look to be really upset about it.”

jake looks back between the picture of teen bradley and mav, a little scrunch forming between his brow.

it’s funny because, well, a lot of how bradley appears now is all nick bradshaw—his hawaiian shirts, his mustache, his natural hair (though a few shades browner than it was as a child)—but when jake looks at the picture of young bradley with his dark, messy hair and then the man in front of him, well—

“he looks like you,” he finds himself saying. “in this picture, with the hair, and the way he stands, and the way he smiles. he’s so totally your kid.”

when he gets no response, he looks up. maverick’s eyebrows are raised, mouth slightly parted, but it appears jake has done what cyclone could only dream of: struck pete “maverick” mitchell silent.

“except for the height,” jake adds.

bradley chooses this time to wander back to them, situation with phoenix over and resolved. he hooks an arm around jakes waist and leans in, all close and easy. bradley turns towards maverick. “what’s wrong?” he asks at the look on his father’s face.

mav shakes himself a little. he looks at his son. he smiles.

“nothing,” he says.

[fangirling-tussisque-noncaelatur]

Hangman: Face it! I'm a natural-born star.

Rooster: *rolls his eyes*

[broketraveler87]

I have a treat for you all probably Monday but if the muse is willing Sunday! It feels good to be getting back to this story. A little sneak peek of what’s to come in chapter 2 of Learning to Fly

Update February 6: I’m a lying sack of poop! Sorry my neck and shoulders have decided to seize up and I can’t work.

[merry-andrews]

My 'wrath' moodboard for Bradley! Based on @missathlete31 's lovely post!💗

[kbade]

Rooster has a stuffed goose.

Hangman shouldn’t be surprised.  

That was what Hangman thought when he saw the said stuffed animal inside the older man closet, it was just sitting in the corner and looking right back at him. 

The goose was as big as the real one, rounded chubby body and just by its looking, he knew it would be so soft at touch.  

And that was what he did, slowly, Hangman reached for the stuffed goose. Then he hugged with all his will. Because, the thing was so squishy and huggable, it was like he was hugging a cloud. It is bigger than he initially thought, almost half of his body, jesus christ the damn thing is so fucking cute.

However, he noticed there was a light layer of dust on it as he let out a small sneeze after he hugged the fluffed animal, Hangman supposed this is due to the fact that this goose had not seen the outside world for a while. He decided to do the best thing that popped into his head at that time. Hangman wash it, by hand. 

(Because he learned the hard way that these things are very delicate, and are not for washing machine)

Then he brought the now clean but soaked goose to the back yard to dry it, but he couldn’t find any clippers (they should put those on the list for the next grocery run, those clippers have their own legs, he swears). Hangman then tided the goose legs together on the drying string and stepped back to admired his work and laughed at the sight a bit. 

Later, when Rooster came home, Hangman asked him to go to the back yard to take the laundry in, much to his confusion because it was not laundry day? 

Rooster faced a familiar sight of a white stuffed goose being hanged upside down basking in the California summer sun in Rooster childhood home back yard. For a moment, he thought he was still a tiny kid watching his mom tying the goose up on the drying line. 

After retrieved the goose, he walked back into the house and saw Hangman lounging on the sofa with the man cocky smile. Rooster took the goose wings with his hand and wrapped it around his boyfriend, as he fell in love with that man a little bit more. 

(Ice: what if the kid don’t like me?? Kids have always scared of me?? MAV?!

Mav: it’s because your permanent frowning face, dumbass. As much as I love it, kids rarely. But don’t worry so much, baby goose will love you nonetheless. That kid is a fucking angel.

Ice: but-

Mav: or you can buy him a first meeting gift? A hug ass stuffed goose?

Ice: YES, THANK YOU MY FUCKING LOVE!)

[cap-winter-barnes]

He's A Loser Pt.2 (Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader)

Part One - Thank you for all the love on this one guys. A lot of you wanted a Part 2, so here it is...

Y/N is Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw’s little sister and he’s finally introduced her to the rest of Dagger Squad. What neither of them anticipated was them both have an instant attraction, despite Bradley’s best efforts, the inevitable still happens.

