#rooster x original female character | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sometimes-i-write-good · 1 year

Text

5 + 1

Top Gun: Maverick - Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x f!pilot reader (callsign: Fallbeil)

4.4k || 5 times Bob remembers your little quirks and habits, and 1 time you remember his.

===

Genre: Fluff, crushing, love confessions

CW: mentions of drinking, swearing

Author’s Note: Bob is such an acts of service kind of person - I can feel it deep in my soul. Also, I thought the idea of him ending up with someone who has a scary ass callsign like Guillotine (which is Fallbeil in German) despite him being a cinnamon roll would be the funniest thing in the world. || cross-posted on ao3

===

===

The first time you noticed something was because Hangman had that stupid ass look on his face again. That same one he always had, the only one he had in all honesty. The one that, recently, only ever seemed to be directed at you and that pissed you off most of all.

“What?” He asked, but the smirk pulling his lips back into the stupid, smug fucking smile told you clearly: he knew exactly what.

“Leave her alone, Bagman. I’m not in the mood today,” Rooster said, and you could tell he meant it. HIs voice sounded surprisingly tired considering mornings were his prime time of existence. Maverick insisted on calling these meetings earlier and earlier, chinking away at everyone's stability, and it was proving to be too much for even the earliest of risers.

Hangman scoffed, pressing his hand to his chest, and feigning offense. “Why am I always the bad guy? What if today was the day Fallbeil finally snapped and did something to me instead?”

You rolled your eyes. “If I snapped, you wouldn’t be holding a conversation with me. Your head wouldn’t even be attached to your body.”

“Living up to your name as always, doll.”

Rooster slid into one of the empty chairs at the conference table, slapping down a notebook, and turned to look at you. “I’ll punch him if you want.”

“I’m perfectly capable of throwing my own punches, thank you.” The look on Rooster’s face said he didn’t trust you not to take it too far.

“And coffee mugs.” Hangman glanced over his shoulder; eyes trained on the spot where a cracked, open travel cup lay open. Opened and spilled, everywhere. “Which I managed to dodge.”

“Try to dodge my-” but your insult was cut short by Rooster saying, “Coffee? You hate coffee.”

You set your lips in a thin, embarrassed line. “He told me that it was tea.”

“And you believed him?” Rooster snorted.

You slunk back into your chair, crossing your arms with a pout. “It’s early! I’m basically the walking dead right now, birdbrain.”

As with every mission of this sheer level of importance, your anxiety had been too great to let you sleep. Usually Bob or Phoenix or Rooster, the early risers of the group, would be up to go for a job or hit the gym with you. You were up well before all of them today and had taken it upon yourself to go for a run, shower, and be painfully early to this briefing. You had hoped Bob would be the first one there, he typically was, but the universe was out to get you because instead of those sweet, doe eyes behind some thick-lensed glasses all you got was a stupid pair of lips messing with a toothpick.

“Don’t be too hard on, Rooster.” Phoenix called out, walking into the hangar with Fanboy, Payback, and Coyote in tow. “I already smoked him during our run this morning. He’s fragile.”

Before Rooster could get all up in arms or Hangman could jump on a moment of vulnerability, Maverick walked in. He had his way to the head of the table while everyone else found their seats. “Good morning, everyone.” Tired, disjointed voices repeated the sentiment, pulling a smile onto Mav’s face. “I see we’re all ready for a busy day. What do you say we get started?”

“Sorry, I’m late, sir!” Bob’s voice comes from behind you. “I couldn’t find the kettle.”

Kettle, you thought to yourself, but Maverick just waved for him to sit down and continued talking. Before Bob headed over to the only open seat, by Hangman of all people, he placed a small cup of tea in front of you without a word. In your favorite mug, too. You brought it up to your lips to taste it… and it was perfect. Exactly the way you liked it.

‘Thank you,’ you mouthed at him after he sat down. Bob just nodded and focused his attention on Maverick. You did the same, not even registering that he didn’t have a cup of anything for himself.

–

The second time you noticed something nice Bob did for you was during poker night. Fanboy and Payback had decided tempting fate and coming out the other side had bonded you all for life. A point any of you could hardly disagree with. That mission was not something any of you were supposed to come back from. So, the idea of a movie night had been tossed around, but Payback always tried to guess the endings and Hangman tried to outdo the one-liners and Rooster just had to know if he knew that actor from another movie - needless to say, movie nights were shelved very fast.

Then the idea of bar hopping came about, followed by karaoke night, followed by trivia night. Each of which ended up in all of you spending too much money on booze and drunkenly embarrassing yourselves with horrible vocals or blatantly wrong answers to obscure history questions. You all settled on the idea of a game night. It seemed to work well enough. A ‘family’ dinner followed by a board game. Except for the fact that Payback instead of placing bets no matter if it was CandyLand or Monopoly, which Coyote would double, and Hangman would triple. Leaving you all spending just as much money as you had at the bar.

It was Bob who brought up the idea of having poker nights. Something with betting already designed into it so that none of you had to worry about emptying your bank accounts at the end of the night. That was the problem with setting elite competitors against one another, they never knew when to quit.

You’d all been kept relatively close to TOPGUN, usually stationed a few hours away max. Months where distance wasn’t a problem, you all tried to meet once a week. If one of you weren’t stateside, then once a month worked just fine. Six months into poker nights so far and you’d been able to have at least one every month. Every time the list of things to bring shifted down a person, so that each time a new person would be in charge of chips or appetizers or the main entree, etc. It was a system that worked with military precision.

Until the one time it didn’t.

Bob was the last through the door of Payback’s small apartment. At least, it looked small with so many people crammed in there. “Here, I got special plates this time.” He raised them high above his head like a prize. Large, sturdy, and compartmentalized. Like the trays you’d get in the mess hall or for a school lunch.

The statement caused immediate uproar.

“I was on plates and napkins!” Coyote said around a mouthful of sour cream and onion chips, brought by yours truly. And Hangman started making comments about how if no one was going to follow the list, then he wasn’t going to either.

“You weren’t in charge of plates, Bob!” Fanboy tried his best not to get too worked up over it. He had created a spreadsheet of everyone’s responsibilities. Verifying everyone knew their roles was his main role in making sure this whole operation ran smoothly. “Please tell me you still brought dessert.”

“I’ve got dessert. My grandma came out this weekend and made a peach cobbler.”

The mention of his grandma’s baking ensured the pitchforks and torches were put away, for now. That woman had godly skills in the kitchen. You would gladly sit down and eat an entire cobbler of hers by yourself in one sitting.

Coyote, still hurt by his duty being impeded on, asked, “So then what are the plates for?”

“Fallbeil doesn’t like when her food touches,” Bob said as though it were the most common knowledge in the world. “You guys always insist on getting plates that are way too small.”

He set down the plates on the counter, followed by the pie, and went to take off his shoes and didn’t bring anything like that up again for the rest of the night.

–

The third time you noticed something nice that Bob did for you was a day he had to leave early. A helicopter was coming to pick him and Phoenix up to take them overseas. Just for a few days, or so said those in charge, and you knew how easily a few days could change to a few weeks to a few months.

The thought of possibly not seeing them for a while aggravated you. It meant being stuck on a ship hundreds of miles from the nearest shore without your two best friends. You’d known what you were signing up for when you first started. The military liked to keep their secrets. At any moment you could be swept away for a mission, but it still felt unfair when you woke up only to realize that your wingwoman and her WSO are replaced by strangers.

Back soon, take care.

Not signed but the handwriting was so obviously Bob. Cursive with careful, purposeful loops. Hangman tried to tear him apart for taking so much care in his notes during the pre-briefs before the uranium mission. The insults died out fast once everyone realized he had chicken scratch for handwriting. Funny how spreading a rumor Hangman deserved the callsign Rooster over Bradley could put him in his place so quickly.

Back soon, take care.

You stared at the sticky note, so carefully pressed against the outside of your locker. It was easy to imagine the conversation among him and Phoenix.

“I’m leaving her a note.”

“She’ll be fine, Bob. We’ve got to go.”

“Four words.”

He’d gotten into the habit of leaving sticky note updates in between lengthy letters. They held more emotion than an email or text, and you found that you liked it more than digital words on a screen. You could trace your fingers over each letter. Pretend as though he were pressed up in the seat next to you like when you’d go to the Hard Deck on a busy night and everyone would shove together in a few booths. A closeness you’d found yourself longing for in all moments spent together despite there being no reason for the two of you to share an armchair in the common room.

You had crushes before. A few relationships littered your history of schooling, but you, like many others who had graduated from TOPGUN, assumed the sky was to be your first and only love. And then Bob showed up with his quiet, gentle ways and your heart would soar every time he walked into a room. There were days you went without talking, but you could count on some kind of a note to be waiting for you on your door or waiting for you on the control of your jet.

Reminders that he was thinking of you. The way a best friend would. Surely. That’s all it had to be. No sense in constructing something out of nothing. Something that could wreck this perfect routine the two of you had created in one another’s lives.

You peeled the sticky note off the front of your locker to place inside, out of harm's way. Your finger traced each letter. It was likely he and Phoenix were off somewhere with Coyote or Rooster or Hangman doing something far more dangerous than the intelligence patrol you’d been assigned to. As you swung open your locker, you wished you’d had enough sense to write him a letter before he’d left. Something reminding him and Phoenix to be safe, but you hadn’t known he was leaving. You hadn’t even let the thought cross your mind.

“Oh, Bob,” you sighed.

A smile tugs its way onto your face. He’d left a mug in your locker. Not filled with tea this time, but with pens and highlighters and all your favorite stationary to use on your paperwork. You usually had a pencil case with you filled with pens that flowed smoothly and didn’t smudge or highlighters that didn’t bleed through the page.

He must have packed extra in his bag in case you’d forgotten that pencil case, which you had. But that wasn’t the best part. Somehow he’d managed to keep a rose alive and blooming to stick amongst the stationary. For, what it seemed to you, the sole purpose of making you smile.

–

The fourth time you noticed something nice that Bob did for you was at Coyote’s birthday cookout. You were running late. Very late. More late than you’d ever been in your whole life to a point that you would have turned around if you could have, but you had been stuck on a highway without an exit for miles on end. The need to pee had never been stronger.

Stuck in the literal sense. Construction fed into traffic fed into cars stopping for no reason at all fed into fender benders fed into your frustration. “Please just move!” You shouted at the trail of brake lights in front of you. All you had to do was make it to the next exit two miles away.

But no one met your frustrated request. Instead, the standstill continued. You were destined to never arrive at this party. It had been weeks since you’d seen everyone together in one spot. Poker night had been postponed to tomorrow. Bound to be a dismal affair of hangovers and stale chips left out in bowls overnight. A slice of heaven on earth. Though, you would say that for just about anything if it meant being released from a fucking prison of a car.

Your phone went off. The distinct sound of big band music filling your car. Bob’s ringtone.

“Where are you?” His voice came through the other line at the same moment you shouted, “I want to rip my head off!”

An amused chuckle filled your car which only caused you to fume further. “I’m serious, Robert. This two-hour drive has become four- maybe five. I lost count when I had to come to a full and complete stop for the three millionth time today. It would be so much easier if Coyote had a runway in his backyard. Then I could just fly there-”

“Fallbeil,” Bob cut in, “are you almost here?”

“I’m a mile from my exit. I should be there in twenty. If I’m allowed to take my foot off the brake for more than a few seconds.” You let out a loud groan. “I’m going to stop at a gas station because I think my bladder might explode. So expect me in thirty actually-”

Bob laughed and spoke once more, saving you from yet another breathless tangent. “I’m excited to see you.”

You smiled to yourself. Grinning at the stopped cars in front of you like an idiot. “Yeah?”

“Have I ever not been?”

“I’m excited to see you too.” You could envision Bob’s own shy grin. No, you couldn’t hear the sounds of the party going on around him. He had closed himself off alone in a room to talk to you, which would mean the smile would be big and beaming. “Coyote enjoying himself?”

“I think he might have cried when Natasha put on the birthday playlist she made for him.”

“She’s good at that.”

“Good?” Bob laughed. “She’s elite at it.” Then, after a moment of comfortable silence fell over the two of you he said, “Want me to stay on the phone until you show up?”

If it were a normal poker night, you would have jumped on the offer. Phone calls with Bob had become a staple in that routine in one another’s lives. Letters and notes were not nearly enough to tide the two of you over. But today was a special occasion.

“No,” you told him. “I’ll be there soon.” He deserved to go enjoy the party. Not be tied up in a phone call where you were bound to blow your lid if the car in front of you did not speed up.

“Be careful. Drive safe.” The line clicked.

Be careful, you turned the words over in your head wondering what they would sound like punctuated with a kiss every morning when you headed out the door.

You turned down Coyote’s street, knowing exactly what you’d find. Cars taking every spot. Coyote was the most popular out of the crew. Charming personality, willingness to help everyone so much as passing by, and good looks. The combination needed for a party of the century.

And the shouts of excitement that flowed from his backyard told you just that was happening. Without you, and it would continue to go on without you if you couldn’t find an open spot to park. Bob waited at the end of Coyote’s packed driveway, hands stuffed into his jeans. A surprising amount of muscle strained beneath the button up shirt he wore to every part. More cars shoved onto the asphalt and spilled over onto the lawn.

Bob waved, waited patiently for you to park the car in the middle of the street, and then came around to the driver's side of the car. “Hey,” he said as he popped open your door. “How was the drive?”

You shot him a look. One that immediately set that bright, beautiful smile on his face. “Funny.”

“Here, get out.”

“What?”

“Get out. Go inside and say hi.” He leaned over to unbuckle you and the scent of his cologne tickled your nose. “I have a plate of food for you in the oven, on low so it stays warm. There’s one in the fridge too with the cold stuff.”

“Bob-”

“They’re all separated.” He waved you out of the car, grabbing your hand to help, and pressed a kiss to your cheek. “I’m glad you’re here, Fallbeil.”

You saw him again ten minutes later because he had to park two blocks away and walk back.

–

The fifth time you really noticed Bob going out of his way for you was a few months into the two of you moving in together. Solely as roommates, two best friends making the most of a perfect situation. Rent was going up, you had an extra room, and Bob had just gotten hired as an instructor at TOPGUN. The timing couldn’t have been better.

In truth, nothing could be better. The two of you fit perfectly into each other’s lives. Bob with his early habits. Having tea on the table for you alongside the crossword section of the newspaper he insisted on reading every morning. The hardest word always filled in as a starting point. He’d saved you the frustration of straining your mind over a word you couldn’t have dreamed up in the wildest corners of your imagination.

The preference over sticky notes as communication over texts still remained the same. Left on the mirror in your shared bathroom always signed with “be careful” or “take care.” Sometimes there is nothing of importance to say, but Bob would write those two words anyway as a reminder.

You’d leave voicemails if it was something that needed your immediate attention - talking on the phone to Bob became a bright spot in your week. You tried your hardest to leave them only for emergencies but hearing his voice every day had spoiled you. Sometimes your mind would lock on something you would absolutely have to tell him. Then you would find yourself pulling out your phone, typing in his number, and putting it away with a great sigh. You had planes to fly, he had students to teach, and the torture of being apart for a few hours each day made returning home to him all the sweeter. Returning home to movie nights or long walks on the beach or stories of students who remind Bob of each member of the Dagger Crew.

Phoenix would crash often when she got called back to TOPGUN, and Bradley hung around often enough seeing that Mav and Penny had made their lives here. Everyone cycled through at some point. Even Hangman had a welcome place on your couch if he ever needed it.

There was one night Jake had spent the night. Out of the blue and completely inconvenient as was the case with Hangman, but he offered to cook dinner while the two of you were at work and you came home to a good meal and surprisingly good company. What a sight to see the three of you laughing at a small table.

You hadn’t minded Hangman staying over. Though he did scare the shit out of you when he knocked on your door and let himself into your room to talk. “You know he likes you,” he had said, perched on the corner of your bed with that same stupid ass look on his face that meant trouble. “I think he might even be in love with you.”

“Bagman-”

“Hey, I come in here to tell you some life-altering news and you start with insulting me.” Hangman had let out a low whistle. “Think about it, Fallbeil.”

“What if it ruins everything? We’re doing so well.”

“What if it changes everything for the better?”

You hadn’t expected those words to play in your head as often as they did when Hangman finally left. It had been weeks since you’d last seen him. Poker night was tonight. He was hosting, and you had a feeling he was going to corner you with all sorts of questions as to if you’d made a move on Bob yet. A foolish notion. Bob might not be a skittish dog, but making a move on him still might cause spontaneous combustion. You were just trying to figure out which one of you it would be.

What could be the right time to tell your best friend and roommate that you loved him? That you have always wanted to be more?

You thought it over as you wiped sleep from your eyes and made your way into the bathroom. Bob had left earlier than usual this morning. It was a test day for the students and he was nothing if not prepared. Likely that kind, painfully chirpy teacher in the early hours of the day.

There was a sticky note on the mirror. As expected. Longer than usual. Unexpected.

Took your car this morning. Saw you needed an oil change. Be home late, then he can head to Bagman’s. Hope that’s okay. My keys are on the counter. Be safe. Love you.

You traced those last two words with the tip of your finger. It was the first time he’d added those two words.

And they fit so naturally on the note. Like they always belonged there.

–

The one time (the first time) you realized you were going out of your way to do things because you loved Robert Floyd when you went into the mall with a head full of ideas to get for Rooster’s birthday and came out twenty minutes later with one thing. One thing not for Rooster.

A model plane for Bob. Before he’d gotten so overwhelmed with his responsibilities at TOPGUN to cease having many hobbies, he’d built model planes. It’s what had gotten him into a love of planes. At least, that’s what he had told you one night at the Hard Deck, when the two of you were shoved up against one another.

Growing up in a small midwestern farm town didn’t give him many chances growing up to be around planes, but he’d watch the ones that flew over crops with rapt interest. He memorized flight patterns, sat alongside fields, and watched them every chance he got. Then, in the late nights where he only had his imagination to keep him company, Bob built model planes and memorized their histories.

“I’ve always wanted to be around planes.” He had slurred the words a bit back then. One too many sips of beer between handfuls of peanuts. “I kept them around me as much as I could.”

You hadn’t been able to figure out how crop planes became fighter jets in his history, but more stories came out as the two of you moved in together. Dismissive comments about school bullies. Talks about how he knew he wasn’t the strongest, but had always felt the need to prove himself. It seemed to fit into this idea people created of him - always a bit behind the rest. You respected him for sticking to what people told him he couldn’t do and making a name for himself in spite of it all.

And you loved that he trusted you enough to bring you in on those hobbies of his. Building fighter jets in the low light of desk lamps and night lights. Reminding you of the purpose of each piece. Telling the history of each plane. But your favorite part of all was when the two of you would build a jet you were flying and he would include all your statistics, everything you’ve accomplished, and, when you caught him in rare form, things Bob imagined you would do that would etch your name into the very fabric of history.

“Did you get a present for Bradley?” He asked, hearing the click of the door behind you. There was a rag thrown over his shoulder. Bob turned to face you with a smile. In the midst of cooking, glasses slightly fogged from whatever it was he was cooking, and your heart couldn’t take it.

“N-no,” you said, tripping up on your words. “I, um, I forgot.”

“But on the phone you said you couldn’t wait to show me what you got?” He tilted his head, watching as you kicked off your shoes, and placed your shopping bag on the table. “I hope you’re not trying to sign your name onto my gift, Fallbeil. I spent three months finding a vintage record of ‘Great Balls of Fire’ for him.”

You smiled at his thoughtfulness. “No, Robert, I will not steal credit for your gift. He’ll know it’s from you anyway.” You took a deep, shaky breath. “I got something for you instead.”

Bob’s brows scrunched in confusion. “Me, but it’s Bradley’s birthday?”

You pulled the model F-18 from the bag and held it out towards him. Your hands shook slightly. Silly considering the two of you were always going out of your way to do things for each other. Plates and oil changes and parking cars. Small things. Nothing as momentous as a declaration of pure understanding of one another.

He said your name with a softness you’d never heard before. As though he were praying.

“I love you.” You said it at the same time as him. And the words fell so naturally from both your lips. Like they always belonged there.

===

ask and you shall receive (taglist): @whoeverineedtobe @dhwanishah09

435 notes · View notes

filmtv2022 · 1 year

Text

All Series/Works Masterlist:

I'm going to compile my series masterlists & any standalone pieces that I write in this post (at least for now). The look of the list will change as I write more. Happy reading!

Please assume that ALL works are 18+

All reader pairings are written as female readers unless otherwise stated in the description

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

(Series) To The Bitter End: Doc Holliday x Earp!reader (completed)

15 Chapters (word count - approx. 47k)

Story Summary: The youngest Earp sibling joins her older brothers in Tombstone with the hope that the new climate will ease her consumption/tuberculosis symptoms and reconnect her family. But as she settles into this new life, will she find something worth living for? Someone who can tame the loneliness? --------------------------------------------- (Series) By Your Side: Rhett Abbott x reader (completed)

23 Chapters (word count - 115k)

Story Description: Returning to Wabang was never something that Y/N had planned on, but with the loss of her father leaving her the sole owner of her family’s farm she must go back. Time spent at home forces Y/N to face the people she left behind. Will Y/N be able to navigate the murky waters of her past and present as the lines between them blur?

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

(One-shot) One More Ride: Rhett Abbot x Reader

(18+ MDNI) Rhett & Y/N spend their last night in Wabang together. Pushing away the weight of the world by falling into one another's arms.

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

(One-shot) When does it stop?: Jake Seresin x original character (reference to Bradley Bradshaw x original character)

Word Count - 397

Based on the thought of what would have happened if Bradley had been married before the Uranium mission, and Jake had been unable to save him and Maverick.

________________________________ (One-shot) Coming Home: Mickey ‘Fanboy’ Garcia x Reader

Word Count - approx. 5k

Story Summary: Mickey and Y/N are visiting Y/N’s hometown while away on leave. Shockingly, the pair find themselves invited to her childhood friend’s Halloween gathering. This might sound like a dream, but it’s been four years since Y/N’s had any real contact with her friend, but with a little encouragement she decided to face her fears and go. While Y/N expects awkwardness to ensue, she certainly never expected to catch a raging case of baby fever.

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

(One-shot) Summer Haze: Robert 'bob' Floyd x Reader

Word Count: approx. 3k

Story Summary: After years of dancing around their feelings for one another, Y/N and Bob find their way back to one another at a community potluck.

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

(Mini-series - Completed)

Together: Jake 'Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Together Part 2: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Together Part 3: Jake 'hangman' Seresin x Reader

Word Count: approx. 6k

Story Summary: Y/N and Jake have been friends since their time at the Naval Academy. The two of them acting as each others’ refuge during every up and down. But when a death in the family rocks Y/N’s foundation the two are forced to acknowledge the reality that their feelings for one another go far beyond just a friendship.

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

(Series) Moving Foward Masterlist

Y/N Kazansky is many things. A loyal daughter, a world-class fighter pilot, and a fierce protector of those she holds most dear. But beyond the shiny exterior is a wounded woman looking to find her way back to the life she'd known and loved. When a mission brings her back to Top Gun, she is forced to confront the sins of her past while focusing on the uncertain future falling into place in front of her.

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

(Series) (In the Bleak Midwinter)

Left with the dying wish of her husband, Y/N finds herself in Birmingham in search of one Thomas Shelby. Old wounds for both will be brought to light as the pair finds a way to heal from the hurt of the past together.

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

(One-shot) Every Part of You - Aziraphale x Reader

(One-shot) Ineffable Agony - Aziraphale x Reader x Crowley (gender neutral reader)

132 notes · View notes

princessmisery666 · 1 year

Text

Flowers of Fate

Summary: Serendipity, luck, coincidence – call it what you will, but Bradley is sure his parents may have had a hand in his good fortune.

Warnings/Genres/Troupes: fluff, slight angst, meet-cute.

W/C: 2.5k

Characters: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw, OFC. Small Parts/Mentions: Carole & Nick Bradshaw (the OG relationship goals), Penny Benjamin, Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell, Dagger Squad.

Pairing: Rooster x OFC

A/N: Not sure where this one came from.

Betas: @deanwinchesterswitch // @writercole

Graphics: made by me.

Master Lists: Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw // All The Fandoms

The sunrise accompanied Bradley’s jog around the lake like it did most mornings. He loved to get up before the sun and go jogging, not running, jogging. If he ran, he couldn’t appreciate the sound of the early bird song or how the rising sun shimmered across the lake while he did laps around the well-trampled path.

He savored the quiet, never putting music on, enjoying the peace before his day of jet engines and Hangman’s ego truly started.

Bradley’s mom had shown him the lake years before. It was where she and Goose snuck off for time alone while Mav babysat a much younger Bradley. A large oak stood at the lake’s edge, and Nick, being the romantic he was, had carved their initials and the date into it - ‘To show our love will last an eternity, like this tree.’ Carole had told him that story so many times. And his dad had been right; their love was eternal and forever immortalized by that tree.

His parents were gone, and the tree had aged, but new life sprang up every year around its base, which always made Bradley smile. It was as if their love still lived, and they were letting him know they were watching over him. He felt close to them here and often imagined them smiling down on him.

Though it was his favorite place to jog, today, he had another reason to be there. It was the date that had been carved into the bark, and he had a bouquet of purple calla lilies, his mother’s favorite, that he planned to leave at its base.

With years of growth, large branches now shaded the path, creating dappled patterns on the packed dirt below. As Bradley rounded the curve, the sturdy trunk coming into view, he saw her. Leaning against the oak, her hand covering his parents’ initials for balance while stretching her legs out behind her. His feet stalled, rooting themselves in place as he watched her roll her shoulders and neck, limbering up. Eyes closed, she twisted, stretching her back, and he was stunned by her beauty—face free of makeup, full lips, curves and edges that begged to be squeezed and hair that looked velvety smooth with skin to match—a goddess in lycra and sneakers.

