I’d like to request an imagine where the female reader is a baker and Rooster’s girlfriend. She owns a bakery called The Slice is Right (it’s a pun. The Slice is Right = The Price is Right). She has a YouTube channel where she gets her Twitter followers to vote on what should be added to the menu and she bakes the winning vote and gets Rooster to try it and give his opinion.
Dating Rooster and Owning a Bakery Would Include...
masterlist
Of all of the people that he’s met over the course of his tumultuous, chaotic life, Rooster never expected to fall in love with a baker
He’d always assumed he’d charm some actress or supermodel (so he bragged to Hangman, at least)
However, when he accidentally stumbled by your bakery one evening and saw your pretty face through the glass, Rooster was smitten at first sight
Even if he fell quickly, Rooster took his time in getting you to fall in love with him, too
He used to stop by every chance he got just to see you smile
No one could resist that charm forever, certainly not you, so when he asked you out on a date at last, you said no without a shred of hesitation
One date turned into another, and now you can’t imagine your life without him
Neither can your YouTube followers– you’ve developed a brand for having your followers vote on recipes you should try, then offering up the final products to Rooster as a definitely unbiased test subject
He’s just happy to try more of your baking and get to spend time with you too
You’re good friends with all of the Dagger Squad, as Rooster couldn’t resist showing you off to the rest of his friends the first chance you got
Your baked goods are now a staple at Top Gun– Rooster swears Cyclone only ever warmed up to him because you gave him cookies
And, when Dagger Squadron had an end-of-year holiday dinner, everyone insisted that you make a holiday dessert
How could they celebrate without your fine creations?
This quick approval makes perfect sense to anyone who knows you, Rooster says the only thing sweeter than your pastries is you
So he might be a charmer, so what? You love your boyfriend, and he loves you
That, certainly, is something worth savoring :))
requested by @thornyrose463, i hope you enjoy!
top gun tag list: @luckyladycreator2, @atarmychick007, @ramenyul, @mayfieldss, @nonsensical-nonce
Reblogs, comments, asks, mean the world! I love to hear your thoughts💕
Enjoy!
Bradley’s always been known for being observant, even at a young age he liked to watch those around him. His ears would perk up on conversations from couples fighting over what to have for dinner or a heated phone call from a man in a sleek suit. He liked to watch people in their natural form, study them, and be aware of his surroundings.
Everyone knew it, too. He’d pick up on subtle things that no one else seemed to really notice. Like how Bob mentioned his great Aunt Sylvie who he called ‘Aunt Sissy’ because he couldn’t quite say her name when he was younger. Bradley was the first to ask how his Aunt Sissy was after Bob had to rush home quickly for a family emergency.
He knows Hangman checks his gear three times before entering his cockpit and that Phoenix whispers a prayer her grandma would always sing to her before a mission. He notices small things that have a huge impact on those he cares about.
Being as observant as he is, Bradley was the first one to notice you as the new bartender Penny hired. He noticed right away how cute you were but also how meticulous you were when making a drink or pouring a shot. You had a good eye for precision and always picked up a crumpled napkin or one of the many discarded toothpicks Hangman left throughout the bar.
He noticed how your eyes would always meet his whenever he entered The Hard Deck. He noticed you noticing him and it always left a little flutter of warmth in his chest. You had all of the Dagger Squad’s drink orders memorized, you even played along with Hangman’s folly when he tried to trick you on his drink order.
One Tuesday after a grueling training session and 400 push-ups in the hot sun, Bradley really needed a drink so he headed to the bar. On top of the beating sun there was a dry wind that blew sand and dirt all over the place. Everything was dry and desolate because it’s been nearly a month without rain.
He fell onto the barstool heavily, his head pounding, muscles in his neck and shoulders screamed whenever he moved.
“Rough day?” you ask, voice soft as you set a glass of Blue Moon in front of him with an orange slice.
“Oh yeah,” he huffs. He winces when he leans forward on the bar to place his hand around the glass, it’s ice cold and feels refreshing when he takes a drink. He sighs wiping the foam from his mustache then tips the glass in your direction. “Thanks for this, it was very needed.”
“You’re welcome,” you smile sweetly and plop a white bowl full of orange slices next to his glass. The backs of your knuckles barely graze his fingertips but he feels an electric spark. “I’ll make sure to keep the oranges coming.”