Warnings: swearing, jealous Rooster, flirty Hangman

Buy Me A Coffee | Commissions Open

"So are you going to kiss me or not Hangman?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Then what are you waiting for, Lieutenant?" Jake groans as you bite your lip and not wanting to waste a second longer discussing something he's wanted to do since the moment you stepped into the room, he pulls you closer.

His grip tightens on your waist as he brings your body flush against his own. You let out a gasp as your chests press together and your heart flutters as he grins down at you. With his free hand, he tips your chin so you're looking him in the eye and you swear you fall right there for Jake Seresin. Your brother's worst enemy, his competition - the man he told you to stay away from. But the heart wants what the heart wants.

As Jake brings his lips to yours in a searing kiss, you've never been happier. You can taste the whisky on his tongue as he kisses you, each time your teeth knock together you both let out an exhale of laughter. Jake's grip on your waist tightens as you run a hand through his hair, your other hand fisting the front of his uniform. Neither of you want to break for air as Jake brings both hands upwards to cup your face as he presses his lips harder against yours.

"Why don't we go somewhere a little quieter, Baby Bradshaw?"

He pulls away, his thumb dropping to pull your bottom lip down as you gaze at him with glazed, doe eyes. At a loss for words you nod, drunk on his kiss, drunk of him. With a chaste kiss to your forehead, Jake grabs you by the hand and begins to lead you through the crowd of Navy personnel, not worried about who sees.

You keep your fingers tightly wrapped around his own as you trail behind him, giggling like a teenager with excitement. Jake can hardly contain the smile on his face as he leads you towards the bathrooms.

"Really, Hangman?" The only response you receive is a wink in your direction.

"Trust me, Baby Girl. Okay?" The look of longing on his face has you weak at the knees and your heart racing. You squeeze his hand tighter, putting your trust in him entirely. "You really think you're big brother would let me live if I took you back to base?" He scoffed at the thought. "I'm safer keeping you inside this building... Until he comes to terms with the fact," he pulls you quickly towards him, his other hand coming down to grip your ass-cheek over your dress, the hem hiking up at the movement, "that you're all mine, darlin'."

You have never felt more turned on in your life than in this moment with Jake 'Hangman' Seresin in the doorway to the only bathroom in The Hard Deck! You push him backwards into the door, kissing him as you both enter the dimly lit bathroom. Once the door has closed behind the both of you, Jake is quick to spin you both around until your back is pressed into the edge of the basin counter.

Neither of you waste any time as you grapple with the buttons on his shirt, untucking it from his trousers and pushing it off of his shoulders. You take a second to admire the toned muscles of his arms and shoulders, a brief glance to his clothed torso, his white undershirt tight against his tanned skin. "Like what you see, Baby Girl."

"Oh yes, Hangman. You look good."

"That's because I am good. I'm very good, Princess."

In one swift motion, Jake has you sitting on the counter, legs wrapped around his waist. "And I'm going to show you just how good I am, darlin'." You push yourself against him, desperate to feel your body against his, albeit in a public bathroom. As Jake begins to lift your skirt up to your waist, you hear the dread sound of commotion outside the bathroom door.

"Jake, please tell me yo-"

"What the fuck is going on here?"

And you swear you could die right on the spot. There stands your big brother, Bradley. He is visibly pouring with intoxicated rage. "Get your hands of my sister, Bagman."

"Bra-"

"Stay out of it, Y/N!"

Jake gently settles your dress back down, lowering you to the ground, making sure you're steady on your feet before he take a protective step in front of you.

"Rooster, we're grown adults. So let's act like 'em."

You place a gentle hand on Jake's bare arm as you wait for the ensuing storm.

"That's my baby sister, so get your goddamn hands off of her!"

"And what if she doesn't want me to take my hands off of her?!"

Buy Me A Coffee | Commissions Open

A/N: There will be a Part 3 - let me know what you think of this one guys.