“Thank you,” he whispered up to the sky, believing it was a sign from his parents.

Eyelids fluttering open, she caught his gaze, giving him a smile that was prettier than the newly budding flowers around her feet. “Good morning,” she said.

“Hey,” he smiled.

She kept eye contact for a moment, then looked down at the flowers in his hand, and he realized he'd been gawking.

Way to be creepy, Bradshaw.

“Those are beautiful,” she said, “Calla lilies, right?”

“Um, yeah,” he said.

“Those are my favorite. How did you know?” She teased, smiling.

He chuckled, and a second before his brain told him to take a step closer and start a real conversation, someone jogged into his peripheral. A tall, light-haired man ran to her side and kissed her cheek.

“I’ve been waiting for almost half an hour,” she griped at the man, “you're lucky I love you!”

Bradley’s heart sank to his feet, and a weight of discontent settled on his shoulders. With a heavy sigh, he continued on his way. He’d set the flowers down on his next lap.

It wasn’t meant to be.

Since Maverick introduced the Dagger squad to Dogfight Football, they went down to the beach as often as possible to play a game and let off steam after a long day of training.

Jake threw a long ball, and Bradley jogged backward, watching it arch through the sky. The ball hit the sand, and he reached out to catch it on the bounce but missed, fingers skimming the side as the oval ball bounced out of reach.

“Here,” a familiar voice said, and he turned to see the woman from the lake holding the ball out to him.

“Uh, thanks,” Bradley muttered, taking the ball from her outstretched hand. He was thankful he was wearing sunglasses because his eyes roamed her body from head to toe. Her hair was down, sitting in thick waves over her left shoulder. She’d applied light makeup, a gray sweater, and jeans that accentuated the curves he’d admired earlier.

“Calla lily guy, right?” she asked, recognizing him too.

“Yeah,” he nodded and felt his cheeks heat up. He’d been staring again. He wiped his sweaty palm on his jeans and then offered it to her, “I’m -”

“Hen, come on! Penny’s got our drinks ready,” the light-haired man from earlier stood on the deck of the bar, waving her over.

Bradley stuttered. Her name was Hen. It had to be divine intervention. Had to be. Like a fish out of water, mouth opening and closing, he tried to find air to form words.

Before he succeeded, Jake yelled, “Rise and shine, chicken boy. Get off the perch and back in the game!”

“Looks like we’re both wanted elsewhere,” she chuckled and shied from Bradley's gaze, tucking her hands into the back pocket of her jeans, “Good luck with the game.”

He watched her cross the beach, and she looked back over her shoulder at him once, smirking. He was gawking again, but he couldn’t look away. She sat on the bench opposite the man who had called her, and they spoke for a moment. She laughed, eyes creasing, shoulder shaking, and tipped her head back. It was as blinding as looking into the sun.

Until Hen had left, she’d had Bradley’s attention. Distracted by her lilting laughter, he kept glancing over, catching her eye while she chatted and joked with her friends. The lack of attention to the game subsequently meant a loss for his team.

Hangman would never let them live it down, and as Bradley was to blame, he’d promised that drinks were on him for the night. That was the only reason he’d gone to the Hard Deck, to pay off his debt.

He entered to rapturous cheers and orders of “Tequila and beers!”

So it was going to be one of those nights. Bad decisions that led to good stories to tell. As he made his way through the crowd to the bar, he made a mental note to give his keys to Bob.

“Hey, Mav,” Rooster said, clapping the man on the back as he reached the bar.

“Hi, kid,” Maverick smiled.

“Hey, Penny,” he greeted, “can I get six beers, six shots of tequila, and a soda, please?”

“Opening a tab?” Penny asked, lining up the glasses on the bar.

“Probably best.”

Pete leaned back to look at him, quickly deducing, “So you lost a bet, huh?”

“I did,” Rooster nodded, shaking his head, “let myself get distracted.”

“Come on,” Mav chided, “I taught you better than that.”

“She was a real pretty distraction,” Rooster defended, “and I don’t know, kinda felt like…” he cut himself off. It seemed ridiculous to be talking about fate and love at first sight. “It’s stupid. I barely spoke three words to her, but it all felt like a sign. She was at Mom and Dad’s tree, then she picked up Dad’s ball, and I just… I don’t know. I can’t explain it.”

“You sound like your dad talking about Carole,” Mav chuckled fondly, but quickly it shifted to a sad smile. His focus drifted to a spot beyond the room, losing himself in memories how he often did.

Bradley turned back to Penny. “Maybe you should pour an extra shot,” he sighed as he scrubbed his hand down his face.

“You got it,” Penny replied, tapping her knuckles on the counter as she turned to pull their favored brand of liquor. “Hey, Hen, grab six bottles of Budweiser’s.”

Bradley’s head snapped up as he heard her name, and his eyes landed on the brunette he’d seen twice - now three times - in the same day. She was focused on popping the caps off the bottles before gathering them up, and as soon as she lifted her head, her eyes landed on Bradley.

“Hey you,” she said as if they were old friends. “Three times in one day? Is this a coincidence, or are you stalking me?”

He stuttered, struggling to find a suitable reply that didn’t make him sound like a creep. Instead, for the third time, all he could do was gawk at her.

Hen laughed, placing the bottles on the bar in front of him beside the tequila shots. She winked, “I hope it’s the latter.”

Bradley’s brain continued to forget the concept of speech, his lips moved, but no words came out, and he couldn’t stop staring. Her eyes were soft and kind, the color of burnt caramel, and he was drowning in them.

Wait, she said something, right? He grabbed a glass and shot back the tequila with a wince, hoping the sour taste would kickstart his brain.

“Oh, this is going about as well as it did when your Dad met your Mom,” Maverick snickered under his breath.

“Henrietta, this is Bradley,” Penny offered, “Bradley, this is Henrietta.”

“Hen,” she said, “my grandma was Henrietta. I’m Hen.” She stretched her hand over the bar. “Nice to finally officially meet you.”

Hen. Her name is Hen?! Bradley stared at her hand, and it took Maverick literally kicking him to get his brain to catch up. He shot his hand out, knocking over a bottle, and she jumped back, a splash of beer splattering her sweater, before he could make the connection.

Mortified, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “Oh shit, I’m so sorry.”

Penny set about cleaning up the spill and sent Hen out the back to attend to her shirt.

“I’m an idiot,” Rooster grumbled, watching her maneuver through the crowd to the back. He sighed, exhaling the embarrassment he felt. “I guess it doesn’t matter anyway. She has a boyfriend.” He shrugged, the image of the man crisp in his mind. “He’s as gorgeous as she is, probably a pediatrician or saves puppies or something, blonder than Hangman too, so I’m not even her type.”

A boisterous bark of laughter startled Bradley, and he turned toward the sound. Of course, it was the gorgeous boyfriend, and now that Bradley was closer, he saw he had amazing eyes too. Flecks of gold highlighted the green hues that couldn’t decide if they were hazel.

“You think I’m gorgeous?” He asked, smiling.

“Yes, and oh crap,” realization hit Bradley like a bat to the chest, and he was mortified all over again. “You’ve been there the entire time I’ve been swooning over your girlfriend.”

“And throwing drinks on her,” Gorgeous eyes laughed.

“I didn’t… it was an…”

The man’s laughter intensified, and he slapped a hand on Bradley’s shoulder, “I’m messing with you,” he interrupted. “I’m Derek, the gay brother,” he explained, laughter subdued to an amused chuckle, “And for the record, I do save puppies.”

“She’s single?”

“Very much so,” Derek said. “And she’s been swooning over you too. Seeing you, she thought it was a sign. She’d sworn off men - bad breakup a while ago. Decided to dip her toe back in the dating pool, but it’s been a bit disastrous. Seeing you today, with her favorite flowers, at her favorite place to jog, wearing a t-shirt of her favorite band, she thought the universe was trying to tell her something.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Bradley felt his heart skip a beat. It had been a sign for both of them. “Excuse me,” he said, already pushing through the queue at the bar.

He ignored the questions yelled at him by his friends. Their drinks could wait. He had something he needed to do.

Hen was at the sink, dabbing a damp cloth against the stain, when he barged through the door, but she looked up at him as the doors swung shut, blocking out the noisy bar.

He gawked again, tongue-tied, a million questions firing through his head, but he didn’t ask any of them. Her friendly smile began to fall, perhaps wondering if he was suffering from a mental breakdown.

“Your name is Hen,” he said. She nodded once. He walked closer while he rambled, “Your name is Hen, and I’m Rooster, and you like Calla Lilies and my mom and dad’s tree, and you have a gay brother, not a boyfriend. And your name is Hen. And now I’ve said that three times but that’s not what I wanted to say, but you're so beautiful I keep forgetting what words are, and then you smile at me, and I forget how to breathe, and I’m usually not this much of an idiot, but I think I might… ”

She stole his breath by placing her hands flat on his chest. “Take a breath.”

Oh yeah. Breathe between sentences. If he got out of this alive, he’d have a serious word with himself.

She waited for him to follow her suggestion before asking, “What did you want to say?”

‘Please have my babies’ seemed a little too forward, so he settled for, “Can I take you out for dinner tomorrow night?”

There was no hesitation or thought, only a playful, happy smile followed by a decisive and firm “yes.”

Bradley may have lost the football game, but Hen seemed to be a good luck charm, she’d said yes to a date, and now he just couldn’t lose. Darts, pool, cards he’d won every game, looking over at her every time he scored or won a hand, to find her looking back at him.

He’d decided against drinking. He didn’t need any more fuel to make a fool of himself, so he left his tab open for the rest of the Daggers and whistled a happy tune as he strolled to his Bronco.

“Hey, Rooster,” Hen called.

His heart sank as he spun to face her. She looked uneasy, and he knew she was going to tell him she’d changed her mind about the date. She stopped in front of him and smiled, but there was something in it he couldn’t quite put his finger on, nerves, remorse perhaps.

“I’ve been thinking about it all day, and if I don’t do it, I’ll be nervous for our date, and I don’t want to be nervous. Not scared, nervous, more excited, nervous. You know? I want to enjoy it so um… could you… I mean, can I… screw it.” She stepped into his space, swiftly cupped his cheeks, and rose to the tips of her toes while pulling him down to meet her lips.

He was shocked for maybe half a second before he leaned into her, wrapping his arms around her waist to tug her closer to him. She tasted like tequila. He imagined she’d done a shot for liquid courage before following him outside.

It may have lasted for a minute. It could have lasted for an hour. He didn’t know. He’d kissed a few women in his life, but nothing had ever felt like this, and he didn’t know it until her hand was wrapped around the back of his neck, pulling him in closer and deepening the kiss, but Bradley had been waiting for her.

Feedback in the form of a likes/comments/reblogs is like a forehead kiss and fuels the muses 💟

Master Lists: Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw // All The Fandoms

Tag list info.

Take To The Skies: @alexxavicry / @b3autyfuldisast3r / @fandom-princess-forevermore / @imjess-themess / @justagirlinafandomworld / @leigh70 / @letsbys-library / @shanimallina87 / @wildbornsiren / @writercole / @xoxabs88xox / @atarmychick007 / @genius2050

#top gun maverick #bradley bradshaw #rooster #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster x ofc #original female character #rooster x original female character #rooster fluff

41 notes · View notes

coyotesamachado · 2 years

Text

Wouldn’t you love to love her? 1/3

Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw and Original Female Character

Then Hangman is telling him to follow her, and it takes a moment for him to blink out of his reverie. He scrambles out his seat and Phoenix barks out a laugh. No one knows who else is going on the mission, but they all know that Mac will be one of those pilots. A lot of them would be lying if they said that they hadn’t known that from the minute she walked into the Hard Deck that first night. While all of them were cocky pilots, outwardly so, Mac was just confident. The rest of them were quick to try and discredit each other's abilities, trying to make themselves seem bigger and badder, but she just simply let her flying do the talking. However, with her being a guarantee to fly, it means there’s a guarantee that she might not come back, so maybe that affords her a few little luxuries.

Long time reader, first time publishing something for other people to read. This was heavily inspired, loosely based on "Rhiannon" by Fleetwood Mac. Apparently there's just something about Fleetwood Mac and shirtless men with a 80's editing wash that just gets to me. I say semi-reader insert because the main character is never identified by anything other than her callsign.

Callsign is "Mac". I know I'm so creative.

It has been about two weeks since I saw the movie so if anything is out of whack in terms of sequencing, I apologize. I also want to apologize if there's any mistakes in Americanisms. I am Australian, and though I have been writing for very long time as American characters, sometimes the Australian still peeks through.

This is cross posted from my AO3, link in the source.

WC: 5560.

Warnings: eventual smut, explicit language, explicit sexual content, drinking, safety first, gratuitous use of commas. Under the cut because it is 18+ Reader discretion is advised.

Part two. Part Three.

Who will be her lover?

They watch her take off, can hear the smile on her face when she speaks over the comms.

They were brought back to Top Gun because they were the best of the best, as Phoenix reminded them the night before, but when Mac takes to the air with a lightness and grace, even Hangman has to admit that she’s the best among them. She has this air of coolness that when she’s in the air, nothing phases her. She deals with the g-force amazingly and her breath control is insane. Hangman would make a comment about it if he wasn’t so impressed. She breathes out slowly as she pulls the F-18 into a straight climb, narrowly missing being “shot down” by Maverick. She barely makes a sound over the comms as she shoots through the sky, where they could hear everyone else’s heavy breaths, snide comments, and quick rebuffs. She flips her plane easily, dropping down behind Maverick in their dogfight exercise, her sight set on him as she aims, but he drops out quickly before the kill tone can sound.

They fly around for what feels like hours before Maverick’s breathing heavy and Mac’s hands are shaking. He tells her to land her plane, calling it a draw, and the rest of the class are looking at one another wondering what that means for her push-ups. She has sweat dripping down the back of her neck, the tank underneath her flight suit heavily drenched. Her breathing finally seems heavy, her chest heaving despite the broad grin on her face. She grips Maverick’s hand in a firm shake, and he’s shaking his head at her with a laugh. She passes him her helmet and walks back into the hanger to the slow clap from the rest of the team with the exception of Rooster who is still completing his push-ups.

She waits there while everyone else is showering and when he doesn’t come back once the hanger is cleared, she goes in search of him. Hondo isn’t out there anymore, but Rooster is still doing his push-ups.

“They’re all gone Rooster, you can stop,” she says as she approaches, but he only gives her a grunt in reply and continues.

She goes to walk away when she hears the choked-out sob. She doesn’t turn to stare, instead she sits down on the tarmac looking out over the runways. She’s not too far away but she’s close enough that he knows she’s there if he needs her.

She moves easily through the crowd, spinning and ducking and weaving through the hands and voices trying to capture her attention. Her feet move with the agility of a dancer, and she supposes that she was in another life. In another life, she was dancing on the stages of the world, high on tip toe, graceful and delicate. But it’s not another life, it’s this one so she’s dancing through the crowded bar, four beer bottles dangling from her nimble fingers.

“MAA-AAAC!!!!” rings through her ears in a singsong fashion and she grins as she approaches her new friends. Rooster’s voice is loud over the noise in The Hard Deck and it only makes her chuckle. Passing out the beers to Bob and Phoenix, she holds Rooster’s just out of reach, teasing it back and forth, frustration etched in his forehead until she holds it out a little too long and he’s able to grasp it, snatching it from her. Her laughter rings out loudly, and Bob’s and Phoenix's joins it until after Rooster has swallowed his first mouthful and gets over it.

She sits with them and brings her own bottle to her lips, tipping her head back for a moment, and Rooster can’t help but stare for a moment as her throat bobs when she swallows. Phoenix coughs when she catches him, and Mac opens her eyes glancing at the woman she considers her closest friend here as she continues to down her beer. She misses the way Rooster’s eyes darken, but Phoenix and Bob don’t. A look is shared between them before Rooster blinks and brings his eyes to anywhere but her.

“You look like you need a dance partner, Mac.”

Hangman’s in her ear, and her hips stutter from their swaying movement, the skirt of her dress still moving despite the sudden stop.

“And you think that’s going to be you?” she asks, a smirk appearing on her lips. She twirls away from him, her laughter following as she sways her way over to the bar and parks herself next to Bob.

“How many times do men need to hear the word no?” she asks him with a sigh before picking out a peanut from his bowl.

“Some men, only once,” he states factually, “But men like Hangman, probably another dozen.”

Mac smiles at the smirk on his face, happy to see him enjoying himself. Anything to bring Hangman down a peg and prop Bob up just a little more. His quiet demeanor reminds her of her own. She appreciates having him at Top Gun, a grounding force when it should be so easy to fall into a cocky stride alongside the other pilots.

“Do you need another drink?” she asks him, turning back to the bar to get Penny’s attention. He barely has a chance to answer before she’s ordering two beers on her tab and passing one over to Bob. Then she’s standing up again and dancing away. He can’t help but be impressed that she’s the same on the ground as she is in the air. She’s calm, cool and collected, never staying in one place too long and constantly dancing away from scenarios. He admires that about her.

She finds her way over to Phoenix, her eyes fixating on the other woman from the moment they land on her. She takes a swig of beer as she shimmies over to her. When she reaches her, her beer is thrust into Rooster’s hand without a sideways glance before she extends her other hand to Phoenix.

“Dance with me?” she asks, her whole body swaying to the music. Phoenix lets out a laugh before she finishes off her own beer. She shakes her head but takes Mac’s hand, allowing her to twirl her before pulling her close and pushing her away again. The smiles are bright on both their faces as Phoenix sidesteps while Mac spins around her. She pulls the other woman close, rocking their bodies together in a dance reminiscent of a funky waltz. They move like that for the rest of the song and the next before Phoenix pulls away, breathless with laughter.

“No, I need another drink,” she says, walking away from a pouting Mac. The guys around them rush to look away, like the two women were not the center of attention for the last five and a half minutes.

Mac turns, her eyes scanning over the guys around them. They settle on Rooster, seated on one of the chairs by the pool tables in the back. She takes a seat on his lap, wrapping an arm around in neck in a comfortable manner. While she is relaxed in her seat, taking her beer from his hand, he is significantly less comfortable. Her proximity was making him more drunk than her beer that he had been drinking. When his hand rests on her knee with nowhere else to put it, she smiles brightly at him, and he’d deny that he sits up straighter, his body tensing. His lips still twitch up in a smile in return. She sips at her beer as her attention turns back to the bar. Her fingers tap out a rhythm on his shoulder, humming happily. No one says anything about it being the longest they’ve ever seen her sit still when she isn’t in a plane.

She signals to Penny rather than getting up, a surprise to just about everyone around them. Rooster doesn’t say anything as she hands both of them their beers, an eyebrow raised and a questioning glint in her eye. Mac is watching everyone around them carefully, daring someone to say something, anything, but no one does. She stays seated on Rooster’s lap, and he refuses to make any movement that would make her run away like a frightened cat. He knows he’s not the one in control right now. She watches Phoenix attempt to beat Hangman in pool, her nails scratching gently at the hairs on the nape of Rooster’s neck and his thumb starts rubbing circles over the fabric of her dress until it slowly begins to ride up. He stills when he makes contact with her skin, but she doesn’t stop her own comforting movements, so he continues.

The night slows out and when Mac finally stands, she spins quickly, the skirt of her dress flaring out. Everyone in their team sees when she presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, but she has the kind of cool confidence that allows her to walk over to the bar without embarrassment despite the whistles. She closes out her tab and waltzes out of the bar with a wave of her hand to Bob and Phoenix, without a look back at him.

Rooster follows her, a quick nod to Penny who is grinning like the cat who got the cream at getting to see this all unfold. He walks out into the parking lot and she captures his attention like she practiced it. She’s swaying to the beat inside her head as she starts walking back towards base. He wonders if that’s how she stays so calm in the air, some unheard tune playing constantly in her head. It would not surprise him if that were the case.

He catches up to her easily, an arm slung low around her waist. She looks up at him, that same easy confidence written over her face as she smiles at up at him.

“I wasn’t sure you got the invitation.”

“I didn’t. Hangman of all people had to spell it out for me,” he admits, and she nods slowly. They’re both silent as they walk, his steps nearly clumsy next to her’s as she seems like she’s floating.

“You good enough to drive me home?” she asks him and he nods, directing her towards his Bronco. It’s a quiet drive back to the barracks, but it’s a comfortable one. Her hand is warm and heavy, high on his thigh, making her intentions well known. It makes it incredibly difficult for him to concentrate on the road. She hums along to the songs on the radio while he sings quietly. It’s almost like they’ve been doing this dance for years, rather than a week or two.

His arm wraps around her again, pulling her close as they walk through the barracks and to her room. She unlocks her door, pushing it open before turning her attention back to him.

Just as she’s wondering if she’ll have to make the first move again, Rooster moves, the arm around her waist curling back towards himself and bringing her with him. She blinks up at him, her smile still so bright even though the night surrounds them.

“Mac,” he whispers, his other hand coming up to tuck the stray hair clinging to her cheek, back behind her ear. He’d call it a cliché if his heart wasn’t beating loudly in this moment. Her eyes glance down to his lips and he peeks his tongue out to wet them.

“Rooster,” she returns softly, her fingers walking up his chest until she can wrap her arms around his neck and press herself closer to him. “If you don’t kiss me soon, I’m walking in there and closing the door behind me.”

It’s a threat, and one they both know she’ll make good on. His laugh rumbles through his chest, and she can feel it from where she’s pushed herself up against him. She’s about to pull away, disappointment blooming through her, when the hand on the side of her face turns from soft and calming, to gripping her chin and tilting her face towards him. He still has to duck down a little, but then his lips gently touch her’s.

That’s all the gentle he gets before she pushes back hard, her fingernails scratching hard at the hairs at the nape of his neck. It’s reminiscent of only an hour before. She bites at his bottom lip and the gasp that follows is all she needs to push her tongue forward and deepen their kiss.

It’s dizzying, how fast the speed has changed, before Rooster remembers that they’re pilots. They’re both used to idling on a tarmac or ship before getting up to speeds fast enough to take off. Satisfied that he’s not going to run away from her now, Mac drags her hands back down his chest until she settles with toying with the hem of the tight, white t-shirt underneath one of his many Hawaiian shirts. Both of his hands drop to her ass, squeezing at her cheeks like most of the guys in their team had been longing to do. She huffs out a laugh into their kiss before she breaks it. Taking a step backwards, she tugs on the open sides of his shirt, dragging him along with her.

She turns them before they reach the doorway and pushes him through. She walks in after him with deliberate strides until she can kick the door closed behind them. Rooster doesn’t allow her to turn around and lock it before he’s pushing her up against it. He kisses her again, his hands tangling in her hair, pulling her to where he wants her. She reaches for the door knob behind her, flicking the lock and praying that Phoenix doesn’t come back early, or if she does, she has the decency to knock. But that’s the last she thinks of Phoenix as Rooster starts kissing down her neck, nipping and biting as he goes. She hums happily, her nails dragging down his back before she brings her hands back around to his front and slides the Hawaiian shirt from his shoulders. It catches on his elbows and he laughs, untangling his hands from her hair so he can drop it unceremoniously on the floor. While he’s there, she tucks her hands under his t-shirt and pushes it up as her hands run the length of his torso.

He pulls it over his head, and it’s joining his other shirt while she drinks in the sight of him without anyone around to judge her. Phoenix had caught her staring at him the day of dogfight football, and had specifically run at her, tackling her to the ground before any of the other guys could catch her. Could she really be blamed when he was dancing around like that after his touchdown? The two of them had stayed up that night gossiping, and she’d whispered quietly that maybe she wanted him.

She goes to move again, but Rooster’s shaking his head and stepping back into her, crowding her against the wall. His fingers are delicate as he slides the strings she calls straps on her dress down over her shoulders so the only thing holding it up is the zipper in the back.

She brings his lips back to hers with both hands on either side of his face, trying to bring him to her as close as possible. His mustache tickles at her nose but she finds herself not caring, it's certainly attractive on him. She arches her back, her head knocking back against the door, so she can press her chest into his. He’s smart enough to get the hint at that moment and his hands are hot on the skin of her shoulder blades. They’re only there a moment before he’s ripping the zip of her dress down and she falls back against the door so gravity can do its thing and her dress is sliding to the ground between them. He pulls away from their kiss, his eyes holding her’s like he’s too respectful to glance down. She expects that from someone like Bob, but not Rooster. Her hands trace up the curve of her own stomach, fingers dipping under the line of her breasts, softly caressing the skin until she’s tugging on her nipples and his attention is finally drawn downwards.

He blinks and swallows, his adam’s apple bobbing and she smirks.

“Come on Rooster, no need to be gentle, I promise I won’t break,” she whispers, like anything louder will break the tension in the room and bring him out of this. She doesn’t want him running now, not when she’s on the edge of death and he might be joining her.

He pushes her hands out of the way, grabbing them in one of his own and holding them above her head. He looms over her and kicks her legs wider apart, pushing his thigh up against her core. She moans deep in the back of throat, and the noise catches both of them off guard. But soon he’s smirking and his free hand returns to toy with her nipple, pulling and pinching until he’s happy with its pebbling. She’s rolling her hips against the strong muscle of his thigh, and if she wasn’t so turned on, she’d be embarrassed by how desperate she seems. He bites at the junction where her neck meets her collarbone and she gasps, snapping her hips forward.