You stayed true to your word. Bradley ate the slices you provided and had a few more Blue Moon’s just as the dinner rush was starting. He took that time to watch the way you were with other customers. You called them all by name, asked about their day and always had a smile on your face.
Bradley ordered some food as well and just as he finished up his loaded BLT, the rest of the squad strutted in laughing and smiling to a joke Fanboy probably made. They made a beeline for Bradley, he saw your eyes glide over the grown group and it tickled him pink when you grabbed him a fresh glass and orange before working on their drinks.
She remembered Bob’s cup of trail mix and handed Hangman a toothpick.
“Thanks darlin’,” Hangman grins. Instead of using his fingers to grab the toothpick, he closed his mouth around it then winked at you.
Bradley’s tickled pink trickled into a sea of red anger but you only laughed and rolled your eyes before turning your attention back on Bradley.
“I made some brownies, would you like one for dessert? Free of charge,” your smile was dazzling.
“A brownie sounds so good right now,” Bradley nods, watching you duck under the bar and skip to the back room where the office area is.
You come back with the square treat on a napkin, powdered sugar is sprinkled on top.
“Bradshaw!” Phoenix shouts from the billiards. She waves him over when he looks over his shoulder.
“Duty calls,” he sighs and rises from his stool.
“Kick Hangman’s ass,” you laugh. You clean up his plate of food.
“Will do. Thanks for the brownie,” he lifts it in appreciation. He’s glad he’s turned away when he takes the first bite because his face melts and a groan slips out. This is the best brownie he’s ever had. It’s the perfect amount of gooey with the ends a little hard.
With more beer and food in his system, Bradley’s body relaxes as the night lingers on. He’s just finished taking a celebratory shot with Phoenix after winning their pool game when an obnoxious group of Marines enter in with the saloon doors banging against the walls.
They stumble against the bar shouting for attention from any of the bartenders and Bradley is watching silently from his corner. You’re on the opposite side of the bar helping and chatting with a pair of girls but they’re shouting your name. Bradley watches as you turn upon hearing your name and hold up your hand motioning you’ll be right with them.
When one of them whistles at you that’s when Bradley starts to move.
Being 6’ 1” has its advantages because his height makes it easy to walk through people, they step out of his way easily. He’s at the bar next to the group of Marines as one of them whistles again, his brown eyes slide to you. He sees the way your shoulders tense up, how your hand perches perfectly on your waist when you turn around.
“Excuse me, I am not a dog you can whistle at,” you defend, your voice bristling as you approach the unruly group.
“It got you over here, baby,” one of them jeers.
Bradley notices how your eyes flick to the bell Penny has behind the bar and he hopes you ring it. He’d love nothing more than to toss these imbeciles out of the bar and away from you.
“I’ll get your pitchers of beer and you can go sit somewhere else. I have other customers,” you shake your head.
Bradley stays near you for the rest of the night, keeping a watchful eye on the Marines who were causing a ruckus by the gaming area. Bradley’s skin prickled when one of them slung an arm around Bob but Hangman intervened quickly with a hard shove and an even harder look. Javy joined him looking equally as intense and they backed off.
“What jerks,” you mutter behind him.
He turns his attention back to you, you’re glaring at the group as you wipe down glasses.
“Yeah, they’re full of shit,” Bradley agrees. “I was hoping you’d ring the bell so I could toss ‘em out for ya.”
“I definitely thought about it,” your eyes are still glued on them. “If they whistle at me again you have my full permission to dump ‘em in the sand. Thanks for standing by while they were here.”
“Of course. Gotta watch out for my favorite bartender,” he grins.
One of the Marines wouldn’t let up and tried to get you to play pool with them but you kept shaking your head. Slowly, the patrons began to leave and the Daggers bid farewell to Bradley and you in pairs.
The alcohol was starting to wear off in Bradley, his bones were starting to ache again and his bed was calling his name. He’d just finished signing his tab and pocketed his card when you approached with a bag over your shoulder.
“Hey Bradley? Would you mind walking me to my car?” you ask shyly, eyes shifting to the group of Marines that are still there. “That one has been trying to get me over there all night.”
“I don’t mind at all,” he shakes his head. “I was going to offer anyway since it’s so late. You got everything you need?”
“Yeah,” you nod clutching your bag tight to your chest.
He motions you ahead of him, his hand hovering over the middle of your back and he tosses a look over his shoulder. The one that called you ‘baby’ was watching in disdain and Bradley nodded at him with a slight smirk before leading you out the bar.
