#hawaiian shirt dog day
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Can't think of a caption or clever phrase. Have a Rollo
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secret santa | j. fleming
summary; jessie leaves your real present at home. [SMUT]
🎵 right my wrongs - bryson tiller
you watched on excitedly as millie opened her present from you, a massive grin appearing on her face once she caught sight of the white t-shirt you'd had custom made for her. a cartoon drawing of her and rachel was in the middle alongside their dogs by their feet, a massive 'daly dose of brightness' calligraphy sign above them as they pointed up to it, millie looking up and finding you immediately as she knew only you would get her something like that.
"i'm putting this on right now!"
she stood up to take off her shirt and modelled for the girls when they wolf-whistled at the sight of her shirtless, quickly putting on her new shirt and continuing to model it as you all cheered her on. the defender made her lap of the group whilst doing a model walk and arrived at you, kissing your forehead with a thanks before sitting down again. emma picked up a gift from the pile in the middle of you all and read the name, looking up to find you.
"think fast!"
she threw it towards you and applauded when you caught it with ease, slightly disappointed you didn't let it drop. the present was shaped like a flat rectangle and light, the price limit on your secret santa was twenty-five pounds so you had no idea what it could be, all the girls watching to see what it was as you tore it open. you noticed it was a 2024 calendar - cleary personalised - with the back showing twelve pictures of your teammates dressed up in stupid outfits matching the seasons.
january was erin and guro wearing new years hats with partyblowers in their mouths, february was jessie holding a heart-shaped pillow and wearing a hat that said 'happy valentines day' whilst blowing a kiss to the camera, april was jess dressed up like the easter bunny and mia sneaking out of frame with a basket full of eggs, june was zecira and lauren wearing hawaiian shirts with sunglasses on a fake beach whilst pushing their cocktail glasses together in cheers, october was niamh and fran dressed in matching vampire costumes alongside guro fighting them off with a garlic clove and wooden stake and december was all of the girls in different christmas jumpers surrounded by presents.
the remaining months were just your teammates wearing random things and being stupid if there wasn't any specific holidays, one of them being millie dressed up as a firefighter and pretending to slide down a pole with one leg popped up behind her and a finger on her pouting lips, a running inside joke on your team being that she'd make a great firefighter purely for the 'sexy' calendar photoshoots they have.
"oh this is so cute! best present ever."
you commented whilst flicking through the months and showing your teammates your favourites, getting slightly distracted on february but quickly snapping out of it once erin started teasing you for shamelessly staring at jessie. there could have only been one person who came up with this thoughtful idea and actually went through with it, no one but your girlfriend would take the time to make such a cute gift. you quickly stood up and walked over to the canadian whilst kissing her on the cheek, thanking her quietly as she smiled brightly with a blush, so happy you liked the gift but still growing a little shy once you kissed her.
the rest of the girls opened their presents and were all happy with what they received, sitting and talking for an hour or so before some people started to leave once emma dismissed you all from the team bonding session. jessie informed you earlier that she had another gift waiting at home, claiming she forgot to bring it as she was in a hurry that morning but wanting you to open it when you got back to your shared place anyways. your curiosity got the better of you and you'd practically dragged your girlfriend out of cobham training grounds towards your car, ignoring the chuckle she'd let out when you were beginning to grow restless out of anticipation.
"come on we're literally there! you might as well tell me what it is."
"sorry baby, no can do."
jessie refused for the umteenth time after you asked her to say what your actual gift was, unlocking the door to your shared apartment and letting you in first as she watched you practically sprint towards the bedroom where you knew it would be. you saw a neat box laying on the bottom of your bed with a red bow over it, picking it up to see there was no brand name or indication of what it could be. you carefully untied the ribbon with jessie leaning against the doorframe as she watched on with a smirk, grinning when you took off the lid and gasped at what you saw.
a black lace lingerie set was neatly laid out in the box in front of you, your eyes unable to leave it as you'd never worn anything like that before and didn't think jessie would be into it. (future you would be screaming about just how into it jessie is.)