“Please Rooster,” she pleads, and it sounds so foreign to him because he genuinely doesn’t think she should ever have to plead for anything in her life. But it’s his name, his callsign, falling from her lips in a breathless fashion, and he wouldn’t mind hearing it again.

But he decides to placate her, knowing that if he doesn’t, she’ll kick him out into the hallway with blue balls, leaving him with the knowledge that she’s taking care of herself.

His hand follows the line of her body from the curve of her breast to the dip at the top of her hip. He runs his finger through the top of her laced panties while their tongues battle for the dominance that neither of them are sure they want to win. It’s much more fun to fight for it. She whines and huffs, trying to move her hips so that he’s touching her right where she wants him. But he moves his hand back with her hips, teasing her the same way she teased him with the beer bottle all those nights ago. She huffs out a sigh and he finally pushes forward, his finger sliding easily between her folds. She sighs happily at the contact, grateful for more than just humping herself on his leg. It soon turns to a soft moan as he finds her clit and slowly runs his finger over it in circles. She wants it harder, faster, but she can only roll her hips so far because the grip he has on her wrists is just the right amount of tight that makes her body tremble.

“Bradley,” she whines by way of asking for more. He groans at his name falling from her lips that he practically bruises them when he kisses her again. He pushes a finger inside of her, his thumb taking over rubbing circles on her clit. He’s quick to add a second as she bucks her hips forward to meet his hand. Her own hands strain against his grip because all she wants to do is touch him, but at this point he’s so determined to make her come on his fingers that he doesn’t give a damn about how hard he is.

He adds a third finger and she comes undone. Her moans come out in breathless pants because she knows that she needs to be quiet but it’s just so difficult when his fingers fill her in ways her own can’t and the calloused feel of his thumb on her clit is enough to drive her crazy with desire. It’s so much better than anything she’d be able to do to herself. Her muscles relax and she falls back against the door, expelling the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding as her body stops trembling.

He looks down at her in amazement, a smirk pulling at the corners of his lips, and she tugs at the grip on her wrists again, desperate to touch him now. Rooster finally lets them go and she rolls them to get movement back into them.

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly, and she shakes her head.

“Do not apologize for anything you just did,” she says sternly before dropping her hands to his belt.

Her nimble fingers have his buckle undone before he can blink, and she whips the belt from its loops, tossing it aside. She flips open his button and slides down the zip. Rooster sighs in relief from the strain of his erection against the denim of his pants. She chuckles as she slides her hand in and grips him, this time it’s him moaning as she surges up to kiss him and quieten him.

Much to his annoyance she removes her hand far too quickly for him to get any satisfaction. He groans unhappily, and she laughs into their kiss, pushing him back towards her bed. She slides her hands down the hard lines of his body into the back of his pants, pushing them down slightly as she grips the meat of his ass. When his legs hit that side of her bed, she pushes them the rest of the way down, and she follows them getting on her knees in front of him. Rooster moans at the sight, knowing what’s coming next.

One of her hands trace up his thigh until she reaches his stomach and she pushes him so he’s sitting on the edge of her bed and it’s easier for her to wrap her hand around his cock. She gives him a gentle tug, getting used to the weight of him. She adjusts her stance on her knees and before he can say anything to her, she licks a slow stripe up the underside of his cock. Rooster moans again, and Mac is smirking to herself as she wraps her lips around the head, her tongue swirling around him. He leans back on his hands, watching her as her hands wraps around the base of his cock and she continues working over the head.

A mean thought lingers through his head, a comment Hangman made after a drunken night out, and Rooster is far too tempted to try it. He tangles his hand in her hair, gripping at her skull, pulling slightly. He guides her gently, rather than the rough push Hangman would have given her if it had been him in this position. She pushes off, a line of spit connecting her lips to the head of his cock, and he groans at the lack of contact. If he had a chance to panic, he would. Instead, she breathes in deeply through her nose before taking him in her mouth again, her hand coming off and she’s guiding herself lower on his cock.

Her breath comes out in one slow puff as he feels her throat relax and her nose touch his stomach. A loud moan escapes him, and she swallows around him, extending it. His fingers tighten in her hair and she chances a glance up at him through her lashes. She can see, feel, that he’s holding back, and she bobs her head before pinching at the skin of his thigh. He hadn’t realized that his eyes were scrunched closed tight, that when he looks down at her, it takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the sight before him. It’s heavenly and one he wishes he could take a picture of.

Then she’s pulling back again, pushing against the hand on her head.

“Come on Rooster, you don’t have to hold back with me.”

He groans at the thought but she’s back on his cock before he can think too much about it. She relaxes her jaw, her throat and pinches him again, her silent way of telling him to move. He pushes her off him, standing up. Before concern can blossom through her, he’s guiding her back towards him. He thrusts quickly into her mouth, and she chokes a moment before she adjusts and everything’s relaxed and open and Rooster can’t believe he’s fucking her throat. If he weren’t a gentleman he’d be inclined to boast about what was currently happening in the morning. Her fingers glide a gentle rhythm against his thighs, one completely juxtaposed to the speed at which his hips are snapping. He pulls her right up against him, her nose squished against the bone of his pelvis and he holds her there for a minute until her eyes start to water. He’s surprised that she doesn’t pinch his thigh and it just impresses him all the more. He feels himself edge towards the precipice of coming and he pulls her off him quickly, his hand pressing a tight grip to base of his cock as he lowers himself to the ground in front of her. He kisses her hard and fast, and it’s dizzying to go from a lack of oxygen to his tongue wrestling with her own.

“Fucking hell Mac,” he says, pressing their foreheads together, “that could have been the death of me.”

She smiles sheepishly, wiping a hand over her face to clear it of the tears and spit she felt. But he’s kissing her again before she can think too much about it. Rooster’s pushing her back against the floor and she’s laughing because there’s a bed right over there but they’re both impatient and they only have so much time before Phoenix comes back to claim her own bed on the other side of their twin room.

Rooster stays on his knees, and he pulls her panties off her finally before pulling her hips up onto him, but she rolls away.

“Uh uh, condom,” she says, shaking a finger at him before grabbing one from her bedside drawer. She throws it at him with a sweet smile.

“You keep condoms in your drawer? Who else do you sneak in here, Mac?” His voice is jovial but there’s a hint of jealousy tinging the edge of it.

She takes a deep breath, rolling herself back towards him.

“Safety first, Rooster. And no one. There’s two in my purse as well, just in case. But it’s a bit hard to want to fuck other people when there’s only one guy who has your attention,” she admits the last part softly.

Rooster glances up at her from where he’s rolling the condom on, and he smiles softly at her.

“It’s Bob isn’t it?” He jokes.

“Get the fuck out right now if you’re going to keep going down that path,” she laughs, and he’s back pulling her hips up over his thighs before thrusting into her.

She bites her lip, a weak attempt to hold back the moan itching at her throat. Instead, he rips it from her with a hard thrust, and it rings loud in both their ears. If anyone has come back to the barracks, she was going to hear about it in the morning. Rooster probably would too, since the entire bar had seen how they had left the bar earlier. He laughs, not feeling the same embarrassment that’s causing a pink blush to rise from her chest to her cheeks. But then he’s thrusting into her with a slow and steady rhythm until she babbling for more, her fingers grasping at the carpet.

He places her ankles up over his shoulders, changing the angle of his thrusts and she shoves her hand over her mouth to stop herself from crying out too loudly. He chuckles lowly, and fucks into her faster, his speed relentless against her. She bites down on the skin of her palm; he’s grunting with each thrust into her, and he feels a little bad that he won’t last all that long, but with the blow job she gave him before, could he really be blamed? He grips at her thigh with one hand and brings the other down to her clit, determined to make her come again before he does.

Her upper back is scratching deliciously across the carpet, as each thrust of his hips pushes her further away from him.

“Why you running away Mac?”

He pulls her close again, and she laughs. She’s breathing hard into the skin of her hand, it coming out in short puffs with each of his powerful strokes. He tilts her hips and manages to get just the right angle that she squeaks out a high-pitched moan. He can feel she’s close, her body tensing around him, and she’s dragging him with her. She comes with a cry, her body trembling but he can’t slow down as he chases his own release. Soon he’s following her over the edge of ecstasy. He has the foresight to let her legs down from his shoulders before he collapses on top of her. His elbows bracket her head, catching her hair as he brings hips lips to her’s in another kiss, this one sweet in comparison to the heated ones before.

She laughs happily, and it’s music to his ears.

“Bed,” she manages to choke out, her voice hoarse from earlier and fighting to bite back her moans. As he pulls out of her and gets rid of the condom, she stands on shaking legs and carries herself over to her bed. He goes to pass her the water bottle from her side table, and she gives him a sleepy smile, reaching out to grab it. Instead, he grabs her hand, turning it over so he can inspect her palm. There are teeth marks there and he rubs his thumb over it gently.

“You okay?”

“Better than,” she smiles, “lay down a moment?”

She doesn’t need to ask twice for him to put his underwear back on and climb onto her bed next to her.

“Won’t Phoenix be back soon?”

“Fuck Phoenix,” she mumbles, but she pulls a pair of clean underwear from her draw and her sleep shirt from under her pillow. She pushes him back onto the bed and lays down next to him, wrapping herself around him. His hand settles under her shirt, warm across her lower back.

They both fall asleep with smiles on their faces.

She wakes up before him, the smile still on her lips when she sees Rooster next to her. She can tell by the light of the room that it’s going to be morning soon. She rolls over, and he mumbles in his sleep, pulling her back against him. Phoenix’s bed is still made, their clothes are still strewn across the floor and despite how good it feels to wake up next to him, panic starts to seep in.

“Rooster,” she whispers in an attempt to wake him up, but his mumbles continue, so she slides his arm from around her, and slips out of her bed. How the two of them managed to sleep in a single bed together, was beyond her.

She throws on her work out clothes, a look at Phoenix’s clock telling her that it’s still too early in the morning for her flight uniform. She walks out into their common area, shoes in hand, ready to go for a run when she’s stopped by the sight of her roommate.

Phoenix looks up at her, a glint of mischief in her eyes, and Mac is relieved to see that she doesn’t look angry.

“Oh good, I can go get out of these now,” she said, gesturing down at the fact she’s wearing the same clothes she was in last night.

“Ah, not right now.”

“He’s still there?”

Mac nods, having the decency to look apologetic, but Phoenix grins at her.

“Tell me everything,” she demands, sinking back in the couch with her coffee mug in hand.

“I don’t know if you want to hear everything,” Mac counters, but they hear footsteps and Phoenix’s response is drowned out as Hangman walks into the room.

“She might not want to know, but I certainly do.”

#top gun maverick #top gun: maverick #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster #rooster smut #top gun fanfic #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw x original female character #bradley bradshaw x ofc #my fic

231 notes · View notes

baby-girl-e · 2 years

Text

Their Legacy

Characters - Iceman x Maverick, Original Female character x Phoenix, Rooster, Dagger squad, Original Male character

Summary - Elizabeth Kazansky-Mitchell is a great combination of her two fathers, if the Navy doesn’t see it that way well… that’s their problem.

Or Tom and Pete raise Tom’s niece and she turns out exactly as you’d expect a Kazansky to in such close proximity to Maverick and his adoptive son Bradley.

Word Count - 5k

Warnings - brief mention of a death resulting in an adoption

A/N - I really shouldn’t be starting another series right now given the two I’ve been neglecting, but I can’t help myself! I hope you like this one, and I would appreciate it if you’d let me know if you want a part two! (I’m planning one, I just want to see how this is received!) You can also listen to the Spotify playlist I made for Elizabeth here!

Listen. While legally Elizabeth's last name was Kazansky, there were some consequences of her being raised in such close proximity to Pete Mitchell. Okay, maybe ‘close proximity’ was underselling it. The better definition would be, he was her other father. Just not on paper until 2015. From an early age she was taught that she could call Tom ‘Dad’ in public but she had to refer to her Papa as ‘Uncle Pete’. Neither of them were her biological parents, but she was only an infant when her mother, Tom’s sister, died in a car accident. Her biological father was never known, not even to her biological mother. This could all sound like some massive tragedy, and it was to her Dad when he lost his sister, but to Elizabeth? She had nothing but an amazing childhood. Two whole dads that loved her and even an older brother until he left when she was only five. Bradley was a very touchy subject in the Kazansky-Mitchell household, her dad’s loved their son, but they ultimately had to respect his mother’s wishes to at least try and keep him out of the sky. Try being the key word. It became even more touchy when Liz expressed interest in flying to her dad’s. They were incredibly supportive of her career and even helped her with her application to Annapolis. One of the benefits of Liz only bearing her Dad’s last name was that she had no problem getting in. If she had started her career in the Navy with both dad’s last names like she wanted, she might’ve had a bit more trouble given her Papa’s reputation.

The minute she climbed into that cockpit for the first time was when the consequences of being raised by Maverick Mitchell really started to show. Sure she was a bit of a rebellious teenager, but ultimately her Kazansky blood got the best of her and forced her into rule following. But something about the sky threw away all of her Dad’s genetics and she was all Mitchell. To her credit she didn’t break a ton of rules, just a tower buzz here and there. Did she flirt heavily with the hard deck? Absolutely. When her dad got a call about her flying style from her TOP GUN instructor (not that she was in trouble, but the Instructor was one Captain Sam ‘Merlin’ Wells and he and her parents were still very close.) her dad knew he was in trouble. “Tom, it’s like there’s two of them. I’ve flown with Mav way too many times, that was all him up there.” Sitting outside of Uncle Merlin’s office she couldn’t hear her dad but she could bet that he was in his signature “are you fucking kidding me Mitchell” pose that consited of a sigh and fingers on his sinuses. Soon enough the conversation was over and she was called into his office. Now, once again, she wasn’t in trouble. She was the one who had asked to talk to her Uncle. “Lizzy. Great to see you!” During class and everywhere there were other Navy people she was always very professional with him and all of her numerous uncles, but in the privacy of his office she let herself have this one hug. “Thank you for seeing me, Uncle Merlin. I had something I wanted to discuss with you.” He smiled and went to sit behind his desk, sensing this was more business than personal. “Anything for my favorite niece. I was actually just on the phone with your dad, telling him all about your inherited ‘Mitchell Mayhem’.”

The term was coined mostly by him, Uncle Sli, and her dad, always sure to get an eye roll out of her Papa. “Actually sir, that's kinda what I came to talk to you about. As you know, my last name has legally been ‘Kazansky-Mitchell’ since 2015 when my dad’s got married and Paps legally adopted me. But I’ve kept my last name with the Navy just Kazansky for obvious reasons with getting into the academy.” Sam nods his head in understanding. It’s unfortunate, but who you know is a big deal in the Navy, and while her dad’s were out and proud by the time she joined, they didn’t need a formal reminder of her more rebellious father anytime she was transferred to another carrier or a new squadron. “Well I was thinking that since I’m at the height of my career here at TOP GUN, there’s really no point in hiding my real last name anymore. So…” She pulls out the papers she was clutching to like a lifeline and hands them to her Uncle. “I talked with Uncle Sli and he helped me get my name officially updated in the Navy records without my Dad’s knowing. I already have a new patch ready to go, I just need you to know so when I win the TOP GUN trophy it’ll have my real name on it.”

Sam’s eyes went from sentimental and heartwarming to being utterly appalled within seconds. “And what makes you think the trophy is yours little miss?” Another nickname coined by her uncles. “Well my callsign isn’t ‘Legacy’ for nothing sir. I was taught by the best, yourself included.” He just shakes his head and laughs softly. “Flattery will get you everywhere my dear. I will make sure that our records are accurate so that if you win the trophy, you’ll have your real name on it.” She smiles and moves to stand. “Thank you sir.” Sam walks her to the door but stops before they open it. “Any reason we’re keeping this from your dad’s?” That was a thing she was grateful for having all her uncles in the Navy, if she really wanted to, she could hide a choice few things from her dads. “I want it to be a surprise at graduation. Thought it was finally time for Paps name to be on that plaque.” Sams sentimental smile was back and he was giving her a heartwarming hug. “You’re a good kid, you know that? Even if you fly like a Mitchell.” She opens the door and just before she leaves she turns back to her uncle to say, “It’s because I am one sir.” And dammit if that didn’t make Merlin tear up just a little.

///

When she got back to her locker she decided that now that it was official it was okay to pull out the new patch Uncle Sli had made for her. She palmed the small rectangle and smiled. It was a small thing, literally, but it felt like she was truly being herself now. The only other person who she really talked about her family to was her RIO Jake ‘Thunder’ Thompson, and even he didn’t really bring them up a lot. She appreciated the effort, she was already under enough of a microscope from everyone else. She peels back the velcro on the nametag that was already on her flight suit and replaced it with the new one that read ‘ELIZABETH ‘LEGACY’ KAZANSKY-MITCHELL’. Okay that was a bit of a mouthful but she didn’t really care. “Woah, new threads there legacy?” She almost forgot she told jake to hang back and wait for her so they could go to the Hard Deck together. “Yeah, what do you think? Too much?” Jake throws his arm around her shoulder and picks up the flight suit that she had changed out of to inspect it. “No, I think it’s just right Lizzy. Maybe not enough last names what do you think?” She laughs and pushes him away. “You’re such a dick Jakey,” he makes a face at her nickname for him, “yeah it’s a mouthful, but maybe this will make me more intimidating. What do you think?” He shuts her locker for her and throws his arm back around her to steer her through the exit. “You mean more intimidating than your kickass flying and your dad being the COMPACFLT?” She rolls her eyes at him and throws her arm around him too. “Now Jakey, why don’t we go to the Hard Deck and stop talking about my family okay?” It was less than a week until graduation and they only had a few hops left before they knew who was going to take home the trophy. They were currently in the lead, but they knew if they got too cocky they could lose it all. They needed a wind down today especially since they had done hop 31, the same hop that had killed her Paps best friend and Bradley’s dad. She knew her dad’s had been worried about the day, especially Paps, so she shot them both a quick ‘I’m okay’ text the minute she was on solid ground. Still needing convincing, she talked to her Papa for nearly an hour before she went to go talk to Merlin.

Apparently the whole ‘let's go somewhere to not think about my family’ was just a pipe dream because the minute she and Jake walked in they saw her Paps sitting at the bar. Last she heard he was being reprimanded for crashing a multi million dollar jet somewhere in the middle of nowhere, giving both her and her dad a mini heart attack mind you, and she didn’t expect to see him again for a week at least. “Paps?” Her Papa turned around at his title and his face went from completely drained to instant sunshine at the sight of his daughter. “Fancy meeting you here baby ice.” He was out of his seat in an instant and hugging her tight. She was mad at him for almost getting himself killed and now for the outdated nickname. Bradley hated being called baby goose and she hated being called baby ice, it was a family tradition. But in spite of her mood she was relieved to have a hug from her dad. He turned to hug Jake as well, him becoming part of the family the minute they had become pilot and RIO. Even though there was no attraction whatsoever, they certainly treated Jake like he was their son-in-law. “Paps. What the hell happened out there? Dad said you crashed the ‘darkstar’? What were you thinking going Mach 10.3?” Pete rolls his eyes and sits back down at the bar waving at Penny for another beer. “You sound just like your dad.” That was definitely the quality she got from her dad, while she flew a lot like Maverick, she also inherited her dad's protectiveness over her Paps. “Yeah well he’s not here to chew you out so, I’m the next best thing.” He hugs her at that. “And while nobody appreciates that more than me, your dad actually is here. Came in early from Hawaii because of my little mishap, so you’re welcome.” Only Maverick Mitchell could turn one of his wrongdoings into a reason to thank him. “Yes, thanks for bringing back my favorite dad.” He fakes hurt and clutches his chest at that. “Ouch I’m hurt. After all of the late night ice cream runs without your dad knowing I thought I would get more respect.” Those were some of her favorite memories from her childhood.

They always did have to sneak in some sugar after hours, Ice wanting to keep them healthy. It was then that they heard a little commotion coming from the pool tables and saw the one and only Bradley Bradshaw approaching the other aviators paying no mind to his family at the bar. “Woah what’s Bradley doing here? Paps, did you know about this?” She turns to her dad and see’s that he’s already trying to hide himself from Bradley. “Yeah sweetheart that’s actually why I’m here. I’m teaching a special ops mission at Miramar and your brother is one of the pilots flying it.” She wasn’t sure how to process that information. On the one hand she was happy at a potential family reunion but on the other hand she knew that both of their personalities were the reason there had been a near 15 year rift between the two. “Does dad know?” Which in hindsight she knew he probably did, he was everyone’s boss. “He’s actually the one that assigned us to the same mission. Thought it would be good for the both of us for some reason.” That was her father indeed. He was always trying to do what he thought was best for his loved ones, that sometimes backfired, but his intentions were always pure. “Figures I guess. Well, I think I’m going to go talk to him. It’s been forever.” Pete looked a little uneasy at her words.

There was a rift between Bradley and the parents, yes, but after they had allowed her to go to Annapolis and flight school and not him, he had resented her as well. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? Is he still mad at you?” Truth is, she wasn’t sure. The last time she had seen Bradley in the flesh was at her flight school graduation. She had invited him and not expected to see him given both her dad’s would be there, but against all odds he was there. He had successfully avoided the dad’s but still got in a good hug. He had told her then that he was wrong for taking out his anger on her. It wasn’t her fault that they pulled his papers and not hers. He was confused, yes, but not mad at her anymore. “No, we talked back when I graduated flight school, I think we’re cool. You, however, should probably get out of here.” He smiled and gave her a kiss on the cheek and patted Jake on the back. “Well, good luck. I’ll see you back at the house tonight? Please? Your dad is going to want to see you.” She smiles and nods at her Paps. “Yeah I’ll swing by. See you later, love you.” He winks and returns the sentiment before making his exit. “Wow that was… a lot of information. Even for your family.” She lets out a sigh, Jake was right. The Kazansky-Mitchell clan was alway dealing with some sort of drama, but this seemed to be the greatest hits. “Yeah, well that’s us. I’m going to see if Bradley still likes me, wish me luck?” He gives you a pat on the back. “Good luck, need me to come with you?” She shakes her head but gives her friend a grateful smile before heading over to see her brother. It’s at this point she’s glad that she’s wearing her civies, not really feeling in the mood to be proper in her uniform.

She wipes her hands on her sundress and approaches the group of aviators by the pool table. “Bradley?” The pilot in question turns at the sound of his name. Liz wasn’t entirely sure what she expected his reaction would be but him running to her, picking her up and spinning her around wasn’t one of them. She let out a surprised scream and demanded he let her down. “Lizzy! I didn’t expect to see you here! Are you even old enough to drink?” she rolls her eyes at her big brother, of course he still sees her as a little kid. “I’m 25 now, Bradley. I should be the one shocked that you’re here. I didn’t even know you were stateside.” A pretty brunette to his left chimes in then, “Yeah me too!” Bradley rolls his eyes at the two of them. “Well I’m sorry, next time I am on dry land I’ll send out a PSA. So, what are you doing out here? You're stationed at North Island?” She got slightly giddy at his innocence. She couldn’t wait to tell him that she made it to TOP GUN just like him, his three dads and her two. “I’m actually at TOP GUN, graduation is in a week.” His eyes went wide and he was hugging her again. She got the sense that these hugs were just as much for her as they were for him. “My baby sister at TOP GUN. who would’ve thought! Are you gonna take the trophy you think?” Her cocky pilot brain decided that it was going to answer for her. “Absolutely. That plaques gonna have Kazansky-Mitchell on it for sure!”

In all her excitement for reuniting with her brother she forgot to not mention Pete to him, even if it was just the name. “Oh, I didn’t know you were going by both at work.” He seemed a little sad, but was obviously putting on a face for his sister's sake. “I wasn’t, but I talked to Uncle Merlin today to have it changed, Sli helped me. I wanted my full name to be on the plaque.” He softened a little at the mention of their uncles. “Well at least you have the confidence part down.” She hears someone clear their throat and they both snap out of their little sibling bubble. “Hey Rooster are you gonna introduce us?” He looked a little embarrassed but recovered quickly. “Yeah sorry, um guys this is my little sister Liz. But some of you may know her as Legacy.” Recognition flashes across a few of their faces but mostly confusion. “Wait you’re Legacy? I’ve heard about you, you’re Kazansky’s kid!” She wasn’t shocked at his words, it was extremely common. “Yeah that’s me, and you are?” He leans in and holds out his hand to shake. “Hangman, at your service.” He was charming, Liz could give him credit for that. Cocky? Yes. But also charming. The pretty brunette from earlier comes into view and suddenly all thoughts of the charming cocky blonde man went right out the window. “I’m Phoenix by the way!” She holds out her hand and Liz shakes it, her hand shaking slightly. See this girl was exactly her type, and she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t incredibly attracted to her. “I’m Elizabeth, but you can call me Liz or Legacy even.” Now they were both blushing and still shaking hands. Bradley clears his throat and breaks both Liz and Phoenix out of their reverie. “It’s nice to meet you Liz, my name is Natasha. But you can call me Nat.” Liz smiles, already sensing a little trouble she’s probably going to have with that one. Tearing her eyes away from Nat she turns back to her brother. He introduces her to the rest of the aviators scattered about and she’s met some and heard of others. Bradley takes a second after the introductions are made to pull Liz away from the rest of the group.