The heat is still in the air outside, sweat appearing instantly on both of your skin. Bradley follows you towards your car which is parked right next to his–not that he planned that or anything.
“Thanks for walking me,” you sigh. “Most of the time I love this gig but guys like that make my blood boil.”
“You and me both,” he nods. You unlock your door and open it. “Have a good night, drive safe.”
“You too. I should have given you more water.”
“I’ll be fine,” he waves it off, “not too far to go.”
He watches you buckle and settle before peeling out of the parking lot and he’s walking on air.
***
It’s three weeks later when Bradley comes to your rescue again. It’s Live Mic Friday where a local cover band is performing and it’s packed. The group of Marines are also in attendance and Bradley makes sure they keep their berth from you.
The music is good and the energy from the crowd is catching, he’s buzzing from having a good time with his friends but then the music stops suddenly and the house lights turn on. There’s some sort of tousle happening near the bar and Bradley rushes as quickly as he can through the sardined crowd.
You’re safe by the high top tables but the tray of glasses you were holding have slipped onto the floor in a million little pieces. Your eyes are wide as you stare at the Marines swearing and shouting in fits of rage. Your hand is shaking as you bring it to your chest, mouth open gasping for air.
Bradley is by your side, your quick gasps pierce his heart as you try to settle your breathing but it’s not working. Your eyes are wide and panicked and he knows exactly what’s going on.
“Let’s get outside,” he ducks his head to yours and ushers you out.
You’re still gasping, hands shaking even more as you try to touch each finger to your thumbs.
“Here, c’mere and sit,” he says pulling up one of the patio chairs but you shake your head. “It doesn’t help?”
“N-n-n–”
“Okay, no sitting. Place your hands like this–” he lifts your trembling hands to your chest, thumbs overlapping so they’re like a butterfly. “Good. Now, watch me, y/n.”
He mirrors his hands like yours waiting until your tear rimmed eyes focus on his hands. Bradley starts to alternately tap his fingers on his shoulders. It takes you a moment but you start to tap your shoulders as well, still gasping for air.
“Good, that’s so good, honey,” he encourages. “Keep doing that in time with me.”
There’s a loud noise from inside and it makes you flinch.
“Keep tapping. Did you know there’s a huge burn mark in the ceiling of the office? Yeah, I did that on my twenty-first birthday. I somehow created an alcoholic bomb of vodka, lighter fluid and a lighter. Hangman didn’t believe I could do it. I still don’t know how I did it, I failed Chemistry when I took it.”
Your lips trembled as your breath started to steady, your fingers kept tapping in time with his. Each tap helped you focus on the things around you and not the heavy weight on your chest or the panic in your mind that the world was going to crumble around you.
Bradley kept telling stories of his youth, how he got into a terrible accident and he now has scars from it. When your breathing is back to normal, the whole ordeal left you exhausted and you collapsed into the chair Bradley first offered you. He pulls one up in front of you, his warm brown eyes studying you and he places a gentle but firm hand on your knee.
“Okay?” he asks.
“Getting there,” you nod and wipe the tears from your eyes. “That helped a lot…thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I don’t know why it even started. I heard the shouting and it–it just hit me,” you shake your head.
“Your body’s way of preventing something bad from happening,” he shrugs, “panic attacks just appear sometimes and it’s okay.”
“How’d you know I was having one? And to do that tapping thing?”
“I had a lot of panic attacks after my dad died. I tried all of the centering techniques…box breathing, counting backwards, pointing out things I see and feel. This was what really worked, it’s called butterfly tapping,” he explains.
“Oh,” you exhale and close your eyes.
“How’s your heart?”
“Still racing,” you whisper. He starts to tap your knee with his thumb and you focus on the weight of his hand on you.
You sit out there for fifteen minutes as he helps center you.
“There, that’s better,” he smiles. You exhale deeply.
“Much better. Thank you, Bradley.”
“Let’s get out of here. I know a diner that has the best sundaes.”
“I need to finish working–”
“Does Penny know you get panic attacks?” he asks and you nod. “I’ll text her that I’m taking care of you. C’mon, we’ll go around.”
He holds out his hand. You slip yours in his, noting how rough and smooth they are at the same time. He’s also warm and you have butterflies the whole time he holds your hand to his Bronco and on the drive to the diner. You’ll have to remember Bradley’s butterfly the next time a panic attack appears.
