CoffeeBoyBro

John loves hates how that crooked grin steals the air from his lungs. At the same time, he envies Bob so, so deeply.

Because John chokes on his words, too caught up in his own head. He thinks over a simple sentence until the opportunity passes and Ava leaves the conversation. He keeps turning a simple opinion on a movie in his mind, worried if it is well-developed enough, until Yelena shrugs and drops the topic.

He shoves everything down until he is forced to shut up— until it becomes impossible for him to put his thoughts and feelings into words.

So yes, he envies how easy it is for Bob to share what’s on his mind. Bob easily argues about movie preferences, about how regular sour and patch kids are better than the grape flavoured ones, explains, with great enthusiasm, where to find the best food trucks around the area.

He doesn’t flinch away from sharing an opinion, doesn’t worry if Yelena will walk away when they disagree.

John used to be like that, so bold and unapologetic with his words. But after spending years alone on solo missions— his mistakes and fuck-ups marinating in his mind, he starts second-guessing himself. He is still loud about his preferences but doesn’t share much. Because what if he is rejected.

Hypothetically, if they were to go on a mission where they end up in a lab and one thing were to go wrong after another and they were to get exposed to some sort of a mystery liquid from one of the test tubes…

Finally Beau's stands straight, exhaling. "Bradley, can I...hug you?" he asks, cautiously.

[Click for better quality, reblogs and tags are HIGHLY appreciated as this took a very long time <3]

Full comic below the cut!

So he makes sure Bob knows he recognizes his efforts/work and praises him as soon as Bob accomplishes something.

Bob did the dishes that had been in the sink all weekend.

John thanks him, kisses his temple and takes a minute to appreciate Bob’s bright smile.

Bob went back to therapy after missing a couple of seasons because he wasn't feeling good.

John tells him he's so brave.

“It's not a big deal, it's just therapy,” Bob shrugs.

“Are you kidding? It takes a lot of courage to go back and be vulnerable. You made the right decision”, John tells him with a pat on his shoulder that turns into a hug.

“You think?” Bob asks, squished in John’s arms.

“Trust me”

Bob stands for himself when Valentina tries to push his boundaries with her demands on the progress of the control of his powers.

Bob puts her a stop, she's even surprised he did, she looks almost proud.

Everyone pats his back, cheering him for his win against evil Valentina.

John grabs his face with both hands and plants a kiss on his lips with a loud laugh.

“That's my Bobby! You gave her hell, baby”, John cheers.

“She's going to be so mad”

“Fuck her. You can tell her to fuck off again. I know you are shaking now but once your head clears you will see you did so good. I'm so proud of you”

If it was possible Bob would glow golden for how good those words make him feel.

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thunderbolts (Movie 2025) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Robert “Bob” Reynolds/John Walker (Marvel) Characters: John Walker (Marvel), Joaquín Torres (Marvel), Robert “Bob” Reynolds (Marvel) Additional Tags: Friends to Lovers, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Trust Issues, Past Relationship(s), Team Dynamics Summary:

• them as parents

• them being married

• mafia au

• a/b/o

• sugar baby au

• jake has bad parents / daddy issues

• navy seal bradley

• established relationship miscommunication

You can't convince me Jake would not enjoy the mom group dynamics. He would bask in the attention the moms would inevitably give him.

This is crack treated only semi-seriously. Tbh, I giggled my way through this thing.

***

Jake's heart is overflowing with love as he watches his little girl bounce around the park. Her big brown eyes wide with joy, her smile too bright for this dull world. She’s the most beautiful human being under the sun, parental bias be damned. 

Resting in his palm, like a treasure, is a glittery pink bow, long forgotten by its little owner, traded instead for a little too big, well-loved San Diego Padres baseball cap adorning her long chestnut curls like a crown for the princess she is. 

Top Gun: The Gay Agenda (A Goose’s Lament)🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈

1986, Miramar, California.

Nick "Goose" Bradshaw was a patient man. A devoted husband. A loving father. A steady RIO. A rock. But as he sat in the locker room, towel around his neck, while Pete "Maverick" Mitchell ranted in full, barely-repressed-gay-glory about one Tom "Iceman" Kazansky, Goose realized something truly chilling:

He was going to die surrounded by idiots.