Once the two siblings are reasonably alone Bradley brings up the elephant in the room. “Are your dads around then?” That hurt more than it should’ve, hearing her brother refer to their parents as her dads, and not his. “Yeah they still have the house in fightertown. Dad just got back from Hawaii and Paps is in some hot water as per usual so he’s back from Mojave. Almost died, which is why dad’s back too.” His eyes instinctively widened at hearing about Maverick almost dying. It wasn’t an uncommon experience, but a scary one still that he obviously still feared. Liz also left out the fact that Maverick was indeed back, and Bradley was about to see a whole lot of him very soon. She figured it wasn’t her news to tell. “Are you gonna try to convince me to talk to them?” She laughs, even her persuasiveness wasn’t that effective. “Maybe I would if I thought it would work, but no I won’t. I am headed over there after this if you want to come.” She knew, he knew, the entire Navy knew that he wouldn’t, but still. He breaks up the tension by laughing, “No baby Ice I think I’m good. You have fun though.” She rolls her eyes at the nickname again, two can play at that game. “Well, baby goose you’re missing out. I don’t know if you remember but dad stress bakes and because Paps almost died he’s sure to have made something good.” She wasn’t kidding, the only upside to her other dad almost dying or getting into trouble was there was always some sort of treat afterwards. Not that they were celebrating, it was just her dad's way of coping. It was sweet in a way, another piece of evidence that her parents were soulmates. “While that is tempting I think I’ll still pass. Now if only I had a sister that loved me enough to bring me some.” He fakes looking deep in thought and Legacy punches his arm. “Hey, we’re both at North Island right now, you totally could.” She rolls her eyes, this idiot. “Sure Brad, I’ll bring you some cookies,” he gets excited and goes to interrupt but she isn’t done. “On one condition.” he looks at her expectantly and she lets a smirk take hold of her face. “You give Phoenix my number?” His face falls. “Liz, she’s like my sister, that'd be so weird!” Liz isn’t having any of that and just pats his arm. “And I actually am your sister, look, it doesn’t take a genius to see that she’s hot, I’m hot, it’s a match made in heaven.”

Bradley lets out a very dramatic sigh that sounded a lot like a concession. “Fine, I’ll give her your number, but if I don’t get those cookies I’ll hunt you down.” Liz shakes her head. If she closed her eyes she could pretend like it was the good old times again. “If they even are cookies, Paps nearly exploded, you’re probably getting a three tiered cake.” He smiled and hugged his sister. It seemed even he wanted to pretend it was the past too. “Either way, I’m happy to see you. Have fun with your dads, I’ll tell Phoenix you said bye.” He pulls away and punctuates it with a wink before running back to his group. She briefly considers going to talk to phoenix more, but suddenly has the deep desire for a hug from her dad. It’s a weird sensation, but one not lost on someone who could lose her parents at any moment given the extremely dangerous nature of their jobs. Legacy says goodbye to Jake and tells him to be on his A game tomorrow, they have a trophy to win after all.

The walk up to the front door of her parents house feels shorter when she’s practically bounding up the steps. She’s unlocking the door in record time, eager to hug her dad. It had been almost a month since she saw him last, he had hand delivered the news to her that she was going to TOP GUN, much to the dismay of her CO, obviously not prepared enough for a visit from the COMPACFLT. “Dad? I’m home!” Home. Now that felt good to say again. There were a few lights on but that was the only piece of evidence that someone was home if it weren’t for the Kawasaki in the driveway and the rumbling of feet, running towards her? Should they really be running at their age? Who was she kidding, even God couldn’t keep Paps down and Dad? Well he had about 36 years experience in keeping up with his husband. “Lizzy? That you?” She heard his deep voice before she saw him, but when she did her heart warmed. He looked just as he did when she last saw him instead this time he was wearing a sweater instead of his stuffy uniform. She always hated hugging him when he wore that, his badge and wings poking her cheek. “Hey dad, good to see you.” And there was that hug. Soul crushing in the best way, hand on the back of her head like she suspected he’d been doing since she was born. He let out a content sigh, like he was just as relieved to be in this hug as she was. “Hey baby girl, good to see you too.” When they pulled away she could see her Paps waiting patiently for his turn. “Wow, I would’ve expected you to be in time out.” Pete gives out a very sarcastic laugh and embraces his daughter. “Your father decided he loved me too much to be too mean.” He winked at his husband and because she was attuned to her fathers antics she could see a small blush on her dads cheek. It was nice to see that after all this time they were still like teenagers in love. Tom gestures towards the kitchen, for his family to all to sit around the island while he served brownies. Figures.

Liz laughs as she’s handed a treat and gets a funny look from her parents. “Something funny sweetheart?” She shakes her head and sets down the brownie. “Nothing really, I just bet Bradley that you had baked, it’s what you do when you’re stressed. Especially about Paps.” In the midst of her victory she forgot to turn on her Bradley censor. It was something she had inadvertently developed throughout the years. When she was a kid she didn’t understand why her dad’s would get so sad when she asked for her brother, why they always seemed to cry a little when she said his name. When she did figure it out she stopped talking about him to them, she loved them too much and didn’t want to see them sad. Tom was the first to break the silence that had settled over the room. “Oh, you saw Bradley?” She looked to her Paps confused, “Paps didn’t tell you? He was at the bar and I went to go say hi.” The father in question looked sheepish as his husband gave him the look. “I was going to tell you but I didn’t want to ruin our reunion.” He said that last part with a sly look on his face that got the other man blushing again. “Oh ew you guys, your kid is sitting right here.” Liz feigned disgust and looked away as her Paps decided to make it worse by kissing her dad, just to annoy her, she was sure. “You should be grateful that your parents still love each other. Do you know how many straight couples get divorced every year? Now that’s disgusting.” Maverick was obviously trying to change the subject, but Liz was his daughter so she was nothing if not persistent. “Anyways, yes dad I talked to Bradley. He seemed to be doing great, healthy, and didn’t outright run away when I mentioned you two.”

Pete nodded along, trying not to get too excited at what could be nothing. “Progress is progress Pete, he’ll come around.” Pete rolled his eyes and set down his brownie. “It’s been almost two decades since he stopped talking to us, this isn’t progress.” Tom set his brownie down as well and replaced it with his husband's hand. “Baby, he’s talking to our daughter. He’s not losing his temper when he hears our names, we should take what we can get.” Pete sighs and nods solemnly, not really taking in his words. “If it helps when I invited him over he didn’t really say no as much as an ‘I’ll pass’. I mean he was the one that brought you up in the first place.” Pete perks up at her words. “Really? What did he say?” She has to take a second to remember what he had said, it was a long day and there was a pretty girl involved. “He just asked if you guys were around. I told him that you still had the house and that you were both in town, but I promise I didn’t tell him why just that Paps got himself hurt,” Pete started to interrupt, “You did. And that’s why both of you are back.” There was an uncomfortable silence that settled across the kitchen, an uncommon occurrence for this particular family. “And what did he say?”

Pete was cautious with his question as if he almost didn’t want to know the answer. “He didn’t say anything specific about you, but I could tell in his eyes that he was worried. Then he asked if I was going to try and get him to come over. I didn’t, but he was invited.” Tom put his arm around his daughter and leaned his head on hers. “Thank you for at least trying. I’m sorry about all of this, I know it’s affected you too.” That was something Liz was always so surprised by. Her parents always thought about her involvement in certain situations. Something her friends had told her was a rare occurance in a father child relationship. Even when she was just a kid and her Paps was still going on deployments her dad always made sure to keep her up to date on what was going on, to try and ease her anxieties. She always could tell when something bad had happened, her dad keeping his updates more vague, but he was there informing her nonetheless. “It’s okay dad. Bradley was mad at me for just a little bit, at least he’s talking to one of us.” The same sad smile was painted on both her parents' faces, something that they had developed after being the same kind of sad for so long.

“Okay that’s enough sad for tonight, we haven’t been all together for a long time what do you say we watch a movie and pass out on the couch?” It was her favorite thing they did. She would always suggest a movie and they would be all for it but fall asleep halfway through. Liz would just throw a blanket on them and put herself to bed. And so that’s how the small family ended their evening. The most powerful man in the Navy and the fastest man alive cuddled on the couch fast asleep while their daughter takes a photo and falls asleep too.

Tags: @callsign-hollywood

#icemav #iceman x maverick #Phoenix x Original character #top gun maverick #iceman kazansky #maverick #top gun #bradley bradshaw #rooster top gun #original male character #original female character

64 notes · View notes

ollyoxenfrees · 2 years

Text

coming soon

#top gun maverick #top gun #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x oc #rooster x oc #tpm #gifset #edit #graphic #wattpad #original female character

18 notes · View notes

sometimesanalice · 1 year

Text

Give Me Your Hand {Here Is My Heart}

Summary: You and Bradley have been dating for a couple months now. You want him and he wants you. And it’s getting harder and harder to keep your hands off of him. So what is holding you back?

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Female Reader

Length: 9K

Warnings: Fluff, Pining, and Smuttt

(This will be a 2-Part series for characters in the “Like I Can” Universe. It can be read without reading the original series first.) PART 2

You’ve seen Bradley’s thick, wavy hair in various stages throughout your life. He has a little cowlick tuft in the back that would always pop up if it was cut too short. You’d seen it in high school when he used a little too much product like most boys did at that age. You’d seen it smashed and sweaty from being trapped under a baseball cap for too long.

However, for all the ways you’ve seen it over the years, his hair mussed by your own hands is easily one of your very favorite looks on him.

There is an open bottle of some random red blend you had picked up from the grocery store on the table, you had been more drawn to the label than what was inside of it. Your glasses were mostly untouched, the only clue about whose belonged to who was the imprint of your lower lip left behind on the rim from your lipstick that’s long worn off from your mouth.

And you are straddling Bradley’s denim clad lap enthusiastically making out on his probably-from-Ikea-but-still-very comfortable dark gray couch. The short skirt of your flirty little ruffled red dress sliding higher and higher up your thighs with every movement.

Your hands are undoing what minimal styling he had done to it before you had gotten to his place that evening, while his large ones are everywhere. Traveling the length of your back, squeezing your hips, running over the outsides of your calves.

It has been almost a couple of months since you had been set up by the Daggers on those truly terrible dates. At the time it seemed like a fun idea to go on all those blind dates, until it wasn’t.

That is, until Bradley. Being with him had made it all worthwhile.

There have been plenty of dates since then. Nights out. Nights in. Nights spent laughing at the Hard Deck with his friends. But they all end the same. With Bradley kissing you goodnight.

In the Bronco.

At your door.

At his.

You haven’t stayed the night, not once. Not even after the time where you both fell asleep tangled on his couch. You had woken up it find it was nearly 3 A.M, and even then you still made it a point not to cross the threshold into his bedroom. Even though you wanted to.

The way his mouth is moving against yours is nothing short of sinful. He is so good at making you breathless. So good at making you blush. Having him like this is more than you ever thought you’d get, its deliciously thrilling being the one to pull the low moans and satisfied sighs from him.

It is almost too easy with Bradley. You’d never let yourself think about forever at this point in a relationship with anyone else. He made it so difficult for you to keep your head on straight when he looked at you with such dizzying adoration.

It was getting harder and harder not let yourself think about Bradley being the one for all of your last-firsts. Even as you tried to take things with him day by day, moment by moment.

How that evening out on the outdoor terrace could have been your last-first date. That pretty green dress you’d worn, now tucked away in your closet protected in its garment bag, felt special in a way you weren’t sure you were ready to look at too closely.

How that kiss against his Bronco in the parking lot near the beach afterwards could have been your last-first kiss.

How whenever you mustered up the courage to finally give yourself to him entirely that it could be your last-first time.

But one of you had to be the practical one. One of you has to keep their feet on the ground because the other literally as his head in the clouds on a daily basis. You felt constantly at war with bullet pointed logic of your mind and the whatifwhatifwhatifs of your heart.

When Bradley dropped you off back at your car after your post-oceanside-dinner-milkshake-run, he asked you out again for the next weekend. Claimed he wanted you to have a second first date with him, even though you both already were planning on meeting your friends at the Hard Deck the very next night.

His smile had been so sweet and his eyes so sincere there was no way you were going to turn him down. Even if you didn’t think you needed a second first date with him when the first had been one for the books.

Bradley’s burning lips work their way down your neck. His hand at the base of your neck keeping you exactly where he wanted you. The delicious drag of his mustache along the sensitive skin of your throat makes your toes curl. His hot mouth sucking softly at your pulse point before laving it with his tongue. Can he feel how fast your heart is beating?

For your second-first date, the only feeling that had been coursing through you that day had been pure excitement knowing it would be Bradley knocking on your door.

And when he picked you up, he arrived with a bouquet of your favorite flowers in one hand and a bottle of your favorite champagne in the other.

There was an undeniable giddiness that evening, but also a tentative shyness between the two of you as you sat across from each other at one of the many seafood restaurants that dotted the boardwalk. The table had felt almost too big, since the two of you were both a little too in your heads.

“Why did it feel easier last time-”

“I feel like I’m on an interview-”

After a couple awkward stops and starts, you both just looked at each other and had to laugh about it. It was better when you moved your place settings and slid into the spot next to him. When his leg nervously bounced under the table, you were close enough to rest a hand on his thigh.

“Have I told you how pretty you look?”

“Only a few times now,” you replied as you nudged his foot with yours, “But I like hearing it.”

And then slowly but surely the nerves and awkwardness melted away as you two settled into the familiarity of each other. You did call him “Rooster” a couple times on accident, and he ended up almost telling you the same story twice before he realized it halfway through the second time. But it was a comfortable kind of bumbling as you explored the newness of this part of your relationship together.

Afterwards, he had suggested taking a walk along the beach, you’d readily agreed at the thought of the sand beneath your toes and your fingers tangled between Bradley’s.

You didn’t walk very far before a large canopy made entirely out of thousands of string lights caught your eye. The area was roped off on the beach halfway between the boardwalk and the ocean waves. People were already milling about, some brave souls already dancing away as the final rays from the sunset illuminated them in a golden red light.

“C’mon, kid,” he’d said already tugging you along with him by the hand, “Let’s check it out.”

“Bradley, I don’t know. This looks like some kind of private event.”

It didn’t click until he was pulling out his phone with the tickets already pulled up and ready to be scanned that he had planned it all along.

“I’ve always wanted to go to one of these,” you told him with a grin on your face as you waited in the line to exchange your shoes for a pair of light up headphones.

“Have you now?” He was looking very pleased with himself as he slid an arm around you, tucking his hand into the back pocket of your jeans.

“I thought you said you were done with surprises,” you asked teasingly, smoothing down the front of his Hawaiian shirt. Enjoying the way his stomach tensed beneath your hand.

“Now, where the fun in that? I think I like surprising you,” he murmured into your ear.

When you made your way to the front, he slipped the headphones over your ears before pulling you to the side, bending down to roll up your jeans a bit and then doing the same to his.

The sand was still warm for the sun under your feet, and the twinkle lights were picking up the golden strands in Bradley’s wavy hair. He was so handsome and he was all yours tonight.

The two of you had the best time as you bounced around between stations, the colors on your headphones changing from blue to red to green as you told the other one to change over whenever a familiar song came on as the inky night settled around you.

You had danced with Bradley plenty of times of the years, like at school dances and at your mom’s second wedding. However, it was always the goofy and fun kind of dancing between friends. Where he would spin you until you were doubled over in laughter or where you’d compete to see who could pull out the most ridiculous moves.

His fancy footwork and carefree exuberance still amused you to no end, but it was also the good kind of different the way he wrapped his arms around you from behind. You’d felt a good kind of free in the way you let your hips move against him without overthinking it. It was the good kind of exciting the way he feathered kisses down the side of your neck when the music playing through the headphones slowed down.

The two of you moving in sync and touching each other in ways you haven’t indulged in before, a little sweaty and out of breath. You had never felt so truly lighthearted and uninhibited as you did as you danced the night away with Bradley, as he shimmied with you, as he twirled you about, as he held you close.

By the end of the evening, your cheeks were hurting from the wide smile that hadn’t left your face once the whole night.

And there was no hesitation in the way you pulled his face to yours as people danced around lost in their own moments on the beach under the twinkle lights and moonlight that night. As you got lost in him.

The rough denim of his jeans between the soft skin of your thighs has you desperate to move against him for more. His fingers are playing with the frilly chiffon fabric of the red dress you bought forever ago and completely forgot about in your closet. You wanted to be as bold as the color you were wearing, to take the lead and slide his hands up your dress to where you both really wanted them to be. Instead you trail your lips long the strong line of his jaw, reveling in the way he sighs your name.

The next date you had planned.

And the only thing you had told him about it was what time he should expect to be picked up.

At the time he’d grumbled something about his mom raising him as a gentleman and that meant always picking the girl up. To which, you had retorted that Carole told you not to take nonsense from any man, and that included her son. Phoenix had clicked her glass with yours at that.

Bradley was notoriously bad a keeping a secret, excluding when he had planned that first date, but he was even worse when he was the one being kept in the dark. Needless, to say you thoroughly enjoyed teasing him that whole week before your next date.

And if he ran his hands more over your body as he tried to get you to give him even the smallest of hints, you couldn’t say you minded.

You’d stopped by his favorite deli on you way home from work and ordered a couple of those giant sandwiches that were piled high with all the cold cuts and too many toppings, along with a few containers of different sides to round out the meal. Your fridge had been stocked his favorite beer from your last grocery run, so you’d grabbed a few cans of those and some sparkling waters and put those in your cooler basket with the other sweet treats you had already bought before you’d quickly changed and left to go pick him up.

You’d barely had the car parked in his driveway of his condo before he was opening the door and throwing his large body in your car.

“It’s not too late to let me drive, kid,” he’d said in greeting, pressing a kiss to your cheek. You really liked this part, the casual physicality of his affection. You liked it a lot.

“Oh please, you just want me to tell you what we’re doing,” you countered, as you backed up and pulled on to the main road. “Plus, I don’t see what your problem is. I drive you around all the time when the Bronco is getting a tune up.”

“Yeah, but only when it’s in the shop. I am physically pained to be in a Honda Civic,” he complained, as he shifted from side to side and moved the seat back trying to get more comfortable. Ever the drama queen.

“Hey, it’s a hybrid! I’m saving the planet,” you lobbed back at him, “How much fuel does your F/A-18 go through?”

“It’s boring.” There was no missing the derision dripping from the word.

Such a little car snob.

“I think you mean it’s practical,” you replied primly. “I’m not going to apologize for having a car from this century, Bradley.”

“Is it even safe to be this close to the ground?” he groused as he looked at you from over the top of his sunglasses.

“Well, my lease on this is up soon and I have been thinking about getting an all-American whip,” you paused for a moment as he perked up at the idea of that, “Do you think I would look cute in a Jeep?”

The taunt landed just the way you hoped it would when he groaned and clutched his heart.

“My girl is not driving a Jeep. That’d be like sleeping with the enemy!” he dramatically bemoaned, “The Bronco would stall out of spite knowing you’re driving the competition.”

You hoped he didn’t catch the way you’d clamed up. How your hands had tightened on the steering wheel, knuckles standing out in contrast against the paper-thin skin there.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t slept with someone on the first date before. And while you knew it was a matter of when and not if, you were still having a hard time wrapping your brain around the fact that you would be having sex with Bradley Bradshaw.

But there was fucking and then there was whatever this was.

It already felt different with him than anyone else you’ve dated before. It felt like it would mean more with him and you couldn’t pretend you weren’t anxious about it.

This was Bradley.

Bradley.

Who had always made it to your tennis matches wearing the t-shirt he had made that boldly sported your last name across his chest after you had complained that the boys’ teams always better funding and therefore got better apparel. He was always the loudest person in the stands, except for your moms when they overdid it on the Sauvignon Blanc.

Bradley.

Who had always sent you your favorite kind of flowers to be delivered on your birthday and never failed to FaceTime with you regardless of where he was in the world or what time it was where he was stationed.

Bradley who was looking so handsome next to you in your practical Honda Civic wearing a snug light blue button up shirt and smelling really good. Woodsy with the tiniest hint of citrus.

With his tousled sun-lightened curls and warm brown eyes. His strong, sturdy nose. That mustache that had no right to look so perfect on his face. You’d liked every version of him you’d know throughout your life, but this one next to you? You lo--

“Light’s green, sweet girl.” He was wearing that little half smirk of his. The one that was entirely too knowing, and that looked entirely too good on him.

You had blinked at him a few times before you had realized you’d been completely caught checking him out. And it wasn’t until the car behind you honked that you were startled out of your Bradley filled mental wanderings.

Thankfully you were saved from further jokes at you or your car’s expense as you pulled into the parking lot of the library, happy for the distraction from your earlier thoughts.

“Do you have some books you need to return?” he asked a bit perplexed, his eyebrow knitting together.

“Nope,” you answered. Sending him a smug wink as you reached over to click the button to unbuckle his seatbelt.

He wasn’t the only one who could plan a surprise in this relationship.

And in the midst of your self-satisfied musings, you had somehow missed the way he had rounded the car until his big hands were on your waist. Then he was turning you around and crowding you against the side of your very practical car.

“This ok?” he rasped questioningly against your ear, stroking your side.

You nodded rapidly. All words had escaped you the second he had pressed his broad, hard body against yours.

It was a miracle you didn’t drop the basket in your hands when his mouth collided with yours, his lips leisurely gliding over yours. You were still getting use to the sensation of his rough mustache on your delicate skin, but you liked the feel of it.

You liked everything about him.

He pulled away after a few moments, nudging your cheek with his nose, “Hey, you good?”

There was a moment when you thought that maybe he had noticed the way you’d froze in the car when he had made that joke. He knew you so well, but even that felt like a stretch.

“Just peachy,” you replied, as you leaned in for another quick peck. But just as you tried to pull away, he tugged you back in.

“’m not done kissing you yet.”

“Bradley, come on,” you laugh breathlessly, the grin on your face derailing any further plans he had for your mouth.

“Or, hear me out,” he mused, as he trailed a finger down your arm, until he reached your hand to take the basket from you, “We can make out against your car. Seeing as we’re already very good at that.”

“Nuh-uh.” You shake your head at him. “There will be no more making out.”

“At all?” he coaxed. His thumb sneaking under your top, stroking the skin above your hip.

“For the next couple of hours,” you amended. “Are you going to be trouble?”

“Only the good kind, I promise.” He was wearing that cheeky smile that always left you feeling a little flustered. Threading your fingers together with his free hand, he gestured for you to lead the way.

You pulled him along with you as you followed the other groups of people who were making their way the same direction around to the back of the library where the large section of grassy lawn was located.

“Last chance, you sure you don’t want to go make out in the stacks?” he teased as you passed by the entrance, giving you a heated once over, “You always were such a good girl in school, Miss Valedictorian.”

It made your cheeks warm at both the idea of him pressing you against the shelves and from him calling you a good girl. And you were almost tempted to let him have his way. To let him pull you out of the line you were waiting in in favor of finding out what his mouth tasted like in some quiet, dusty corner of the library.

“Behave, this is an all ages event,” you reminded him, and yourself. He held up his three fingers in Scout’s promise. But you knew better, recognized what that smirk he was wearing meant, so you met him half way, “If you’re good, maybe we can do that for our third date.”

You had felt your pulse radiate through your whole body when he leaned in close and murmured, “I can be good for you.”

A pointed cough jolted you both out of the moment, you had been so wrapped up in him that you had completely missed that the line had moved. Muttering a sheepish Sorry, you tugged a shameless Bradley along with you to catch up with everyone else.

When you made it to the front of the line, he tried to fish out his wallet before you could reach yours to pay the suggested entry donation fee. The volunteer chuckled as you tossed the blanket you were carrying at your troublesome date’s broad chest. And then you handed over the cash you had withdrawn from the ATM earlier in the day, plus a little more.

You were a patron of the literary arts, after all. A humanitarian with a point to prove. This was your date you had planned for Bradley, you would be the one sweeping him off his feet tonight.

The big screen they had set up gave it away, but you refused to tell him what movie was playing that evening even as he made guess after guess as you wove your way around people to find an unoccupied spot in the grass.

You kept him busy by having him smooth out the blanket until there were absolutely no wrinkles, and then distracted him with all of his favorite goodies as you unpacked them out of your cooler bag. Thankfully, it wasn’t too much longer before the event’s coordinator was welcoming everyone since you had run out of PG-rated ways to keep Bradley diverted without spoiling the evening’s featured film.

When the opening credits had started rolling for Singin’ in the Rain Bradley had turned to you, his wide grin lighting up his whole face.

“I love this movie,” he said excitedly.

You smiled back at him indulgently, as if you didn’t already know that. However, you still had felt very pleased with yourself that he was so thrilled as you passed him one of the massive, overly filled sandwiches along with a beer.

You had forgotten to pack some extra plates to put the sides on, so you and Bradley passed the containers of creamy potato salad, tangy coleslaw, and cold tomato salad back and forth. Occasionally feeding the other bites in between watching Gene Kelly and Donald O’Connor’s antics on screen.

A little while later, the two of you had cozied up on the blanket, the leftover food pushed off to one side. Bradley had pulled you into the space between his legs, encouraging you to rest your back against his sturdy chest. You had never felt as perfectly content as you did sitting there wrapped up in his arms sharing a bag of gummy bears and the other boxes of movie candy you had packed as the warm California breeze washed over you.

You had been surrounded by families and other couples, but the way he rested his chin against your shoulder and hummed along with Gene Kelly singing “You Were Meant For Me” was for your ears only.

There isn’t anything in this world that feels as good as Bradley’s wet lips sliding over yours. Nothing as exciting as wondering where his hands will roam to next on your body. Nothing as devastating as when he teases down the strap of your dress off of your shoulder with his nose as his mouth purposefully works along your collarbone.

Ever the gentleman, he’s never pressured you, or even brought it up. You know he is waiting for you to make the move, to let you be the one who sets the pace. To let him know when you’re ready to take that next step with him.

And you want to. You really want to. Even now, you can feel how enticingly hard he is beneath you as you moan into his mouth.

You know that you’re the one holding you back.

The one holding the both of you back.