"you like it?"
you turned to jessie and nodded your head shyly, kicking off your shoes by the end of the bed and pulling the set out of the box, holding it up to find thankfully she hadn't bought you a thong as you didn't like wearing them. it was a simple black lace lingerie set- yet you were obsessed. you hurried into the ensuite as jessie sat down on your side of the bed patiently, slowly getting more and more riled up at the thought of you in lingerie just for her, thinking about how gorgeous you'd look in the set and that she was definitely going to make you keep it on somehow as she fucked you later on.
she was knocked out of her thoughts by you opening the ensuite door and leaning against the doorframe shyly, not knowing what to do with yourself as jessie took you in and chuckled at your awkward nature when it came to things like this. she waved you over with a massive grin playing on her face, shamelessly checking you out as your arms went around her neck whilst you straddled her lap when she moved to lean against the headboard, squealing at the unexpected slap she landed to your ass before squeezing it.
"you like it?"
you repeated her earlier question in a teasing manner, watching the way her eyes wouldn't stay still as they roamed all over your body alongside her hands.
"god, i love it. this is so much better than i ever could've imagined. you get more beautiful by the day."
you blushed at her endless array of compliments as she babbled them out like she was drunk, lips moving forward to take the skin above your breasts and below your collarbone into her teeth as she bit harshly, grinning at the hiss of pain you exerted before she ran her tongue over it whilst sucking. she continued this all over your chest and neck, moving to flip you over so she could move her lips down your stomach and repeat her actions, loving the way your hands tangled in her hair and breathing picked up. the canadian looked up to see your chest rising and falling at a faster rate, absolutely adoring the way your bra was hugging your breasts in all the right ways to drive her feral; she couldn't help but move back up to your chest and pay them extra special attention once she was done with your stomach.
"god i love your tits. they look so fucking gorgeous right now- i'm gonna go insane."
"the least you could do is fuck me before i commit you to an insane asylum then."
jessie shook her head at your stupid joke, chuckling alongside you as she leaned down to kiss you sweetly, moving her lips down your neck to make more marks.
"if i could i'd take a picture to make sure this moment never ends."
"i never said you couldn't."
you smirked up at her, watching her eyes light up as you nodded your head in approval of her questioning glance. the midfielder reached for her bedside table and found her polaroid amongst her mini collection of cameras, positioning the lens in a way that only showed the bottom of your jaw all the way down to the waistband of your underwear, quickly taking a picture and placing the camera back on her drawer to sort out later on. her lips quickly found their way to your inner thighs and continued the trail of love bites she'd set herself on a mission of making, teeth wrapping around your waistband and pulling back before letting go, grinning at the whine you let out when it snapped back against your skin.
unable to control herself anymore, her fingers dipped under and softly began rubbing your clit to earn a moan of her name, your legs spreading open further in a silent plea as jessie moved her digits down to your entrance and prodded them both in slowly to not stretch you out too painfully. you pulled her into a heated kiss as she moved her free hand to massage your breast over the bra she'd gotten you, your hands tangling into her hair and tugging when she started moving her fingers. she quickly built you up and attached her mouth to your nipple over the bra, curling her fingers simultaneously as you pushed her head further into you and arched your back with a groan of pleasure.
"you're so fuckin' sexy babygirl. been dreaming of havin' you wear something like this for months now."
"won't be the last time if you keep fucking me this good every time i wear it."
you promised with a wink whilst keeping back your moans, throwing back your head as she observed the way your body was reacting to her hand. she was curling her fingers into your g-spot, pulling out every now and then to tease as she rubbed your wetness over your puffy clit frantically before going back to finger-fucking you like her life depended on it, loving the way you were whimpering at the loss of her digits every time. you grabbed her wrist when you felt her pulling out and gave her a look of warning, loving the way she cowered under your gaze and stopped the games with a peck on your lips in apology.
her thrusts started to get rougher and more forceful when she began to take in your body again, the sight of you getting fucked in lingerie riling her up to no end as she moaned, no longer keeping the thoughts of what she wanted to do to you at bay. jessie felt your walls clamping down on her fingers every time she pushed them in, growing tighter with each thrust whilst she groaned in response to the feeling of your arousal flooding her fingers.