"—and he's got these stupid, pretty blue eyes, Goose. Like—like oceans. Judgy, Arctic oceans. And his jaw? What the hell? It's like Michelangelo carved it himself. It's infuriating. He’s got these annoyingly capable hands and this silky, mocking voice like a villainous opera ghost, and he—he thinks he’s better than me just because he’s tall and broad and slim and hot! And don’t get me started on that beauty mark—I wanna punch his stupid angel face and kiss it at the same time and that’s messed up, right?!"

Goose stared at his best friend for a long, harrowed moment. “Mav.”

“What?”

“Sweetheart. You're in love with Iceman.”

Maverick blinked at him.

Goose turned, stood, and walked directly out of the locker room to call his wife.

That night, at the Bradshaw’s house, Carole, radiant queen of his universe, cackled like a banshee as Goose paced.

“I’m telling you, babe,” Goose moaned, massaging his temples. “It’s mutual. I overheard Iceman call him a ‘stupid green-eyed cutie.’ That’s not combat language, Carole, that’s foreplay!”

Carole nearly dropped the baby.

“I have spent weeks, WEEKS, keeping those two from killing each other or accidentally making out on the flight deck! And now? Now I have to make sure I knock before entering the locker room or I’ll walk in on Maverick’s legs around Iceman’s waist again! There were noises, Carole. Noises. I need hazard pay.”

But for all his complaints and grumblings, Goose was happy for his friends. And for himself, because, at last, he could put an end to the saga of emotionally repressed gay pilots.

He must have suspected this wasn't the case.

Goose never thought he’d be grateful for witnessing one emotionally-repressed Navy homoerotic slow burn resolve into a marriage, but the peace that settled after Ice and Mav tied the knot was glorious. Until…

The Phone Call.

“Hey, Dad?” Bradley’s voice, now grown and inflected with slight frustration, echoed through the line.

Goose smiled warmly. “Hey, kiddo. How’s flight school?”

“Fine. Mostly. Except this one guy—Jake Seresin. Ugh. He’s got these stupid pretty green eyes and this smug beautiful smile and he talks in this Texas drawl like he’s hot or something—he’s got dimples, Dad. Dimples. I swear, I wanna punch his annoyingly handsome face right in the—"

Goose froze. The coffee cup slipped from his hand in slow motion.

“Carole,” he whispered, handing over the phone like it was a live grenade. “Talk to your son about his OBVIOUS crush for Seresin. I—I can’t go through this again.”

On the other end: “WHAT?! It’s not a crush! I don’t even like him! He thinks he’s so slick just because he—he flies like he was born in a cockpit and he’s always—NO, MOM, STOP LAUGHING—this is serious!”

Goose was already on the other line, calling Iceman and Maverick.

“You DID this to him!”

Goose’s furious screech could probably be heard from orbit.

Maverick’s laughter came in unholy wheezing bursts, while he tried to say: “Technically, Goose, we never corrupted him. He’s just… following in our flightpath.”

“YOU TAUGHT HIM TO CRASH INTO GAY FEELINGS AT MACH THREE!”

Maverick wheezed, “I’m so proud of the kid. He’s even ranting like me!”

Iceman took the phone. “Hi, Goose.”

“Don’t you ‘Hi Goose’ me, Ice Prince of Gay Pining! This is your fault too!”

Iceman reply, calm and dry. “We accept full responsibility for corrupting your son. We’ll send a fruit basket. And tissues.”

“You cursed my bloodline with emotionally constipated, pilot-loving disaster men! You infected my son with your drama! Now he's as emotionally constipated as you two assholes”

Maverick gasped. “Goose. Goose. Did you just say that out loud?! Honey!”

“DON’T 'HONEY' ME, DEAR. I HATE YOU BOTH. I WANT NEW FRIENDS.”

“You’ll never do better,” Ice said serenely.

Carole could be heard in the background, howling.

Goose thought it couldn't get worse.

Until it did. Until it happened.

The Closet Incident

A week later, Goose received a call from Admiral Ron "Slider" Kerner. Current CO of NAS Pensacola. Goose braced for a tragedy.

“Hey, Goose. Slider here.”

Goose immediately felt dread.

“You're not going to like this, but—well—I just found Bradley and….”

Silence.

And then…

Goose isn't sure he heard correctly, but he swears something sounded like a dog choking on a bone. Was Slider choking?

“Bradshaw!” Slider chortled. “You’re not gonna believe this—I just caught your Gosling and Seresin in a storage closet. Doing things. Noises, Nick. NOISES”

Goose blue screen. He must have misheard Slider. He prayed he did.