And you know exactly why.

The closest you two even got to toeing that line into something more was the night you got back home after spending a few days on the East Coast for a work trip.

Bradley had wanted to pick you up from the airport, but you were getting in late and didn’t want him to lose out on the sleep that he needed to stay safe doing his job. He only let it go once you had promised him you would text him when you landed and got home in one piece.

You had been getting ready for bed after showering off the plane from your body, slipping on an old shirt you had recently rediscovered buried in the back of your dresser when your phone had lit up. And you really shouldn’t have been surprised to see Bradley’s name on your screen well past 2 A.M, but your heart still fluttered seeing his name pop up.

“Yes, Bradley?” you answered with a playful lilt in your tone.

“Hi, kid,” you could hear the soft smile in his voice, “Did you make it home ok?”

“I did, but what are you still doing awake? You’ve got that new training program that starts tomorrow, and roosters aren’t known for being nocturnal creatures.”

“She’s got jokes, ladies and gentlemen,” he deadpanned flatly before tentatively continuing, “You said you were going to text me when you landed. But my phone has been suspiciously silent.”

You didn’t know if that swooping sensation in your stomach had been from feeling like you’d let him down or from the fact that he was calling you this late because he was worried about you. That he had stayed up wanting to hear from you because you mattered to him. You that you were in his 2 A.M thoughts.

“I figured you’d be asleep, and I didn’t want to bother you,” you admitted self-consciously as you puttered around you room, putting away a few of the things from your suitcase.

And it had been the truth. You had typed out a message when you were waiting in the ride share pick up area with your carry on, but ended up deleting it not wanting to bother him or disturb his sleep.

“Nah, you’d never bother me. I was waiting to hear from you. Wouldn’t have been able to sleep anyways, not with you being flown around by some random pseudo-captain airline pilot wearing a pair of wings with a brand logo on it.”

The men you had dated in the past had always said the same thing without really meaning it, sending halfhearted thumbs up when you’d let them known you got home after a date or landed safely after a work trip. But Bradley wasn’t like those men, he truly meant the things he said because he cared.

“Not the branded wings,” you teased, before softly saying, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all good, sweet girl. I’m just happy you’re home. You free dinner tomorrow? I want to hear all about your trip.”

“For you? Yeah, I think I can clear my schedule.”

“Good,” he said contentedly before pausing for a moment, and you heard rustling on the other end of the line, “So, what are you wearing?”

You burst out laughing, as you finally crawled into your soft bed, grinning wildly, “Bradley Bradshaw, you did not just ask me that!”

“What?” he asked innocently, his chuckle giving him away. “How about this, you tell me and I promise to never bring up the fact that you have contributed to any prematurely gray hairs that might have sprung up in the last few hours.”

“A silver fox Bradley Bradshaw?” Now that was something you were very much looking forward to seeing one day, “Be still my heart.”

“Chances are you won’t have to wait long,” he joked.

“Well, it’s funny you should ask,” you mused as you look down at the threadbare shirt you had on, “Because I am currently wearing a very old Cardinals Baseball shirt.”

He had given it to you after they had won the State Championships his junior year as a thank you for all the time you had spent helping him practice after school and on the weekends leading up to the playoff games.

“You’re messing with me.”

“I would never joke about Washington High school pride.” He laughed at that, because really, when were you not teasing him?

When you didn’t say anything more he’d pressed, “Wait, seriously?”

“Mm-hmm,” you purred smugly, playing with the frayed hem of the shirt.

“I want to see it.”

“Are you asking me to send a photo of myself in bed after 2 A.M?” you asked with faux shock, “Sir, I am a lady.”

That made him snort, “There wasn’t anything ladylike about the way you took down that burger the other week. But seriously. You’ve got sixty seconds, kid. Otherwise I’m coming over there to see it for myself.”

Your breath had caught in your throat. His demand made your heart beat faster in your chest, the two of you had never done anything like this before.

“Ok, ok. Give me a moment.”

Working quickly knowing Bradley wasn’t one for idle threats, you positioned yourself where his shirt is clearly visible, but also featured a glimpse of the top of your thighs and a hint of the smirk on your lips. Satisfied you sent it off to him and put the phone back up to your ear.

“Holy shit,” he breathes out incredulously. You didn’t know if he meant to say it out loud or not, but you’d felt the heat work its way in your cheeks all the same.

“Come on then, Bradshaw. You’re up. Tit for tat as it was.”

“I didn’t realize tits were on the table,” he rasped lowly.

You were thankful he hadn’t made this a FaceTime call, so that he didn’t see the way your jaw dropped.

There was a thrumming working its way through your body. There wasn’t anything explicitly dirty happening, but it felt deliciously thrilling all the same. It was exciting doing this with him.

“Nuh-uh, rules are rules. You’ve got sixty seconds,” you tell him, trying to sound more in control than you felt.

A few moments later you see the notification pop down, and you click into the text. The first thing your mind registered was his skin.

So much golden skin.

He was leaning against his head board, navy comforter bunched around low on his waist. His hair was a little mussed, and his mouth was pulled to one side in a half-smirk. He was just so handsome, you could even see the fine trail of hairs that led to his---

“Goddammit, Bradley!” you’d exclaimed putting him on speaker, so you could still hear him without putting your phone back up to your ears since you were too busy staring at the picture he had just sent. “Are you kidding me? This is some serious one-handed fodder!”

You could hear his booming laughter on the other side.

“Happy now?” You could hear how pleased he was with your reaction in his voice.

“Truly, the happiest. You have no idea,” you replied, albeit a distractedly, “But, full disclosure? I am going to be gazing at this so disrespectfully after we hang up.” You’ve never been so bold before, but everything about that moment had been electrifying with him. Because of him.

“Enjoy your one-handed fodder, kid. But full disclosure?” his voice was teasing as he used your own words against you, “You’d need to use both hands. I’m glad you’re home, I’ll see you tomorrow. Sweet dreams, sweet girl.”

He hung up on you without waiting for a response as you gaped into your home screen.

As images filled your head of what it would look like to have both of your hands wrapped the length of him, you let your fingers trail down your stomach and under the waistband of your underwear.

You had already lost a lot of sleep thinking about Bradley. Dreaming about how it would feel to be naked and pressed close along his body. He runs so warm normally, would he be even hotter to the touch as you both rocked against each other? You wanted to know the sounds he made when he came.

Too desperate to come to bother reaching for your vibrator, you had propped your phone against your spare pillow looking at that photo of him cozy and warm in his bed, and with your other hand you easily slid two fingers into yourself. Circling your clit with one hand as you worked yourself with the other.

You wanted his fingers. You wanted his mouth. You wanted his cock. You wanted all of him.

Closing your eyes, you let yourself think about Bradley. His molten brown eyes. His strong forearms. The tantalizing veins of his thick neck. The way his mustache feels against your mouth when you make out in his Bronco. The powerful grace in the way his body moved during a game of dogfight football.

You imagined him unreservedly and unabashedly.

Above you.

Below you.

Behind you.

You came like a flash. Back arching as you spasmed against your own fingers while thinking about his.

And a few minutes later, just as your heart rate had settled back down and you were about to turn your light off, you got a text from him.

𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚗’𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚐𝚊𝚣𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝. 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚝. 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍. 𝙸 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚢 𝚘𝚗𝚎-𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘𝚘, 𝚔𝚒𝚍.

Which promptly had you tossing your phone away from you as you squealed into your pillow.

It was so easy to lose yourself in his kiss, breathing in each other’s air. Your mouths are drawn together like magnets. His hands are high on your ribcage, his brave thumb caressing the underside of your breast. You are dizzy off of the feeling of his tongue stroking yours.

There is an earnest yearning in the way you both kiss each other. In the way you touch each other. It’s almost like you’re trying to make up for something.

“I can feel you thinking, sweet girl,” he says a little breathlessly as he pulls away from your mouth. His lips are swollen and his hair is a wavy, brown mess. “Am I not going a good enough job over here?”

You know he is teasing you, but you can tell that he is giving you the gentle opening to talk about what distracting thoughts are pulling you out of being in the moment with him.

“I was just thinking about when you picked me up in your old Montero for the first time. You were leaning against it like my very own Jake Ryan,” you tell him as you place kisses across his cheek.

Not exactly the truth, but you don’t want to ruin the mood by telling him what was really on your mind. Not when you wanted to make him feel just as good as he was making you feel.

“I loved that car,” he moans lightly as you kiss along his jaw, his hands sliding up your back.

“I know,” you hum against his ear, “You didn’t talk to me for like a week when I spilled my milkshake in it that one time.”

“I should have kept that car, she was a classic,” he sighs as he leans his head against the back of the couch to look up at you. His hands skimming up and down the sides of your waist, still hard beneath you.

“You know, my parents still think I was some kind of manual stick-shifting wunderkind,” you tell him grinning down at him. Your thumb tracing the long scar there under his Adam’s apple.

“Yeah, I probably shouldn’t have taught you how to how to drive when you were fourteen,” he says with fondness. The grin on his gorgeous face nothing short of sheepish, “Your mom can never know. I still want her to like me.”

You smile briefly thinking about him teaching you in the afternoons after school when neither of you had practices to attend in the abandoned parking lot across town.

How he had patiently taught you how to shift from neutral into first even after stalling out multiple times in a row. He had done his best to hid his wincing from you when you inevitably managed to grind the gears because he didn’t want you to feel bad about it. You can still remember how loudly he whooped for you when you managed to start it and get it moving in one go. Afterwards, he had taken you to the ice cream place to celebrate, that time with him in the driver’s seat.

When you had finally gotten your learner’s permit your parents had called you a natural. And you had immediately known that there was no way you were ever going to tell them you’d learned from Bradley. That was a secret just for the two of you.

“You know,” you muse toying with button on his shirt, “Sixteen-year-old me would probably be losing her mind knowing that I get to make out with you anytime I want.”

“Huh, that so?” he smirks, a hand coming up to play with the ends of your hair, “Did you have a crush on me, kid?”

For the most part, before getting together you had been good about keeping your feelings for Bradley purely platonic. Except for a couple of slip ups here and there over the years, like that time at the Hard Deck after seeing the team play dogfight football for the first time. But that was another secret that you were never going to give up easily.

Your friendship with him had always meant more to you than anything else.

“Mm, I wouldn’t call it a crush. What I had was a lot of hormones, and it didn’t help that you were pretty.”

He had always been cute, even as a gangly teen whose arms and legs never seemed to be in sync, but the man looking up at you now was in a league of his own. His warm brown eyes were slightly hooded filled with mischief and something more.

“And now?” Bradley asks teasingly, his other smoothing up your back to press you closer. He leans forward to kiss the spot where your neck met your shoulder.

“Now?” you breathe out, as his mouth moves up along your neck, “Now I still have a lot of hormones, think you’re very handsome, and definitely have a crush on you.”

“Good,” he murmurs as his teeth graze your jaw.

“What about you?” you gasp, melting into him further. You want to keep him talking, so you don’t think about how you want his mouth on other places. He is so hard, so warm, and you want him so bad.

But for as much as you wanted to strip off your clothes and his to let him have his way with you, it was the last boundary between being just friends and this. It wasn’t something that could ever be undone. And you wanted it so bad, it scared you just how much you wanted that kind of permanence with him.

It’s been almost two months and you’ve had him for years, but you want him like this forever.

“Yeah, there’s been a few times when I’ve caught myself thinking about you in less than friendly ways. You’re gorgeous, and smart, and funny,” He squeezes your waist, before admitting, “Always felt guilty when it happened though.”

He had thought of you too.

Why did that make your chest hurt? Could you have been doing this for years?

“Tell me,” you quietly urge, running your fingers through his hair encouragingly, “I want to know.”

You were desperate to know.

“Do you remember that house party we went to that Spring Break you visited me during my senior year at UVA?” he asks, letting his hands lightly trail up and down the tops of your thighs.

You could have been doing this for years.

You didn’t trust your voice not to wobble and betray you, so you nodded your head instead.

“I had gone in to get us a couple more drinks, and when I came back out there were so many more people in the backyard than there were when I left. I mean, I was probably a little drunk, but it was packed,” he told you as his thumb rubbed small circles near your inner knee, “I remember looking for you when I got distracted by a great set of legs in pair of frayed denim shorts. And as I was working out how I was going to play it as I made my way over to her, she turned around.”

It wasn’t a secret where this was going. You knew what the ending would be before he even started telling you the story. Yet, you were still hanging on his every word with bated breath.

“You turned around. Couldn’t believe I didn’t recognize you in that moment. And the way you smiled at me,” he reaches up and cups your cheek, his thumb lightly tapping on the spot where your dimples lived, “God, I still remember, it hit me like a suckerpunch. Your hair looked so pretty under the string lights they had put up.”

“They were the shitty red and green Christmas kind,” you whisper.

You remembered that party, it was one of the last times you got to spend uninterrupted one-on-one time with him before he joined the Navy. Before your friendship turned into a long-distance game of catching up and phone tag.

“They were and probably a fire hazard too,” he confirms softly with a chuckle, reaching up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear as you gaze at each other. “I felt so bad afterwards that I had been checking you out. Like I was taking advantage of our friendship somehow.”

This was a new kind of openness between the two of you in this little moment of transparent honesty. A reminder for how well you know each other that there are still new things to learn.

“I remember when you picked me up from the airport, I think it was like the first time we’d seen each other in person in almost a year. And I had this moment when I saw you waiting for me that realized that the boy I had grown up with was very much a man,” you sit back a bit to better look at him, his cheeks were still flushed from earlier. “But god, Bradley, now? Now, you’re devastating.”

You wanted him to have these parts of you, to fill him in on the things he didn’t know, the things you kept close to your heart. It was your story, but it belonged to him too.

“C’mere,” he murmurs as he wraps his hand around the back of your neck pulling you back into him. Your mouths are a whisper away from each other as you share the same air, and he is looking at you with such open want, “I didn’t realize until recently how much time I spent trying not to think about you like that when you first moved here. And now that I can, you’re the only thing that’s been on my mind. You’re so fucking distracting, sweet girl.”

If you thought you were needy before, now you felt like you’re going to vibrate out of your skin if you didn’t get your mouth back on his right that very second.

He meets you half way for a desperate kiss. It’s hungry and open-mouthed. You come alive under his touch, his kiss energizes you in a way that no drug or stimulant ever could.

Your hasty, frantic hands landing everywhere. Never content to linger in one place for long. Not when you have so much of his body you are dying to map with your hands. With your mouth. You want to touch him everywhere. You want to taste him everywhere.

You nibble on the fullness of his lower lip, seeking entrance into his warm mouth. He opens for you without hesitation, his tongue ready and waiting to welcome yours. You can still taste the juicy, full-bodied red on him from that long-forgotten bottle of wine.

He says your name on shattered breath, pulling away only long enough to place wet, hot kisses down your neck, down your chest. Your hands are buried in his hair, clutching at his sunkissed waves.

“This damn bow,” he rasps as he roughly pulls at the little bow at the center of your flirty red dress as if it has personally offended him by its very existence. Once untied it reveals a bit more of the swell of your breasts to his eager eyes.

Your skin feels almost a size too small for your body, and your throat is tight with want. His kisses were like champagne going straight to your head. His hands are the only thing you want touching you.

You don’t mean to let your hips rock against the firm swell of him, but his resounding groan is quite possibly the hottest thing you’ve ever heard in your life. And you know in that moment you need to hear it again, and again. So you roll your hips once more, intentionally this time.

Bradley’s low moan of pleasure makes you feel heady and reckless. You lick a stripe along the underside of his jaw. His hands fly to your ass, sliding under that frilly dress, grasping you with greedy hands when you kiss a spot behind his ear. Even in your frenzied state you file away his response to that for later.

And then you are lost in the feel of his mouth. Of his hands on you. Of your hands on him. Of the taste of the skin of his neck. Of the feeling of the zipper on his tight jeans hitting your clit just right as you writhe on top of him.

It starts as a shiver that makes your whole body erupt in goosebumps as he encourages the rolling of your hips against him. You’ve never felt as cared for, as safe as you do in his arms.

The tingling sensation begins at the base of your neck and like a flicker start it shoots down, down the entire length of your spine setting off in your cunt in spectacular electric bursts.

You spasm deliciously and devastatingly against nothing with Bradley pressed thick and hard against the center of you. The shockwaves gripping your body as you’re left gasping and panting into the hollow of his throat.

“Did you just...?” he asks urgently. You can’t speak yet so you nod vigorously into his neck. “Fuck. That’s so hot.”

Pressing closer, you try to hide from the intensity you know you would find in his eyes. Burying your face further in his neck as you try to catch your breath. You breathe him in in hopes that his soothing cedar scent will help settle the rapid beating of your heart.

“Sweet girl, please. C’mon, I gotta see you,” he murmurs desperately. He pulls his head back a bit trying to create more room to get a look at you, attempting to coax you out by brushing your hair back, “I need to see it. Please. Let me see your face.”

You can feel how turned on he is, can hear it in his voice. And you’re feeling truly shy around Bradley for probably the first time in your life.

“I’ve been thinking about what you’d sound like for weeks,” he tells you with such soft sincerity.

“Bradley,” you whisper finally pulling away from the sanctuary that is the crook of his neck. His heated gaze roams your face, drinking you in. He brings a hand up to cradle your cheek, this thumb skimming your lower lip. There are a thousand different emotions coursing through you and you know he can read them all.

“God, you’re so beautiful. Talk to me, please,” he breathes, “What’s going through your mind? It’s just me.”

You have been so careful trying to skirt around this conversation. It has been the elephant in the room after every date, every heated make out session, every honeyed goodnight kiss.

And you want him too much to keep avoiding this, even though it scares you.

“That’s just it, Bradley, it’s you!”

“It’s me?” he asks confused.

“Yes! It’s you, it’s me, it’s us. It has never been like this with anyone else. I have never felt like this with anyone else. And the way you look at me sometimes, it’s overwhelming.” You were still feeling flustered from your surprise orgasm, and you know you aren’t expressing yourself clearly. But you feel so flayed open before him.

“Hey, hey,” he says soothingly, “If this is too much for you, we can slow it down. Or if you aren’t feeling it, we figure out how to be just friends again.” He can’t hide the wince on his face as he says it, but you know he honestly means it. “It might take me a couple of decades to forget the way you sounded just now, but we would figure it out together.”

“No, I don’t want that. Don’t you get it? I feel the complete opposite, and that’s the problem!”

“Ok, wait. You just came on my lap, sweet girl,” Bradley’s voice is unmistakably proud, even as he breathes out raggedly. “I’m trying to get my thoughts in order over here. Because that was the best thing I’ve ever heard and I’m having trouble getting my head on right to talk about this. So as much as I love having you on me, we have to readjust before we can continue.”

You make a noise of protest as maneuvers you both so that he is stretched out across the couch, while you’re nestled securely against the back of his couch and half draped over him.

“Let’s try this again,” he says rubbing small circles on your back, “I don’t want to mess this up by not knowing exactly where we stand with things, you are too important to me. Are you worried it’s going to be weird or that it’s not going to be good?”

“No.” That legitimately never even crossed your mind. But now a seed of doubt had been planted in your already anxious mind, “Are you?”

“Not even a little bit,” Bradley tells you with a shake of the head, “I know it’s going to be good.”

“That confident about your sexual prowess, huh?” It felt easier, safer to make a joke.

“Well, yeah. There’s that,” he hums with a half smirk, “But it’s you and me, kid. It’s gonna be good. How could it not be?”

There’s something about his steadfast sureness that warms your chest.

“Can I tell you what I’m worried about?” He waits for your nod of confirmation before continuing, “I’m worried about how I am supposed to function afterwards. How am I supposed to just get up and go to work in the morning after I’ve had you in my bed? Because once I get to have you like that, I’m never going to stop wanting more with you.”

And there’s the longing again, that pull in your stomach. You want him too, you want him too.

You are comforted knowing that he has things that have been on his mind too, that you’re not alone. Even if the two of you are concerned about two different things. And it was only right that you let him in, you could be unreservedly vulnerable for him.

“Bradley, it’s been so incredibly good with us. But I’m so afraid that once we take this step, that all I am going to be thinking about is that we could have been doing this for years. That we could have had each other like this for years.” Even the idea of it hurts your heart, at the glimmer of the possibility that you could have gotten to this point with him sooner. “And I don’t want to have any regrets about the way our story has gone up until this point. But I especially don’t want to have any regrets about missing out on time with you.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead in understanding.

“Let me ask you this then, would you trade any of it?” he asks as he slides a hand around your neck to tilt your head up to look at him, “Any of the adventures we had when we were younger? Or the weekend visits? Or any of the late-night milkshake runs for it?”

You knew the answer immediately, “No. No, I wouldn’t trade a thing.”

“Then we’re right on time,” he promises sincerely as he skims his thumb along the line of your jaw. “We’re right on time, sweet girl.”

It’s so perfectly Bradley, the way he knows exactly what your heart needed to hear.

And all the extra pressure you had been feeling releases from your body because it’s Bradley.

It’s just Bradley. It’s just you.

It’s just you and Bradley.

It’s been that way since you were kids.

You’ve had him as a friend. You still have him as a friend. But you also get to have more.

Of course, it’s going to be good.

Of course, it’s going to be right.

Of course, there were going to be what if’s. It was inevitable.

What you weren’t going to do is let yourself dwell on what-could-have-beens or regrets because you have him here and now. And that is more than enough.

It’s everything.

You untangle yourself from him to stand up as he watches you apprehensively. Waiting to see what your next move will be.

Standing in front of Bradley, you hold his gaze as you find the zipper on the side your little red dress. All concern leaves his face as you draw it down slowly before him. He doesn’t blink as you let the silky fabric skim down your body, puddling at your feet. And then he is looking at you with open awe and longing.

Stepping out of it lightly, you confidently make your way to the stairs towards his bedroom.

“Well, are you coming?”

PART 2

Not to worry, friends! There is more to come! After all, we have to find out what happens once she goes up those stairs!

To those who like to spice up their life a la the Spice Girls, I’ve got more headed your way (and by more, I mean smutttt)! I have a taglist, so let me know if you would like to be added!

I wrote this as a birthday fic for the one and only @gretagerwigsmuse! (Surprise! See I can be sneaky, even if you already knew about it, haha!) It may be a little late, but I hope it was worth the wait!

Mood board for Part 1

(This is written for part of my ‘Like I Can’ series. You don’t need to read it first, but you might want to. It’s pretty cute! You can check it out here!)

You can check out my other fics here!

Taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken @notroosterbradshaw @laracrofted @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @itscheybaby @prettylittlelauraa @startrekfangirl2233 @marantha @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @itsizzythebell @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @boltgirl426 @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @torres-espana @uzumegui @dont-talk-me-down @fandomunite2107 @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pariahsparadise @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @nina-sj @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @misty-inferno @angellwingsss @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @mrsdaamneron @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @melllinaa @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @mandolin22 @imaginecrushes @soleilgrec @keyrani @chicomonks

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

997 notes · View notes

thegigilwriter · 17 days

Text

Masterlist: “Danger & Star, Rooster & Angel” — Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Female Mitchell OC

Summary: 26-year-old Lucy Asa Mitchell did not know what was in store for her when she first bumped into Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw. After an instant mutual connection followed by a sweet whirlwind romance that swept both their feet, Lucy found herself being immersed deeper into Bradley’s world of the Navy, F-14s, and deployments. What she didn’t expect was finding was the answer to an elusive part of her past — the identity of her long-lost father.

Keywords/Warnings: Romance, definitely NOT slow burn, both smut and implied smut (if you’re not 18, go away), Drama, descriptive writing (more show than tell), some religious themes but not dominating (OC is Catholic), mention of hospitalization, imminent death, and missing loved one, possible inaccuracies about deployments and marine biologists.

Chapter Index

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 9.5 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 …

Disclaimer: “Danger & Star, Rooster & Hope” is a work of fiction created by @thegigilwriter and is not endorsed by the original creators, producers, or any affiliated parties of TopGun and TopGun: Maverick. All characters, settings, and events portrayed in this fanfiction are purely fictional and do not reflect the views or intentions of the original creators. Any similarities to real persons, living or dead, or actual events are purely coincidental. The author acknowledges the original creators' ownership of the intellectual property and intends no infringement upon their rights. This fanfiction is created for entertainment purposes only.

I DO NOT permit my work to be reposted or copied or referred to without proper citation on Tumblr or on any other platform. As a creator and writer, I believe in the integrity and respect of someone’s work and you should too. Remember, if you don’t like what you read then don’t read it. There is a difference between being critical and being disrespectful — I believe as human beings we can articulate our opinions in an appropriate manner. Thank you.

45 notes · View notes

sometimes-i-write-good · 1 year

Text

alma perdida - prologue

Top Gun: Maverick - original character insert

725 | "Don't you dare do anything stupid, Stinger."

Clearly whoever was shouting into the radio didn't know her very well. She'd spent years buzzing control towers, stealing jets for joyrides, and making the higher ups so miserable they almost missed Maverick.

Wouldn't dream of it. She thought. Doing, though? Now that was another story.

===

Genre: Canon Divergence, Angst, Coming of Age

CW: canon-typical violence, mentions of possible character death

Author’s note: This is my first fic for Top Gun/Top Gun: Maverick. I apologize for any and all inconsistencies, there are going to be quite a few. I know nothing of the military, and I suck at creating believable timelines that follow the movies to a precise science, so this is very much a canon divergence. || It’s also cross-posted on Ao3 with a lot more information, so please show it some love there as well <3

===

It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.

It really wasn’t.

