#top gun maverick rooster

[spacecaravan]

Short Stack

pairing: rooster x reader word count: 4.8k 🥞☕🥓

"You're driving me crazy over here, honey," Bradley said with a pout from his spot in your kitchen, whining as he stared at you, your back to his front as you stood at your spot in front of the gas stove. 

It was a picturesque Sunday morning, the air was warm and sweet-smelling as the wind floated in from the open window, dainty linen curtains blowing enchanting shapes in the breeze. You had asked Bradley if he wanted to eat breakfast outside today since, as you had put it, it would be such a waste if we didn't. 

"Hm?" you hummed in response, resting your cheek on your shoulder as you craned your neck to glance over at the pilot, your hands busy tending to pancakes sizzling away on the stovetop "what'd you say, baby?" finding it a little hard to hear him over the speaker you had playing next to you on the countertop.

"You expect me to just sit over here while you're over there looking like that?" he questioned in an incredulous tone, his legs were wide open, palms splayed over his bare thighs while he watched you, his pajama shorts riding high on the tan skin underneath. 

You raised your eyebrows, eyes glinting curiously in his direction before you bent over at the waist to check the bacon crisping up in the oven. Old sweatshirt riding up just enough to drive Bradley wild as you batted your lashes at him, stoking the flames you loved to be warmed by.

"What's that, Bradley?" you said, dimples threatening to break through the coy smile you were trying to hide, "don't you want me to take care of you like I promised?" you teased, reminding Bradley of the moments that had transpired not too long before he was sat sipping coffee in one of his favorite places in the world, your kitchen on a lazy Sunday morning.

"Sleepy girl," 

His favorite way to wake you up on Sundays was to whisper in your ear as he snuck his hand up the front of whatever soft top you happened to fall asleep in. Warm hand reaching for your breasts, but wanting you to be awake before he teased you so he could listen to you react.

"Good morning, baby," he rasped in your ear, his eager fingers ghosting over your bare nipples after he felt you stir, relishing in the pleased little sound you made in the back of your throat in response to his touch, nipples pebbling immediately under the tips of his fingers.  

The night before you promised him you'd wake up early and make him a nice breakfast: fluffy buttermilk pancakes, perfectly cooked bacon, coffee the way he likes it — the works — he deserved it, you'd said. 

You spent that night cooing in his ear about how he worked so hard on base, pressing wet kisses across his bare chest as you praised him, moaning desperately into the air as he pressed his thumb softly on your clit as you rode him—couldn't stop telling him how desperately you wanted to make him feel good.  

"You deserve to feel so fucking good all the time, Bradley Bradshaw," you said, your skin hot and flushed as you fell apart on top of him, "and I'm going to make sure you do. I'm going to treat you so, so good, baby." you moaned into his ear before you felt him filling you up in your favorite way. 

So blinking your eyes open, to see your bedroom bathed in the hazy morning glow while Bradley's hard cock pressed firmly against your ass, was not what you needed to have the productive morning you'd promised. 

"Bradley," you forced out in your rough morning tone, a warning, at least that's how you intended it to sound. 

"Mhm?" Rooster grumbled from behind you, pulling you tighter to his sleep-warmed body as he pushed his wet lips and scratchy mustache into your soft neck. "love hearing you say my name," he mumbled, "lemme hear it again, sweet girl," a tiny kiss pressed into the back of your hairline, "y'smell so good by the way, always do." he said, his tone laced with affection as he inhaled your scent, pressing tender kisses to the sensitive skin of your throat.

"Bradley," you repeated, placing your hand on top of the one he had resting on your hip, managing to flip yourself so that you were facing him, staring directly into his eyes. "good morning." 

You kissed him softly on the lips before taking both of his hands between your bodies and pressing them above your breast, inhaling deeply and letting him feel your heartbeat. Rooster was strong, there was no denying it. But, for all that strength, Bradley was also putty in your hands, made utterly helpless at the site of your eyes on his. His body went completely pliant the moment you locked eyes with him and put your hands anywhere on his body. 

"G'morning," he sighed, losing his train of thought in the way the sunlight made your skin glow. Bradley pressed a soft kiss onto your nose as he breathed you in, his chest pressing against your joined hands as he moved closer, tangling your feet beneath the soft blankets. 

"Remember what I promised?" you reminded him, taking in his dreamy expression, keenly aware of how shallow his breaths were as he gazed at you, "I gotta start cooking, honey. Wanna treat you to this."

His mouth parts, tongue coming out to wet his lips as he watches you speak. Leans in closer to listen to you whisper sweetly about how you wanted to take care of him. 

"Or," he started, mustache quirking slightly as a smirk took over his features, "you stay here," he paused for a moment, his larger hands overlapping yours to bring your knuckles up to his warm lips, "and you let me take care of you — let me make you feel good."

Hearing him say that made your heart pound, made your entire body tingle all over and tempted you to no end. But you wanted, no needed, to do this for Bradley. You had been planning this ever since the last time you cooked for him and he wouldn't shut up about how he loved watching you in the kitchen.

Went on and on about how he was ready to be a stay-at-home anything if it meant getting to watch you act out all the fantasies he held deep inside, close to his heart. Fantasies of domestic bliss, of a life with someone who cares for you, who adores you, and in return, someone to make it all worth giving a shit about. 

And as much as you loved taking care of Bradley, you could never get enough of the way he would playfully nudge you away from the sink the moment he saw you starting to wash up after a meal. He always wanted to help, wanted to be involved, wanted to fill you up with the same type of affection you poured into him. 

"Excuse me miss," he would start, his hip bumping yours as he came to stand at the sink, "what do you think you're doing over here?" his smile was always infectious at this point, his large hands coming in to pluck the sponge straight from your wet fingers, "go relax, go get comfy. I'll do the rest." and with that final word, he would kiss you into total submission and send you on your way with a tap to your bottom.

"Later," you whispered, "stay in bed. I'll bring you coffee in a bit," 

You freed your hands from his grip and gently brushed your fingers over his cheekbone. He immediately leaned into your soft touch, allowing you to rise easily, his lips forming a pout as he watched you move to exit the bedroom. 

"You're torturing me," he said, propping himself up on his palm, elbow digging into the mattress as he shifted, his other palm coming out to reach for you in a desperate final attempt to get you back under the warm sheets.

You couldn't help the grin that blossomed on your face as you basked in Bradley's warm gaze. 

"Lucky for you," you started, cheek pressed to the door frame as you watched him, "you're trained to handle tough situations like this. Aren't you, Lieutenant Bradshaw?" you slipped out before he could give you a response. 

Walking down the hall you heard him groan and flop back down onto the mattress, could clearly picture him running his hands over his face and through his sleep-mussed hair as he shook his head with a smile. 

And that's how you ended up here, sunshine coming softly through your kitchen window while Bradley sat wide-legged at your breakfast nook. His large body settled into the cushion you and your friends had DIY'd one Friday evening, after two bottles of chilled red wine sat happily in your stomachs and shared laughter lit up the room. It's how you ended up with Bradley practically white-knuckling his mug as he watches you cook and fawn over him, sweetly asking him, "Can I top off your coffee, baby?" while you stroke the back of his neck, backing away before he can get his hands on you. 

"Honey," Bradley had moved from his spot, taking a few short strides to stand behind you at the stove. His hands coming to rest on your hips as he drags you back to him, "I can't sit there anymore." 

"No?" you question, your gaze on the cast iron skillet on the burner, the final pancake was cooking away on its shiny black surface as you feigned nonchalance. "What's got you so worked up, Bradshaw?"

Once he heard his last name leave your mouth he knew you were teasing him, and god was he ready to tease you right back. 

"I don't know," he presses a kiss to the side of your neck, "maybe just a pretty little thing making me breakfast," another kiss below your ear, "my girl taking such good care of me," 

Bradley moves his right hand to take the spatula out of your grip, meeting no resistance as you melt into the heat radiating from his naked chest, getting lost in the words coming out of his mouth as you lean into his onslaught of kisses.

"I'll tell you what's got me worked up, baby." 

You feel him inhale deeply behind you, the music playing from the speaker filling up the otherwise quiet room as he deftly flips the pancake on the pan, somehow knowing it was the perfect time to turn it as its golden brown surface shows itself. Soon after his perfect pancake has been flipped, he places the tool down, and using his now free right hand, turns off the stove and the oven, signaling the end of that—kitchen closed. 

Every nerve in your body was lighting up now. You could feel the excitement building in your marrow as he stood calmly behind you. 

"Turn around, and I'll tell you," he whispers in your ear, "lemme see your pretty eyes."

There was no other option but to listen, no choice but to turn around and stare into his lust-filled eyes. 

"So, what is it, Bradshaw?" you practically sigh, turning to him as you try to calm your breathing, willing yourself to fill your lungs slowly before he pushes you over the edge with just his words. 

"It's you," his voice still low as his as he reaches his hand up to brush over your lips. The pad of his thumb swipes back and forth gently over your pouted bottom lip, "it's you in this fucking kitchen looking like a dream. It's you saying my name while you pour me coffee," he pauses briefly, "it's that I know you slept in my sweatshirt last night to drive me fucking crazy this morning." 

"Am I in trouble, Lieutenant Bradshaw?" you say coolly despite the blazing inferno ripping through your entire being, despite his finger still resting on the plush of your lip.

Bradley doesn't answer, simply pushes his thumb past your lips and onto your waiting tongue. He loves the way he can make you mush under his touch. But you never let him have the upper hand for long. He groans and squeezes his eyes shut as you gaze up at him, sucking harshly on the digit and wetting it with your eager tongue. He pulls the finger out of your mouth, hand moving to grip your cheeks in a manner that made your panties flood with wetness. Bradley was practically panting — trying so hard to keep his cool, trying so hard not to spin you around right here and fuck you against the oven.

“Breakfast is gonna have to wait, pretty girl,” he declares, “should have never let you get out of bed this morning.”

After that it's a blur of warm hands grasping for bare skin, a symphony of moaning into open-mouthed kisses and when Bradley moves his hands down your thighs, pulling in a signal you've come to know well, you jump. His capable hands immediately come to your ass as you wrap your legs around his middle. You're nose to nose with him as he walks you back to the bedroom.

"I've got you, baby," he whispers, "gonna make you feel so good."

He's dropping you onto the bed before you know it, towering his body over yours to kiss every inch of skin he can touch. He's pushing up your (his) sweatshirt to reveal the soft skin hidden underneath, stopping to bite and lick your exposed breasts, taking extra care of each nipple as he nips and pinches. 

Rooster tosses away the article of clothing, leaving you lying in the morning light in just your underwear. He takes a single step back, leaving you panting on the bed as you stare up at him. He's obviously hard, his pajama shorts tented and hands flexing at his sides as he looks down at the way your almost naked body is being illuminated by the golden light. 

"You look too fucking good," he whispers mostly to himself, "god damn." 

He drops to his knees in front of you, hands coming to wrap underneath your knees as he drags you to the end of the bed, bringing your covered cunt to his waiting mouth. Rooster immediately presses his nose and lips onto the sodden fabric of your panties, his tongue coming out to taste the wetness soaking the cotton. You could come just from this, just from Bradley Bradshaw breathing into your pussy while he presses his perfect nose against your puffy clit. 

"Want me to taste you, honey?" he whispers into your cunt, and you feel like you're burning alive, "cause I wanna taste you real fuckin' bad."

He pulls away from you again, and it really isn't fair that he looks like that right now. His skin is radiant and ethereal, he smells divine and he's looking at you like he wants to eat you alive. Before you even have a chance to answer, Rooster is gripping the fabric on your underwear tightly, increasing the friction on your clit. A little tease. Maybe a little mean—or even a little needy. 

"Talk to me, baby," he says, fingers still pulling the fabric taut against your dripping center. 

"Please, Bradley," you whisper desperately, chest heaving as you look down at him. "Need you," you add, yes because you mean it, but also because you know he loves to hear it.  

With that, he is swiftly pulling the soaked panties down your legs, flinging them somewhere to be found later while the two of you laugh and make the bed together.

His palms come back to separate your thighs and you could die. You feel like you're about to plunge into icy cold water—the shock of adrenaline as your body adjusts to the frigid temperature. Warmth overtakes every cell in your body, as you gaze down at him. Bradley is staring directly into your wet pussy with a lust-filled glaze in his pretty eyes. With every inhale and exhale you feel more obscene, more spread open.

"So wet," he observes, his voice deep and gruff "you showin' off for me? Gettin' nice and wet just for me, baby?"

He runs his thumb up and down your slit, taking one pass to tease at your aching clit. His thumb is bringing you a pleasure that is making your back arch off the mattress, it feels like he is taking you apart piece by piece. His face is still so close to your pussy you can feel his breath fanning over you. His warm breath is a sharp contrast to the wetness of your weeping hole. 

"Oh, honey," he coos, as he dips his middle finger into your soaked cunt, "bet you were wet this morning too, huh? But my good girl wanted to treat me to a picture-perfect Sunday, didn't she?"

He wants you to answer, you know this.

"Want you so bad, Bradley," you whimper into your palm, having pressed the side of it between your teeth to keep from yelling out, "want you always. Wanna take care of you all the time."

When his mouth finally comes down, it makes you weep, makes you cry out in a tone you've never heard leave your body. His supple mouth and tongue are bringing you so much comfort as they simultaneously send all-encompassing shockwaves of pleasure through you. 

You’re bucking into his mouth, unashamed in your want for him, unabashed in the way you spread your wetness over his gorgeous face. You bring your hands away from your fluttering chest and gasping mouth to pull his hair, hard. He moans loudly when you do, making your tummy do backflips as he feasts on your cunt. Breakfast be damned. 

"My perfect girl," he whispers against your clit, "tastes so good. Such a sweet pussy."

You groan at his words, reveling in his praise and storing it away to replay at a later time. No one has ever made you feel the way Rooster does, no one has ever been able to make you completely unravel in the way he can. 

"Need you, baby," you whine from your spot on the bed, "need to feel you inside me, please. Please, Bradley."

He pulls back enough for you to see his face—lips shining, mustache obscenely wet and it makes you dizzy just to look at him like this. His hands are still gripping your thighs, his touch burning the area his palms are claiming. 

"Can't wait for me to finish?" he taunts, mocking you as he smiles into your wet cunt.

That's when you move to sit up, propping yourself up on your elbows to get better leverage. Wordlessly you slip back away from him, sliding back on the soft sheets to rest your back flat against the headboard. Creating enough distance between the two of you to keep him out of arms reach, the only touch he could lay on you now is a soft graze to your ankle with his fingertips. 

"Come here, Rooster," you say, your sultry tone sounds unfamiliar to you, coated in want and lust, "come and take your pussy, Lieutenant Bradshaw."

A beat passes. You hear him curse under his breath. He's so solid when he comes to stand at the end of the bed. Doesn't take his eyes off yours as he rids himself of his soft shorts. Doesn't make a sound as he palms his erection, stroking the length once, twice, three times before he descends upon you. Once again he's flexing that Navy-earned strength of his to drag your body flush against the mattress. His arms coming to frame your head as he brings his mouth down onto yours, soft and kind, kissing you so sweetly as he leaves the taste of you behind on your tongue. 

"You're gonna be the death of me, baby." he moans into your mouth.