“Say again?”. Please, PLEASE, tell me I heard wrong. Goose was at his wits' end, and he was sure this was just his imagination playing tricks on him. Trauma response. A form of PTSD. That must be it.

Instead: “Bradley and Jake. Storage closet. Caught them mid-thrust. Jake saluted me while still having your son inside him. Just thought you’d want the full picture, Admiral Dad.”

Goose screamed into a pillow for eleven minutes and then started therapy.

He was absolutely billing Iceman and Maverick.

After Slider's call (which the entire Top Gun '86 class knew about, thanks to Slider and Maverick), Goose was confident nothing worse could happen. Sure, the call he had with Bradley where they discussed guidelines for proper conduct regarding storage closets use in the Navy was awkward, but now everything was back to normal...sort of.

And then it happened again. On an ordinary day, a bomb landed on Admiral Nick "Goose" Bradshaw's desk.

In the form of a letter.

Dear Admiral Bradshaw,

Please accept my formal apology for the incident in the supply closet. While our timing was… unprofessional, my feelings for Bradley are entirely sincere.

I'd like to take this opportunity to officially ask for your blessing to have a relationship with your son (even though we've already had sex—again, sorry for the inconvenience—and we've done other things).

I really care about Bradley; he's perfect. I want you to know that I will always treat Bradley like the prince he is, because I'm sure your son is becoming my world.

I promise to always be the best version of myself for your son, because that's what he deserves. He makes me want to be better. To fly better. He's my wingman. And I will always take care of his wing.

Also, Bradley told me that you're close to Admiral Kerner (and I must confess that you and your friends intimidate me), so could you ask him to stop making faces and sounds every time he sees me? I'm worried he'll die of suffocation from laughing so much.

Respectfully,

Jake “Hangman” Seresin.

Goose practically ran the entire way home. Read the letter to Carole. Then together, they called Maverick and Iceman and read it again.

As Carole read the letter (and cried with laughter) Goose stared off into space like a man haunted by the ghosts of his past and Maverick could practically be heard on the floor laughing (gasping for air) Iceman, always composed and serene, said: “I like him. He asked permission. Good manners.”

Goose, finally out of his trance, said, "Iceman, you're paying for my therapy forever, man. This is worse than when I had to listen to you read poetry to Maverick while we were on the USS Enterprise.”

Iceman: “Fair.”

And so Admiral Goose Bradshaw carried on, wiser, wearier, and only mildly traumatized. He had survived the IceMav saga, and now the BradleyJake operation was well underway.

Sometimes, he looked up at the stars, wondering if future Bradshaws would continue this glittering, chaotic legacy of falling for their cocky flyboy nemesis.

He prayed not.

But just in case?

He increased the Navy’s mental health budget.

He’d gotten too complacent, too soft. The allure of being a part of a group instead of lurking on the outer edges had him in a vice and wouldn’t let go. It started on the carrier on that fateful day, so caught up in the elation of everyone coming home that he’d thrown his arms around Phoenix, and then Bob, who’d welcomed him with happy smiles. He’d inexplicably started trading high fives and friendly pats with the others, a sense of tactile camaraderie he’d never had with his other squadrons or classmates. He’d even ruffled Callie’s hair a time or two. Picked up Fanboy in a bear hug. They’d smiled back at him.

The Daggers wanted him. Him. Jake. Volatile, sometimes mean, always bratty, but they’d made it clear: you might be a jackass, but you’re our jackass.

The sentiment touched Jake Seresin like nothing else ever had. He had brothers growing up. He’d had teammates. Rivals. Acquaintances. But - barring Javy- he’s never had “friends”. Much less an entire squadron of them. Friends that laughed and cut up and joked with him. Friends that called him out on his occasional shitty mood and bad attitude, but wanted him anyway. It was a novel experience.

He glanced over at Rooster across the bar chatting with Phoenix. At the proof you didn’t have to be friends with someone to sleep with them. Many, many times. But even Bradley Bradshaw had warmed up to him after the whole “this is your savior speaking” thing. Bradley Stupid Bradshaw with his devastatingly sincere cow eyes and his cutely quirked mouth. He’d been extra “friendly” lately after that handshake.

No, you know what? This was all his fault. They were all at fault.

Jake had never been so caught up, so distracted, so free-flowing in the gentle whirlwind that is friendship and love. His little sister, the book nerd, gushes about this popular literary phenomenon called “found family”. Perhaps that was what this was.