[pilvimarja]

[dearsnow]

SAY IT LIKE YOU MEAN IT (WITH YOUR FISTS FOR ONCE)

- you and bradley had always been attached at the hip until life pulled him away. when you’re finally living in the same place again, your unspoken feelings come to the surface during a san diego bonfire. (bradley “rooster” bradshaw x gn!reader, reader is characterized as someone who doesn’t like much attention, jealousyyyyyyyyy, pining & arguments but fluff at the end, ⚠️ mentions of alcohol / weed)

word count: 2,500

a/n - it’s so entertaining to come up with synonyms for kissing 😭 anyways, enjoy this, and listen to american teenager by ethel cain. oh and i was also so tempted to make the girl mickey in a wig, but i held back.

Bradley Bradshaw likes you. He’d go as far as to say he loves you, if he was being honest. He’s never said it, though, not in that way.

When you first met, he was pulled to you like a magnet. It was preschool, and he never left your side. He made macaroni portraits of you and you crafted tiny little friendship bracelets for him. Neither of you could speak well, or write well, but you stuck together anyways.

Your first written words were each other’s names.

Everything snowballed from there, but he couldn’t say he was mad at it.

You were so entirely different, but that’s what made it good, in his opinion. He always needed eyes on him, not for any pretentious ego-boosting reasons, but because it made him thrive. You tended to hide in the shadows. When you gave your eyes to him, and him to you, it was like the most natural thing in the world.

He was the classic class clown type all throughout middle and high school, with a football jersey and everything. When you came to his games, he swore he played a million times better, and you were happy to indulge in his superstition.

You like him, too. You’d go as far as to say you love him, if you’re being honest. You might’ve said it if he hadn’t been so clearly your platonic life partner. You would follow him, as toddlers, with his shirt edge balled in your small fist. You tried to draw him more times than you could count, but it always looked wrong, like you couldn’t really capture the life that he held so deeply in his eyes. You even considered joining the cheerleading squad for him, but you would’ve cringed under the gaze of the crowd.

When he left for the navy, and for college, and for anything after that, you wished you could bounce across the United States with him. Instead, you wrote him letters; copious amounts of them.

One thing that you both never dared to cross was the bounds of friendship. He would hold your hand, his thumb smoothing over the side of your fist, and there was nothing romantic about it. God, you wished it was, though.

Now that you’ve moved to San Diego, following him one last time, you beg whatever makes the rules to break them just once.

You walk up behind a broad-shouldered man you barely recognize and tap him on the shoulder. “I’m sorry, but I seem to be lost. Could you direct me to a man named Bradley? I believe his call sign is something silly, like ‘duck’.”

He whips around, sunglasses and mustache entirely new to you. He speaks your name in a breathy whisper, like he’s afraid his words will break if he says them too loud. “You’re here? Like actually?”

You’ve barely replied before you’re wrapped in a hug, feet lifted off the ground and body spun around so many times you think you might be sick. “Geez, Brad, put me down!”

He sets you down gently, holding out an arm for stability as you collect your bearings. “Sorry, sorry. I just can’t believe I’m seeing your face after all this time.” You’re even more breathtaking than he remembers.

San Diego has done him well, you reckon. His gold-tinted skin holds a deeper sense of warmth, now, even though he has always run hot. “You better get used to it. I have a fancy new apartment now, so I’m here to stay.”

His face holds a beaming grin, and the whole world falls away. “Thank god, I was beginning to think I’d be stuck here with just my coworkers.” He doesn’t even notice how you look at him with lovesick eyes.

After two months of San Diego, you say the one thing you thought you would never say: “I’m so sick of the sun.”

It’s midday, and you’re prepping for a Fourth of July bonfire party on the beach. The sun is beating down on your back, forcing you to scamper into the ocean every once in a while. Bradley is right beside you, wheeling yet another cooler onto the sand. “If I wasn’t worried about our shit being stolen, I’d suggest we abandon it and let Jake do all the work.”

You laugh. Jake was the one who suggested the whole bonfire, but, of course, he was “too busy” to help set up. You don’t mind doing the work. If it was an opportunity for you to be beside Bradley, you’d do anything. You’d even brave the burning ball of gas in the sky.

As you work, the sun disappears quickly.