"What a way to go," is all you say before you reach down to rub his cock up and down your wet slit, taking extra care to rub his sensitive tip over your clit driving you both wild in the process. 

He's gripping your wrist tight, halting your movement on his length. His eyes are half-open as they peer into yours, his bottom lip lodged in between his perfect teeth as he places your hand back on the soft sheets below you. 

His plunging inside you so suddenly it pushes all the air out of your lungs. His breath hitches as he settles into the deepest, warmest parts of you—his hands coming up to keep your supple thighs snug around his waist as pleasure rocks through your core. Sometimes he moves so fast you can't keep up, can't keep up with the pillow being shoved under your ass as Bradley strokes deep inside of you. 

“Oh, honey,” he moans, “god that pussy is perfect.” 

Your skin sizzles at his praise, pleasure is working itself down to the very tips of your toes, making you shiver. You're gasping for breath as he pushes himself impossibly deeper inside of you, eyes falling shut as you chase the pleasure he is eliciting from you. Your pussy is clenching around him, he feels so thick and perfect inside you it makes you want to cry. Your hands are gripping the sheets so hard your fingers are cramping. 

"Look at me, pretty baby," he whispers, "let me see my girl."

Your eyes snap open, but your head tilts back with pleasure at his request. You feel so close. You don't know how he gets you teetering over the edge so fast. Maybe it's the husky sound of his voice as he calls you a million different lovely names. Maybe it's the way his tan arms look caging you beneath his body. Or maybe it's the way he gets lost staring in between your bodies. 

Rooster is obsessed with the way he looks sliding in and out of you while you cry out underneath him. But he can never look away too long, always needing to see the look in your eyes as he fucks you in a way that makes you whine and beg for him—makes you desperate for him in his favorite way. He never gets tired of the shock on your face when he whispers filthy words into your ear as he touches parts of you no one ever has. And you hope to god that no one but him ever will again. 

Did Bradley love seeing you act out his domestic fantasies? Of fucking course. The pilot could hardly keep his hands off you most evenings, barely getting the chance to say hello before he was winded at the sight of you floating around the kitchen. Always humming along to a tune he liked — or at least he liked the sound of it coming sweetly from you — before you noticed he was in the room. You were always stirring this, or chopping that. Asking him to taste this for salt or, like most times, you simply said "sit and relax, Rooster, let me take care of you." like you did this morning. He loved the way you took care of him. You did it without pretense or motive. Just did it because you loved to see him loved. You adored doting on Bradley Bradshaw because you knew he deserved it. You knew how he craved it. 

But, for as much as Bradley liked you sweet and delicate in the kitchen, he loved you fucked out and messy more. He went crazy over the way you'd suck his fingers into your mouth while he was fucking you, doing anything just to feel fuller. Loved the way you teased—all half-lidded eyes and parted lips, walking around half-dressed with an innocent smile on your face as you stepped in front of the TV, interrupting whatever college football game he happened to be watching with a simple Hi, Bradshaw. He lived for the chase and would do stupid, dangerous things for the reward. 

“Bradley,” you whisper, and it elicits another moan from him, one that is throaty and deep, "Make me cum, please,"

He wants to keep teasing you, wants to make you wait so badly, wants to make you yell out his name desperately as he edges you. But he can't—not this morning—not when you look so, so pretty laid out underneath him, like a fucking angel, he thinks to himself. 

"I've got you, pretty honey," he leans down to press his chest into yours, relishing in the feeling of your hard nipples pressed into his heated skin, "don't have to do a thing, sweet girl, just feel how deep that cock is inside you, okay? Can you do that for me?"

"Oh, Bradley," you whine, crying out at the feeling of his shaft hitting parts of you that hurt so goddamn good. Parts of you that made tears prick at the corners of your eyes, made your toes curl and your heart pound out of your chest. 

He's close too, he can never stop talking the closer to release he gets. "That's it, baby, tell me who's making you feel good. Tell me whose cock is gonna make you cum." his words are filthy as he chases his orgasm alongside yours. 

You would tell him anything he wanted to hear right now, confess your deepest darkest secrets if he asked. 

"It's you, Rooster" you moan. "Always you, only you. No one else can fuck me like you Rooster, please. Please." you plead desperately, you're so close to cumming and it's driving you insane, making your skin tingle all over as you stand over the edge waiting to jump. 

Bradley's mind goes blank at your words, he can't do anything but continue to fuck you deeper, soaking in your praise before it shoots straight into his pelvis and grips him tight. 

You hold on to him tightly as you cum, holding him as close as possible as you grind against him, body moving instinctually at this point to chase the most pleasure possible, to milk every last ounce of euphoria you can from him. 

Bradley's own gratification is close, he knew it was the moment he felt your pussy start pulsing around his cock as you came. He was absolutely basking in every little noise coming from as you came undone underneath him, he loved watching you come apart, loved that he was the one doing it. 

"I want it, baby," you preen underneath him, shocking him out of his reverie and snapping his attention to the fucked out expression on your face, "need to feel you cum inside me Bradley, please, baby. Need it so, so bad, honey."

He growls and you know that did it. The deep, raspy noise coming from him as he spills inside you makes you clench down on his shaft, hard. The feeling of your cum soaked pussy clenching around him makes Bradley curse into your ear. Makes him thrust hard into your sensitive hole as he groans out your name.

When you still, the two of you are slick with a fine layer of sweat, bellies moving in tandem as you fight desperately to fill your lungs and steady your heartbeats. 

If there's one thing Bradley loves, it's the afterglow. He could lie on top of you with his cock soft inside your velvet walls for hours. Wouldn't move if he didn't have the unfortunate human need for food and water. On rare occasions, Bradley would be so relaxed post-orgasm, he would doze off on your chest, his breath coming out in gentle puffs over your skin as you pet the top of his head, basking in the sight of him bare and malleable underneath you.  

"I think breakfast might be a little cold, baby," he says with a smile, gazing up at you with a look you could only describe as smitten.

"Shame," you tut, and your hand grips his hair a little tight, nothing that hurt, nothing that no one but a top naval aviator would notice, a little twitch as you considered what to say next. "can I tell you a secret?" you're grinning now too.

"Spill it," his expression is giddy as he waits for your confession. 

"I love doing this with you," you didn't mean to be earnest. You meant to say something witty, something funny. 

But you couldn't, honesty pouring out of you like a tub overflowing with water. Like someone had turned on the faucet and walked away. 

You see his expression soften before he's rolling the two of you over, his eyes never leaving yours as he brings the both of you to lay on your sides, mirroring the position you were in earlier this morning. Hands gripped tightly between each other, chests moving in tandem as you bring your faces impossibly close together. "Me too, baby," he's smiling so sweetly it's making your stomach fill with butterflies "you have no idea."

#rooster #bradley rooster x reader #rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw smut #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw smut #rooster smut #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw smut #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster top gun #rooster top gun x reader #rooster top gun smut #bradley bradshaw top gun #top gun maverick #top gun maverick rooster #miles teller #miles teller x reader #miles teller smut

[ohcaptains]

triple x

pairing. rooster x pilot! female! reader 

an. this took me forever. pls comment and reblog i beg<3  synopsis. you and rooster keep your relationship private. you meet up at a hotel miles away whenever you can, sometimes waiting weeks before meeting again. this time though, it’s been months, and the pair of you decide to spend all night making up for lost time. 

warnings. 18+ only. minors do not interact with this fic or follow me -- i am not responsible for your media consumption. this is very explicit. I guess top gun counts as a warning. female and male receiving oral, and female receiving penetration. unprotected mirror sex, extreme dirty talk and descriptions. leans more towards m!dom. slight sub space, come play, come eating, spitting and saliva. if you copy my shit i’ll find out.

The night-time is forgiving.

Nobody can see the sweat beading around your forehead, or the way you’re clenching your fists, trying to stop the tingling sensation from spreading up your arms.

You’re nervous.

Can feel it swelling in your belly, drumming against your heart and chest. The black of the night means it’s all hidden, though. Hidden, as you lean against the familiar motel wall, waiting for Rooster to come with the keys.

It's easy to miss him when he’s in his civvies.

You only recognise him in the dark green and beige of the navy uniform the pair of you share, thus, when you see a man walking towards you, your nerves heighten. Triple tenfold, before Rooster’s familiar face comes into view. The lines of his brown, blonde hair, and the shape of his moustache.

There he is, your subconscious whispers, and your body relaxes. When he sees you leaning against the wall, a brilliant grin splits his scowl in two, and his walk turns to a jog.

The first thing he says is, “missed you,” even though he saw you three hours ago.

Mumbles it into the night, his hand coming round to grab your waist as he bends to kiss you, and you don’t see the grateful smile he’s got on his scarred face, but you feel it against your mouth, spreading as you wrap your arms around his neck and melt into him.

He smells like the sun and the sea, feels warm and intimate, and your bodies slot together, merge into one as he softly pushes your back into the wall.

Rooster deepens the kiss. Splays his wide hand over your hip, coming round to grab beneath your ass, and he forces your thigh up and around his waist. Your body sighs out in relief. Opens up to him completely. The kiss makes you dizzy; his tongue pushing into your mouth and reminding you how long it’s been.

“You miss me too?” he whispers, ghosting his mouth across your cheek.

Rooster likes to be told.

Likes to be complimented and reassured, but all you can do is focus on his fingers pushing into your thigh, the night-time breeze sending his cologne spiraling into your nose. 

You’re drunk on him already. “Yeah, Jesus,” you whisper back, flicking your eyes up into his. He’s staring at you intently, eyes swimming in something thick and bright.

The moon glistens over his features, letting you see everything you’ve missed up close. You see him every day, but looking at him now, it’s like the first time. The scars on his neck and cheek, the little one he’s got on his chin.

You reach out and trace the lines, run a thumb over his soft, pink lips and focus on the way his tongue darts out and touches your skin. It causes an electric current to shoot through your belly.

“Did anyone see you leave?” you breathe, hand still cupping his chin.

He shakes his head softly. “We’re pros at this now, sweetheart.”

The pet name causes something dormant in your chest to bloom – scratches an itch you can’t reach. You had to be careful. If anybody found out that the pair of you had been using your personal time off base to meet at a shady motel, you’d be disciplined within an inch of your life.

There were strictly no relationships between teammates.

Still, that didn’t stop you from meeting with Bradley once a fortnight.

Now, though, It’d been months.

Could barely remember the way here, or what room you usually occupied.

Rooster kisses you again because now he freely can.

The last time you kissed was three days ago.

You’d been pulled into an empty classroom, and lucky for Rooster, you realised who he was before you defended yourself. Had enough time to squeak a confused, “what the fuck?” Before he quieted you with his lips, slipping his tongue into your mouth and you wept.

Let out a pained sigh as you tasted him, hands holding onto his uniform for dear life. When he pulled away, you drunkenly blinked up at him, your dazed expression suddenly twisting into a scowl.

“Why’d you do that?” you whispered, and Rooster immediately understood. He’d broken the seal, left the pair of you begging for more. He was apologetic when he explained, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t wait.”

Felt it blooming in your chest, your body aching for more already.

“Only gonna make it worse,” you replied, before leaning up and capturing his lips in yours again, tasting the mint from his gum and the coffees your team had shared this morning. He was an addiction, and you’d gone months without.

Now, one little taste was going to break your clean streak. He groaned, eyes clenched closed with a hand flat on the wall beside you, the other fisting your t-shirt. The sound echoed through your body, and you committed it to memory – a fresh one.

It took all of your strength and willpower to pull away, rushing to the door.

As you went to open it, Rooster lunged for you. Took your hand in his and scrambled to say, “This Friday.” You tore your eyes away from the wood, looking at him in confusion. “What?” “Mav’s taking this weekend off. This Friday, 10 pm.” You nodded, trying to desperately quell the excitement that was suddenly pulsing through you. It made you silly, made you take his arm and pull him to you, kissing him quick. Finally, there was an end to your madness.

You tried to not get too thrilled – your plans could fall through. Still, you focused on Rooster's desperation as he hastily tasted you, before pulling away and shaking his head with a stupid grin.

“Think you can wait that long?” he quirked. “I think I can manage –” you checked your watch, “--eight hours.”

Rooster flicked his eyes over your features, a dreamy look flooding his features. He bit his lip and shook his head, saying, “I can’t,” and dipped to kiss you again.

As he kisses you now, the desperation is still there, but it’s slower. There’s finality, the end of a few long and torturous months in sight. You run your fingers over the fresh buzz at top of his neck, adoring the way it feels on your skin.

Want to touch all of him. Consume him in ways you haven’t for what feels like an eternity. You pull away, meeting Rooster’s blazing eyes.

“You got the keys?”

As soon as the door is locked behind you, Rooster’s pulling his jacket off.

When he drops it to the floor, his large palms come to grab your hips, taking you against his body with a feverish desire. He drops his chin and kisses you quick, manically, all teeth and tongue and no skill but hunger. He bumps his mouth against yours, mumbling, “you have no idea how much I want to fuck you.”

You do.

Can feel it pushing long and hard against your lower stomach. Familiar. It makes you ache.

Makes heat burgeon in your belly and across your cheeks as you imagine him taking you against the door. Pulling your skirt up and pushing inside of you, wet from his spit and it would hurt but fuck, it’s been so long that you want it to.

Want it hard and fast and desperate, then maybe afterwards you can take your time. Your hands go for his belt buckle, propelled by the sound he makes when your hands brush over his bulge.

He groans, a gasp trapped in his throat, then presses his sweet lips to yours and you’re sighing out in relief, pushing your tongue into his mouth, and wrapping your arms around his neck, body submitting to his completely.

“Not waiting that long again,” he declares, talking between kisses. He shakes his head, grabbing onto your hips and taking you against him. “A month is too long — my hands got blisters.” You imagine Rooster making himself come in his bunk, cupping his wide palm around his cock, and coming, covering his mouth to stifle the sounds from coming out. You feel the same. You tried to make yourself come the other night, and you were so turned on and frustrated that you cried. Sobbed into your pillow as you pushed your fingers into your dripping pussy, silently begging for Rooster to come and shut you up.

The familiar ache is with you now, pushing between your legs and pooling in your underwear.

He’s barely touched you.

You shove your hands to his belt buckle again, nodding against his mouth. “Yeah,” you agree, pulling his belt out of the loops. “Yeah, fuck.” “I know,” Rooster soothes, kissing you stupid. “I know baby.”

You manage to shuffle him against a nearby countertop, and you turn the lamp on, illuminating the pair of you in warm, orange light. He’s gorgeous.

Sometimes you forget how pretty he is, but then he saunters into the mess hall, sitting next to you on the table and mumbling a groggy, “morning.” His hair freshly styled, his moustache brushed, and his chin and cheeks shaved.

He looked like that this morning, and it made your belly clench with something tragic as you pictured him doing it all for you.

You drop to your knees in front of him, and Rooster groans, the sound coming from deep within his stomach.

“Fuck,” he spits, eyes following all of your movements. He soaks up the way your legs spread across the carpet, and the way your hands come up to shakily pull his trousers down. He helps you yank them off, revealing his light grey boxers, and you see his hard cock. See it leaking a dark patch on the fabric, and you can’t help yourself.

Can’t help but lean forward and nudge your nose across his length, jutting your tongue out and sliding it up the outline of his dick.