Perhaps that’s what had just spurred Payback to - instead of just stepping around him like would have in the past - grasp Jake’s exposed, vulnerable side just under his ribs, to bodily guide him sideways out of his path to the pool tables. It wasn’t a forceful gesture, just a gentle press and squeeze of a massive hand and strong fingers into the soft skin of his belly through the thin cotton of his T-shirt. An innocuous, friendly, decidedly physical “excuse me”. The reaction was immediate, and Jake actually could sooner stop that missile than what was about to happen.

He spasmed.

A full-bodied, seizing, violent shudder, and then he buckled like he’d been electrocuted.

He only just managed to keep his feet, but it was dramatic enough to draw the attention of the rest of the Daggers, who of course, all dashed over to his side in a panicked flurry.

“Oh my God, Jake!” Callie was drunk and frantic and motherly, her hands coming up to grasp Jake’s face. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“Dude, what did you do to Hangy?” Fanboy smacked his pilot on the arm, and then ducked out of the way as Trace and Bob elbowed their way into the fray.

“Jake, are you hurt?” Natasha was nothing but business, even as buzzed as she was, and Bob, ever the loyal watchdog, tried to shepherd Jake to sit on a barstool.

With his hand gripping Jake’s other side.

“No!” Jake shouted and jerked away. “I’m fine! I’m good! I’m okay, just…just everybody chill out-“

“-Javy, why are you laughing,” Callie scolded; Javy hadn’t even moved from his seat. “I thought Jake was your bestie!”

Javy, who had in fact been grinning like a loon the entire forty five seconds this Greek tragedy had played out, laughed harder, head thrown back in peels of beer-fueled mirth. “He is my bestest bestie!”

Jake glowered. Of course his oldest friend knew his deepest secret, and had been sworn to secrecy the instant it had come to light. “Javy, you promised!”

“Hey, man, have I said a word?”

“Not a damn word!”

“I didn’t!”

“Ever!”

“Never!”

“He’s ticklish.”

Rooster.

That slimy bastard hadn’t so much been sworn to secrecy as, well, Jake had just assumed the act by which he’d found out had been so illicit that Bradley would have never dared to say it out loud in front of people.

Apparently - unfortunately - he held no such inclinations.

Javy, the traitor, had to catch himself on the railing to keep from falling off his stool, his mad cackling causing patrons across the bar to turn their heads. He’d kept his word, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t gonna enjoy the aftermath.

The collective gasp from the rest of the Daggers was so synchronized it almost seemed choreographed. “No!”

“Oh, yeah,” Rooster said, “he’s crazy ticklish. All you have to do is touch his ribs and he’ll be a screaming, squirming mess.”

The Daggers’ eyes lit up with glee.

“Wait,” Payback said, brows drawing in confusion, “how do you know that?”

Bradshaw smirked and raised a shoulder, as coy as could be. “See for yourself.” He said with a flourish toward Jake, who had been edging out of the group and toward the bar’s exit.

Jake froze at the words. “Bradley-“ he breathed out, eyes wide in shock. He looked akin to a rabbit caught in a trap, and as the Daggers turned toward him like a pack of hungry dogs - eyes wild and grins feral - he felt like one, too. “-no.”

He blinked, and then he bolted.

The door leading to the beach banged against its hinges as first a desperate blond and then a pack of loud, gleefully drunk aviators tore out into the darkness and sand beyond.

Rooster chuckled and sipped at his beer, nodding to Javy as he moved to sit beside him.

“So,” Machado began, “you and my boy, huh?”

Bradley grinned wickedly, fondly, listening as the pitiful pleading began in ernest in the distance - “…no no, no please please, Bob… Bobby I thought you loved me! NoooOO-”

The rabbit had been caught.

The sound that came from decorated naval aviator Lieutenant Jake Seresin’s throat could only be described as squeal. Manic laughter and the shrill, belting screeching of a man being tickled mercilessly almost drowned out breaking waves on the beach.

“Yep. Me and your boy.”

Javy nodded, listening to the sounds of pure joy outside, his Jakey the center of it for the first time since he’d known him. He met Rooster’s knowing gaze and reached over to clack their beer bottles together. “Good.” He gestured at the wide open door and the helpless begging beyond. “Shall we?”

“Oh, hell yeah, I want a turn.”

Now when Jake is being too much of a brat, all any one of them has to do is sternly catch his eye from across the room and wiggle their fingers at him - silent, threatening - and he will instantly, with a shuddering breath, become quiet, wide-eyed, docile.