How about Rooster, platonic with the possibility of turning the romantic? Do you know him? yeah, that’s what i thought...(defending a lover), [ RESCUE ] for one muse to intervene upon seeing a third party making the other one uncomfortable (jealousy), and new beginnings (spring).
Branching Out
Summary: Your brother had been begging you to branch out more. When you finally decide you're ready, will everything go wrong? Who will come and save you in your time of need?
Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x afab! Machado!Reader
Warnings: angst, assault, alcohol, bars, bruises and blood.
Word count: 1544
Masterlist M's Hundred Celly Masterlist
You were still pretty new to town, having moved to be with your brother since he recently got a permanent station out in Fightertown, California. Things in your relationship with your ex hadn’t been going great for a while. So when your brother mentioned possibly moving across the country to live with him you jumped at the opportunity.
It had been about a month since you had taken up residence in his apartment. Within the first week you had found a job that had taken up all your time. So getting out there and experiencing the sunny state was put on hold as you continued to get settled. Your brother had been very insistent however that you branch off from his group of friends that you would spend time with when they had get togethers at their respective households.
That’s how you wound up in a hole in the wall bar waiting for a girl from work to get there. She had been asking you to hang out since you had started working with her. You had been reluctant but had finally agreed to get your brother to leave you alone. She was almost fifteen minutes late at this point however.
You glanced at your watch checking the time for the fifth time sighing as you saw the time. You debated leaving as another five minutes passed. As you drank the last sip of your drink you made to scoot out of the booth. But a hand came up to rest on the leather covered back of the seat. You stopped as they blocked your exit. Looking towards the person you saw a short lanky dirty blonde standing there. He gave you a smile that made your skin feel sticky and gross.
“Where are you running off to baby?” as he spoke you could smell cigarettes and cheap beer on his breath.
“I’m heading home.” you told him simply.
“Why don’t you stay and have a drink with me?” he asked you as his eyes flicked towards your chest. You pulled your tank top up farther and gave him a disgusted look.
“I can’t stay, I need to get out to my car. My husband is waiting for me.” You hoped the excuse would get him to leave you alone. But the reply didn’t seem to steer him away at all.
“I’ve been watching you for a while and didn’t see anyone come in with you. You also don’t have a ring on that pretty little finger of yours either.” he reached out for your hand as he finished the sentence. You pulled it away quickly however, not wanting this man's hands on you. The thought of him having watched you gave you a sick feeling.
“He just got here to pick me up. He’ll be expecting me out there soon. If I'm not out there then he’s going to come in looking for me.” You told him fear bubbling inside you. The look he was giving you made you think for a moment you weren’t going to make it out of this bar.
“Well then let me walk you to your car. Wouldn’t want anything bad happening to someone so delicate as yourself.” he punctuated his sentence by gripping your upper arm and pulling you out of the booth harshly. Bile rose up your throat as you truly started to panic.
“Let go of me.” you said as you tried to pry his fingers off your arm. But he only squeezed harder, giving you a toothy grin of his rooting teeth. Before he could say anything else a tall presence of mint and worn leather came up next to you. You turned and looked at the person standing beside you and relief flooded your body as you saw one of your brother's friends.
“Do you know him?” he asked you as he glared at the guy's hand on your arm. You went to reply but the guy interrupted you.
“Why don’t you get lost.” he told the hawaiian shirt clad aviator.
“I wasn’t fucking asking you.” he said rudely as he made eye contact with you.
“No I don’t.” you told him quietly, he nodded his head once before he was focused back on the man.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought...” Then his fist was connecting with the guy's nose. A loud crack reverberated throughout the bar as blood gushed down his face. His grip on your arm went away as he brought his hand up to cover his nose.
“Let’s go.” Bradley said as he looked at you again. You didn’t hesitate as you rushed towards the door. Bradley followed you closely and led you towards his Bronco when you finally exited into the humid night air.
“My car is the other way.” you told him as you realized where you were going.
“We’ll get it in the morning.” he told you, shaking his head. He opened your door as you approached the vehicle. You stood there for a moment hesitating to get in the SUV.
“Are you alright?” he asked you, noticing your hesitation. You looked at him and were about to lie when your throat started to close up, tears welling up in your eyes.
“You don’t need to say anything. Do you want a hug?” he opened his arms for you as he finished the question. You quickly collided with his chest. A quiet sob exiting your body as his arms wrapped around you. He rubbed your back as you shook. You weren’t sure how long you stood in his arms but you eventually stopped crying. You pulled back slowly, his arms dropping back towards his sides. He looked as though he wanted to pull back towards him, you doubted you would have protested the action.