“Jesus Christ,” Rooster whispers, his eyes fluttering closed and mouth parting. “um’ gonna come as soon as you put me in your mouth,” he declares, and your belly clenches at the mere thought. “Okay,” you whisper, because fuck, that’s exactly what you want.

Want him desperate and whiney, coming thick and hot down your throat. Want it dripping down your chin and leaking over your neck. You take a reassuring breath, reaching up to tug his boxers down. Rooster’s chest is clenched, sucking in deep – in and out – as his cock slides out, and he hisses as it hits the air.

Before you even get his boxers past his knees, you’re leaning up and running your wet tongue over him, forcing him to choke and splutter your name into the motel room.

“Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck,” he wheezes, clenching his eyes closed. You smile, resting your hands in front of you, crouching over his dick and just about touching him with your mouth, but Rooster’s already whimpering, pushing his hips up to get more. “Please,” he breathes. “Look at me,” you whisper, brushing your mouth over him. “Shit – “he hisses, hips jolting. “--’m gonna come if I do.” “S’what I want,” you quickly reply, leaning up to hold him in your steady palm.

He’s trying to calm himself down. Hold himself back – fingers holding the wood of the counter tight enough the bend it. Eventually, he does what you say. Takes in a shuddering breath, blinking down at you, and it’s then that you choose to collect spit behind your teeth and catch Rooster’s eyes, drooling it onto the red, wet head of his cock.

When you lean back, a trickle of saliva is still connected to your lips.

His eyes blow wide.

“’ so fucking hot,” he breathes, shaking his head as if he can’t believe it. As if he can’t believe this is happening right now and God, you’re the same.

It’s been so long that you can’t remember the way he tastes, feels – feels when he’s pushing inside of you, cursing your name.

When you slide your tongue over his slit, you taste him.

Taste his musk, remember it -- remember tasting him for the first time and hearing him sob your name. The memory of it spurs you on. Makes you speed up, using your hand to drag your saliva over his length as your mouth works over the head. 

You spit onto his dick again, pushing it over his cock and it slides down, dripping over your chin and onto the floor.

Rooster’s breathing is heavy, and when you look up, you see he’s holding his wide palm over his mouth, stifling any moans that want to come out. You pout around his cock, shaking your head up at him.

“’ wanna hear you,” you mumble, and Rooster slowly pulls his hand away, as if he had forgotten you liked that. When you take him back into your mouth, he flexes his hips, pushing himself deeper. “Fuckkkkk,” he groans, deep and low. You feel his hands come down, holding the sides of your head steady.

“Take me all the way, please. Please, baby.”

So, you do. Take him to the back of your mouth and you choke, your throat constricting, but you keep on going. Eyes watering, spit dribbling from your mouth and onto the hardwood, and Rooster watches you, whispering your name with his mouth open and eyes blissed out.

“God,” he drags, rolling his hips up, making you gag, making you push your spare hand between your thighs to try and quell the ache that’s building there, and Rooster sees.

Sees you grind your pussy into your palm once, twice, and the reality of the situation must hit him all at once, because, suddenly, he’s pulling back an inch, giving you a short warning before he’s coming quickly down your throat.

His whole body shudders. He groans your name. Says,

“Fucking shit, oh my fuck – shit, I’m – god -- sorry baby, fuck. Feel so fucking good, so fucking good, prettiest fucking girl I’ve ever – “he sucks in a quick breath, “– seen.”

Tries to calm himself down, but you don’t let up, keep on working your hand over him, milking his cock into your wanting mouth. “Mmm,” you hum around him, smiling. Mindlessly, you lick and suck at him, lapping up his come and your spit.

Rooster’s breathing begins to slow, and when you’re finished cleaning him up, you lean back onto your thighs and begin licking him from your fingers. He’s red from the neck up. His eyes are blown and red-rimmed, and when he looks down at you, he laughs, shocked more than anything.

“That’s the—” he starts, breathing in deep, “—that’s the quickest I’ve ever come.”

You giggle around your wet fingers, trying to hide your pride. Rooster wipes his forehead with the back of his palm, “’ felt so good.”

“Yeah?” you ask, squinting up at him. He’s still around your chin. Glistening on your throat, and you use your pointer finger to drag it up to your mouth, licking it off of your skin as Rooster watches. His eyes dilate -- focusing on how you wipe his come off of your bottom lip and put it into your mouth, where it belongs.

“Gonna be the fucking death of me,” he proclaims, and suddenly, he’s shoving his boxers all the way off, and bending down to pick you up.

Rooster drags you up from the floor and just about throws you onto the bed. You bounce on the squeaky mattress, giggling manically, and Rooster clambers to you, hands coming to take your thighs and suddenly, you’re not laughing anymore.

Your stomach drops, and you try to crane your neck up to see him. Instead, you choose to prop yourself up onto your elbows.

Rooster’s pulling your skirt down. Dragging it over your thighs and feet, then immediately coming back to do the same with your underwear. You lift your hips to help him, breath caught in the back of your throat from the eventuality of this situation.

The room is suddenly quiet apart from your desperate breathing, and the squeak of the mattress as Rooster comes back to your bare pussy, suddenly splitting you open with his wide and flat tongue.

“Shit,” you gasp, dropping back onto the bed. You try to hitch your hips away, but Rooster’s gripping onto your thighs, digging his fingers into your skin to keep you there.

“Don’t you dare move,” he orders, mumbling into your folds, and God, you can’t do anything but. It’s been so long that the feeling is foreign to you. Completely new, as he spits into your cunt and watches it slide from your clit to your puffy hole.

“Missed this fucking pussy,” he groans, burying his face back into it and dragging his tongue upwards, swirling your clit around with the perfect amount of pressure.

“Mm,” you sob, trying to scoot your hips back, but Rooster’s hands are locked onto your thighs, holding you tight enough to mark you.

It’s not that you don’t want it, but you’re incredibly sensitive already, clit aching and pussy clenching around nothing as he desperately laps at you, sloppily dragging his tongue over your cunt and drooling spit down your puckered hole.

“Bradley,” you weep, using his real name, hoping that it cuts through the thick of it all.

“You want something baby? M’busy.” His voice growls over your skin, doubling the obscene feeling that’s pooling at your lower back. “Shit, I don’t –” you gasp, shaking your head at the water-stained ceiling. It’s never hit you this quick before.

Never been this good this quick.

You tighten your grip on the sheets, arching your hips as far as Rooster will let you, and it’s not very far at all. Just an inch, but you take it, using it to drag your cunt over his mouth, hoping, begging, and praying for more friction so you can just fucking come already.

Rooster figures out what you’re doing.

He pats your thigh. “Stop that, I’m trying—trying to savour it.” You whimper, “’um sensitive.” “From what? I’ve barely touched you.” “Ex—” you shudder, “—Exactly.”

And it’s then that Rooster decides to drag his mouth up and suck your clit into his mouth, causing a disastrous wave to shatter over you. “Fuck!” you yell, the tail end of it twisting into a sob as you clamp your hands over your mouth. It feels so good that it hurts.

“Please,” you whisper. You push your hand into his hair. Scrape your nails over his scalp. “Rooster, please – let me catch up.” He must hear something in your voice because he slows down. Slows to a stop, actually, before he pulls away, letting you catch your breath. As you breathe in deep, he leans over you, reaching to collect a pillow. On the way back, he kisses you softly.

“Too much too soon?” You nod against his mouth. “Sorry baby, ‘um being piggish. Budge up, let’s do this properly.”

You push yourself up and rest your head back on the pillow, just as he pushes one below your hips. When he goes back between your legs, he takes it slow.

Trails a line of kisses over your inner thighs, sucking bruises into the delicate skin as his palms stretch you open again, spreading you so he can see everything.

His soft kisses set your skin alight, a thin sheen of sweat building from how slow and leisurely he was being. The feeling builds and spreads over you steadily until you’re arching your hips up, whispering his name into the warmly lit bedroom.

Nails scratching over his scalp, your thighs coming up to clamp around his head but Rooster’s pushing them back, keeping them locked open as he works over you with his wide, flat tongue and skilled fingers.

Whispering against you, saying Shhh, pretty. Saying that’s it, and you’re fidgeting, gasping as he hits the right spot and fuck, it spurs Rooster on. Makes him nuzzle his nose against your clit and push his tongue into your hole, forcing you to curse his name and moan, high pitch and breathy.

“Mm,” you hum, shaking your head at the ceiling. “Fuck—oh shit,” you breathe, hand coming to your mouth, trying to be as quiet as possible even though it’s just the pair of you – is always just the pair of you, when it’s like this.

You bite into your palm, moaning around the skin as heat pools at your lower back. You clench together, spare hand clutching the duvet, and you grind up into his face, smearing his chin and lips with your slick.

“Fuck,” you spit, moving your hand again, not knowing what to do with yourself, and Rooster takes it and shoves it against his head, your fingers immediately coming to take a hold of the brown strands. You pull and Rooster obeys, moving upwards, tongue lapping at your clit until he sucks at it.

“Ohmygod,” you rush. White hot lightning shoots through you, your back aching and arching and you grab a hold of his hair, whining his name.

“Rooster, s’so good.” He groans, “say that again.” “You’re – I’m not. Not—” you gasp, arching into him. “—Not f-feeding your ego.”

He cackles, the sound exploding through him. Drags to a stop, and you whine, regretting ever opening your mouth.

“Please,” you whisper, trying to buck your hips and Rooster smiles. Starts mouthing at your inner thigh, mumbling out, “being mean to me baby, I don’t think I should give you what you want.”

Fuck you and your big mouth, because even if you were sensitive before, you want him now more than ever. Spent so long waiting for it, moaning his name into your palm as you made yourself come, and now that he’s here – you shake your head. “No Rooster – “you start, but he’s back where he was before, except now it’s quick and desperate, his tongue sliding your slick and his spit over your clit before he sucks it back into his mouth and you choke out, “Fuck! Shit, Jesus Christ,” as Rooster laughs.

The build-up had you panting, but now that he’s gunning for it, it’s new – it’s nearly overwhelming.

“mn’my god, I’m gonna come – Rooster, Rooster, Roos, I’m,” and your eyes roll back, hips arching up, your fingers in his hair pulling tight and he moans, nodding, sucking at your clit, breathing loudly and it’s wet and desperate and you’re coming, the feeling tight and all-consuming until it explodes, washing over you as your body shakes.

“Roos,” you whisper, the nickname you only use when it’s dark and he’s working you over so good, and then your brain goes blank, nothing but obscenities and the truth spilling out, 

ohmygod, ohgod, thank you. Shit, fuck – my’god, it feels so fucking good. Rooster. I swear, I’m. you’re – I’myoursimyoursimyours.

And you don’t have time to breathe, don’t have time for the feeling to let up before he’s pulling away, making you whine, then whine into his mouth as he reaches up to kiss you, pulling your legs tight around his waist, your wet pussy dragging across his stomach as you grind against him, the oversensitivity catching up with you.

You’re weeping at him.

All warm and gooey and loose-limbed from coming, and now Rooster’s kissing you, spreading you over your own mouth as he slips his tongue in, groaning from the taste and feel of you.

“Okay?” he whispers against your lips, and you nod, blissed out. Rooster slowly pulls away from you. He gets a look at you half naked and glowing from the comedown. Looks down at himself, and nearly cries when he sees your slick all over his top.

“Made a mess all over me, pretty girl,” he tuts, sitting on your thighs and reaching down to take his t-shirt off. You see his chest in the orange glow of the room.

See his muscles flex as he stretches up, his dog tags falling out of the fabric and resting on his neck. When his head comes out of the shirt, he drops it somewhere on the floor, and you’re left with a completely naked Bradley Bradshaw straddling your hips.

You suddenly feel overdressed, and with numb fingers, you reach down to try and pull your top off. You tug at the fabric, but it’s no use.

“Can’t,” you mumble, limbs jelly, and Rooster laughs down at you. You look up at him with a pout, giggling at his goofy expression. “Too good, huh?” he jokes, and you stretch up, rolling your wrists and wiggling your toes. “Can’t feel my toes yet.” “Lemme help you,” and he gets your shirt off, throwing it with his things. You manage to tug the straps down, but Rooster has to help un-hook your bra. You lay back down, and Rooster immediately bends down, kissing your right breast as you hold the other, running your thumb over your nipple. 

You fool around like that for what feels like hours. Giggling as he nuzzles his nose into a sensitive spot and gasping when he runs his teeth over It seconds later, body arching into his.

At some point, you notice the mirror on the wall beside the bed. Your eyes ghost over the glass, seeing the pair of you reflected in it – Rooster’s naked body hovering over yours, running his kisses over your cheek until he turns to what you’re staring so intently at. He immediately smiles.

“The other night, I had this dream about you,” he whispers against your cheek. “Yeah?” you whisper back, using the mirror to look at him. He’s so large. Muscular and tall, his body dwarfing yours in the mirror. “Mmm,” he hums, and his hand comes out, sliding over your waist. You feel it and see it, and it doubles the sensation. You make a small sound – one of shock and delight. Rooster hums, “—and it involved a mirror, too.” “Yeah?” you manage to whisper back again, too busy thinking about him fucking you in front of the mirror. Thinking about him pushing your cheek against the glass, giving you a front-row seat to the act.

“What if we—” he starts. “Yeah,” you quickly but in. Twist to look up at him. Rooster’s brows rise, “Yeah?” he whispers back, in awe. You nod, have to, before you change your mind.

So, that’s how you end up perched on Rooster’s lap, both of you facing the mirror. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, hands keeping you steady on his thick thighs, and he pushes his face against the side of yours, mouth meshed into your cheek.

His eyes flick to yours in the mirror, making sure you’re watching as his hands push your thighs apart. The cool air hits your damp pussy, and the tug of his hands stretches you open, letting the pair of you see your skin that’s wet with your slick and spit.

The air hums with your shared desperation, but Rooster’s taking his time.

Dragging out the moment with his deep stare and trained hands. Still sensitive from coming just minutes ago, his thick fingers brushing over the delicate skin of your inner thighs have you whimpering.

He grabs a palm full of your skin and uses it to tug you back against him, causing your ass and cunt to drag over his hard cock. The feeling goes to your swollen clit, forcing you to clench down, a sigh falling from your lips and Rooster sees.

Sees everything.

“Mm,” you hum, turning to face him instead of looking in the mirror. Rooster’s not having it, though. He hums an appreciative laugh, using a hand to take your chin and turn you back to the glass. Kisses you on your neck, chin, cheek, and whispers, “look at how pretty your pussy is, baby.”

Your eyes go down to his fingers, watching them slide inwards. Feel him brush against your heat, and he spreads you open, his mouth parting as he whispers, “look at that.” And you do. You do what he says. You watch as he lets go, too, and brings his fingers up to your mouth.

“Spit,” he orders, and you do that, too. Don’t even question it.

Why would you when you both know what you want?

Rooster watches as spit dribbles into his palm, and you watch as he brings it down between your legs and spreads it over your already wet slit, soaking you enough that it slides down your ass, leaking onto his thighs.

So fucking turned on that there’s so shame there.

No embarrassment, because Rooster’s looking at you with these dazed and dilated eyes, and it's intoxicating. He uses a few fingers to mindlessly rub at your clit, barely catching the nerve before sliding one through your slit, pushing just the tip into your swollen hole.