Mav had been clear. More clear than she had ever known him to be. If you did not meet the parameters, you did not come home. And she knew better than anyone, save Bradley, that Pete “Maverick” Mitchell did not just spend the past few weeks teaching them to push their limits out of the kindness of his heart. He did it to get everyone home.

And it was starting to look like that would be more wishful thinking than anything. Masters and the rest of those on the mission, her closest friends, knew there would be SAMs waiting for them after Coffin Corner. The sheer amount still managed to shock her. Screaming chaos reminded her of active-duty years ago. She was the only one to make it back that time. Who is making it back this time? She thought to herself.

“I can’t shake ‘em!” Rooster screamed into the radio. He never used to scream. When the two of them were growing up, she would push his lawful good mentality to the limits, and he only ever raised his voice once - and that was the day he stopped being her friend and became an enigma. Some weird variation of not being friends but wishing we were.

Am I cursed? Bee craned her head in all directions. Smoke in the air. All over the place and she was running out of flares and countermeasures to protect everyone with. Growing up Bradley had never been one to put himself in life-or-death situations. He’d only ever been the kind to pull her out of them, and yet here she was with his screams, “I can’t shake ‘em,” filling the cabin of her Boeing F/A 18E/18F Super Hornet. Stinger in a Hornet sent to take out a nasty hive. It had felt ironic a few hours ago.

Mav had chosen her as team leader. She got to choose who flew with her. It should have been Hangman out here. Someone who would have been fast enough, capable enough. Someone who would understand that this SAM headed for him was going to take him down and headquarters would tell the rest of them to fly back to that damn aircraft carrier. He would have had a smart-ass comment. “Don’t worry, everyone,” Masters could practically hear him croon with the slightest hitch in his voice. The voice of a man whose fate had already been signed. "Someone has to play the hero. It might as well be me.”

But it wasn’t. It was Rooster up here freaking out. It was Mav waiting for him back on the carrier. That missile would be sending two people to the grave, and you couldn’t have that on your conscience.

Fanboy glanced out his canopy at Bee. In the pandemonium - the screaming and spinning and smoke - he caught her eye and read her mind. Payback banked right to avoid a SAM. Fanboy’s gaze wasn’t there, but Masters could still feel the weight of his stare. He knew her well enough. They’d stolen kisses in between briefings and talked on the phone for hours at a time when they were stationed thousands of miles apart. He knew her well enough to know that Rooster’s screams did something to her. Activated this tiny part in her brain where abandonment turned her blood to ice.

“Don’t do anything stupid, Stinger!” But she couldn’t hear him over the sound of everyone screaming. “Don’t you dare!”

Maybe if she had locked onto Fanboy’s voice instead of Rooster’s “Holy fuck, guys!” she wouldn’t have made the split decision to do a cobra maneuver over Rooster and deploy her flares. Then there would be no need to scream Mickey’s name to beg for forgiveness of a higher power she wasn’t sure she even believed in.

Outside her F-18 everything went silent. The aftermath of a mission gone awry. Purgatory. A limbo holding her jet by the strings of fate. In an instant, all that changes. Those strings snapped. There’s nothing Bee can do but plummet down beneath everyone’s line of sight. She can listen to alarms blaring as she struggles to grab onto her eject lines, and she can hear Fanboy’s panicked shrieks.

“Stinger! Stinger! Masters, oh fuck no. Please, Bee!”

It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.

62 notes · View notes

floydsglasses · 3 months

Text

A Quiet Place- DAGGER EDITION

SUMMERY: If they hear you, they hunt you. The world we once knew full of sound is gone, and silence is the key to survival, if you wanna avoid mysterious creatures that hunt by sound. Knowing that even the slightest whisper or footstep can bring death.

Dagger Squad X Various Original Female Characters ( Basically each story involves one of the dagger's with an original character, each set in the world of A Quiet Place)

Contents Involve: Post Apocalyptic, Angst, Use of ASL, Fluff, Death/Mention of death, implied smut, pregnancie for one story, mention's child death, blood

MASTERLIST

ᴀ ᴡʜɪꜱᴘᴇʀ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀ ʏᴇʟʟ- Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw

𝙑𝙖𝙣𝙞𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙂𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙚- Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Way Out There- Mickey "Fanboy" Garcia 𝙒𝙖𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙏𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝘿𝙖𝙬𝙣 - Robert "Bob" Floyd

MOODBOARDS

A Whisper Not A Yell - Moodboard

Vanishing Grace- Moodboard

Way Out There - Moodboard

Waiting till Dawn- Moodboard

#top gun maverick #top gun au #top gun fan fiction #top gun fanfic #bradley rooster bradshaw #jake hangman seresin #natasha phoenix trace #robert bob floyd #mickey fanboy garcia #rueben payback fitch #javy coyote machado #top gun x reader #top gun x oc #top gun x you

50 notes · View notes

roosterbruiser · 2 years

Text

𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐝𝐞 ☾☽ 𝐂𝐡. 𝐈

☾☽ 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 "𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫" 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰 𝐱 𝐅𝐚𝐲𝐞 "𝐂𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫" 𝐋𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐫

☾☽ 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: It’s been almost three years since the accident that took half of her, and Faye “Clover” Ledger seems fine, really. She loves her old house, she has a perpetually expanding vinyl collection, she’s got a job she likes on base, and she is only a short drive from the beach. She’s grounded--literally. Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw feels like he’s been homesick his entire life. He’s always on the move; jumping from one squadron to another, living one mission to the next. Somewhere in between losing both his parents and carving a successful career as a Naval aviator, he’s never found himself a home. When a call to serve on a high-priority mission with an elite squadron brings Rooster back to Miramar, he finds that home. Except it’s not a house that he finds--it’s the former backseater that observes and records the mission for the Official Navy Record.

☾☽ 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

☾☽ 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

☾☽ 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐉𝐮𝐥𝐲 𝟏𝟐𝐭𝐡, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟗

Before I knock on the open office door, I look down at my skirt. It is what my mother would call a smart piece of clothing. An olive-colored linen, somewhere between midi and maxi, steamed early this morning when the morning light was still blue. I pick a piece of non-existent lint off the fabric, wasting time.

The door is solid and strong under my knuckles--the noise is a resounding one, not hollow like the door to my shared office. Everything in my office feels hollow, especially the flimsy desk they assigned to me.

“Come in,” he calls from inside.

My heels click the wood floors and even they don’t sound hollow. His office smells like leather and tobacco, like I’ve just walked into a cigar shop. It’s dark and its wood is heavy and polished, each piece of mature furniture carved meticulously. The windows, which face the tarmac, allow the late afternoon sunshine into the room. There is not a speck of dust on any of the wood.

I salute one time, straightening my back, keeping my place in the doorway.

“Admiral,” I say, short and bold--loud.

“At ease,” Admiral Simpson says softly.

The Admiral is standing with his hands fastened behind his back, his uniform crisp, his eyebrows and mouth flat on his face. He gestures to the leather chair, his blue eyes very serious, very calm. His age is stamped beside his eyes in creases.

“Please, take a seat.”

I cross his office silently and sit poised in the chair even though it sinks with my weight. I cross my legs at the ankle, hands folded in my lap.

“Lieutenant Ledger,” he greets, sinking back to his chair, his back impeccably stiff.

“Good afternoon, Admiral,” I smile.

“We’ve been over this,” he says, more casual than before, “Cyclone.”

I nod one time, never intending to call him by his call-sign.

The corner of his mouth raises, just a hint, and I know it is the most he’s smiled all day. He has a soft spot for me. I know this. He is the one that extended my bereavement leave--the one that offered me a position as a researcher. Admiral Simpson, through all his impeccable discipline and hard exterior, has done more for me the past few years.

He liked Maggie more than me, before she died. She challenged him, truly challenged him--we were always the last jet to be shot down during drills. One time, we had even gotten tone on him. It doesn’t matter now, though.

“Your research--has it been fruitful?”

I nod, clearing my throat. Admiral Simpson is briefed on my research weekly. It’s his conversational equivalent to me picking invisible lint off my skirt.

He narrows his eyes, just slightly. It makes me straighten my shoulders, which are already straight. My file is sitting on his desk, right beside a thick legal pad and a heavy-looking gold pen. It is open. I swallow hard.

“Yes,” I hum, dancing around addressing him, “yes, it has.”

He nods, just once, then sits back in his office chair. One of the windows is open and a hot gust of wind makes the blinds quiver. It touches the hair framing my face like it’s trying to get a good look at me.

“Let me be frank, Lieutenant,” he starts, “you are a gifted backseater. Navigating, weapon-system operations--it comes naturally to you. You are a gifted researcher, too. You’re precise…careful…obedient. You hold your own. You’re an excellent example of what the Navy wants--what it needs.”

My fingers curl, my blood running cold. Fuck.

“Thank you, sir.”

He pretends not to notice.

“There is an upcoming mission, one set to deploy in three weeks time. Training starts bright and early Monday morning,” he sighs, “and unfortunately, I have been backed into a corner. I have chosen Captain Pete Mitchell to lead the training for this mission.”

“Maverick?”

Maggie’s portrait hangs in Memorial Hall, where all the fallen aviators are memorialized. One day, very shortly after Maggie’s death, Maverick and I silently stood in Memorial Hall. He was on one end, studying the portrait of a Nicholas Bradshaw, call sign: Goose. I was on the other end, examining Maggie’s shit-eating grin in her fresh portrait. We said nothing to each other. We were both crying.

I wiped my wet face with an ineffective hand when Maverick started towards me. He simply clapped a hand over my shoulder, one time, very softly. Then he kept walking.

Admiral Simpson seems to stifle an eye-roll. He nods curtly.

“Maverick was not my first--or second--choice for this mission. He will be tasked with training an elite squadron--all Top Gun graduates, of course.”

He pauses, swallows, his eyes flickering to my file. My fingers are numb with cold now. Fuck.

“Si-Cyclone, if you are asking me to get back in the air, then I--” my breath catches in my throat, belly full of wool.

He holds a hand up, furrowing his brows and shaking his head.

“No, no. No one is asking you to get back up in the air. All I’m asking is that you observe and record for the Official Record,” after a beat, he adds, “and maybe keep an eye on Maverick.”

I deflate in the chair, blood starting to pool back in my fingers.

“I trust your judgment, Clover,” he remarks, “and if things were different, it is you I would want in the air.”

His eyes are soft under his furrowed brow as he searches my face. I nod a few times, eyes falling to my file then back up to his face. I smile very politely.

“You flatter me,” I say.

A bit of his seriousness fades. I think I even see his left shoulder drop a centimeter.

“Flattery is not in my nature,” he declares, leaning back into his chair, “I take it you accept your position in this mission?”

“Yes, sir.”

He nods to the door.

“Dismissed, Lieutenant Ledger,” he drones.

As I get out of the chair to walk out of his office, he pretends to write a note down on the legal pad. He does not raise his eyes to mine when he says, “And if you need anything, please do not hesitate.”

☾ ☽

The call comes as I’m walking into my house. Stevie is already sitting in the foyer, looking blankly at me with slanted eyes, her white tail wrapped gracefully around her paws. We stare at each other for a second, my leather bag slung over my shoulders and sweat dotting my hairline.

“I’ll feed you in a minute,” I whisper to her, “don’t look at me like that.”

She blinks at me, one time, very slowly. Unimpressed, as per usual.

My phone is singing in my purse--Elton John. Robert From Major Authors it reads, unchanged since my senior year of college.

Hold me closer, tiny danc--

“Hello?”

“Faye?” Bob says on the other line, his voice soft.

“Hey, Bob,” I greet, biting a smile back, “it’s good to hear from you! I really need to change your contact name.”

He laughs on the other end as I close the front door, turning the heavy lock. Stevie is as still as a statue, regarding me with an air of elitism. I set my purse beside her, fanning myself. It’s very hot in my house.

“I’m still Robert From Major Authors after everything we’ve been through? Is that all I am to you?”

I slip my loafers off, the tile in the entryway cool under my bare feet. It makes me shiver.

“Maybe it’s a subconscious thing,” I try, “what am I on your phone, then?”

I start up the stairs which open to the living room. The curtains are all drawn, shielding my precious furniture from the ruthless heat outside. It is dark in the living room with the shades drawn--I blindly reach for the wall, my eyes still adjusting from the July sun.

“The clover emoji, of course.”

I groan.

“So, I am an asshole.”

Bob laughs and it sounds very familiar, very warm. It makes the heat in my throat spread to my chest. A familiar voice is something I treasure--all the squadrons filing in and out of Miramar like it has revolving doors. No one seems to stick around for very long.

My fingers tingle as I feel my way to the kitchen door, which is one of the only rooms in the house with working air conditioning. The air fills me with an instant euphoric solace--I bite my lip to keep from moaning as the kitchen tile ices my feet.

On the notepad I hang on the fridge, I write air conditioner guy right beside dishwasher guy and lock guy.

“What are you doing right now?”

I survey my kitchen in the early evening light. It’s just past six and the sky is only just beginning to consider dimming. My kitchen is my most recent renovation and it still smells vaguely of wood shavings and metallic screws. My house is an antique one, but the previous owner’s did not regard it as an important piece of history, not like I do. When I bought the house, five years ago now, everything was painted beige and there was brown carpet covering almost all the original hardwood floors.

The house is getting better slowly, as I have time to restore. The kitchen looks more like mine now, more accurate to the decade the house was built. My copper pots and pans, which were my grandmother’s, hang above the gas stove which I opted for instead of the gaudy electric thing that used to be there. The avocado-green oven, which is original to the home, is freshly painted. The Smeg fridge, which gives me goosebumps when I remember the pricetag, is in its final resting place among the wooden cabinets. The countertops are copper, brand new, and it gleams beneath the low lighting.

I pull the fridge open, debating.

“Standing in my kitchen, basking in the window-unit air conditioning. Regretting how expensive this tiny fridge was. Thinking I’ll make curry for dinner. What about you, Bobby?”

He sighs on the other end of the line and I can practically see him sitting in a hangar somewhere, hunched over his desk, holding the phone to his ear and listening to me like it’s the only thing in the world he wants to do.

Bob is the kind of person who can only be described as good. He doesn’t interrupt, he doesn’t talk over, he looks in your eyes when you’re speaking to him. He was the only boy in our Major Authors class at Temple University. He was summoned almost two years ago.

“Well, I’m at the Hard Deck.”

I freeze.

“I’ve been called back to Top Gun.”

An elite squadron of Top Gun graduates.

I slam the fridge door shut, skittering across the kitchen to scoop a heaping mountain of cat food in Stevie’s plastic bowl. She is sitting before it now, like she knew I would succumb.

“Give me thirty minutes!”

☾ ☽

The Hard Deck looks the same as it did when Maggie used to drag me out here every chance she got. A building that oozes casual--brown wooden slatted siding, chipped white trim, palm trees sprouting in the patches of grass before it, a faded blue sign with blinking neon letters swirling the name of the bar.

There is a photograph of Maggie there, under the sign, when we were 24. The American flag is waving in the wind above her, a blur of red and white and blue, and she is mockingly saluting the camera, a pout on her lips.

The Polaroid lives there, in my wallet, in between my social security card and coffee shop gift cards. I rub the soft leather of my wallet, imagining that it’s the glossy front of the photograph.

The sun is beginning its descent, casting everything in a warm gold. The ocean glitters behind the bar, waves lazily rolling to shore and dousing the sand. Lilac clouds sporadically float across the sky, heading West with the sun.

Even from the outside, I know that the bar is crawling with Naval aviators. Not just because it always is, but because Sister Christian is pulsing--a favorite of the cocky pilots.

You're motoring / What's your price for flight? / In finding Mister Right / You'll be alright tonight

I know everyone will be talking over each other, yelling back and forth over a game of clattering pool. There will be peanut shells on the floor, empty bottles lining every flat surface.

If Maggie were here, she would be buying everyone drinks, slapping down her credit card and winking at Penny. Maggie used to corral everyone to the dance floor while I queued songs on the jukebox. People would really dance with us when we danced. Maggie was never embarrassed to dance and it made me not embarrassed to dance. I gained somewhat of a reputation as the Jukebox Queen--from the moment I walked into the bar until the moment I walked out, people would donate their quarters to me.

There is a fleeting pinch in my heart. The lump in my throat feels impossible to swallow. The warm wind blows through my hair again and I hold very still, letting it wash over me.

“It’s Friday,” I whisper to myself, “buck up.”

The rumble of an engine pulls my eyes away from the door.

A cyan colored Bronco screeches into the lot and swerves into a parking spot. The top is soft and the windows are all rolled down. The driver is blasting a song, tapping his steering wheel as he throws the car into park. It takes me a moment to place it--an Otis Redding song. Tramp. It stops very abruptly as the driver cuts the engine.

With all the swagger only a pilot could embody, the driver steps out. The first thing I see is the Hawaiian shirt. It’s somewhere between hideous and gorgeous. It is open, layered on top of a crisp tank top, a pair of dog tags between two massive pecs. Tanned skin shimmers with a sheen of sweat; probably because the jeans he’s wearing are of a good grade--thick denim. He’s smiling, pearlescent teeth glowing under a thick mustache. His hair is made up of a blonde that is as golden as the sunset. He’s wearing black aviator sunglasses.

He starts gliding towards the front door, but seems to stutter when he sees me standing near it, looking in his direction. He approaches me slower, glancing from me to the door a few times before smiling. He’s close enough so that when the wind blows, I can smell the cologne he wears. It’s peppery and deep.

“You going in?” He asks, quirking a brow.

He is still smiling, his nose thick and straight.

“Debating it,” I answer, toeing the sandy gravel.

He nods, squinting. If he was in a hurry before, he is not anymore. He puts his hands on his hips and turns towards the door so our arms are almost touching. He looks the bar up and down, studying it like I am.

“It’s been a while,” I tell him, swallowing.

“Yeah,” he sighs, “me too.”

A beat passes; somewhere in the distance, a seagull cries.

“What’s holding you back?”

What a question.

“Can’t decide if it’s intelligence,” I say, tilting my head, “or rationality.”

His laughter booms--loud enough for me to hear over the chatter inside the building. His arm brushes against mine when he laughs. His skin is warm.

“Maybe it’s a little bit of both,” he replies.

We both suck our teeth and shake our heads. The lump in my throat has dissipated without me even swallowing it. The sun kisses my lips, my chin.

“What’s holding you back?”

He sighs, shaking his head.

“A little lady who can’t make up her mind,” he says.

I scoff, shake my head. He’s watching my eyes, my face.

“People these days!”

His smile deepens. He nods to the door. He has seemingly made my mind up for me.

“Can I get that for you?”

I pretend to think about my answer--he’s looking at the side of my face, maybe at the white scar that traces the bottom of my jaw. I imagine it’s glowing under the sunset, not unlike the neon Hard Deck sign.

“Might as well,” I say, gesturing for him to walk ahead, “tramp.”

He is in front of me when I say it, but he stops again and bites a grin over his shoulder.

“What did you just call me?”

He is amused. His eyes seem very deep in his face behind his shades, framed with dark eyelashes that I can barely make out through the tint. They glimmer with enjoyment.

“Tramp,” I repeat, “Otis Redding. You were just listening to it, right?”

He nods, his face stuttering from a smile to an impressed frown back to a smile. There are scars along the left side of his face, a few crooked lines, and they glow under the sunset like I thought mine would--like neon.

“Thought my reputation preceded me,” he sighs.

In a few strides, we are at the door. He opens it wide and I step over the threshold with a careful foot.

The lump in my throat has returned as soon as I see the inside of the building. The wide-plank white pine floors are almost entirely covered with boots and heels and sneakers. What little pieces of it worm into my view are polished and dirty at the same time, like a used aluminum can. The brown rafters are entirely covered with hanging white mugs, the mugs Maneater and Jagger used to insist on drinking from every time we came to the bar. The old wooden bar, the velvet chairs, the jukebox in the corner--I absorb it all, feeling suddenly naked without Maggie holding my hand.

There is such a crowd that it overwhelms me just to think about discerning all their faces--everyone is an amalgamation of a singular face, blurring from one broad nose to another’s sculpted cheeks. And khaki--so much khaki.

Hawaiian Shirt taps my shoulder. I hope he doesn’t notice the tears clouding my vision as I turn to him. I plaster a toothy smile to my face.

“I’m sorry, did you say something?” I yell, “can’t hear you over the music!”

Sister Christian has finished and Let’s Dance has begun.

He’s looking down at me with a silly grin that makes me want to grin. He bends over so his lips are close to my ear.

“You here with anyone?” He asks.

I nod, searching the crowd.

“Meeting a friend,” I say, swallowing hard, “how about you, tramp?”

I can feel his lips bite into a smile.

“Nothing serious,” he says, “hey, I didn’t catch your name?”

I pull my eyebrows together, coming closer to his ear.

“I didn’t tell you my name,” I say.

Then I pat one of his pecs, meet his eyes again. His cheeks are dusted with pink. I salute him, then start for the bar. It smells like beer and my shoe sticks to some parts of the floor as I navigate through the sea of bodies.

Penny is behind the bar, her back facing me. She’s talking to someone with her arms crossed, a frosty mug of beer in her hands. I have to stand on my tip-toes and crane my neck to see the patron on the barstool she’s talking to. It’s Maverick--his black hair speckled with gray, the lines around his mouth pressed deep from the grin he’s sporting.

Penny turns suddenly, her face flushed, and sees me almost immediately. Her eyes widen and her grin spreads. She holds a finger up to Maverick and crosses the bar to stand before me.

“Do you know how happy I am to see your sorry face here?” She chuckles, her hands on her hips.

My cheeks redden.

“It’s been too long,” I say, “feels good to be back.”

I’m not really sure if it does feel good to be back, but I think I would say anything to make Penny smile. She used to cut Maggie’s free-drink charade at $200, handing the card back at the end of the night with a tight-lipped smile. Maggie was none-the-wiser.

“How’ve you been, kiddo? Staying alive?”

She asks this and then her shoulders slump, her hip un-cocks itself. Her smile is beginning to falter and the color drains from her cheeks. It’s what happens when people say something to me accidentally, something about death or sisters or plane crashes.

I grin, pretend like I don’t notice her sloping mouth.

“Alive and well-ish,” I say, “guess I couldn’t stay away.”

Penny recovers, smiling again. She leans her elbows on the bar and brings her face closer to mine so she doesn’t have to shout.

“I missed you, Clover. Don’t be a stranger,” she says this with all the affection of a mother, which makes a coil wrap tightly around my throat again, makes my fingers cold. Then she snaps back and tilts her head, a playful smile tugging on her lips. “Bloody Mary, right?”

I stiffen. Bloody Mary was what Maggie drank. I nod, though. Penny turns around at once and makes a very bloody Mary.

Maverick watches her from his spot, his eyes soft. When he catches my gaze, he smiles in a small way, nodding. I send him a half-hearted salute and it makes him chuckle.

“One bloody Mary,” Penny says. She nods towards the pool table. “Bob’s waiting for you. Keeps asking me to keep an eye on the door, as if I can even see it from here.”

I fight my way to the pool table, relying on muscle memory and my precision to keep my white shirt white. When I break through the crowd and see the pool table for the first time, it is a gaggle of khaki-clad aviators that greet me. I skim over their faces until I see him. Bob is lining a shot up in pool, his glasses perched on his nose, one eye winking in concentration.

I wait there for a moment, sipping my drink. Oh, God. How did Maggie drink this?

Bob makes his move--there is the clattering, not unlike the clattering of marbles colliding, and not one ball makes it into a pocket. The aviators around him are watching him with their arms crossed over their chests, all their hair combed and coiffed.

A tall blonde man claps him on the back, a hyena grin contorting his pretty face.

“Shoot,” Bob bites, blushing.

“Lieutenant Floyd,” I call over the music, leaning against the stack of chairs beside me, “you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

Bob’s head snaps to attention when he sees me standing in front of him with my putrid drink, smiling at him. His smile makes me ache. It suddenly feels like it’s been years since I’ve seen anyone familiar. I want to hug him, want to kiss him, want to take him home to my house and keep him there with me. It makes my throat tight.

Bob isn’t the only one looking at me--my declaration has captured my entire audience of aviators, who regard me with cocked eyebrows.

“No,” Bob laughs, “but I kiss your mother with this mouth.”

The blonde man’s smile is replaced with wide eyes and a lacked jaw. There’s a unanimous jolt among the aviators, each of them awe-struck and pleasantly surprised by Bob’s quip. I immediately understand that Bob hardly knows these people--that they are not really his friends like I am. They’ve never experienced his quick wit.

Bob and I are grinning at each other.

All the eyes on my face are making me hot. Perspiration is starting to gather in the pit of my arms, my legs.

Bob crosses the table quickly and wraps his arm around me. I have just enough time to jerk my drink away from us before I hug him back. He smells like a freshly-washed baby. My eyes fall shut for a fraction of a second and I rack my brain, trying to remember the last time I was hugged by a friend.

“It’s so good to see a familiar face,” I sigh, “missed you, Bobby.”

Bob releases me, holding my shoulders for a beat, searching my face for anything new. Still me, Bob! I want to say.

“I haven’t seen you since…” he trails off before shaking his head, “since too long ago, that’s when.”

“Bob, aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend?” A voice pipes from behind him.

It’s the blonde haired man, the one that clapped Bob on the back while he bit back a cocky grin. He’s grinning at me now, eyes flickering to where Bob’s hands, which are still lingering on my shoulders.

“Right,” Bob says, releasing me so I can be beheld by the entire group, “allow me to introduce Lieutenant Faye Ledger, call-sign: Clover. We went through the academy together.”

I ease over the aviators crowding the pool table with friendly eyes. Only a few women, only one of them engaged in the conversation. Her hair is sleek and dark, her expression fierce but friendly. All the men drip with ego, with the angular cheeks and cut jaws to match.