“Do you need anything? What can I do?” he asked you, looking over your body for anything wrong. His eyes caught sight of the bruise forming around your arm. A large red handprint clearly visible under the lampposts in the parking lot. His fists clenched and he almost turned back to go and laid a few more swings at the guy. But the sound of your sniffling had him pausing.
“Can you take me home to Javy.” you asked him barely above a whisper. He nodded quickly and you were climbing into your seat. He buckled your seat belt for you before closing your door and rounding the front of the car.
“Your hand is hurt.” you said as your eyes noticed the bruising on his knuckles.
“It’s alright.” he said, flexing his fingers. He thought about how lucky it was that he decided to go to a different bar tonight.
“Are you sure?” you asked him, worried about him being hurt because of you.
“I’m sure, would you like to listen to some music?” he asked you, changing the subject.
“Can you play How High The Moon by Ella Fitzgerald please?” it was a song that your mother would often sing to you while you were younger. The thought of the song brought you comfort as you thought about the way your arm hurt. You blinked and saw the way the man looked at you behind your eyelids. You took a breath and could still smell the cheap beer and cigarettes he reeked of.
“Here you can pull it up.” he said, handing you his phone. You found the song quickly and the soothing voice of Ella Fitzgerald flowed out of the speakers. You sat quietly the rest of the way home, letting her voice sooth your thoughts. You desperately wanted a shower, needing to scrub the touch of him off you.
“I’ll walk you to the door.” he said as you pulled into the parking lot of the apartment building. You didn’t protest as he put the car in park and then came to open your door for you. You walked towards yours and your brother's apartment slowly. You wanted to soak up as much alone time with Bradley as you could. The only time you had spent together was in a group setting. You had both flirted with each other lightly but had never done anything to pursue the other. The whole brothers friend thing had always been a no go growing up and you didn’t know if you were allowed to cross that line as an adult.
“Do you want me to go inside with you?” he asked as your door came into view. He didn’t want to leave your side. He knew pursuing his friend's younger sister was against the bro code. But he couldn’t stop thinking about you since the first time you met each other.
“That’s alright, Javy should be home.” You told him as you brought out your keys. Turning them in the keyhole you heard the click of the door unlocking. Right before you pulled them out you turned to Bradley. He looked at you questioningly as you stared at him. You popped up onto your tiptoes and quickly kissed his cheek.
“Thank you for helping me tonight Bradley.” you told him before you slipped through the door into the apartment. He brought a hand up to his cheek touching the spot your lips just met. You couldn’t wait to see each other again.
A/N: Holy fuck did I love writing this. Bradley saving the day is quickly becoming my new favorite thing. Thank you thank you thank you for this request.
So happy that you added top gun maverick to your fandom list. If you’re up for it could you do a Rooster x reader enemies to lovers where he’s in love with her but doesn’t want to get attached to anyone cause what happened to his dad and his repressed feelings manifest as him teasing and picking on her. She takes it like a champ and throws it right back at him (which only makes him fall for her more). One day she gets hurt (she can be another pilot or something else if you’d prefer) and she’s expecting him to make fun of her for fucking up but instead he’s very serious about taking care of her. Then they both confess their feelings for each other.
i am always up for top gun
masterlist
y/c means your callsign btw
In a world as crazy as that of the US Navy pilots, you’ve learned to treasure the brief moments of peace. They come few and far between, usually overshadowed by missions of great calamity. Those you can find, though, are certainly wonderful indeed.
You’re in the midst of one of such instances of tranquility now, staring over the railing of a balcony high up in one of the administrative buildings. It offers you a beautiful view of the ocean, which is not too far off in the distance. It’s just you and your best friend Phoenix. Also the pilot you hate most of all briskly walking your way.
Rooster.
No.
Thus another blissful moment is ruined. You turn to Natasha with a look of utter horror, and she has to clap a hand over her mouth to stop from breaking out in laughter. You glance around for a chance to flee, but Bradshaw’s too close, there’s nothing you can do but face him.
His footsteps stop behind you, and your knuckles tighten on the balcony railing. “Rooster. How wonderful of you to ruin my morning.”