“I’m gonna make you come again, and you’re gonna watch, okay?”

Funny, how you fall into these familiar routines. These familiar patterns. Rooster would never dare talk to you like this in the field. Now, though, you’re chomping at the bit.

You swear you’re somewhere else.

Here, but not here. Feel all of his skin against yours, hearing him, but God, the way he’s looking at you in the mirror – all dark and deep and teasing – you’re in another dimension. It’s making you soft and malleable. Making your fingers tingle and your brow furrow as you try to calm yourself down.

Rooster watches as you pout and take a deep breath, sliding your hips back on his crotch and his hand follows, and the sensation triples when you feel his cock against the bottom of your pussy.

Rooster clenches his jaw at the feeling, humming as he grins, “or I can just fuck you now.” “Please,” you whisper, the word immediately coming out of your mouth. You slide back against his cock again, trying to be gentle, but god, you want the friction. Rooster feels it, and he hums, smiling against your cheek.

“You don’t wanna see?”

He slides his fingers through your slit, pushing his thick fingers against your clit. The deliberate movement forces your hips to jerk up, but Rooster keeps them steady with a tight grip on your inner thigh. He glances at you in the mirror, “You don’t wanna see how wet you get when you come?”

There’s something different about this moment. Something different about this interaction.

Drunk on him, spurred on by the distance between the pair of you – even if you have been working together. Seeing each other every damn day. Rooster looks at you. Takes you in, and says,

“Yeah, you do. Nod your head for me.”

You nod. Of course, you fucking nod.

“Yeah?” he asks, and his voice is filled with awe. “Yeah Bradley,” you confirm, and he kisses your cheek quick. The sweetness of the act makes you gooey, sticky, and sweet. But Rooster’s eyes get cloudy like he’s changed his mind about something. The smile he’s wearing twists into a smirk as pushes his cheek against yours and looks at you in the mirror, “Say, yes please.”

Secretly, you love it when he gets like this. You pout, annoyed at him, but you want it, and if Rooster wants you to be polite for him to get it, then polite you’ll be. “Yes please,” you whisper, and his smirk triples ten-fold. Kisses you softly, asks, “okay?” and you nod, pushing to kiss him again.

It’s then that he chooses to slide his fingers over your sensitive clit, making you sigh into his mouth. You fumble for him, one hand pushing into his inner thigh and the other reaching for his arm. “’ um’ gonna go slow, baby, okay?” he whispers, voice low and soothing. “Please.” “’ um’ gonna make it good.” “You, always--” you breathe, the brush of his touch making you clench up tight. “—Make it, good.”

Talking through tight gasps because you’re still sensitive from before. Still wet from his spit and your slick, and he oh so slowly pushes it inside of you, using his spare hand to take your chin and turn it to the mirror, forcing you to watch him push his fingers inside of you.

You make a high-pitched whining sound.

With your hands tight on your spread thighs – fingers curling into your skin – and his hand splayed over your throat and chin to keep you steady, you see it all. See how deep his fingers go, how easily you take them, and the way he watches it happen in the mirror, his eyes cloudy and lips parted. 

Have to lean back on him, have to drag an arm behind him and you lock it around his shoulders, fingers in his hair -- this new position spreading you wider.

“You comfortable, baby?” he asks, kissing you under your jaw. His fingers are inside of you, hand still spread over your throat – you’ve never been more vulnerable, and yet. “Yes,” you whisper and swallow against his hand. “Good,” he grins. “Because I’m gonna have to let your throat go. But you’re gonna stay there, aren’t you? Gonna stay steady for me.”

Yes, you wordlessly reply. Give him a small, short nod, and he lets go. Slowly drags his hand down, coming between your thighs, and you’re already full of his fingers, but now he’s teasing your wet clit.

Gently, trying to figure out how you want it – how much you can take.

He rolls the sensitivity out of you, hitching his fingers in such a way that he’s hitting your nerve directly, and you clench your fingers around his hair. Thighs shake, and you try and pull them inwards, but he smacks them back.

Laughs at your feeble attempt and says, I’ll stop if it’s too much. But it’s not that. It’s not enough.

You stretch your thighs as far as they’ll go, and his fingers sink deeper. Make you moan out his name, breathless and wanting. Rooster smirks against your neck and flicks his eyes up. Catches yours in the mirror and whispers,

“Look at how pretty you look with my fingers inside of you.”

You’re looking. God are you. Watching his eyes go cloudy, go desperate as he begins to swirl his fingers faster. Heat spreads through you. That familiar ache begins to build as he swirls and swirls and pushes. 

Keeps on going. Your body warms up, gets ready for the eventual, and you want it. Want to come and watch it happen, but shit.

You’re rutting against his hand, the two fingers he’s got inside of you pushing deeper, rubbing against your walls as you roll your hips. Ass pushing against his dick, too, and you feel it hard and thick beneath you, sliding between your cheeks.

See the tip of it, and you try and keep all of your weight in your thighs, try not to push against him, but the friction is too good, too necessary, and fuck, how have you not come yet?

How have you not come yet when he’s basically finger fucking your cunt and swirling your wet clit in these tight, controlled circles, and you’re in your head. So in this moment that you can’t let go, watching yourself, watching him groan and moan into your shoulder.

Rooster’s not rushing, he’s not going anywhere, but your skin is too hot, thighs aching too much, lower back burning and your clit is throbbing, it’s begging, it’s screaming, and you burst.

“Shit, Roos, I can’t, “you sob, shaking your head, tears pricking behind your eyes because you want it so bad. Have never wanted it like this, and you sag against him, fingers loosening in his hair and Rooster sees you faltering. Sees you giving up, then hears it when you turn to him, pouting, frustrated with yourself. “I can’t come.”

His eyes go soft.

You shake your head, voice quiet but wrecked -- “’ m’ so close but I can’t.”

Rooster must see it, because he kisses you quick, mumbling, “I got you, sweetheart,” before he’s pulling you up and round. He folds you over the bed, big palms hoisting your hips up, and you’re thinking, this is better, this is immediately better, while he takes his cock and lines it up with your swollen hole.

I got you, he’s mumbling, I got you, baby, gonna make it good, gonna make it so good for you -- cock slides between your folds, and you break, his real name pushing at your lips.

“Bradley,” you sob, nodding your head into the mattress.

You grip the duvet, legs spreading wider, and he groans deep. Says your name back to you, finding the right speed, the right angle, and shit, you gasp, because he’s hitting something devastating right now. Dick pushed up inside of you, fucking up in tight, rolling strokes.

Fingers pushing into your skin, nothing but your name on his lips as he fucks that spongey part inside of you that only a handful of people have hit.

Your legs start shaking, spit soaking the sheets as you grip it with your teeth, and Rooster’s watching it happen. Witnessing something carnal wash over you. He’s never been more turned on in his life. 

He gives you a hard, tight thrust, grunting, “is that it, baby?” and you sob, yes, into the blanket.

He gets giddy. Gets proud. Never happened to him before, and for it to happen with you. Well.

You gasp, the sound shocked and loud, your head turning behind to get a look at him. He’s beaming. Muscular chest red, jaw tight, eyes blazing – tags bouncing against his chest as he fucks you – and he catches your eye line. 

Smirks, before you whimper and clench around him, and his face is falling, twisting into a snarl as he groans, loud enough that it rattles through you.

“Jesus Christ,” he spits, and you fumble behind, nodding and sobbing into the sheets, silently asking for him to take your hands. He catches them, collects them at your back, and you can’t fidget, can’t run from it, have to take and take and take until finally, it gives.

Washes up and drags you under, your orgasm hitting you so hard that you’re silent. 

Completely fucking silent as you squeeze around his cock, until you’re not, until you’re talking, sobbing, shaking, moaning so fucking loud and it’s all sounds, strung out sounds that sort of, kinda, sound like words – too fucked out to be coherent. Babbling about him, babbling on and on about Rooster and it’s m’fucking God, you’re so good. I’m yours, m’ all yours, m’ all fucking yours, and Rooster comes. Comes hot and hard into your cunt, the white of it dribbling out as he fucks you, watching it slide down your shaking thighs. 

His grunts fill the room, grunts, moans, and sobs of, so fucking pretty, my pretty girl, and you’re on cloud nine. Spent, still shaking from the aftershocks of your orgasm, but you’re beaming.

Full, so fucking full as he stays inside of you, pushed up tight, and his head finds your shoulder, his body bending over yours. 

His laboured, deep breaths blow hot air over your shoulder, and it soothes the spit from his kiss as he works his mouth over your back, not daring to pull out. Can’t. Feels too good. 

He feels exhausted – feels spent, but you’re so warm and tight. Familiar. 

So fucking familiar.

“Jesus Christ,” you gasp, coming back to life. Rooster nods, smoothing his hands over your hips and ass, kneading his knuckles into the muscle as he slides out. “Mm,” you hum at the loss, thighs pushing together to quell the loss of him. 

His come leaks out of you, and when you relax your legs, he sees it smeared over the tops of your inner thighs. Using his wide palms, he turns you so you’re on your back, looking up at him in a daze. His smile is brilliant.

“You feel okay, baby?”

You nod, before reaching up to him with grabby hands. Rooster pulls you up, then pulls your body against him, keeping you steady. He kisses your cheek, “let’s get you cleaned up.”

#rooster #rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw smut #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw smut #rooster smut #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw smut #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster top gun #rooster top gun x reader #rooster top gun smut #bradley bradshaw top gun #top gun maverick #top gun maverick rooster #miles teller #miles teller x reader #miles teller smut

[thepaperpanda]

𝓓𝓪𝔂 15 - A Bit Late For Work || Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x fem!reader

Masterlist

Summary: In most cases, it's you who makes Bradley late to work, except when his mission is to make you feel relaxed following a stressful day.

Warnings: smut (oral - f receiving)

Word count: 1510

Author: Rouge

A/N: the prompt for today is: Oral Sex

You threw your car keys on the kitchen table and sighed loudly as you opened the refrigerator.

Bradley raised an eyebrow at you as he lowered the newspaper, tipping his glasses in the process.

You had no idea why he wore them. And yet, that small glint off the end when he was staring down at you from between his legs, ah. You shook off the thought, retrieved a water bottle, and sat at the table next to your boyfriend. The idea was nice, but you knew Rooster had work soon, and while you were normally very willing to make him late, you couldn't work up your usual libido.

Bradley could tell something was bothering his lover, and he tilted his head as you sat next to him. He set the paper down, removing his glasses as well, and placing them in his shirt pocket. "Would you like to talk about it?"

You shook your head. "Not particularly," you shrugged, taking a swig from the bottle. "You usually feel better when you do," he pointed out.

It was a valid point he made. Nevertheless, you decided it wasn't worth mentioning how much you wanted to change career paths again. All the time you bragged about not being completely satisfied with what you were doing but felt that it was too late to change anything. Even so, you didn't want to go to university any more, and felt like dropping your engineering studies. Your new goal was to become an artist. You were proficient at it too, about as good as you were at university, but pursuing it seemed like a dead dream.

Bradshaw watched you turn your head over. He waited for you to collect your thoughts, and eventually, once you had, he watched you sigh and shrug once more.

"Same thoughts as always, I'm tired of everything."

"You're doing a rather great job with your studies," Bradley pointed out.

You shot him a glare. "Sorry, sorry. I know."

You groaned, cocking your eyebrow.

“It’s about a lifestyle, my bad,” he corrected himself, sending you a soft grin.

"Close enough," you mumbled. But he wasn't wrong this time either. You sighed again, took another swig of water, and then put your forehead down on the table. "Maybe I'm just tired of it, I don't know. I don't feel sick of it though, I love learning and making friends. Maybe I just need a break?"

In response to your words, Bradley slowly rose and walked over to stand behind you. When he reached down, he gently pulled you by your shoulders until you were sitting up straight. He worked at the knots that had inevitably formed there by rubbing his fingers gingerly into the flesh of yours. "You think too much," he remarked with a low chuckle, being a little rougher about the massage. But you could handle it. In fact, Rooster knew just how much his little baby girl could truly handle.

The thought went straight to his groin, and he suddenly had an idea.

As you leaned into his touch, you teased, "Maybe you think too little." 

While you didn't expect the massage to last much longer, you were grateful that Rooster remembered little gestures of kindness so often, especially after the self-doubt you had been dealing with. 

When you suddenly felt his lips on your neck, you let out a quiet moan. You grinned a bit at the warmth of his mouth, but you weren't about to complain. If he had something a little more involved than the massage in mind, you weren't going to stop him obviously.

As his fingers slipped from over your shirt to under it, he stretched the collar just a bit so he was gripping mostly flesh. Like warming oil, his touch bit pleasantly into your shoulders and throughout your body. When you felt Rooster's hand reach down to your breast, you sighed and tensed slightly. He paused there for a moment, and when you leaned into his touch, he reached further down, cupping your entire breast in his hand. Your breath caught in Bradley's ears, and he grinned wider. The beast that resided within his heart loved being able to please you like this. 

Putting one hand on your breast, he slipped his fingers under the lacy fabric of your bra and squeezed your nipple sharply. In response to your breath catching again, he stopped massaging your shoulder with his left hand. In addition, he squeezed your soft nipple and traced his hand down your shoulder blade. Your nipple was squeezed again, causing you to moan, and then he rubbed your shoulder blade with his fingers. The two sensations made a louder moan fall from your lips, and you gripped the chair you were sitting in tightly to keep steady. As his voice filled with hellish lust, Rooster commanded, "Touch yourself." His eyes had changed to all-black; the influence you had on him was indescribable.

The fact that you listened nearly without hesitation made Bradley harder than he thought possible. But he was content to please you this time. After all, you needed the stress relief. He watched through his darkened eyes as your right hand reached between your legs, rubbing lightly before undoing your pants, and pushing them down. Then you reached into your lacy white panties and began moving your hand to the same rhythm Bradley was squeezing your nipple and rubbing your shoulders.

You let out a louder moan as all three sensations collided in the pit of your stomach. Rooster began to move faster, and so did you, until you began to feel your orgasm build. You tensed then, letting out several sharp moans as you came, back arched.

After a few moments, you relaxed, sinking into the chair. You were about to say something, but Rooster was suddenly in front of you, hands on either side of the chair. You  felt a shiver of anticipation roll down your spine when you looked into his darkened eyes, and then he was kissing you deeply. You wrapped your arms around him, but the kiss was cut short as Bradley moved to grab your thighs and pull you to him. You giggled a bit, then moaned when you felt his lips clasp onto your nipple.             

After a few seconds of teasing, Rooster trailed his lips languidly down your body, and then all the way down between your legs. He grinned as he touched your wet panties and pressed his fingers against your pussy, causing you to moan lightly again. "Take these off,” he demanded within a dark voice of his.

You did as you were told, quickly slipping off the lacy panties.

Shortly after, he wrapped your legs around his shoulders. In one swift movement, Bradley's tongue was pressed against you, causing you to cry out in pleasure as you gripped the chair. He grinned against your wetness and moved the tip of his tongue in little circles across your clit. You were already shivering, and soon as he kissed and licked and began sucking on your clit, he reached under his chin, and easily slipped two fingers into your needy pussy. Having his fingers strangle you properly, your pussy immediately engulfed his digits in its juice, causing you to moan in a low tone. To make your head spin, Rooster pressed his whole tongue to your clit and slowly moved it up and down, eventually reaching your entrance as he briefly spat on the fingers he pulled halfway out of your pussy, just to make them wetter than before. Soon, his digits returned to your pussy, and he curled them deep inside of you, massaging your very sensitive spot.