By this point, after over two decades of friendship, you’ve lost a bit of that hope that pushed you to follow Brad in the first place. You know he’s attractive, and every woman in the world seems to know it too. What you didn’t know is that you’re pretty damn attractive too. As you’ve told yourself, you prefer to keep the attention off of you.

So, as the sun’s last dying rays scatter over the cooling sand, you pretend not to notice the women ogling your best friend.

The bonfire is great. Amazing, even. The flames reach high into the sky and the smell of smoke permeates the air; everything is cast in this sort of hazy glow, highlighting tanned skin and bright swimsuits. There’s also a woman chatting up Bradley, touching his arm flirtatiously, but you push that to the back of your mind. Instead, you’re focused on the guy in front of you, even when her giggle sends a ball of spikes into your heart.

He’s tall, a little on the skinny side, with tousled black hair and a puka shell necklace. Sand clings to his sandaled feet. He hands you a beer, which you tell yourself you won’t drink much of. You’ve already had a bit too much.

“So, know anyone here?” He asks. He’s eyeing you with a certain ferocity that you don’t notice, his gaze raking up and down your body.

You pop the can open and take a small sip. “Yeah. I know Bradshaw, and the rest by association.” You gesture to Jake and Natasha, who are arguing over a beach volleyball. You almost smile at the way she jabs him in the ribs, making him double over just enough for her to steal what’s so carefully held in his hands. The guy nods.

“I don’t. I’m here for the vibes, y’know?” He takes a step closer, and you notice he smells like smoke and something deeper, like perfumed weed. “And the pretty people.”

You shift in your place. “Have you found what you’re looking for?” You’re almost teasing now, completely missing the hunger in the way he licks his lips. Maybe you’re a little drunk, or maybe you’re just enjoying how someone seems to be giving you the longing looks you so sorely crave. It’s one night, you figure. You won’t ever see him again. What’s wrong with a little good-natured flirting?

“Absolutely.” He murmurs, reaching forward. His hand connects with the back of your neck, his breath cascading over your face, and your eyes flutter shut— before you’re yanked backwards by an arm around your waist.

You stumble. “What the hell?” You curse, colliding with a hard, warm chest. You drop your beer in the sand as you fall back. It’s Bradley, and he looks furious. “Brad, are you kidding me?”

“Come here.” His voice is lethally quiet and sharp as a knife. Your mind is reeling as you follow him a few paces closer to the fire, but a hot pool of anger sits in your stomach.

“Are you being serious right now? What in the world were you thinking?” You hiss. You look up at his tight-lipped face, utterly stoic in the light behind him.

“I’m not letting you kiss that piece of shit.”

“Who are you to decide who I kiss?” You’re so, so mad. So mad you could punch someone, but that would probably hurt you more than the person your fist connects with. Bradley just intervened in the one thing you thought he would never intervene in. You’ve let him swap spit with girls you’ve never seen before, and now he’s over here acting like you kissing one guy is the epitome of nastiness?

He scoffs. “You didn’t even notice, did you? That he was eyeing you like a piece of meat? God, he reeks of weed and swamp ass, too. What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that I could have the once in a lifetime opportunity to make out with a perfectly attractive guy without someone interrupting.” Your arms are crossed, but you feel a lump forming in your throat. In your mind, that really was a once in a lifetime opportunity. It’s not like you go out of your way to meet people, and the people you’ve met have never even slyly complimented you. You’re not the type that gets dates or drinks sent your way or anything more than platonic. Currently, platonic is staring you in the face with the rage of a thousand suns behind his eyes.

“Make out with Bob or Nat, I don’t care. At least they won’t undress you with their fuckboy blue eyes. Even Bagman is a better choice.”

“You don’t get to decide those things— friends don’t get to decide those things. I mean, I didn’t throw a hissy fit when you were openly flirting with that girl.” In the back of your mind, you know he’s right. You know that your stomach dropped when the guy leaned closer to you, and that your kicked-down self esteem made him out to be a whole lot more attractive than he probably (definitely) was.

Bradley runs a hand through his already slightly messy hair, sighing like he’s regretting ever hitting you with a sand pail in preschool. “I at least get to decide when to save you from creeps and when to leave your love life alone. Trust me, you were in more danger than I ever was.”