You don’t have to look behind you to know that Rooster’s fixing you with the same smug grin he always seems to wear whenever you’re around. “Y/C. Still searching for ways to be faster than me? I admit, the ocean is pretty big and beautiful and all that, but it still might not be deep enough to hold all the secrets you’d need to beat my records.”
You snort. “A puddle would hold all the secrets I’d need to beat you. I already do that.”
You turn around at last, and Bradley folds his arms across his chest, the perfect picture of military indignation. “Is that so?” He asks slowly, “because I seem to remember Maverick struggling way more to take me out yesterday morning than he did for you.”
“I recall it being the opposite that afternoon,” you reply. “I wouldn’t blame you for having a bad memory, though. You’re bad at everything.”
By your side, Phoenix makes a choking sound that’s most likely her trying to disguise another laugh. “Keep it down, you guys. We only get one morning off from practice, and I’m trying to enjoy it without the constant sound of you two sniping at each other.”
“You don’t have to worry about Rooster sniping at me,” you say pleasantly, “he’d never hit. Just like in a plane.”
You think you see Rooster’s jaw drop, just a little. “So not true. I’d kick your ass in a dogfight any day if Maverick would let us fight each other instead of him.”
You arch a brow. “Then how about you ask him to let us fight? You’re close to him, aren’t you? Go use your advantage for an actual result instead of just trying to get a better showing than me. At least that’s a reasonable goal.”
Bradley scoffs. “That so? I think you’d go down in about half a second.”
“Not a chance,” you declare, “I’d have you in my sights in less time than it takes you to do a roll.”
“Prove it,” Rooster says, “I’d hate to think you’re just talk.”
During the course of the conversation/expressions of deep hatred, you and Bradley have slowly gravitated towards each other, unconsciously taking a step forward in an attempt to get the upper hand. Right now, the two of you are practically breathing down each other’s shirts, neither willing to back down first.
It takes Natasha sighing exasperatedly and shoving the two of you apart for the situation to ease. “Back off, you two. Is it possible for you to stop fighting for two seconds? You’re worse than Hangman.”
You chuckle. “That’s a pretty terrible comparison. Alright, Nat, let’s go somewhere with a better view. I’m getting tired of this one at the moment.”
You widen your eyes in mock horror as you say it, and Rooster rolls his eyes. Ignoring him, you link your arm around Phoenix’s and lead her away.
Natasha starts grinning once Bradley is out of earshot. “You guys are insane, you know that? At some point, you’re going to have to stop flirting with each other and actually go get drinks or something.”
You nearly choke on your own indignation. “Flirting? Natasha Trace, you must be out of your mind. I’m not flirting in the slightest.”
“You must be serious, you’re using my full name,” Phoenix muses, “but you’re wrong. You guys have more tension than anyone I’ve ever seen.”
“Yeah,” you agree, “tension because we hate each other. Bad tension.”
“Good tension,” she argues, “because you love each other dearly.”
You shove her on the shoulder, but the action only serves to make Natasha’s smile broaden. “You can’t say anything to convince me otherwise,” she reminds you, “I know what I see.”
You roll your eyes. “You might have to get your vision checked if you’re that blind.”
Despite your comebacks, you can’t be annoyed with Phoenix forever, even if she’s way off in her predictions of what is to come between you and Rooster. She’s your best friend, both among the pilots and outside of work.
That’s why she must know better than to think that you and Bradley would ever be interested in each other that way. First of all, Rooster would never allow that to happen, your own feelings be damned. He’s been a lone wolf since day one. Sure, he’ll talk to his friends, and get drinks with a big crowd just like anyone else, but he’s not looking for anyone closer than a buddy from work. That much is certain.
There are rumors, of course, about why that would be. Some whisper that Bradley lost his father in an airplane crash and so he refuses to let himself get attached to any one pilot out of fear of history repeating itself. Others say that he’s so competitive about getting the top result that he wouldn’t want to weaken himself by tying himself to another pilot.
Regardless, you know one thing for sure: Rooster is not the kind of person to fall for you. Ever. From the moment he met you, Bradley’s been teasing you nonstop. The two of you engage in verbal warfare every time you’re stuck in a room together for longer than a minute. During aerial practice, the two of you risk your necks to outdo each other, and back on solid ground, you’re firing comebacks at each other like missiles.
Thus, the force of Bradley’s obstinance alone could thwart any idea of yours. There are no ideas of yours, though, none in the slightest. Rooster is a thorn in your side, a too-clever piece trying to stop you from crossing the chess board and beating him once and for all. If you have ever looked at him with different eyes, ones that shine instead of glare, that must be blamed on too many drinks or too many late nights. Anything else would be traitorous.