"Fuck!" You cried, pushing into him as he slowly began to pump his fingers. You moaned again, reaching one hand up to grip onto his hair as you felt another orgasm about to overtake your body. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" You cut yourself off and rolled your head back as a loud moan fell from your chest. Your legs tightened around his head as your orgasm hit, your legs shaking, your chest heaving.

Bradley held on for the ride, grinning wickedly as you came right into his mouth. He moaned too, rock hard and lustful, but satisfied in your pleasure. He leaned up after allowing you a few moments to breathe.

You sighed contentedly into the kiss, and then Rooster was pulling away, grin wide, eyes back to the normal color you were so fond of. He looked so wicked with the expression his face held though. 

You smiled all the same before looking at the clock on the wall. "You're going to be late, Rooster."

"Fuck," Bradshaw hissed, then laughed, running around to collect his things before heading out. Then he turned, as if recalling something, and was surprised to see you standing in the doorway waiting for him. After you tapped your lips briefly with your index finger, he smiled and kissed you again. "Right."

As your boyfriend ran out, you yelled, "Don't forget your meeting with Mitchell today!"

#rooster #rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw smut #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw smut #rooster smut #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw smut #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster top gun #rooster top gun x reader #rooster top gun smut #bradley bradshaw top gun #top gun maverick #top gun maverick rooster #paperpanda kinktober #kinktober 2022

[hanluex]

♡ HAPPY ENDINGS — BRADLEY 'ROOSTER' BRADSHAW

bradley bradshaw x reader | wc : 0.4k words | content : possible grammar and spelling mistakes, lowercase intended, just cute and fluffy

"do every prince and princess have a happy ending?"

bradley's cousin, maya, asked, laying on her bed, keeping herself awake as your boyfriend hummed in thought.

"yes, they all do," bradley answered after a while, not wanting to hit his cousin with the reality of tragic love stories. "everyone gets their happy ending."

maya's brother, danny, sat on the bunk above his sister's, looking between his cousin and you. "do you and y/n also have a happy ending?" he inquired as his eight-year-old brain tried to conduct a mini experiment by himself.

bradley nodded without hesitation, and you smiled to yourself, waiting for his answer. "we do, i guess — i mean, we will. y/n and i are still writing our story, so we have some time left until our ending," he explained, causing the kids to nod. "but i'm sure we'll have a happy ending. i'll do my best to have one."

you watched as your boyfriend tucked his cousins into bed, quietly leading you out of their room and into the guest room. bradley still had the little ponytail maya had done for him on his head, but you didn't bother telling him about it.

"thanks for helping me babysit the kids today. my aunt and uncle are nice people, but these kids can be a handful," bradley thanked, sitting on the bed as he closed his eyes, letting out a sigh. "everything went smoothly, thanks to you."

you shook your head, giggling as your boyfriend wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his embrace. "you did an amazing job too, you know? i can see why your aunt insists you babysit them." you laid your back against his chest, playing with his hands. "maya and danny adore you."

"you think so, babe?"

"i know so, my love."

the two of you rested in silence while you relaxed for a bit. bradley, however, could feel you were tense in his arms, and waited for a while before talking about it, wanting to make sure you were alright.

"hey, you good?" he tilted your head up, causing you to see his somewhat upside-down face. "are you thinking about something?"

you hummed as you nodded, not breaking eye-contact. "did you mean what you said, roo?" you asked, your voice quiet, feeling shy. "about our happy ending?"

"that must've been so sudden on you, huh?" bradley muttered, running his fingers through your hair. "i meant it, though. every single word."

"really?"

"of course, angel. i hope to have a happy ending and a happily ever after. all with you."

taglist: send an ASK or DM to be added!

#[📝] works #top gun maverick #top gun maverick imagines #top gun maverick rooster #rooster imagines #rooster scenarios #bradley bradshaw imagines #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw drabbles #top gun maverick drabbles #top gun maverick scenarios #bradley rooster bradshaw

[wild-lavender-rose]

Riot (part 3)

Part 1, Part 2

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x shy!fem!reader (call sign Riot)

Category: One-shot

Summary: You are Maverick’s daughter working as a public affairs specialist a.k.a. army photographer assigned to chronicle his life. When he is reassigned to Top Gun for a seemingly impossible mission you join him, whereupon you meet Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw. Bradley is still angry at Maverick but not at you. In fact, he is anything but angry, a fact that becomes more evident the more time you spend together. 

Warnings: Language, drinking

   The bar was quiet when you and Maverick walked in, a stark contrast to the night before. You ran your hand through your hair and pushed up your sunglasses. Maverick did the same, sliding them into his pocket as he looked around the room with a smile. 

     You watched him, noting the distant look in his eye. “You look like you’re coming home.”

    “Feels like it too.” Maverick’s eyes were dancing. “Look at you,” he brushed past your shoulder. 

    You turned to see a beautiful golden retriever lying on the wood floor. “Hey, sweetheart,” you called. 

    “You’re bigger than I remember.” Maverick knelt to scratch the dog’s head.

    “Bar opens at five.” The new voice caused you to look up. 

     Maverick grinned. “You’re bigger than I remember too.”

    Your jaw all but dropped. “Earhart?!”

    Amelia giggled at her call sign. “Riot!” She abandoned her homework at the counter and ran into your arms.

    “What the hell?” You hugged her close. 

     Amelia. The small Amelia you had first met when she was chasing after you desperate to tag along. From the moment you had met she had been like a little sister to you. It was only natural, considering how often the two of you had been stuck at her home together while your dad and her mom went out on dates. You had been left with two choices. To hate Amelia’s guts, or to take her under your wing. You had chosen the second option, giving her both a sister and an honorary call sign. Earhart.

     Maverick chuckled. “How old are you now, eight?”

    You rolled your eyes with a smile. “Ignore him, he likes to tease.”

    “I remember.” Amelia stepped back and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Thirteen, actually.”

    “How’s your dad?”

    “In Hawaii, with his wife.” Amelia looked at you. “He’s here to see mom?”

    “Always. But I was hoping to see you, Penny said you’d be too busy with school,”

    “What’s going on out here?” Penny came in from the kitchen carrying a wooden case of beers. Her eyes lit up when she saw Maverick. “Brought Riot for another play date?”

    “Mom,” Amelia gave her a look, but she was already distracted with talking to Maverick. 

     “Wanted to come by and pay my tab,” he began, pulling money out of his back pocket. 

     “You don’t have to,” Penny ducked her head with a smile. 

     Amelia’s expression shifted, going from annoyed, to suspicious, to scared. 

    Your heart twisted at the change. “Homework?” You asked, moving to the bar.  

    “History.” Amelia reluctantly returned her attention to you. “I’m terrible at it.”

    “I was too.” You bent over the page of notes she had taken. 

     Amelia sighed. “Think we’re gonna be stuck on another playdate?”

     “I can think of worse things.” you flipped the page and smiled up at her. “You and me, in a bar, alone.” 

    “Doing homework.” 

     You grimaced. “You’re as nerdy as I was.” 

     “Guess I learned from the best then.” Amelia smirked back at you. 

     Sure enough, a few seconds later Maverick was telling you that he was going out to help Penny with an errand and Penny was telling Amelia to finish her homework before helping you find something to eat in the kitchen. You saw her slip a sign out from under the counter and hang it on the door before she and Maverick left. Bar closed for the evening, it read.

You and Amelia were left alone.

    “Called it.” She turned around and sat before her homework once again. “Help yourself to a beer.”

     “It’s not that bad.”

    “Speak for yourself. You’re not the one who has to watch their mom break down when your dad leaves.”

    “Hey, your mom isn’t the only one who breaks down.” You gave her a look as you slid behind the counter and found your favorite beer. “And who knows. Maybe this time it’ll stick. Dad’s on thin ice right now, retirement might be just around the corner.”

    Amelia simply shrugged. “I don’t really care.”

    You popped the top off the bottle and took a contemplative sip. Your eyes wandered to the piano in the corner. Just the sight of it caused your face to heat up.

    Amelia followed your gaze. “Did you see that hot pilot here last night? Rooster?”

    “Nope.” You took another sip. “Hold up, how did you see him?”

   “I worked in the kitchen last night.” Amelia grinned and twirled her pencil. “He definitely noticed you. I’ve never seen you talk to a guy like that. You’re usually super anxious.”

    “Gee, thanks, jerk.” You moved around the bar and crossed to the piano. “He’s just your typical cocky pilot. How about you?” 

     “With what?” 

     “Dating.” You slid onto the piano seat, the thought alone that Bradley had been there causing your insides to tingle. What the hell had come over you for this man?

     Amelia groaned. “Not good. Most of the guys just want to go into the military like their dads.”

    “And?”

    “And they’re all thirteen year old cocky imbeciles.”

     “Ah,” you straightened your shoulders and placed your fingers on the cool keys. “Noted.”

     You played a few notes, running up and down the scales. It had been a while since you last played but you were far from rusty. Maverick had always said that you should have been a pianist.  

     “There’s this one guy, though.” Amelia abandoned her homework and crossed to you. “He’s really cute, and he’s fourteen.”

    “Go on.” You began to play the first song that came to mind. The one you had playing in the back of your thoughts ever since last night. 

You shake my nerves and you rattle my brain

Too much love drives a man insane

     “There’s a thing going on at his house next week. Lots of food, probably music and some dancing. Maybe games. I kinda want to go...”

You broke my will

But, what a thrill 

    “So you should go.” You drew the notes into a crescendo, grinning as you remembered the sound of Bradley’s voice belting out the final line. 

Goodness gracious, great balls of fire!

    “I can’t, Riot. What if he sees me? What if he talks to me, or asks me to dance?” Amelia shook her head hard. “I don’t even know how to dance.”

    “It’s easy,” you stopped playing and looked up at her. “And if he’s into you, he’s not going to care whether or not you can dance.” You frowned for a second before inspiration struck. “Here,” you reached up and slid your sunglasses down over your eyes. “Pretend I’m the guy and ask me to dance.”

     “Riot,” 

     “Come on, it’ll be practice.” 

     “I have homework.” 

     “Screw homework.” You reached up and took a drink of your beer, sitting it on top of the piano before starting to play again. It was a pop song, one you knew that Amelia used to love. 

     “I can’t believe I’m taking guy advice from an introverted hermit.”

    “Excuse me, that is edgy, cool introverted hermit to you. Now picture this,”

    “Here we go.” Amelia leaned against the piano.

    “You’re at the party, and the guy walks up,” you reached up and knocked your sunglasses back over your eyes, clearing your throat and lowering your voice. “Hey, Amelia. You gorgeous goddess you.” 

     “Riot, noooooo.” Amelia covered her face and groaned. 

     “I’m so glad you could make it.” You continued in your cheesy deep voice, looking down as you hit the tricky part of the chorus. “And no, I am not leaving until you talk to me.” 

     “Fiiiiiinnnne.” Amelia was blushing wildly. “Hey, Connor,” she pulled her hands from her face. “Thanks for inviting me.” 

     “I hope you like this song. I was thinking of you when I added it to the playlist.” 

     “I love this song, can we...can we dance?” 

     “Who, me?” You gasped and pushed the low notes on the piano, emphasizing your feigned surprise. “I’d love to.” You started the song from the beginning.  

     Amelia smirked. “And how are you going to play piano and teach me to dance at the same time, Connor?” 

     Your fingers paused, contemplating. “Well maybe we could use the-” 

     “Maybe I can help?” 

     You froze. Everything froze. Time and space itself froze. You knew that voice. You’d been replaying it in your head ever since that morning.

Bradley. 

    You glanced up at Amelia to see her smiling at him. “Hey. You’re the guy who played last night, right?”

    Bradley gave a soft chuckle that had your insides squirming. “Yeah, that’s me.” The floorboards creaked as he made his way towards you.

    You were having a heart attack. You couldn’t move, couldn’t look at him. How long had he been standing there watching you act like a complete idiot?

    “You know, if it’s a pianist you need,” Bradley’s tanned, muscular arm appeared next to you as he rested his hand on top of the piano and leaned down so his face was inches from yours. “I think I can help.”

    “Uh, well,” you snatched your sunglasses off and pushed them up into your hair, heat flooding your face as you stared at your fingers frozen on the keys. “I, I don’t,”

    “Sure, we’d love that.” Amelia tugged at your shoulder with a barely repressed giggle. “Come on, Riot. Keep going.”

    If you survived this then you were going to murder Amelia. You stood and moved out of the way, nearly tripping when Bradley’s shoulder brushed against yours as he took your place.

    “Amelia, I,”

    “Where do I put my hands again?” Her eyes were dancing.

    You rolled your eyes and managed to glance at Bradley. He grinned at you, reaching up to take a sip from your beer. Your beer. Shit, why him? Why was it the one man you shouldn’t be talking to that broke you?

    “Okay, okay,” You took a deep breath and used all the courage you could muster to force yourself to at least seem relaxed. “All right, if you could play something slow, that, umm, that would be great.” 

    “Anything you say, Connor.” Bradley began to play a melody you hadn’t heard, slow and beautiful, perfect for dancing.

    You straightened your shoulders and took another deep breath. “Now, Amelia. Can I have this dance?”

    Amelia giggled and gave a sweeping curtsey. “Why of course, my good sir. I would be delighted and honored to accept this dance.”

    You groaned. “Get over here,” You placed a hand on her waist and took her hand, pretending to be annoyed even though her antics were causing your embarrassment to ease. “All right, the first thing you need to remember is not to panic.”

    “Unlike you?” Amelia jumped as you stomped on her foot. “Ow!”

    “As I was saying,” you looked over as Bradley laughed, the sound better than any music he could ever play.

    He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, the two of you exchanging looks. Your heart stuttered with something more, something deeper. You didn’t think a man would look at you like that. Like the two of you were friends. Bradley was wearing something similar to what he had on the night before, only his Hawaiian shirt was a different shade of green. You liked him in that shirt. You liked him in everything.

    You turned your attention back to Amelia, confidence beginning to rise. “All right, baby,” you continued, using your deep cheesy voice once more. “Dance with me. Put your hand on my shoulder and then we,”

    “She’s going to a house party, Riot, not a Victorian ball.” Bradley glanced between the two of you.

    Amelia nodded. “He’s got a point.”

    You frowned before moving to put both hands on her waist. “Put your hands on my shoulders. That’s where you start, then as the song goes on and you get comfortable, you can move closer.”

    “Like this?” Amelia took a step closer and awkwardly draped her arms around you.

    “No, it’s more subtle, more like,” you moved to slide your hands along her shoulders. “Like that.”

    “I don’t understand,” Amelia’s eyes fairly sparkled with mischief. “Rooster?”

    “Yes ma’am?” Bradley stopped playing.

    “If I turned on the jukebox…could Riot dance with you so I could watch?”

    You stiffened. 

    “Of course,” Bradley stood and crossed to you. 