“I reiterate, friends don’t get to decide those things.” He can see the insecurity swimming in your beautiful eyes. Yeah, you’re definitely at least somewhat drunk. You’d never argue with him like this if you weren’t. You’re also more than a little mad, and disgusted with yourself, and disappointed with your lack of charisma, and so jealous of the girl he probably tangled tongues with.

“What do I have to be, then, to get it through your thick skull? You know I love you. I’m just looking out for you.” His voice is softer, now, and sweeter, dripping from his mustache like honey.

He reaches out, and you cringe away. Love. It’s a word unspoken, one that’s been lingering on your mind since the day in seventh grade when he suddenly became attractive to you. Like most things, you assume it’s friendly. “Do you really love me if this is what you’re pulling? Say it like you mean it, Bradshaw.”

“I love you.” He states, taking your hands in his. This time, as you try to pull yourself from his grip, he holds on. “I love you.” He says again. It holds a certain weight that gets your heart pounding like a drum in your chest. He’s firm but gentle, and he can feel the years of unspoken feelings bubbling on the tip of his tongue.

That’s when the guy from before decides to approach, sliding a hand uncomfortably down your waist. “I think you interrupted us, dude.”

Bradley drops your hands, and before the man can grab you even lower, he’s getting decked in the face.

He collapses to the ground, clutching his bleeding nose and cursing like a bitch. “Fuck you, what the fuck! Fuckin’ Navy piece of fucking shit.” You raise your hand to your mouth as he scrambles to get away. His blood leaves a scarlet trail of droplets in the sand.

“Bradley…”

“I just want you to be safe.” He mutters, like he didn’t just punch someone in the face for you. “I don’t care if you don’t feel the same way, romantically, but I can’t stand seeing you with guys that aren’t as smart or good-looking as one fraction of your pinky toe.”

You reach up to his jaw, carefully, gingerly, before pressing your lips to his.

Like a scene from a movie, Fourth of July fireworks explode behind you, not unlike the fireworks going off in your mind. He has one hand on your waist and one hand on the back of your head, and neither make you even the slightest bit uncomfortable. It’s Bradley, and he makes you feel like the safest person in the world.

Your lips are soft, so soft. Bradley can practically hear his heart pounding in his ears as his body finally takes in the moment he’s been dreaming about his entire life. When you pull away, he misses the feeling, like the lost puzzle piece of his heart was stolen as soon as it was put back.

“You think my pinky toe is smart and good-looking?” You place a hand on his bare chest, teasing. He gives you the grin you’ve come to adore.

“Every part of you is. That’s why I love you.”

“I love you too. For more than your pinky toe, of course.”

“Oh,” he says, suddenly conscious of the self-satisfied look you shoot her, “y’know that girl I was talking to?” You raise your eyebrows questioningly as he nods his head at her. She sends a little wave, in which you notice a sparkling ring on her finger. “That, my love, is Reuben’s wife.”

You feel your heart sink to your feet as the embarrassment sets in, your cheeks growing warmer than the fire. You mouth a quiet “sorry” at her and she laughs, shooing your apology away with a gentle sweep of her hand.

“Is that why you went after Mr. Broken nose?” Bradley whispers in your ear. “That’s one hell of a way to make me jealous.”

You crinkle your nose as your face flushes impossibly warmer. “Not everything has an ulterior motive, Bradshaw.”

He looks perfect in this lighting, and to him, so do you. You can hardly believe that decades of friendship and tension and wishing led to this slightly improbable moment. You’re honestly glad you almost kissed a stranger.

“Yeah, but you’d best believe I do.”

He takes your hand in his and drops to one knee. Everyone turns to look at him, but for once, the only eyes that matter are yours. “Will you do me the honor of letting me be your lawfully appointed boyfriend?” You smile so wide you think your cheeks might split. You join him in the sand, holding his face in your hands and kissing his cheek.

“You really did mean it, huh, Brad?”

“Is that a yes or a no?”

“Yes. It’s a definite, no-questions-asked, yes.”