So, you turn your focus towards doing better, always doing better. Maverick’s demands for his selected group of pilots are a hair short of perfection; seeing as you’re one of them, you have to cross that line, be flawless as no other fighter pilot can be. You are the best of the best, but you must prove it every single time you crawl into your cockpit.
Maybe that’s why you end up pushing harder than you should during daily practice. Maybe that’s why you ignore every warning thrown your way that you’re going to get in trouble. In the end, you do, but not over a disciplinary violation. Instead, the danger headed your way is physical.
You didn’t crash. You feel like that should be stated another dozen times. Your plane was never impacted, nor was anyone harmed. The whole thing happened so quickly that you’d swear it was just a figment of your imagination were it not for the radio logs played over and over again, showing just what you did.
More specifically, the comms show what you didn’t do, and that was stay conscious during the flight. You’ve been burning the candle at both ends just trying to keep your place ahead of the other pilots, and it’s finally slowing you down instead of speeding you up. You were coming out of a sharp dive when the exhaustion took its toll.
You passed out then and there. Maverick’s shouting over your comms didn’t do anything to wake you up. Your eyes opened when you were far below the hard deck, plummeting towards the ground. It took every bit of skill in you to pull the nose of your plane up and save yourself from fiery impact.
Even after you landed, your trouble wasn’t over. You barely managed to climb out of the cockpit before you were passing out again, tumbling over the edge of the plane and falling towards the hard ground below. Your head would have struck the concrete if it weren’t for someone managing to catch you, and of all the people to be your savior, it was Rooster.
That still bewilders you. You ended up staying in the medical wing for a couple of hours with an IV to get your stats back to normal, but you’ve been cleared since then, let go with a warning to take it easy. From the moment you regained consciousness and learned what happened, you haven’t been able to stop wondering why Bradley would have been the one to catch your falling body and not any one of the other pilots.
For one thing, he would have had to act quickly to notice and grab you before your head hit the ground. For another, he would have had to be by your plane in the first place. That means Bradley was waiting for you, something he has obviously never done before. The whole situation makes no sense, and your mood isn’t exactly lifted to see Rooster waiting for you by the door of the med wing when you finally get out.
He’s been leaning up against the wall, but straightens up when he sees you. “Y/C. Good to see you upright.”
Your head is still a little fuzzy, and you really, really don’t want to hear him sniping at you, especially not after the results of the day. You don’t lose control, not when you’re in a plane. You can already picture him calling you out for that little lapse, so you decide to cut to the chase and cut him off before Bradley gets the chance.
You hold up a hand before he can say anything else. “I don’t want to hear it,” you warn him.
Rooster blinks in surprise. “Hear what?”
You laugh bitterly. “You’re here to make fun of me for passing out, obviously. If I hear a single joke about me falling for you, I’ll kick your knees in, how about that?”
“Well, I’d prefer if my knees stay intact,” Rooster says slowly, “besides, that’s not why I’m here.”
You stare at him, confused. “Why the hell else would you be here?”
Bradley spreads his hands. “To check in on you. You’ve got us all worried, Y/C. I just happen to prefer you alive rather than dead, and I wanted to make sure you were going to stay that way.”
This takes you by surprise. “Really?”
He laughs. “Is it really that much of a shocker that I might care about if you’re alright? I saw you fall when you were in that plane. I thought you wouldn’t be able to save yourself. I haven’t been shaken like that since–”
Bradley cuts himself off abruptly, but you sense what he was trying to say. No one has clear memories when they’re that young, but losing your father would do something to remind you of what it’s like to hurt.
You reach over and gently place a hand on Rooster’s back. “I’m okay,” you assure him, “due in part to someone making sure I stayed that way. Thanks for catching me.”
“Thanks for catching yourself when you were in the air,” he replies back, “that would have been harder for me to stop. Just don’t make it a habit. I’m not used to doubting you.”
You laugh. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you be this nice to me. Keep doing it, will you?”
Rooster’s smile is soft when you look back at him. “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”
It occurs to you that Phoenix might have been right. You’ll have to check in with her later and ask what other revelations she’d been keeping from you. In the meantime, you’re perfectly content to walk back with Bradley, to talk and be happy with him. You don’t think you need anything else. Not even a top finish.