    “Great,” Amelia untangled herself from your arms and ran over to the juke box. “Something slow, right?”

    You gave a single nod, thoughts consumed with remembering how to breathe. Bradley took her place, holding out his hands as the song began to play. “I’m guessing she doesn’t want you to be Connor now.”

    You scoffed at that, biting your lip and looking down. How the hell was this man able to put you at ease so quickly? “I’m sorry, Bradley. She’s morally obligated to put me in embarrassing situations.”

    “She’s your sister?”

    “If Dad wasn’t so afraid of commitment she would be.” Your heart twisted at the way Bradley’s jaw tightened at the mention of Maverick.

    “Right,” you straightened your shoulders again as the jukebox started to play. “Amelia,” 

    “I’m watching.” Amelia came to sit on the piano bench.

    “Bradley, or, uh, Connor will put his hands here.” You reached out and took Bradley’s large, warm hands in your cold ones, guiding them to rest on your waist. “And if he moves them anywhere else I’m gonna kill him.”

    Bradley smirked. Amelia groaned.

     “And then you’ll start out like this, your hands on his shoulders,” you slid your hands up Bradley’s arms, meeting his gaze. “And then you just move to the beat. Connor will lead, you just need to trust him.” 

     “And what about when you, you know,” Amelia gestured between the two of you. “Get comfortable.” 

     “Then you, uh, talk.” You gave Bradley a subtle look. “Right?” 

     “Yeah,” he nodded, playing along. “Talk about whatever you have in common, like the fact you both play piano.” 

     “Or the fact that you’re both army brats.” 

     “Or the fact that you’re both pilots.” Bradley smirked at your look of surprise. “Saw your file.” 

     “It’s not official. I just have the training.” 

     “What, Maverick kept your papers indefinitely?” 

     “No, I-”

     “But what about the touching part?” Amelia asked, anxious for the lesson to continue. “You said that you move closer as you get more comfortable.” 

     The look you gave Bradley wasn’t as subtle before, the topic at hand making it easy to ignore the fact that you were pressing closer against him. “If Connor is good and decent, Amelia, he’ll keep his hands on your waist and you’ll move your hands like this, behind his neck.” You stretched up on your toes to demonstrate, blushing a little. “Provided he’s not too tall.” 

     “Here,” Bradley moved you easily, guiding you to stand on top of his feet so you could clasp your hands behind his neck. “Better?” He asked with a smirk. 

     “Connor’s the same height as me, actually I think I’m a little taller,” 

     “For the love of all that’s good in this world, do not do what Bradley just did.” You smiled as Bradley laughed, the vibrations like warm electricity wherever your bodies touched. “This is as close as you get.” 

     “Or else...?” Amelia gave you a look. 

     “Or else I’m coming to chaperone.” 

     “Such a mother hen.” Bradley smirked. 

     “Someone has to be.” You gasped as he swept you down into a dip, grasping his shoulders. “Rooster!” 

     “Easy, baby.” Bradley guided you to stand once more, his expression devilish as you blushed and looked down, forehead brushing against his chest. 

     The song on the jukebox slowly faded to a stop. You looked up at Bradley. Really, truly looked at him. His cocky smirk morphed into a smile, genuine and soft. You could feel his hands on your waist, solid and grounding. You took a deep shuddery breath. Everything else faded and it was just Bradley. Bradley Bradley Bradley. Part of you struggled to understand how the hell he had such an affect on you. The rest of you relaxed in the bliss and called it fate. 

     “Uhh, guys? You can stop dancing now.” Amelia smirked. 

     “Right.” You blinked back into reality and stepped back, noting the reluctant slide of Bradley’s hands off your waist, the way his fingers gently grazed the front of your thighs. 

     “Bradley,” Amelia began, grinning wildly now when he looked at her. “Do you wanna stay for supper?” 

     “Yeah, I’d love that.” Bradley looked back at you. “Do you want me to stay?” 

     “Yeah.” You bit your lip and grinned. “Yeah, you can stay.” 

Fanfic Masterlist

#riot #rooster #rooster bradshaw imagine #rooster bradshaw #rooster x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster x y/n #rooster x you #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x y/n #rooster bradshaw fic #bradley x you #bradley x reader #bradley x y/n #top gun #top gun maverick #top gun movie #top gun maverick movie #top gun fic #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun maverick rooster

[purelyfiction]

hi all!! our top gun roleplay is still running full speed and we are still looking for the following faces:

pete 'maverick' mitchell

penny benjamin

payback

warlock

omaha

fritz

harvard

yale

warlock

hondo

tom 'iceman' kazansky

as well as plenty of room for original characters! if you're interested, find us here!

#top gun maverick #top gun #top gun rp #top gun maverick roleplay #top gun maverick rp #top gun roleplay #top gun discord #top gun maverick discord #discord rp #rp group #group rp #top gun rooster #top gun maverick rooster #top gun hangman #top gun maverick hangman #pete mitchell #pete maverick mitchell #maverick #iceman #tom kazansky #tom iceman kazansky #top gun movie #top gun writing #top gun maverick writing #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction

[missathlete31]

Dead On Your Feet- Chapter 4

Chapter 1 is Here

Chapter 2 is Here

Chapter 3 is Here

Summary: An AU in which Hangman is team leader and takes the missile to save Rooster, yet Bradley comes back to save Hangman as well. As he struggles to get himself and his teammate home, Jake is pushed to his limits in more ways than even he anticipated.

Chapter 4 Summary: Bradley can tell something is wrong with Hangman, but the stubborn man refuses to tell him the truth. The duo continues to struggle with their communication

Jake comes to from the sounds of a fretting Rooster at his side. He grumbles, more than a little indignant, when a hand follows up and smacks at his cheek, “Hangman?” Bradshaw’s voice is low with worry and pain, “you with me?”

“Y-Yeah?” Jake doesn’t open his eyes, the events of the past few hours coming back to him and making him groan. He remembers the helicopter, how close its bullets came to rendering both him and Bradley to Swiss cheese, before something shifted in Jake’s abdomen and everything turned alight in pain. His mind struggles to re-catalogue his injuries; laying stationary in the snow has improved his breathing but it’s still not great. Taking a deep breath is virtually impossible and there is a slight taste of blood in his mouth. Jake wonders if his lung was punctured during their escape but he knows there is nothing in these woods or his limited supplies that can help him either way.

The body next to him is inching closer. Jake doesn’t even have to open his eyes to know that Rooster is leaning over him now, face pinched in that ridiculous frown-scowl that the other man seems to always have permanently on his face these days. He knows another smack to his cheek is coming but it still stings enough for Jake to hiss before his green eyes finally reveal themselves. “Ouch” he moans, but the stark relief on Bradshaw’s face at Jake meeting his eyes makes the blonde not want to push his annoyance any further.

“It’s about damn time” Bradley sighs, falling back down to the snow, butt planted and resting back on his palms. Jake follows his movements in his peripheral vision but still lays on his back; sitting up is going to be fire on his ribs and he isn’t prepared for that yet when he still can’t take full breaths. He tests his limits hoping Bradley is too busy looking at the damage in the forest around them to notice the flinch Jake gives from just the simple task of taking in oxygen. He clears his throat still feeling the burn, “how um- how long was I out?”

Rooster holds up his broken watch face, “according to this” he taps the stationary minute hand, “not a second, but if I had to guess about twenty minutes.”

“Shit” Hangman shuts his eyes again, now that neither of them are dead and the adrenaline is passing, all the younger pilot is feeling is embarrassed; embarrassed for failing, embarrassed for freezing up and just collapsing to the ground, embarrassed for leaving Rooster hanging like he swore he wouldn’t do. There Jake goes again, living up to that damn call sign.

“Hey” Bradley’s voice is close again, sounding like an alarm clock with its constant buzzing, “hey-“

“-is for horses.” It’s the first thing that comes to Jake’s mind and he automatically speaks it out loud, the corny joke his Grandfather used to say that always got a laugh on young Jake’s face before the older man died and Jake’s childhood turned to shit. He leaves those memories for another time, focusing back in to the present to hear the confusion from the man next to him. “What?” Rooster gapes as though Hangman telling a dad joke has caused his brain to short-circuit.

”A horse eats hay” Jake explains, eyes still closed but now he can feel Bradley’s concern wafting over him.

”You’re concussed,” the older pilot verbally reasons, and to Jake this seems like the perfect time to lull his head away from Rooster’s voice. Except, it only seems to worry the man more.

“Hangman!” Bradley skips the slaps to the cheek this time moving to poking Jake’s arm like he’s the Pillsbury dough boy, “hey Seresin, I think you might be concussed, keep your eyes open-“

“Not concussed” he grumbles.

“Well then open your eyes.”

”They’re open” Jake muffles back, though he is clearly lying. There’s another poke to his arm and Jake feels his patience leaving. Ribs be damned he sitting up now, and though he is so light headed he’s ready to teeter over again, Jake uses the bull-headedness he seems to be made of to stay upright. Rooster is watching it all, a knowing look on his face that borders too close to concern for Jake’s liking so the blonde turns to look at the skies instead, “They gone?” he asks.

Rooster nods, following his sight line, “left after they spent their whole payload.”

“They’ll be back then.”

“Yup.”

Jake knows the twenty minutes he was out might have already lost them a decent escape window. The clock is ticking even if Bradshaw’s wristwatch isn’t. “We got to get moving” he announces, though he still hasn’t gotten past sitting up on his butt and he’s already bone tired.

Bradley opens his mouth to say something, closes it, before running a hand through his disheveled curls. His shoulders tense, his body grows rigid and for a second Jake’s afraid he is going to hit him or something with the way he seems to be prepping; but Rooster isn’t looking for a physical fight just difficult answers. “What happened before” he speaks softly, voice low but still on edge, and though he looks uncomfortable he meets Jake’s eye and doesn’t waver, “What happened to you” he clarifies, “was it a bullet? Were you hit?” the brown eyes trail down Hangman’s ruined flight suit but clearly come away with nothing.

“No” the blonde shakes himself, “I’m fine-“

“You collapsed out there” and Bradley resembles a puppy now, eyes big, wide and devoted. Curious to his wingman’s ailment and concerned enough to not allow this conversation to end so easily. “You collapsed Jake” Rooster continues, “and you couldn’t breathe- hell I still don’t think you can.”

Jake’s trained himself to lie so often in these situations that it comes before he even gets a chance to think it over, “must have panicked or something” he offers lamely hating himself for thinking saying he was panicking is somehow better than telling Bradley he’s actually injured.

“Panic” Rooster looks unconvinced, “you panicked?”

Hangman doesn’t have to force the look of exasperation on his face, “it was kinda a crazy situation” he brokers, moving himself toward the tree log in an attempt to sit up more as though that will deter any more questions. He motions towards the clearing, “we should really get moving again.”

But Rooster isn’t budging, this time taking Jake’s arm and pulling it roughly, too roughly, to force the blonde forward, “you don’t panic Hangman. Ever” he reiterates, “So how about we cut the bullshit and you stop putting on the show.”

The blonde shrugs off the other’s arm, “Back off Rooster” he warns.

Jake expects a flare of that Bradshaw temper but instead Bradshaw sighs heavily and give a weary sigh that’s so deep they both feel it in their bones. “Look man,” the older pilot implores, “we aren’t getting far if you’re not honest with me okay?” he holds his hands out open, welcoming, as defenseless as he can muster, “Talk to me. What is it? What are you hiding?” and then he moves in with the million dollar question, “how hurt are you?”

It would be so easy, so simple to tell Bradley that his chest hurts, that his ribs keep moving and that he is pretty sure that something might be lodged in his lung by the way breathing hurts and he tastes blood but Jake has never been easy. He can’t let himself say those words, can’t let himself be any more of a liability than he already has been. Fear has always been Jake Seresin’s biggest motivator. Fear of failure, fear of disappointment, but mostly fear of being left alone. Its part of the reason the Hangman persona fit him so tightly; you can’t be left if there’s no one close enough to do the leaving. Somewhere in the not so rational part of Jake’s mind he knows that he is only useful to Rooster if he isn’t hurt, if he can get them out of here alive. He’s already failed once and he won’t do it again. He refuses to.

Jake musters the most honest face he can, lying through his teeth like he’s been doing since he was a little kid and someone asked him about the bruises on his body, “I’m fine” he speaks calmly, clearly, selling his lie like he would sell his soul, “I swear.”

The disappointment on Bradshaw’s face says that either Jake’s lies have lost their believability or Jake has never been very convincing from the start.

He doesn’t know which one he prefers.

Hangman snaps back to the situation at hand though, shifting back to his partner, who has now started looking at his injured leg, “How’s it feel?” he asks curiously, testing waters.

Rooster braces the limb but even the tiniest shift has him wincing with a sharp hiss of air, “n-not good” he breaths out painful, lifting his flight suit pant leg to catch a glimpse. He hisses again, “shit” he murmurs, “that doesn’t look right.”

Swallowing his guilt, Jake leans forward, ignoring the pull on his chest. He notices the bruising around the lower third of Bradley’s leg, the bone not quite breaking the skin but also not looking normal. The younger man runs a worried hand through his hair resisting the urge to pull it in his stressed state, “well if it wasn’t broken before” he tells the other pilot, “it is now.”

“Great” Bradley moans, “Just what we need.”

“How the hell did you even walk on it?”

The brunette shrugs in indifference, “we were dying otherwise” he explains as though it was the simplest thing in the world.

Jake shakes his head, seeing more Maverick in Rooster now than he’s ever taken the time to notice before. He can’t contain his smirk, “so I guess it was your Mother-Hen-Adrenaline” he surmises.

“My what?”

“Mother hen adrenaline” Hangman repeats, “you know like when a mom lifts a car off their kid.”

Bradley scoffs at the analogy, “yeah well if you’re my kid I’m returning you-“ he stops suddenly, horror flashing on his face at his words. “Shit Seresin-“ he begins again, no doubt remembering the conversation before about Jake’s lack of decent parents.

The blonde waves it off, “it’s fine” he tells him and it is. His parents didn’t return him after all, that was just what he wished for every night instead.

An awkwardness falls between the two pilots but neither address it. Instead Bradley decides to shimmy towards another tree-truck, using it to try to stand himself up. Jake watches the movement knowing he should start the process as well but feeling a bit overwhelmed. “We should eat something” he brings up suddenly, pulling for his supply bag and reaching inside for the nearest ration. It’s a chocolate bar, Hershey’s, one of Javy’s favorites that the other man must have snuck in when Jake was getting ready this morning. Jake sniffles a bit in emotion when he thinks of his best friend, missing his companion more than he could ever imagine as he sits in the freezing snow in the middle of nowhere.

“Chocolate huh?” Bradley’s voice snaps Hangman back to the present, as he looks up at the brunette who is eyeing the candy. “Yeah” he manages, holding out the bar, “you want a piece.”

“I didn’t think this was regulation Seresin” but Rooster takes the treat anyway, popping the sweet into his mouth and almost moaning in pleasure, “mmmm” he hums, “I forgot how hungry I am.”

“No breakfast?” Jake questions, knowing he himself could barely stomach a piece of toast, let alone anything of substance.