Maggie would hate how the men outnumbered the women.

“Sausagefest,” I can practically hear her spitting.

“Clover of Crimson and Clover? Twin-aviator-extraordinaires?”

A man with black, curly hair chopped short says this, his lips parted

Bob’s smile weakens. I take a long, long drink of the bloody Mary. The acidic tomato juice burns my nostrils. I nod.

“In the flesh,” I say, “half, anyway.”

Bob sniffles a smile.

“That’s Hangman,” Bob introduces, pointing to the blonde man with his arms crossed, “and beside him we have Phoenix, Fanboy, Payback, Coyote, and Rooster.”

I follow his fingers, trying hard to nail the names to faces. When Bob’s finger lands on Rooster, I almost stumble in place. It’s Hawaiian Shirt. He’s beaming at me, a foggy beer bottle in his fist. His head is slightly tilted back--his Adam’s apple is pronounced and glistening with sweat.

“Lieutenant Ledger,” Rooster says, “didn’t take you for a pilot. You know, with the indecisiveness and all.”

I sigh, shifting my weight from one foot to the other, tilting my head.

“Sister was the stick jockey. I was just the backseater.”

“One of the best backseaters,” Hangman adds, “everyone’s heard the stories.”

Hangman has his arms crossed and he’s regarding me with his eyebrows knit, his mouth slightly ajar. Maybe he’s surprised that I’m not in uniform, or maybe he’s surprised that half of me is missing. I’m never sure how much anyone knows about Maggie.

I am flushed, but I’m not sure if it’s the sudden attention or if it’s the heat radiating off the sea of bodies all around us. Maybe it’s the vodka. Penny makes a strong drink.

“Impossible,” I say, “not when Bob’s still kicking it. Right, Bobby?”

Bob laughs and it makes me think of Maggie, the way she would make Bob clutch his belly when she did cartwheels all the way to the Uber after close. Or when she would do her Elvis impression, feet bare as she planted herself before him, heels long since forgotten as they were toted around by whatever uniform she was going home with.

I gulp the rest of my drink. My throat vibrates.

“What are you drinking?”

It’s Rooster that asks, striding towards me. I shrug, looking up at him. The sunset has given in to dusk and the warm bulbs above his head turn his hair a brighter blonde than I saw outside. Up close, his scars seem more pronounced, like unnatural wrinkles. He’s still wearing his sunglasses.

“Whatever Penny makes me,” I shrug.

He starts for the bar, but I suddenly tug on his Hawaiian shirt. He turns around, eyebrow quirked.

“Not another one of those,” I whisper, grimacing.

He nods, saluting with his free hand.

“Understood, ma’am.”

He disappears in the crowd.

I turn to Bob.

“What brings you back?”

Bob shrugs, biting his lip. His glasses are perched higher up now that he isn’t focusing on a pool ball.

“All of us were called back for the same assignment. Not sure what it is yet, but seems pretty serious. Everyone dressed in khaki here,” he points around the bar, “top of their class, or damn-near close. Best of the best here.”

I consider telling Bob what Admiral Simpson told me, but I keep my mouth closed, pulling my brows together.

“Must be pretty crucial.”

Bob nods, raising his eyebrows before taking a swig of his beer. He licks his pointed lips then shrugs.

“That’s what we’ve gathered--!”

“Clover,” Hangman interrupts, “you game?”

He points to the pool table. Hangman’s eyes are on mine and the intensity of his gaze feels like standing in front of a fireplace. Phoenix is looking at Bob with wide eyes, nodding for him to play covertly.

I shake my head.

“Not very good,” I call, “these hands aren’t what they used to be.”

“Can’t be any worse than Bob here,” he grins.

His jaw is so toned--it looks like he chews a pack of gum a day.

“Play nice,” Phoenix commands, “rack ‘em, Bagman.”

I nod to the pool table when Bob catches my eyes again. His cheeks are red.

“Give ‘em Hell,” I whisper.

Rooster returns as Bob re-engages with the group. He hands me a wet glass full of something purple and girly. I smile down at it. It’s a lavender limeade with tequila. Penny realized her mistake.

“Thanks,” I call, softly bumping him with my elbow.

Rooster stays put beside me, still smiling, a few drops of sweat racing down his neck and onto his collar. His elbow is touching my bicep.

“Didn’t know you were the Clover Ledger,” Rooster admits, “could’ve told me that before I called you a little lady.”

I suck in a breath through my teeth, taking a long sip from my drink. The tequila instantly warms my throat, loosens my limbs.

“Where’s the fun in that, lieutenant?”

He laughs.

After a beat, I add, “I knew you were a pilot the moment I saw you.”

Rooster looks down at me, searching my face with a bemused expression.

“Oh, yeah? How’s that?”

“The swagger gave it away,” I answer, “the Bronco, the sunglasses, the song, the shirt.”

Rooster holds his hand up in offense.

“What’s wrong with the shirt?”

I shake my head, innocently shrugging.

“No, no, I like it,” I declare, meeting his tinted eyes, “really brings out your eyes.”

Behind his sunglasses, his eyes glimmer. He likes to be teased.

I gulp the limeade. My toes start to feel fuzzy.

“You here for the mission?”

He rests part of his weight on my arm. The heaviness of his arm makes a certain warmth pool in the pit of my belly.

“My mission is to observe and record,” I say, straightening my shoulders and squaring my jaw to imitate Cyclone, “for the Official Navy Record.”

Rooster whistles, feigning impression.

“How can you live with the pressure of it all?”

I shrug, stirring my drink with my finger before sucking it clean. He’s watching me, a perpetual grin tickling his mouth.

“I’m an alcoholic,” I retort.

Rooster laughs loudly--the same laugh from outside. Phoenix and Bob glance up at us from the pool table, quiet smiles on their lips. Bob glances at Rooster, then flickers his gaze back to me, narrowing his eyes just slightly while nodding. He’s saying oh, yeah. He’s a good one. I’d almost forgotten about that secret language we share; the secret language of old friends.

“So…you’re sitting this one out because it’s below your paygrade, then?”

I blink up at him. He cocks his head.

“You’re the best of the best,” he remarks, “isn’t this mission for the best of the best?”

My belly turns sour. I finish my drink again, setting my glass on the stack of chairs. I wipe my damp palms on my dress, studying the floral print as I chew my bottom lip. I can feel my cheeks gathering redness, can feel the lump growing again. Rooster watches me think.

“Aren’t you a cocky creature,” I tease, “is that what all this Rooster business is about?”

Just as I return his gaze, just as I recognize how fuzzy and warm I feel, there’s a tap on my shoulder. Rooster and I turn at the same time.

It’s a man a few years older than me, dressed in a khaki uniform. He’s smiling like he knows me, and leaning closer to say something to me.

“You’re Clover, right? Not the other one?”

Not the other one. I nod.

“I think so,” I say, pretending like I can’t see Rooster beaming.

“This is for you,” he shouts, holding his closed fist in the air near my face.

I lay my hand flat in the air, palm-up. He drops three shiny quarters in it.

“Oh,” I say, feeling flustered, “oh no, that’s okay, you shouldn’t--!”

The man is already walking away, immersing himself in the crowd. I stare down at my open palm, the quarters ringing as I force them against each other.

“What was that about?” Rooster asks, gingerly picking a quarter up and studying it.

I close my fist and let it fall to my side.

It doesn’t seem possible without Maggie wrangling everyone in, doesn’t seem possible to pick the right songs and dance without being embarrassed.

“Secret’s out,” I sigh, “I’m also a hooker. A bad one.”

He bites a grin. I hold a finger up to him.

“I’ll be right back.”

I muscle through the crowd with my hand still closed around the quarters. As soon as I make it to the bar, Penny meets me, like she was waiting for me.

“In need of some serious liquid courage,” I tell her, “two shots of tequila?”

Penny nods, not asking any questions. After she pours the shots and hands me a lime, she glances over her shoulder at Maverick. He is on his phone and I almost warn him, but it’s too late--he sets it on the bar.

Penny rings the bell with a smirk. The bar erupts in cheers, a few men clapping Maverick’s shoulders. Penny points to the sign and before I can chicken out, I bottom out the first shot glass and suck the lime. Maverick sits at his seat with a look of disbelief, mouth slightly ajar.

“Did you know about this?” He yells to me.

I grin something fierce, hold my shot glass up to him.

“Cheers, captain!” I bottom the other shot, grimacing.

The sour lime cuts the tang of the tequila. My belly sloshes with liquid.

“Penny, my dear,” Hangman sings, “I’ll have four more on the old-timer.”

Hangman is standing behind me, his scent strong. He smells like the outdoors, if the outdoors was freshly polished and sanitized.

“Why do they call you Hangman?”

Hangman registers my presence and smiles down at me in the way men do when they see something they like. He leans against the bar, looking at me, my empty shot glasses.

“Long story. They call you Clover cause you’re lucky?”

Lucky. I almost laugh in his face. Blood rushes to my ears.

I’m too drunk to feel upset, to feel angry. My lips never lose their smile.

“You know, I actually read a Cornish legend about clover,” I say, leaning towards him, “a young maid put a fistful of clover on her head to alleviate the pain of carrying a heavy pail of milk and got instant relief. Not only that, but she could suddenly see dozens of fairies and elves all around her.”

Hangman considers my story, cheeks dimpled.

“So, if I put you on my head, I’ll be able to see fairies?”

I shrug, blushing.

“I guess we’ll never know.”

Penny hands the beer to Hangman and glances at me. I can hear my own heart hammering in my chest. Hangman turns around to rejoin the group, but first sends a wink my way.

“Maggie would have ate him alive,” I laugh.

Penny doesn’t laugh--just smiles sadly. The pit in my belly grows. She touches my hand softly, squeezing it. I wonder how much Penny knows. After Maggie, I came to The Hard Deck rarely--first opting for a harsher scene, then no scene at all. Maybe Penny still feels fresh about Maggie.

“I think I’m drunk,” I tell her, waving myself off, “I should close out my tab.”

“Rooster put your drinks on his,” she waggles her eyebrows.

Just as I muscle my way back to the group, Penny rings the bell. More cheers erupt from the crowd and Hangman and Payback trample to the bar with ornery grins splitting their faces.

Bob is still in the middle of a game of pool, chatting with Phoenix. Rooster has disappeared. I sink into the stack of chairs, not bothering to turn around and crane to see what’s happening over the bobbing heads of the bar-goers. Everyone is chanting the same thing and I strain to understand it.

Overboard! Overboard!

Suddenly, the jukebox blinks off. A chorus of groans echo. I drop the quarters into my dress pocket.

Somebody starts to play the piano--I’ve never seen anybody play the piano here. Phoenix grins across the room and I follow her eyes. Rooster is sitting on the piano bench, fingers working the keys effortlessly, beautifully.

“C’mon, guys,” she says, giddy.

Bob glances at me and I wave him off, giving him my best I’m totally okay smile. I am alone by the pool table. It still smells overwhelmingly like beer. My chest is growing warmer and heavier by the minute, my cheeks a deep read. Crimson.

“You shake my nerves and you rattle my brain,” Rooster croons.

His voice cuts through the bar like a pair of heavy scissors. The patrons are all starting to flock towards Rooster, who is basking in the attention, smirking.

“Too much love drives a man insane! You broke my will, but what a thrill!”

The pool table is abandoned. I think of all the times Maggie slinked around the table, putting on her best pout, waiting for someone to let her in the game. She would play the first round or so cluelessly, letting men put their arms around her to help her shoot. It wasn’t until there was money put down that she revealed her talent. Maggie was good at everything.

“Goodness gracious, great balls of fire!”

Other people are singing with Rooster now.

I make my great escape, stepping on cracked peanut shells and cocktail stirrers as I cross the bar. Not one person is watching me, not even Penny.

The night is warm outside. Without the competing conversations and booming jukebox, I can just barely hear the ocean. Salt prickles my tongue, the air holding me close.

I sit there, under a palm tree, looking up at the star-dotted sky. Something metal clatters beside me. It’s one of the quarters. It shimmers under the moon and I bring it close to my eyes, squinting to see the date.

1992.

I whimper softly, eyebrows pulled together. There is no evading the lump in my throat--no Rooster to dissipate it, no friendly face out here in the lot. My tears are hot on my cheeks as they race down my face.

With quivering lips, I bring the quarter to my mouth and press a kiss to it.

“Hi, Maggie,” I whisper.

☾☽ 𝐚/𝐧: like this if you cry every time

☾☽ 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

181 notes · View notes

princessmisery666 · 2 years

Text

My Girl - Mini Series Master List

Summary: Bradley loves her the way his mom loved his dad. He's heard the stories, seen his mother's grief, and theirs was a love that never died. He feels the same way about Bailey. So why can't he tell her?

Warnings: fluff, angst, smut, slow burn, best friends to lovers, pining, loss of parents mentioned.

W/C: 13.7k (4 parts)

Rating: E (explicit - 18+).

Characters: Bradley Bradshaw, OFC (Bailey). Small Parts/Mentioned: Pete “Maverick” Mitchell, Nick and Carole Bradshaw, OMC (Sean), Natasha “Phoenix” Trace.

Pairing: eventual Bradley Bradshaw x OFC, platonic Bradley Bradshaw x OFC, OFC x OMC.

Notes: All from Bradley’s POV. Set before and after the events of Top Gun: Maverick.

A/N: Listening to Save Your Love by James Bay inspired this whole thing. As always, it spiraled, and here we are. Took inspiration from, Right Time - James Bay, Almost Is Never Enough - Arianna Grande and Nathan Sykes, Dangerous Night - Thirty Seconds to Mars.

Betas: @deanwinchesterswitch - saved me from myself as always // @cockslutpadalecki checked the smut because I require her validation // all mistakes remain my own.

Special Shoutout: @writercole helped with ideas, wrote a few lines and beta’d but its changed a lot since then.

Graphics: pics found on Pinterest, title cards made by me.

Series Completed.

Part 1 - Road Trip

Summary: Bradley and Bailey spend some quality time together before he has to leave. The boundaries of their friendship may be tested as a road trip reveals deeper feelings between the two.

Warnings: fluff, angst, pining, flirting. W/C: 3.6k

Part 2 - Right Time

Summary: Time is running short. Bradley has one more night to find the courage to tell Bailey how he feels before leaving.

Warnings: fluff, angst, slow burn, prelude to smut. W/C: 3.6k

Part 3 - Save Your Love

Summary: Bradley gets called back to Top Gun and the dangers of the Dagger Mission make him realize his one true regret.

Warnings: fluff, angst, slow burn. W/C: 2.8k

Part 4 - Words Unspoken

Summary: The Dagger mission is a success and the consequences of Bradley’s voicemail catch up to him sooner than he thought.

Warnings: fluff, angst, smut, best friends to lovers. W/C: 3.8k

Main Master List

#bradley bradshaw #top gun maverick #rooster #ofc #original female character #bradley bradshaw x ofc #miles teller #bradley bradshaw smut #bradley bradshaw fluff #bradley bradshaw angst #best friends to lovers #angst #fluff #smut #flangst #slow burn

94 notes · View notes

coyotesamachado · 2 years

Text

Wouldn't you love to love her

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw and Original Female Character

Any time she had seen him, it had been for the briefest of moments. They were made up of stolen kisses, his hands bruising her hips where he held her close to him. Her fingers pull tight on the hair on the nape of his neck, trying to push him into her as much as she can. They wrench away from one another just as quickly, breaths heavy when they walk in opposite directions. Phoenix always eyes her carefully, something close to concern and guilt lingering beneath the surface, but Mac fixes her with a smile, to let her know that everything is completely fine.

This is it. The end! A little bit more angsty than I had planned for it, but sometimes I just need to write what the characters are telling me to. Timing after the mission might be a little weird, I don't know how long it took them to get back to land, but this is my story, so we're going with it.

This is cross posted to AO3, link in the source.

I hope that you've enjoyed the journey of Mac and Rooster, she stuck around a little more than the one shot I had originally had for her. As always, comments and reblogs are absolutely loved and I love hearing what you think.

WC: 4.3k

Warnings: angst, drinking, could be implied sexual encounter if you squint.

Part One. Part Two. My Masterlist

Would you stay if she promised you heaven?

It’s a rough week when they get back to mainland. The team spends far too much time in meetings, debriefing and going over the missions. Her and Halo’s debrief should have been quick. It should have taken no longer than an hour or two to go over everything that happened on the mission, but then the two of you are repeating yourself several times over. She would worry it were an interrogation if they’re stories weren’t the exact same because they both have eyes and nothing crazy happy on their mission. She’s still angry with the Admiral though, that he wouldn’t let her go after Maverick and Rooster. She knows that she had enough fuel to make it there, but she can also acknowledge that maybe she might not have had enough to make it back. If she hadn’t had Halo in the backseat, she probably would have risked her career to go after them. But she wasn’t going to risk the career of her new friend. Not when she knew how hard the other woman had worked to get to where she was currently.

Maybe it was that reason that Mac was still sitting in meeting about the how their flight had gone. They knew that she would have thrown everything away to go back for them, and could they trust a pilot who would do that.

It was a bullshit question, really, because Rooster had done exactly what she wanted to do. But she hadn’t had the opportunity to ask him what they had spoken to him about. She was sure that there was a lot to go over between him and Maverick invading enemy territory and stealing a plane.

It’s not, but that doesn’t mean she wants other people to know.

He had almost died, but she didn’t find out about that until she heard two of the crew on deck talking about it in the mess hall on the carrier. He still hadn’t told her what had happened. It hurt a little, like he didn’t trust her, and after the weight of both of their words on the carrier, she was concerned.

Later didn’t seem like it was coming, and Mac really didn’t like that.

It’s not until a week after the mission, the team finally get a chance to decompress. They’re given a night off, a late start the next morning. They don’t even need to speak their plans allowed before Mac is walking off for a shower, wanting to feel good about herself for a night. She doesn’t spare a glance back at Rooster as she leaves, despite him calling her name.

She misses the look that Phoenix fixes him with, and the shrug he gives her in return.

They’re all at the Hard Deck by the time she waltzes in. She’s back in the dresses she loves to wear when she’s not required to wear her uniform, and she looks more like herself than she has since the mission. She swings around the bar, smiling brightly at Penny as she practically glides over to them. She sits herself down next to Phoenix, taking the beer that’s offered to her and downs it swiftly.

“Think I need something stronger,” she says softly, more to herself than anyone else. But then Phoenix is nudging her, a question in her eyes.

“Everything okay? You seem.... sad,” she finishes with the last word barely above a whisper.

Mac just sighs, but she turns on her smile, grinning at her friend.

“I’m peachy.”

Phoenix knows her better than that though, she sees that her eyes are missing their mischievous glint. She notices how her smile doesn’t really meet her eyes, and she hears the underlying tone in her voice, a sharpness that tells her that no, Mac is not peachy. But she’s up and walking away, before Phoenix can say anything else, and yes, she’s absolutely avoiding that. She walks back over to Penny, sitting herself at the bar and rapping her knuckles on the wood once. Not for the attention, but for something to do.

Penny comes over, and she orders a tequila on the rocks, something she can sip that will warm her down to her bones but burn her throat when she drinks it. It’s her drink of choice when everything feels like it’s falling apart at the seams, and she doesn’t know what to do.

She senses him before he makes his presence known. His hand ghosts over her arm, and she can almost feel his touch. But he’s sitting down next to her instead, leaning in close.

“That’s a heavy drink for an easy night, Mac,” he states, and she fights the urge to fall into him. He’s drunk and teasing her, thinking that this is the exact kind of dance they’d been doing for the past month, only he’s the one making the first move.

“It’s an easy night?” she questions instead and takes a sip to steel herself before she turns herself to face him. Her eyes had been drawn to him the moment she’d walked into the bar. They’re always drawn to him now, even when it feels like it hurts her to do it. He’s frowning when she does look at him, a confused puppy dog expression flitting across his face. He looks down at his drink before meeting her eyes.

“It’s meant to be,” he utters quietly. He doesn’t know what’s changed between them, only two days prior he had pressed her up against the locker room wall, and everything had been completely normal. But this, there had never been this disconnect between them, even before they had started circling one another. This doesn’t feel normal, and Rooster really doesn’t like it.

She doesn’t answer him, instead, she takes another sip of her drink and just looks at him. He feels like he’s being analyzed.

“What happened? I thought we were good, we were going to talk,” he pushes, and Mac frowns into her cup, almost wishing there were more. But she knows that if there was more, there was every chance she’d fall readily back into his arms.

“And when’s that going to happen Bradshaw?” Her eyes glint with anger, and Rooster recoils slightly at that, and the use of his last name. “You still haven’t said anything about what happened. I had to hear about how you nearly died from two men on deck. No one’s told me anything, and yeah, I get it, some things are confidential, but I flew that mission too. I thought we were closer than that...” She trails off softly and throws caution to the wind. She finishes off her tequila, there a little too much left for her to just throw back her throat, and she bites back the cough that tickles her throat.

“I... We are...”

“I don’t want to hear it. I thought I could have fallen in love with you, Bradley, guess it’s better to give myself a broken heart now rather than later,” she says sadly. And Rooster’s frozen by her confession, the words replaying over and over in his head. He’s thinking too long, the alcohol slowing his thoughts, and Mac shakes her head with a solemn chuckle. She pushes herself away from the bar, leaves a twenty on the bar and pats his shoulder as she walks past him. “No hard feelings though.”

She walks out of the bar, out into the night, her footsteps heavy. It’s so unlike her, that everyone who knows her has a worried frown on their face, the pool game left abandoned in front of them, and even Hangman is slack jawed, watching her leave without the swing in her step.

Phoenix walks over when Rooster rubs a hand over his face, pulling himself from the stupor she’d left him in.

“What happened?” she asks him quietly, slipping into the seat that Mac had only just vacated.

“I don’t... She said she could have fallen in love with me, like it was a bad thing.” Yes, he’s absolutely fixated on that part of the conversation, not the part where she was mad at him for not having a conversation with her.

“That doesn’t sound like Mac,” Phoenix responds, because a sad confession doesn’t match up with the impression she had of whatever was going on between Mac and Rooster. It doesn’t match up with everything the two of them had discussed in late night conversations in the darkness of their room. “What did you say?”

He shakes his head, because he didn’t say anything, he let her walk away without saying anything in return. That’s when what she said before those words, click in his head and he rubs his hand over his mustache and chin to clear his thoughts.

“Shit Phoenix, I fucked up bad,” he says, shaking his head.

“What happened?” she asks softly, trying to get him to elaborate, because there’s nothing she can do or say right now, to make this situation better.

“We haven’t spoken... about what happened. We said we would, and we haven’t. She’s pissed that she heard about what happened from people on deck rather than me telling her. Fuck!”

A part of him recognizes that maybe Mac’s overreacting just a little bit, but also, he’s just angry at himself for getting caught up in their kisses when he should have told her what he was feeling instead. Pushing their conversation back, time and time again, so yeah, he can understand why she might be a little upset with him right now.

“What are you going to do about it?” Phoenix presses, and Rooster shakes his head. He doesn’t really know what to do about it. Does he give her time to cool off and try and explain everything in the morning? Four weeks seems like such a short amount of time to see himself falling in love with someone, but Mac’s used to flying hard and fast, throwing caution to the wind for her own enjoyment. Maybe he should take a leaf out of her book.

“I’m going to give her a chance to calm down?” he says, cautiously, and Phoenix is fixing him with a stare that says that might be the wrong answer.

“I’m going to get my head right and then go talk to her?” he tries again, and she’s nodding slowly because that might be the best idea he’s had all week, but she’s not going to tell him that.

“Should I tell Callie I’m bunking with her tonight?”

“I don’t want to get my hopes up Tash.”

“Tell her to text me if she needs me.” She doesn’t want to say it’ll go badly, but she also wants to give them the space they need to work this out. This would be so much easier if they had been able to get into base housing. Next time they call her up for a last-minute detachment, she’s putting that as her caveat.

Mac calls an uber when she’s a few blocks from the Hard Deck and Rooster hasn’t followed her. Disappointment wells up in her and she wills herself not to cry. She won’t cry over a guy who’s been nothing more than a bedroom floor fuck and a few heated kisses.

Except he wasn’t that guy. Rooster had seeped beneath her skin long before their night together and he continue to seep until he had settled in her heart. She hated this feeling of losing something before she even got it, so she wrapped her arms around herself in the back of the car and tipped the guy extra for not asking any questions on the ride. She walks through to the barracks, the normal slow sway of her hips completely missing as she does. She wonders if she overreacted at all. It’s only been a week since the mission, but a part of her just couldn’t give him the benefit of the doubt. She didn’t want to risk throwing more of herself out there, only to have it thrown back in her face when it ultimately went wrong.

No, it was for the best that they finished whatever they were now. There’s going to be missions in the future where they won’t be able to tell one another what happened, so why should this be different?

She’s quick to remove her make up, change from her dress into the comfiest, biggest shirt she can find, and crawl into her bed. Mac can’t sleep though, her mind whirring with all the words that were said earlier than evening, and she knows she should have heard him out, but hurt, anger, and alcohol won out in the end, and now she’s just mad at herself.

She pulls herself from her bed, not even bothering to look at the time, she doesn’t care whether it’s been five hours or five minutes. Walking into their little shared common area, she makes herself a cup of tea. She sits herself up on the counter as she sips at it. The footsteps can’t sneak up on her, the quiet of the night doing nothing to muffle them. The fact that she’s only got the little lamp on the side table on, leaves her hidden in the shadows of the kitchen, so she holds her breath, not knowing whether they’re coming in or walking past, but she doesn’t want to announce her presence.