Bradley shakes his head, “nah, couldn’t really-“ he pauses, “couldn’t keep much down” he shares cautiously almost as if he’s expecting Hangman’s teasing. Too be fair, normally Hangman would be jumping into some kind of insult about Rooster’s sensitive stomach but given his own lack of appetite this morning, he decides to be nice. “Yeah” he offers more of the chocolate, “I know the feeling.” He looks back at his supplies than to the other pilot, “did you grab any rations?”

When the other man shakes his head, Jake rolls his eyes, “great so we get to trek through Narnia with two bars and half a water bottle.”

Rooster has the dignity to look embarrassed though his tone is still annoyed, "I'm sorry that when I was ejecting out of my plane I didn't reach for snacks-"

"My plane exploded into the ground and I was still able to grab some stuff." The brag earns him an eye roll but Bradley doesn’t comment further instead still slowly getting himself standing. Jake has no choice but to follow, slowing getting his feet under him while still managing to keep his abused body from screaming at the burst of painful sensation pulsing through his abdomen. He knows Rooster is watching, and it takes everything for the blonde to just keep going. Jake knows he can’t keep up the façade forever, the proverbial shoe will drop and Jake’s lies will catch up to him but he’s saving that for the carrier, right now he has a Rooster to save.

Once both men are standing, Jake lifts Bradley’s arm and moves it over his shoulder, taking weight slowly until their equilibrium feels right and they can walk. Bradley is pale and he can feel the man’s tremors as they rattle his own body. Jake knows he isn’t doing much better but stubbornness is a powerful thing and both Hangman and Roosters are masters. “Which way” he asks the older man, poised to head West but giving the option to his teammate.

Bradley glances around them, getting bearings before turning back and settling towards the Western horizon. “The air field should be that way” he lifts in chin in emphasis.

“Yeah” Jake agrees, “the one Cyclone tomahawked.”

“It’s also the way the helicopter came from and disappeared too” Rooster supplies in a neutral but observant tone.

“It might be our only chance to get ourselves out of here.”

“I know” Bradley speaks, weariness in his voice, “so we head West?” it’s a question but one with only one answer.

“We head west” Hangman confirms.

Calmness reaches both pilots. It’s not an acceptance of the fate that seems to be headed their way, instead a truce of understanding. They are shot down behind enemy lines. They are tired, injured, and a long way from proper supplies or any other form of help. Their chance of outside rescue is non-existent so if they have any hope of survival they’re going to have to do it themselves. It should be a scary notion, possibly the most frightening of both their lives but somehow as Jake shoulders a bit more of Bradley’s weight and the two once again start their long trek, he doesn’t feel scared. Whatever they will face at least they will be in it together. There’s a comfort in that thought, especially for the normally unaccompanied pilot, and somehow everything seems just the littlest bit less daunting.

—————————————————————————-

I’m posting three chapters today so be on the look out for the next posting!

Thanks everyone for the support!

#top gun maverick #glen powell #jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #top gun hangman #top gun #bradley rooster bradshaw #miles teller #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw #behind enemy lines #top gun: maverick #top gun au #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick hangman #top gun maverick rooster #dead on your feet

[bradshawswife]

i wonder why this is the most replayed scene in this… i wonder ??

lmfaooooooooo this made me giggle

#bradley bradshaw #miles teller #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster #top gun: maverick #meet rooster #b.r.b #i love bradley bradshaw #this man has me in a chokehold #shimmy shimmy #jhorts #beach scene tgm #top gun #top gun maverick rooster

[dckweed]

WORK IN PROGRESS: SNIPPET

i thought you guys might enjoy a bit of behind the scenes of what's in my drafts as of right now, this is one of my more angsty/hurty ones and its gonna be coming out soon hopefully!

let me know if you want more snippets of drafts or if you'd like to be added to the tag list for this one!

'TWO BIRDS AND A MAV' bradley 'rooster' bradshaw

You stood with the rest of your fellow pilots inside the hangar of the aircraft carrier, back straight and gaze forward as you stood at attention, waiting for the mission team to be chosen. Captain Mitchell stood at the front of the room, calling out names.

"Phoenix and BOB," He starts first, his voice ringing out. "Fanboy and Payback" He looks over towards Rooster, who is stood right next to you. "Rooster, Duckie." They had modified the flight plan to include a fifth single plane bringing up the rear carrying a third explosive in case of failure. You and Rooster share a look, the pair of you more nervous than you realized, not expecting to hear the others name called.

Your fellow pilots congratulate you as you and your other squad members gather your things to go finish getting your flight gear ready. Everyone files out before you and Rooster, and just as you're about go, he grabs your wrist. "Duckie," His voice is gruff, full of emotions that you more than recognized. He was worried about you, he always was, you supposed that was the price of the lengthy fling the pair of you had had during your time at the academy. You both cared about each other too much. "Be careful up there, yeah?"

His voice is tender, and you can't help the small smile that spreads over your lips as you squeeze his hand, moving in to give him a brief hug. You had missed his embrace, it had been years since you had stopped seeing each other, but it hadn't ever changed the way you felt towards him, or how you reacted when you were in his presence. "You too, Roo.." You say, kissing his cheek before walking off.

Rooster kicks himself as he watches you walk off, he wanted to stop you, beg you too step down and let Jake fill in your spot, he didn't want you to be careful up there, he didn't want you to be up there at all, but he couldn't change the decisions, not when he didn't have a say in them to begin with. He has to remind himself that you are an extremely capable pilot, and quite underestimated by the unsure looks of the fellow squad members and the admiral.

#top gun maverick #top gun #top gun imagine #rooster #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #top gun maverick rooster #top gun maverick rooster fic #top gun maverick bradley #top gun maverick work in progress

[roosterforme]

Wrong Number | Rooster x Reader

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

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

Length: 4700 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pretty Girl: Are you naked in these photos?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He texted you back.

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

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

CALL FROM Pretty Girl

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Just okay?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Totally naked."

"Fuck."

"Send me another one?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah. It's Rooster."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Pretty Girl."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@chassy21

@solacestyles

@avoirlecoupdefoudre

@daisyhollyxox

@throwinsauce

@awesomebooklover17

@wintercap89

@whosyourgnomie4

@rosesinmars

@blog-name6996

@bcon24

@wishfulwithwine

@backinwonderl4nd

@tetragonia

@gingerbreadandpaper

@emptyloverofmine

@chaoticassidy

@missmirandafe

@changlingkhat

@sugarcoated-lame

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187

@katiebby04

@marantha

@averyhotchner

@abaker74

@heli991113

@k-k0129

@noz4a2

@tallyovie

@shanimallina87

@teddyluvs2sing

@little-wiseone

@ccbb2222

@lilyevanswhore

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

@xoxabs88xox

@thedroneranger

@bradshawsbitch

@cherrycola27

@fanboyswhore9

@xomrsalliej4787xo

@desert-fern

@sylviebell

@wkndwlff

@horseslovers2016

#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster fanfic #rooster x you #rooster x reader #rooster imagine #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw fic #rooster bradshaw x reader #top gun imagine #top gun maverick imagine #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction #roosterforme #wrong number #top gun rocktober

[k9effect]

Mav: Today I realised I'm old

Ice: What happened?

Mav: I fell in the mess hall and instead of laughing, Rooster came running to see if I was ok

Ice:

Mav: I saw fear in his eyes

#sam shitposts #incorrect quotes #incorrect quote #top gun #top gun maverick #pete mitchell #pete maverick mitchell #tom kazansky #tom iceman kazansky #iceman #maverick #icemav #rooster #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw

[enthyrea]

my tg86 piece for @topgunzine!

i actually drew this in april of last year- i’m so glad to finally post it! thank you to everyone who bought and supported the zine 🤍🛩️

#enthyrea art #i’m still very happy with this piece and it looks great in print 🤍 #callsigns zine #top gun #top gun maverick #top gun fanart #pete maverick mitchell #icemav #top gun goose #top gun carole #top gun iceman #top gun rooster #top gun slider #top gun 1986 #top gun 86 #top gun chipper #tom iceman kazansky #carole bradshaw #marcus sundown williams #charles chipper piper #rick hollywood neven #nick goose bradshaw #henry wolfman ruth #ron slider kerner #top gun sundown #top gun hollywood #top gun wolfman #bradley rooster bradshaw #maverick mitchell #tg86 fanart

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Hotter Than Texas | Part I

(unofficially: Brother's Worst Enemy)

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x F!Reader

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

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

Aka it's a road trip, strap in.

CW: swearing, age gap (10 years)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck. He’s fucking fucked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

“How do you like it?” he asks.

“With a pinch of salt.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Read Part 2

Tag List

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

@joaquinwhorres

@katiemcrae

@sehnsuchts-trunken

@toomuchfluffs

@wintercap89

@lonelywitchv2

@callsign-jupiter

@rosiahills22

@olliepig

@coffeeaddictedmay

@boringusername3

@ratedtvpg

@mak-32

@annedub

@jules-1999

@black--lightning

@j-velvet

@xoxabs88xox

@cyanide-cryptid

@callsignvenus

@artemissunn

@gcldtom

@atarmychick007

@callsign-sunshine

@shanimallina87

@birdy-bat-writes

@wkndwlff

@chaosmxlcolm

@iminlovewithenchilidadas

@daniibzz

@avis15

@valhallavalkyrie9

@ijustwantedplums

@hal3ynicol3

@avengersfan25

@hallecarey1

@nik2blog

@kpopgirlbtssvt

@lilianashomaresparza

@lovingperfectionsblog

@bblpbb

@Elenavampire21

@SometimesAnAlice

@risingtripletaurus

@adaydreamaway08

@mattyskies

@desert-fern

@catsandbooksandstuff

@Topguncultleader

@avengers-fixation

#bradley bradshaw #rooster #bradley rooster bradshaw #top gun #miles teller #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x you #rooster bradshaw #top gun maverick #rooster x reader #rooster top gun #rooster x you #rooster fanfiction #rooster fic #rooster fluff #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw x female reader #top gun fanfiction

[hanluex]

♡ HEARTBREAK GIRL — BRADLEY ‘ROOSTER’ BRADSHAW

rooster bradshaw x fem!reader | wc : 1.6k words | content : possible grammar and spelling mistakes, lowercase intended, stupidass boyfriend (not rooster!), best friends to lovers, mentions of cheating, crying, arguing, angst with fluff ending | inspired by : ♫ heartbreak girl by 5 seconds of summer

“don’t worry, maybe he’s just stressed from work. he can’t hate you, y/n. i mean, who can? you are just overthinking, okay? he still loves you, y/n.”

bradley lied through his teeth, talking to you on loudspeaker while he covered his face, regretting the choice he made.

you sniffled, lightly smiling at your best friend’s words. “thanks for being a friend, roo.” you wiped the tears away from your face, taking a deep breath to calm yourself.

bradley went in circles after hearing those words. 

he hummed, nodding even though you couldn’t see him. “always, y/n. it’s late. please go to sleep now, okay? will you?” he pursed his lips as he saw 01:32 on the clock that was on his table.

“yeah, i will. thanks again, bradley. i’m sorry for keeping you up ... again.” you sighed, feeling guilty for burdening him with your relationship problems.

bradley rubbed his eyes, trying to keep himself awake for a few more minutes. “don’t be sorry, y/n. i’m always here if you wanna talk, okay? good night, sleep well.” he looked at his phone, knowing you were definitely going to cry yourself to sleep.

“mhm. you too sleep well. good night, love you.”

“love you too.”

the call ended and bradley sat straight on his bed, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. he turned to his door, furrowing his brows at jake, who had been listening in on his conversation with you.

jake walked into the room without an invitation, crossing his arms over his chest as he slightly glared at his roommate/best friend.

“why are you lying to y/n? why aren’t you telling her the truth that she’s so dense to see?!” he fumed, tired of hearing bradley constantly lie to you as you cried to him almost every night.

“because i’m just a sucker for everything that she does, and i can’t bear to see her sad.”

“i know you are hiding something from me, bradshaw! why can’t you just tell me what it is?! please ... just tell me.”

bradley bit his tongue, enduring the punches you threw at him as you cried. the two of you met up to hang out because your boyfriend bailed on your date again, but it took a turn when bradley’s overly jolly acting made you suspect something was up.

“please, bradley. why won’t you speak to me? what’s wrong?” you were too sad to care about the stares that were on you. “i know you know something, roo. please tell me,” you sobbed, hands on your knees as you sat on the ground.

bradley wanted to scream. he wanted to tell you everything, but he couldn’t. how could he tell you that your boyfriend who bailed on your date, saying he had work, was at the same restaurant you two visited with another girl? how could he tell you that, knowing you’d break down even worse than how you were now?

this wasn’t a first-time thing. in fact, it was almost two months since bradley had been seeing your boyfriend with the same girl — who wasn’t you. he cursed his unfortunate soul, mad at himself for catching him exchange kisses with the girl who wasn’t you.

he wanted to tell you — but he didn’t have the courage to do so.

“i’ll tell you when the time is right, y/n. because right now, everything is frustrating, and you aren’t ready. i’m not ready either,” bradley cryptically answered, crouching down to meet your eyes, a sad expression on his face as he looked at you.

you wanted to know what he meant. you wanted to know why he was behaving this way. but you trusted him, too.

if bradley said he’ll tell you when the time is right because you weren’t ready, then you believed him.

“okay, then.” you nodded, slowly getting up from the ground. “i trust you — like i always do — to tell me, okay? i don’t care what it is about — good, bad, whatever — just tell me.” bradley hummed, nodding in agreement because he wasn’t sure about his voice at this point.

“i’ll call you tomorrow at 10, alright?”

“okay. don’t stay up thinking about it, hm? get some sleep.”

but the both of them knew that none of them would sleep that night. one stayed up crying while the other stayed up, gathering the courage to speak up.

bradley smiled to himself as he saw you ran along the shore, playing with the waves. it was two weeks since the incident, and you had never been happier.

don’t get the wrong idea! you were still with your boyfriend, and bradley still hadn’t told you about what happened — but somehow you were happier, and that’s all that mattered.

the two of you came to the beach, since you hadn’t seen each other in weeks — nor did you talk. just you, bradley, the waves and some catching up.

“slow down, you’ll get hurt.” bradley already had his arms stretched to catch up as you stumbled in the sand, laughing as you fell into his arms. “i know you are happy to see me and all, but be careful, yeah?”

“jeez, someone became full of himself in two weeks.” you playfully hit the male, a smile on your face as you held onto the arm he offered. “but yeah, i’m happy to see you.”

the two of you walked along the seashore, swinging your arms as you talked. “so, what have you been up to? what’s new?” bradley asked. “i’m sorry i haven’t texted or called much. i’ve been busy with stuff.”

“it’s alright. um, what’s new? well, i broke up with a dumbass of a boyfriend. it was a mutual breakup because we both realised we liked other people — but him way longer than i have realised, though,” you confessed. “it’s only been like four hours, so the breakup doesn’t feel real yet, you know?”

bradley turned to you with wide eyes, shocked to hear you broke up with your boyfriend — that too, only four hours ago. he didn’t know what to say, and he was sure if he spoke he’d sound awkward, but he wanted to know how you were coping.

“i’m sorry to hear that, i didn’t — wait, we? you also like someone else?” the words clicked in his head, finding it weird because you were so in love with your boyfriend — it wasn’t possible.

“yeah.” you let out a sigh, playing with the waves as if it was nothing. “what about you, roo? what have you been up to?” you inquired, although you knew everything.

“after you dropped that bomb on me, i don’t think i have done much. nothing, actually.”

“i wouldn’t say gathering your courage to confess to me is nothing, though. but if i’m nothing to you, then i guess that’s also fine.”

“no! you are not nothing!” bradley’s face scrunched into confusion, looking at you weirdly. “how did you know, though?”

you laughed, holding onto bradley as a wave tried to knock you over. “two words; jake seresin,” you answered. “he called me a few days after that sidewalk-crying fiasco of mine. you were pretty drunk, and you were rambling about how you could not tell me that my boyfriend was cheating on me — and also how you wanted to confess.”

“oh.”

“yeah, i was quite overwhelmed. i thought little about it, and talked to you like normal — but that didn’t last long,” you continued, smiling as bradley looked at you. “somehow, i kept thinking about you more often, and you stayed in mind longer than usual. i wasn’t sure about what i was feeling, so i ended up calling jake. we talked for a while, and jake told me i might like you.”

“oh.”

you found bradley’s reactions endearing, giggling to yourself. “i thought about it for a while, thinking it might just fade away with a few days. but each day, somehow, the feelings got stronger, and i knew i had to do something about it.” you let out a deep breath, biting your lip. “so i sat down with my boyfriend, talked to him, and we broke up.”

“oh.”

you pouted, scrunching your face as you looked at the male. “are you only going to say ‘oh’ about everything i say? because if that’s your plan, then i’ll leave.” you turned away, hiding your smile as you felt bradley hold on to your wrist, pulling you closer.

“i like you. very much. okay, y/n? and i have been wanting to say those words to you for a really long time.” bradley smiled, intertwining his hands with yours. “don’t feel overwhelmed or burdened about giving me an answer. i know you went through some stuff, and it’s completely alright if you take some time for yourself.”

“i know your feelings for me won’t change, so have some time for yourself and just relax. if you ever want to talk or whatever, i’ll be over in a heartbeat — you just have to call me.”

those words were all you needed to hear to breakdown — once again. even though you were completely calm — it was all just a pretense.

how could you behave normally when your boyfriend — who you had loved endlessly — cheated on you? everything hurt, and bradley’s considerate words were the icing on the cake.

“roo ... i really don’t want to be a heartbreak girl who always comes to you to vent about her relationships. i want to date someone who takes care of me, and i want to return it as well.”

“there won’t be any more of this heartbreak girl nonsense, because i am your cure, alright? you make me happy, and i want to return that happiness.”

TAGLIST: SEND AN ASK OR DM TO BE ADDED!

#[📝] works #top gun maverick #top gun maverick imagines #top gun maverick rooster #rooster imagines #rooster scenarios #bradley bradshaw imagines #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw drabbles #top gun maverick drabbles #top gun maverick scenarios #bradley rooster bradshaw

[wild-lavender-rose]

Riot (part 2)

Part 1

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x shy!fem!reader (call sign Riot) 

Category: One-shot

Summary: After meeting in Penny’s bar, you and Rooster see each other the following morning under very different circumstances. Him, a lieutenant and candidate for an impossible mission. And you, Captain Maverick’s daughter and public affairs specialist a.k.a. army photographer assigned to chronicle Maverick’s life. 

Warnings: Mild swearing, brief insinuative flirting 

     You arrived at the base dressed for work, which for you was not something army issued. Your long term assignment of chronicling your father’s life and accomplishments had done much to ensure humans stayed in the cockpit and not robots. Combined with a little help from Iceman, your position as Captain Maverick’s personal photographer was essentially permanent. When he was shipped back to Top Gun to teach you were worried at first, fearing that the threats of his discharge meant you would be re-assigned somewhere else. But Iceman had pulled strings and you had gone with your dad, giving you at least a little more time to work together as father and daughter. 

     Amid the insanity of Maverick’s reassignment, one of the privileges you had managed to keep was the ability to wear civilian attire. So when you walked into the base wearing jeans and a white t-shirt with your hair tied up and camera bag slung over one shoulder, the Vice Admiral grimaced but remained silent. 

     Maverick smiled as you came to stand beside him. He was holding one of the thick flying manuals waiting behind the rows of pilots to be introduced. You scanned the line up of heads, gaze landing on Bradley. Heat rushed to your face and you looked away. He made you blush without even looking at you. You glanced back at Maverick to see him gripping the manual so hard his knuckles were turning white. You gave him a half-smile, trying to quiet both his nerves and your own. Contrary to popular belief, Maverick did have the capacity to feel nervous. He was just a master at hiding it. 

     “And in order to complete this mission, we have enlisted the services of Captain Maverick.” 

     That was his cue. He walked up the aisle, prompting the pilots to turn around. Hangman was the first to see you, a smirk lighting his face. You grimaced and adjusted the strap of your camera bag. You could feel Bradley’s eyes on you. The heat in your face grew worse. 

     No one had announced it but it didn’t take a genius to see that you were related to Maverick. You knew the nature of the water under the bridge between him and Bradley. You knew he blamed Maverick for his father’s death and the delay to his career. Maybe you should have told him Maverick was your father last night. Maybe you should have given him a heads up just like he did with the piano. Maybe you should never have talked to him in the first place. 

     You dared to glance at him just as Maverick began to speak. Bradley met your gaze, his expression unreadable. He turned to face the front and you followed suit, insides fairly trembling with uncertainty. He must hate you for not telling him who you were and what he was in for. Surely Bradley was now regretting even talking to you. 

     “You’ve memorized every inch of this manual.” Maverick dropped the book with a thud into the trash can. “Well so have they.” 

     Your hand slipped inside your bag without thought and withdrew a small handheld camera. You adjusted the settings by memory and raised it to your eye. Maverick continued his talk. You began to take pictures, capturing the moment, pretending Bradley wasn’t there. 

     The tension was growing in the room right along with the excitement. It made sense. This was the kind of mission pilots lived for, even if it meant that they might not come back home. Bob looked worried. Phoenix seemed to be fighting back the urge to jump up and run off to complete the mission that very moment. Hangman was practically drooling at the concept of a dogfight, imagined or otherwise. 

     You couldn’t help but smirk as you zoomed in on the side of his grinning face. “He’ll eat you alive.” You muttered, taking the shot. 

     Within a few minutes you had snapped pictures of everyone there. Everyone except Bradley. You couldn’t. You just couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, even through the lens of your camera. You should have told him, you thought, a growing sense of regret and embarrassment threatening to swallow you whole. Why didn’t you just tell him? 

     Because then he wouldn’t have talked to you, you realized. Because, for a single blissful moment, you felt seen and safe and content with someone other than those that had raised you. And nothing else had mattered. 

     Except now the moment was over. And Bradley knew. Now there was zero chance that he would want to flirt, let alone talk, to the daughter of the man he despised. 

     “On that note,” Maverick’s voice broke through your thoughts. “Suit up.” 

     The pilots took that as the cue to stand, uncertain but respectful of Maverick’s orders. You stepped to the side and continued to take pictures, kneeling for a different angle. 

     Hangman crossed to you. “Make sure you get my good side.” 

     “And that would be?” You looked up at where he was towering over you. 

     He ignored the retort. “Hey, about last night. I had no idea you were a, you know,” 

     “A captain’s daughter?” 

     “Yeah.” 

     “Don’t worry.” You snapped a couple more shots before standing, tinkering with the camera so you wouldn’t have to look him in the eye. “I know you would have tried to pick me up even if you did know who I was.” You smirked. “Pilots are unbiased like that.” 

     “Damn you’re hot.” Hangman jerked his head towards the hanger. “Don’t take it too hard when I pulverize your old man up there.” 

     “I’ll try to stifle my tears.” You looked up at him and saw Bradley watching you from over Hangman’s shoulder. Your heart fairly stopped in your chest. Bradley looked between the two of you for a moment, expression still unreadable. Then he walked on without a word. 

     Hangman followed your gaze. “Got a thing for the pathetic ones, don’t ya’?” 

     “Well if I did then we’d be in bed by now.” You slipped the camera back into your bag and brushed past him. “Have fun up there.”

     Hangman was chuckling as he followed you, joining the other pilots as they went to prepare for their flight. 

                                                  # # # # # 

     “Dad!” 

     Maverick looked over his shoulder as you ran to him with his helmet in tow. “Thanks, honey.” He smiled as he took the helmet, reaching out to tug at a loose strand of hair dancing in your eyes. “You’re grounded.” 

     “What?” You tried to seem offended. “I didn’t even ask to fly.” 

     “This one’s by the books, Riot.” 

     “Says the one who literally just threw the book away.” You continued on before he could defend himself. “I understand, Captain. I’m grounded.” 

     Maverick grimaced but he looked more bemused than annoyed. “I noticed Hangman talking you up.” 

     “More like talking trash.” 

     “Need me to ground him too?” 

     You shook your head, gaze trailing to where Hangman was prepping to get up into the cockpit. “As much as I’d like that, his file says he’s a good pilot. And you need all the talent you can get.” 

     Maverick chuckled. “See you later, honey.” 

     You couldn’t help but smile at that. Maverick always said the same thing before he flew. See you later. It implied that he wasn’t really going too far and that he was coming back. And he always did. Every time. 

     “Wouldn’t be a fair fight, you know.” Maverick turned away. “Having you up in the sky with me. Pretty sure we’re supposed to go easy on ‘em.” 

                                               # # # # # 

     Maverick did not go easy on them. Your heart twisted down into your stomach when you heard them make the deal of taking two hundred push ups. What a bunch of imbeciles. You paced by the radio the entire time except when you were looking out the window. To your surprise, you heard Bradley be the first to go down. Why was he the first to get gunned down? 

     You watched him from the window, sweat dripping off his forehead as he took his punishment silently, aggressively. Normally you would have taken delight in seeing a bunch of cocky pilots get deflated. But seeing Bradley out there made you feel sick. You knew Maverick had no intention of playing favorites...but why couldn’t he have gunned down someone else? 

     You paced between the radio and the window. Bradley disappeared and was back on the radio a few minutes later. You ignored the way your insides fluttered at the sound of his voice. Maverick gunned them down with minimal effort. The line up of pilots doing push ups grew. You smiled when Hangman joined them. 

     But the satisfaction was short-lived as you heard Bradley get gunned down again. And again. And again. 

     “Dammit, Dad.” you ran a hand through your hair and turned away as Bradley knelt to do yet another brutal set. You felt helpless and stupid. Why were you having such a reaction? Why did it even matter? 

     You considered this for another moment, eyes landing on a cooler filled with water bottles in the room you had been forced to wait in. An idea sparked within you. You took a deep breath and pushed your shoulders straight. “Forget this.” You muttered as you grabbed a water bottle and your camera bag. 

     Bradley might hate your guts for not telling him who you were but you’d be dammed if you had to stand by while he suffered. Maverick said you had to stay grounded. But he didn’t say a word about staying away from Bradley Bradshaw. 

                                                  # # # # #  

     You had lost your courage by the time you were walking towards Bradley, water bottle in hand, heart pounding out of your chest. Everyone else has left him. You could tell even from a distance that he was angry and tired. The sweat and pain that covered every inch of him pushed you forward even as your absolute and utter fear urged you to run away. 

     You reached him just as he finished the set and had collapsed on the ground, stopping in front of him. He looked up at you, sweat dripping off his chin. 

     You looked at the ground and held out the bottle. “Here.” 

     Bradley was silent. You started to set it in front of him and go but then he took it, fingers brushing against your wrist, stilling you with the slightest of touches. 

     “I’m sorry,” the blazing heat in your face was worse than the sun beating down on you. “I should have told you who I was. Should’ve given you a warning.” 

     Bradley twisted off the cap. “Doesn’t matter.” He gestured at you with the bottle. “Not your fault that your dad ruined my life.” 

     “He was trying to help.” You managed to look him in the eye, your thoughts swirling with possible implications of him dismissing the fact you’re related to Maverick. 

     Bradley scoffed. “Some help.” He tilted his head back and drained the water bottle without stopping for breath. “Mom never mentioned you.” 

     “Your mom was the best.” A smile lit your face as you remembered. “I got to meet her a couple times a few years ago, before she...I wanted to come to the funeral, but dad knew that he was the last person you wanted to see.” You bit your lip. “She spoke highly of you.” 

     Bradley’s smile was faint and tainted with the pain of bittersweet memories. It made your heart hurt for him. “Why are you here?” He asked. 

     “I’ve been assigned to chronicle the captain’s life, help prove that humans should be in the cockpit instead of-” 

     “No, I mean why are you here?” He nodded at your surroundings, gaze burning into you. 

     You shrugged as if it was an every day occurrence for you to face your impossible introverted self and talk to a near perfect stranger. “You needed someone.” You bit your lip. “I mean, someone had to tell you that you exceeded two hundred push ups.” 

     Bradley scoffed but amusement was washing the turmoil from his eyes. You stepped back as he got to his feet and leaned against the plane behind him. “You look good like that. With your hair up.” 

     The heat in your face tripled. You gave a breathless laugh and ran a hand through the strands of hair that had escaped from their disheveled knot you had created that morning. “Shut up.” 

     “Want me to stop?” 

     “No,” you smiled up at him carefully, heart skipping at the way he was smiling back at you. God, did you just do that? Change the emotion in his eyes from pained to happy? You didn’t think you had that kind of power, especially not with pilots. “Just, go shower.” You said, biting your lip as he grinned. 

     “Yes sir.” Bradley watched as you turned and started back the way you had come. “Hey, Riot?” 

     “Yeah?” You looked over your shoulder. 

     “You ever eat supper?” 

     It felt like you had been hit by a tank. Surely this man was not implying that he wanted to go on a date.

      “Yeah?” You replied. 

      “Nice,” Bradley nodded for a moment before pushing off the plane. “Good to know.” 

     Confused and giddy beyond belief, you turned on your heel and continued to walk ahead of him. Your brain tried frantically to process. What on earth had just happened? Was he asking you out? Was he kidding? 

     Your fists clenched as you forced yourself to breathe. Despite the confusing chaos in your mind one thing was painfully certain. Bradley wasn’t upset with you. In fact, he didn’t seem to mind at all that Maverick was your father. The question was, what would Maverick think? Your stomach did a twist. 

     Well, you thought, if Bradley’s flirting was all in your head then there was no reason to worry. And if, by some random and highly unlikely miracle, Bradley was interested in you, then you would find out quick how Maverick felt about it. At least you knew that he wouldn’t ground him. As you stated earlier, he needed all the talent he could get. You just hoped that Bradley knew how to fly a jet with a black eye. 

Part 3

Fanfic Masterlist

#rooster #rooster bradshaw imagine #rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster x reader #rooster x you #rooster x y/n #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x y/n #bradley x you #bradley x reader #bradley x y/n #top gun #top gun maverick #top gun movie #top gun maverick movie #top gun rooster #top gun maverick rooster #rooster fluff #rooster imagine #top gun imagine

[hugh-lauries-bald-spot]

“you just find gay subtext in everything” no the fuck i dont the gay subtext was presented to me on an ornate silver platter

#this is about #top gun #and #top gun maverick #icemav #sereshaw #hangster #rooster x hangman #hangman x rooster #iceman x maverick #maverick x iceman