She watches Rooster walk into the lounge area, throwing himself on the sofa and an arm over his eyes. He groans, and Mac wonders why he hasn’t gone back to his room. She’s stuck now, because there’s no way to sneak past him without announcing her presence. So, she stays seated on the counter and feels creepy watching him. Only a few minutes pass before he sits up, rubs a hand over his face and gets up. She shrinks back into the shadows, but she’s no Bob. He walks into the kitchen to get a bottle of water to try and clear his head more from the alcohol he’d had before she left. The fridge door opens and closes, the bottle opens, and Rooster drains half the bottle before his eyes adjust to the darkness of the room again and he sees her sitting cross-legged on the counter. He drops the bottle in surprise, the cold water hitting his legs and pooling at his feet.

“Shit,” he hisses, a surprised oh the only thing slipping from her mouth at his reaction. She moves quickly though, putting down her mug, jumping down from the counter and grabbing a cloth from a draw and tossing it at his feet.

“Bloody hell, Bradshaw,” she mutters as she cleans up his mess.

“You’re the one sitting in the shadows, worse than Bob,” he counters, and she forgets herself for a moment, smiling up at him. He finally steps away and crouches down to help her, taking the cloth and wiping up the water. She grabs the now empty water bottle and toss it in the recycling.

“What were you doing?” Mac asks, the question sitting heavy on her tongue. She doesn’t mean the water, she means before, him laid out on the sofa, clearly something on his mind. She hopes it’s everything that happened earlier, that they can move past this and figure out whether they’re friends or something more.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” she offers by way of an answer. He knows why, knows it’s because he couldn’t give her the answers that she wanted when he was too many beers deep and swaying on his feet. But that was hours ago now, whether she knows it or not.

She doesn’t look at him expectedly, wanting him to answer, instead, she sighs, and goes back to the counter, letting her legs swing as she picks up her mug again, taking a sip.

“Tea?” she holds out the cup to him, like she’s holding out an olive branch or waving a white flag. He stands up, throwing the cloth in the sink and gives her a sad smile. But he takes it from her, nonetheless. He drinks from it before giving it back to her. It doesn’t make everything better, but it’s a step forward.

“I’m sorry.”

The two of them talk at the same time, and they laugh just as easily as the words were difficult.

“You go,” she says, because she’s not quite ready to admit that she overreacted without hearing what Rooster has to say first.

“I’m sorry, I got caught up in the adrenaline of being back and not having to worry about what’s going on with Maverick and only the meetings, and any chance I got to see you, I just wanted to kiss you. I didn’t want to spend my whole day in meetings talking about the mission, and then spend time with you doing the same thing. I know we said we’d talk later, and I want to stick to that, but I just wanted to enjoy my time with you.”

Rooster stares at her for a moment, and she knows he’s telling her truth. She kind of hates herself in that moment for not giving him more time. He still has shit to work through with Maverick, had longer meetings than she and Halo did, had to deal with a lot more questions than she did. He didn’t need to deal with her being annoyed at him for not talking to her.

“It’s okay, Rooster,” she says softly, putting the mug down next to her. She wraps a hand around his arm and pulls him in front of her so he’s standing with her legs on either side of him. “You shouldn’t have needed to explain that to me. I’m so sorry I’ve been weird. I just... You scared me on that mission. I wanted to fly after you so bad, but they wouldn’t let me. Hearing you went down over the comms, that broke my heart. Don’t ever do that to me again.”

He looks over her, eyes searching her face for something. She doesn’t know if he finds it.

“So, I’m sorry that I behaved the way I did tonight, you didn’t deserve that,” she breaths.

“I think I did, just a little bit.”

“Maybe just a smidge.”

And the air feels a little lighter, and Mac feels a weight come off her chest, until he speaks again.

“Did you mean what you said, before you left?” he asks, and that weight comes crashing down again because she doesn’t know if she can deal with him walking away from her right now.

“Yeah, I did. I do... mean it,” she says, looking down at her hands. She doesn’t want to see his face, doesn’t want to see disappointment or sadness, annoyance or anger. She knows that’ll hurt more than if he walked away.

Rooster stares for a moment, processing her words, which is exactly what got them into this mess in the first place. But then he places a finger under her chin, lifting it so she’s looking at him. He gives her a smile before leaning in, pressing a kiss gently to the corner of her lips. He stays close, hands gripping her thighs at her knees. He wasn’t going to go rushing into it without her full consent. Mac’s lips quirk up into a smile, and she runs her hands up his chest and over his shoulders. She pulls him closer to her, using her feet, wrapping them around him and keeping him against her. She kisses him back, wrapping her arms around his neck. Rooster is quick to respond, his hands sliding up her thighs, and under the hem of her shirt. Her skin is still warm from when she had been curled up in bed. He slides them up over her little pajama shorts, over her hips and settles them at the top of the curve of her ass. She nips at his bottom lip before soothing it over with her tongue. She goes to do it again, but instead he deepens the kiss before she can, and she sighs happily into his mouth.

But then he’s pulling away before they can get too carried away and she whines at their disconnect. He leans his forehead against hers and breaths for a second.

“As much as I’d love to continue this here, someone else could walk in at any minute,” he says, and Mac nodded.

“Tash...”

“Is staying with Callie unless you tell her otherwise.”

“Oh, you guys had this all planned out, did you? You just knew I’d let you back in and you’d be spending the night?” She leans back and raises an eyebrow at him.

“No, it wasn’t like that, it was just,” he tries to back track, but she’s laughing, cutting him off.

“I’m just messing with you, Bradshaw,” she says, smirking at him.

“Oh, we’re back to Bradshaw, are we?”

“Depends, are you going to do anything about it?”

It’s his turn to raise an eyebrow, but then he’s leveraging her closer to him and grasping her under her thighs, lifting her from the counter and turning back towards the door. She lets out a laugh, gripping him tight with both her arms and legs and lets him take her away, mug completely abandoned on the kitchen counter.

His fingers dig into the skin of her thighs, so she doesn’t slip as he moves them back through the hallway and to her room. He could put her down, but Rooster really doesn’t want to. Mac presses kisses up and down his neck, collarbone and jaw line. She knows she shouldn’t be doing this right now; she was angry at him only an hour ago, but the rational part of her brain was left in the kitchen the minute he started kissing her. When her back meets the wall, she gropes at the door next to her, trying to find the doorhandle so they can get out of the hallway.

She pulls her lips away from him so she can turn her head and find it, and his lips are on her neck instead, immediately finding the spot that makes her toes curl. Her legs squeeze at his hips, and he chuckles lowly. She finally finds it, pushing the door open with the flat of her palm before bringing it back up over his shoulder and into his hair.

“I could have walked here,” she comments when he finally let go of her thighs and allows her slide down the wall until she’s standing on her feet. Rooster still has her bracketed against the wall and he chuckles.

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“Get inside, Bradshaw, before I change my mind,” she says, moving him away with a firm push to his chest.

It’s entirely reminiscent of a month ago, her walking him in first, and closing the door behind her.

“I feel the same way,” he says, standing in the middle of the room, watching her closely.

He sees the way her shoulders tense and drop again, the way her whole upper body moves as she sucks in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. He wonders if he has said the wrong thing because she still hasn’t turned around to face him.

“Mac...” he whispers, trying to bring her back to him.

She knows what he means, and she wants to make a joke out of it, ask him whether he’s going to change his mind and walk out, but this really doesn’t feel like the right time. They're tenuous at best, right now, all because of her, and now it’s later but does she really want to have this conversation now? He clearly does.

“You’re not just saying that? Drunken words and all that?” she asks, because her heart won’t be able to take it if he wakes up in the morning and doesn’t remember or doesn’t mean it.

“Will you just look at me?” he urges, because he hasn’t had anything to drink since before she left the bar, so if he’s still drunk, then so is she. She breathes in again, turning slowly to face him. This was what she wanted all along, a chance to talk about what was happening with them and now she doesn’t know if she’s ready to hear it.

He steps towards her, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close.

“I really mean it, Mac,” he whispers into her hair, “I could see myself falling in love with you one day. It could even be soon,” he tacks on like an afterthought even though it’s an attempt to lighten the situation. She smacks his arm, and laughs. Her eyes still search his face, looking for some tiny inkling of deceit, that she should walk away now and not risk her heart. But all she sees are the smile lines at the corner of his eyes, the slight blush of his cheeks and the upturned corner of his lips. Nothing about the man in front of her could spell deceit, so she lets down her guard.

“Then next time we say we’re talking later, you better talk to me Bradshaw, don’t just kiss me and think that’s a Band-Aid.”

“And what if I just want to kiss you now?”

She raises an eyebrow at him, and closes the gap between them.

“I’ve had enough talking for tonight.”

taglist

@luckyladycreator2 @mistressslytherin @shanimallina87

#top gun maverick #top gun: maverick #top gun maverick fanfiction #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #rooster #rooster fanfic #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x original female character #rooster bradshaw x reader #my fic

111 notes · View notes

baby-girl-e · 1 year

Text

Their Legacy part 2

Characters - Iceman x Maverick, Original Female character x Phoenix, Rooster, Dagger squad, Original Male character

Summary - Legacy wins Top Gun and gets to tell her extremely proud family and flirt with a pretty girl

Word Count - 3.5k

Warnings - None :)

A/N - It’s me hi, I’m the problem it’s me! I know it’s been ages since I posted the first part of this fic and I have no other excuse but that I more than likely have something wrong with my brain that prevents me from sticking to something for long! (my poor therapist and publishing agent) And that I am working on my debut book so this kinda took a back seat! BUT! I am back with a chapter I hope you like (:

The last week before graduation flew by almost as fast as the F-18’s they were using, and before she knew it, Legacy was prepping for the graduation ceremony the next day. Her and Thunder had stayed in their front lining spot and were winning the trophy at the ceremony. She still hadn’t told her dad’s which she knew was cruel but hey, she wanted to surprise them. Now she knew she couldn’t keep something like that hidden from her Admiral father because he knew and saw all, so she decided to tell him herself after she heard the news, practically begging Merlin to keep quiet until she could tell him.

Which brought her where she was now, nervously standing outside of an office she knew well. She wasn’t nervous he wouldn’t be proud of her, that much was obvious, she was just anxious because this was so big. Nepotism ran rampant in the Navy, it’s all about who you know and what they can do for you, but her father actively fought against it. Not once did her dad ever make a call on her behalf (something she held over her other dad’s head) or put in a good word. Sure she was asked constantly if her last name ‘Kazansky’ was because of the Kazansky, and she never lied, but she never brought it up herself. A simple “yes” was enough and she moved on. She got to the TOP GUN trophy on her own and damn it if she’s not proud of herself.

After a moment to take a breath she knocked on the door and heard her father say to come in. It’s now or never.

“Hey dad.” She stepped in and could see him hunched over some paperwork, glasses perched on his nose.

“‘Hey sweetheart! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Sitting down across from him she fiddled with her fingers, a nervous habit.

“Well, I have some good news and I wanted to tell you in person.”

He lit up at her words and gestured for her to continue.

“I, uh, won the trophy. I’m Top Gun.”

There were tears in his eyes. Scratch that, the COMPACFLT was actively crying.

“Oh honey.” And with that he was out of his chair embracing her. Clutching her tight and swaying slightly.

“Are you proud dad?”

“Proud? oh I’m a step above proud. I’m in awe. I knew you could do it.”

Legacy smiled and held onto her dad, just happy to be here. But she knew there was something else missing. Or more accurately someone.

“Let’s call your father in shall we? He’s out here somewhere. I really ought to put a tracker on him.”

It’s like he read her mind.There was a rumor that went around that he could do that, she believed it on occasion.

He made a turn for his phone and clicked on the contact labeled ‘Husband’. She remembers the argument that the word ‘husband’ wasn’t cutesy enough for Mav and to settle it her father had added a red heart. “Look there’s a heart, happy?” Paps had just smiled cheekily and admired his husband's contact labeled ‘Baby’ with about every color heart there was.

“Hey babe, where are you right now?”

She was only hearing half of the conversation, but she could see her dad pretty much shaking with excitement.

“Well tell Admiral Simpson that you’re wanted by the COMPACFLT.”

…

“Mav can’t you take this seriously? Please tell him but without the innuendo?”

…

“Oh my god you twelve year old boy, our daughter is sitting in my office right now. That light a fire under your ass?”

…

“There you go, I’ll see you in ten.”

He put his phone down and told Elizabeth that Pete would join them in about ten minutes.

“You know he’s gonna think something bad happened right?”

“Yes, that’s what I’m hoping for. Your dad is kinda dense and needs some encouragement sometimes.”

“Why is he my dad when he’s being dumb, but he’s your husband when he’s being sweet?”

Tom just smiles at his daughter and puts his hand on her shoulder.

“Because when he’s being dumb I can’t think about what it must say about me that I married him.”

Ten minutes later they hear a rumbling of feet and the door swinging open to find a very frazzled Pete Mitchell.

“What is it? Are you okay?”

He was breathing deep, and for most men his age that wasn’t a good thing, but her dad was made out of metal so… he was fine.

“Relax Paps, it's good news.”

He lights up a bit and leans onto the arm of his husband's chair.

“Oh, well, great!” He turns to his husband, “You could’ve said that before I ran like a madman over here!”

“What’s the fun in that?” Tom said rather cheekily.

“Guys! Good news here? Remember?”

Tom turned to his husband and nudged him a little.

“Listen, it’s pretty good.”

“You know already? You son of a bit-“

“PAPS!”

He quickly shut his mouth and nodded at her to continue.

“What I’ve been trying to say is, I won Top Gun. I’m taking home the trophy!”

Pete jumps up from his perch and picks up his daughter. She’s about an inch taller than him but he never cared. She was his baby.

“Are you kidding me? Oh my god little princess I’m so proud!!”

Being called a little princess after sharing the news that she just won a trophy for being one of the best pilots in the entire navy wasn’t exactly what she expected, but hey, it’s her paps.

“Indeed. That’s three people in this family with the trophy, sorry Pete.”

“Hey I would've won that and you know it.”

Note the skating over the ‘why’ he didn’t win. That was rarely, if ever, brought up.

“Say whatever you want Pete, doesn’t make it true.”

Good god did these two ever stop bickering? She knew the answer to that all too well. It was never. She didn’t miss however the fact that he had said three people had won the trophy in the family. He was obviously referencing Bradley. No matter how long it had been since he’d left home and basically took himself out of the equation, they’d always consider him family.

“Well, as much fun as it is listening to you guys bicker, I really should be going. I’ve got a big day ahead of me.”

That seems to kick her parents into high gear. Tom is immediately turning from his husband to his daughter.

“Yes you do indeed. I’ll talk to Merlin and see if I can be the one to present you with the award.”

“That’d be great. But maybe let him announce it? Let you soak in the moment, yeah?”

“You want me to give you the award but you want Sam to do the talking?”

She nods affirmatively at her father and he gives his husband a look.

“Cryptic, you’re more and more like your Paps everyday.”

“That’s a compliment, little miss. Take it as one.” Pete wasn’t about to be slandered in front of his daughter.

The truth was, she still wanted to keep the whole “I changed my last name and I’m proud of it” thing a secret, wanting to make tomorrow even more special.

With a kiss to each of her fathers’ cheeks she headed out to celebrate with Jake. This was just as much of a celebration for him as it was for her. She had told him to meet her at the Hard Deck and lost track of time so she had to go in uniform. Grand.

“There she is, the woman of the hour!”

Jake shouted to her as though he had started to celebrate already. Smelling his breath it seemed highly likely.

“Oh please, I’d be nowhere without you Jake.”

“I know, I was just giving you the opportunity to brag for once, good to know it didn’t last.”

He was right, she rarely bragged. It was all due to the fact that if she did brag it would sound more like bragging on the Kazansky name which she was taught never to do. Maybe she could brag on the Mitchell name, but probably not in the Navy.

Looking over at the bar she spots Phoenix standing with what she assumed was her WSO. It wasn’t a secret that there weren’t many female aviators, so the ones there were teamed up. It sounded cliche, but the reality of the situation was, women had to stick together. In Legacy’s case, she tried to make friends with as many people as possible, and did her best to look out extra for the women she was around. Even with the Kazansky name, she still had a moment or two where she was looked over or harassed for her gender. That came to a screeching halt when the second person harassing her got a shiny dishonorable discharge from the COMPACFLT himself. After that it was quiet, and she knew her privilege so she tried to get as many people under her umbrella of protection as she could. Was it sad that you had to know people to be protected from harassment? Yes. But was that just the way things were? Unfortunately.

She decided to approach Phoenix, if she was being honest she was a little shy, an unusual emotion for Legacy. She was usually very confident, a trait all aviators inherited, but when it came to beautiful women she looked up to as a role model? That goes out the window. If she was being completely honest, she was crushing hard on her.

“Hey, it’s Natasha right?” She decided to go simple, hoping for the best.

“Yeah, you’re Elizabeth right?”

“Yeah that’s me. My dad is training you guys for your mission.”

Phoenix smiles and turns more towards her. Now they’re an arms length away and Legacy has to remember how to breathe.

“Captain Mitchell is your dad? I’ve been meaning to ask you how you’re Bradshaw’s sister.”

Legacy liked her already. Her family’s story was one that was told over and over again in the Navy. She never really got to introduce herself to anyone since everyone already ‘knew’ her. Whether Phoenix really didn’t know her story or she was just being nice and letting her tell it, she appreciated it either way.

“Well it’s a long story but, Mav adopted Bradley when his mom died. And my mom died when I was a baby and her brother, Admiral Kazansky, adopted me since nobody knew who my biological father was. So as far as I’m concerned Admiral Kazansky is my dad. Mav and my dad have been together since 1986, and raised Bradley and I together so I always considered Mav to be my other dad and Bradley to be my brother, and then they made it legal when they got married in 2015 and Mav adopted me.”

Phoenix looks like she comprehended that enough, even if it was a lot of information.

“Wow, that's complicated. That would explain the last name Kazansky then.” She pointed to her shiny name badge.

“Oh yeah, my legal given last name is actually Kazansky-Mitchell, but because of all of the military’s homophobic shit I had to pretend Mav wasn’t my Paps.”

“That’s rough. Was it hard keeping that secret for so long?”

Oh boy was it. You try telling a kid that they can’t call their dad, “Dad” in public. She had even resorted to not calling him by name in public, feeling weird about calling her dad “uncle”.

“I had a lot of practice, but every time I had to refer to Paps as ‘Uncle’ it physically hurt me. Him too I’m sure. Did he really not tell you guys this stuff?”

Legacy loved her Paps, but the man had a big mouth. It’s a wonder that he never outed himself.

“He mentioned that he had a daughter at TOP GUN here and there, but nothing specific. Hey, isn’t graduation tomorrow?”

“Indeed it is.”

“Well, who took the trophy??” She leaned in close, all excited.

“You’re looking at her.”

Her jaw dropped and swung Liz into a big hug. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t enjoying every millisecond of being pressed up against her.

“No way! Congratulations!”

She pulled back slightly but didn’t really seem to want to let Liz go. Not that she was complaining, not even a little bit.

“Thanks Nat, it was rough but I did it!”

“Wow, you must be so excited. Guess we’ll get Mav in a good mood tomorrow then?”

“Well you’ve been seeing him in his good mood so far, it doesn’t get any better than when his husband is in town.”

Nat remembers that she’s still holding Legacy by her arms and releases her. Much to Legacy’s disappointment.

“Then this plus his husband in town might be a sight to see huh?”

“If you’re not tied up during graduation, you could come see for yourself if you want?”

This was Legacy’s shameless way of trying to invite her to the graduation. Hopefully it didn’t come off as desperate as it sounded in her head.

“I would love to, I’ll tag along with Bradshaw. Hopefully he won’t mind, I’m powerless to resist an invite from a pretty girl.”

Liz was in such shock from her words that she nearly forgot that she had yet to tell Bradley she won TOP GUN. Did Phoenix really just call her pretty?

“Well I’m powerless to resist inviting a pretty girl to come to my graduation.” Her aviator confidence just now coming in. Better late than never.

“So it seems we’ve established we both think the other is pretty. What do you want to do with that information?” Nat takes a step closer, impossibly closer. Her hand comes down on Legacy’s that’s resting on the bar.

“Hmm, we could take a walk on the beach? Somewhere more private? Talk about it some more?”

“Lead the way Legacy.” Phoenix gestures towards the doors that lead to the beach. It was quiet in the bar already, even quieter out there.

Once they made their way outside legacy decided that she’d make the next move and grabbed her hand. It felt right, like that’s where her hand ought to be.

“So... you think I’m pretty?” Phoenix was known for her confidence, this sudden questioning was... abnormal.

“Well yeah, have you ever looked in a mirror?” They were walking hand in hand down the beach, seemingly both nervous. They have one of the most dangerous jobs in the world and do it without a second thought, but flirting? Forget it.

“Look Nat, I like you. Like a lot. But I don’t know if this is such a good Idea right now. With Bradley and your mission…” Natasha nodded along like she understood, but stopped walking.

“I know your brother, he’s going to be impossible, but he will want you to be happy.” She knew she was right, obviously, but she still had her reservations.

“I don’t know what you’re going up against out there but I do know that you can’t afford to be distracted.”

Natasha considered this, obviously rolling it around in her head. “Okay, but I expect a kiss when this is all over.”

Legacy smiled and nodded. “You’ll get one I promise. I’ve got to go tell Brad that I won, but I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Of course. See you tomorrow.” She winked at Legacy before taking her leave.

Legacy had to giggle to herself for a moment to shake off the flirtatious energy before she went back inside to tell Jake she was leaving. He groaned at her early departure (again) but relented.

////

Telling Bradley went about the same as it did for everyone else. He was ecstatic for her and gave her a hug not unlike the one her Paps gave her.

“Liz, I’ll be there I promise.”

“Even though both our parents will be there?” She made sure to call them our parents.

“Of course. My love for you goes beyond my distaste for them.” She sighed. That was probably as good as it was going to get. But maybe she really was like her paps because she couldn’t help a little push.

“Are you ever going to forgive them? Come home?” Bradley stepped back and rolled his eyes.

“Come on Liz. I thought you understood why I can’t.” She put her hand back on his shoulder and made her way into his space again.

“I do Brad. You know I do. What Paps did was shitty okay? But what you don’t see is their regret. Dad especially. They had me for more of my life, but you were their first kid. Neither of them ever thought they’d be parents, let alone together, but there you were. They love you so much it hurts them, I know it. Just…” She wasn’t sure what to say next. “Just think about it okay? Maybe just talk to Dad if that’s easier.”

“Lizzy, Iceman is just as at fault in this as Maverick. You know he’s an accomplice.” The callsigns coming from him were weird. At least he wasn’t calling them Captain or Admiral.

“They’re married Roo. Of course they’re going to be together on things. But you know Dad was more reluctant to pull your papers.” He had said so many times, when he didn’t think she was listening.

He just lowered his head and sighed. “I know. I know. Just… I haven’t ever been able to figure out my mind about this. I know it’s confusing but I just can’t do it yet.”

She sympathized with him, she really did. Did he have years and years to figure this out? Yes. But was that ever enough time? Nobody really knew. Things tend to happen when they happen regardless of what your timeline is like.

“It’s okay brad. I just want you to know that they’re ready when you are. And I selfishly want my family back together.” She gave him a hug and took her leave, she didn’t really know what else to say.

/////

Her Top Gun graduation was exactly what she imagined it would be. She should know she’s been to a few. It was hot and sunny and she was in heaven. She sat in the front row next to her best friend and had a straight shot of her dads on stage smiling just as widely as her.

“I know you’re all anxious to be done with this and celebrating with your families, but we have one last thing to do and dare I say it’s the most important part of this ceremony.” Merlin had a look in his eye that Legacy knew all too well, and winked at her knowingly.

“I’d like to ask Admiral Kazansky and Captain Mitchell to please join me if you would,” They got up quickly and joined their friend at the podium. “This is a special ceremony for both me and these men beside me, and those rowdy old flyboys out in the audience.”

Slider, Wolfman, Hollywood, Chipper, and Sundown had all made their way to the ceremony the minute they heard the news. They had apparently all received calls from both of her parents the minute she had left her dad’s office. The group cheered at Merlin's words.

“We are all so excited to present this award for ‘Top Gun’ to Elizabeth “Legacy” Kazansky-Mitchell and her RIO Jake “Thunder” Thompson. Come on up here kids.” He then handed her dad the plaque and he looked like he barely realized what had just happened. Paps looked like he couldn’t believe his eyes as they tracked down to the name on the plaque.

Liz and Jake shook the hands of the airboss and other brass that had joined them and then she was hugged swiftly by her uncle merlin. She stood before the COMPACFLT/ her father and jokingly held out her hand to shake. He had tears in his eyes as he handed her the plaque and hugged her tightly.

“Oh I’m so proud of you sweetie. So proud.” He whispered only to her.

As he let go she was brought into another hug by her Paps almost immediately.

“You know you didn’t need to change your name right?” His voice was shaky and uncertain. Unusual for the great Maverick.

“I know, but I wanted to. It’s high time your name is on that plaque. You’ve certainly earned it.” She pulled away to see his tears too and couldn’t help but smile wider. Her Paps had been through so much, he deserved this.

She turned to the audience and sure enough there sat both Phoenix and Bradley, clapping wildly and smiling at her. She didn’t know what she did to get so lucky, but damn was she grateful.

#icemav #original female character #Legacy Kazansky-Mitchell #top gun maverick #iceman x maverick #maverick #top gun #iceman kazansky #bradley bradshaw #top gun 1986 #maverick x iceman #rooster top gun #Phoenix #natasha phoenix trace #Phoenix x Original female Character #wlw #sapphic #lgbtq characters

20 notes · View notes