"you gonna cum baby? am i fucking you good?"
"m'gonna cum- don't stop!"
you begged continuously as she kissed along the love bites she'd left behind in response, moving her thumb up at an awkward angle to rub your clit in tight circles whilst your nails raked blood-red trails down her back like she'd just been mauled by a tiger. jessie grunted in pain whilst biting her lip to distract herself from it, focusing on making you feel as good as possible.
"gonna be a good girl and look pretty whilst you cum all over my fingers?"
"m'your good girl."
"that's right baby. such a pretty princess. dressing up for me and letting me fuck you like this, such a good girl. my good girl."
that's all it took for the floodgates to open and your mouth to start letting out as many expletives as you could think of, nails continuing to make their mark on her waist and back as jessies hand didn't relent for one second. your breathing eventually evened out as your orgasm finally subsided, realising your girlfriend still had her fingers knuckle-deep inside you as you looked to her in confusion, seeing the dark look in her eyes as she raked them up and down your body in a way that said 'i'm not done with you yet' whilst she turned you over so you were straddling her again.
oh, she was gonna fuck you so good.
#jessie fleming#canada wnt#canada womens#chelsea wfc#chelsea women#woso community#woso fanfics#woso imagine#woso x reader#jessie fleming smut#jessie fleming imagine#jessie fleming fanfic#jessie fleming x reader#jessie fleming x you#jessie fleming x y/n#woso smut#woso#canada women#canada#cwnt x reader#chelsea womens#chelsea wfc x reader
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modern mizu hcs
solely based on my au and my concept of her !! I love my loser babygirl so much
she's REALLY tall. like 6'1 or something. this is sorta canon but I just would like to reinforce it because she is 80% leg and I love her for it.
her love language would be acts of service but she is VERY big on physical touch, bby is touchstarved af
she's a bassist but she also enjoys singing. she doesn't do it often but boy is she good.
adding to the above I also think she does really good at roars eg that one part from blessed be by spiritbox
REALLY likes the snapcube sonic dubs and quotes them regularly
swordfather has many pictures of 12-16 year old mizu in her emo phase and shows them off to anyone who visits home
she really likes tea but absolutely hates coffee.
she absolutely despises buying from big chain companies because she hates the rich and privileged white men who control society
cooks really well but almost never eats
when she does eat, she EATS. she'll go hungry for three days and then eat an entire fridge worth of food in two hours
she has to take supplements for everything imaginable and whoever's cooking has to sneak them into her meal like dogs with pills in peanut butter
she hates dogs. I feel like the only dogs she'd like would be malamutes, huskies, or german shepherds cause girl me too
really loves fish though. she spends all her time at the closest aquarium and everybody there knows her by name
owns SO many button up shirts. yk those multicoloured ones yeah she wears those, hawaiian shirts too
collects vinyls and cassette tapes and owns a walkman
drives a 1979 baby blue impala given to her by swordfather for her 18th birthday
she did the paintjob herself and is very proud
goes on really elaborate rants about sonic lore
collects sonic merch but especially likes merch of shadow, rouge and blaze because they're her favourites
has eyebrow piercings on both brows and snake bites
to add to the above she takes great care with her eyebrows, she shapes them regularly
she does not, however, have any other routine to do with her appearance. she washes her face and calls it a day
when she was about 16 she watched princess mononoke for the first time and has been an AVID studio ghibli fan since
writes poetry every so often, especially when she has feelings for somebody. her poems either sound like fall out boy lyrics or something written by a philosopher (same thing icl)
smells like expensive cologne and smoke from working with vehicles and shit
curses like a sailor. not a minute goes by where she isn't effing and jeffing all over the place
doesn't smoke except when she's REALLY drunk
absolutely hates parties. taigen being a frat boy she gets dragged to tons, in which she drinks herself into a coma and wakes up on akemi's couch the next day surprisingly not hungover
despite being quiet af she has a reputation on campus for being absolutely amazing at arguing with people who've either pissed her off or heard her yelling at taigen (a common occurrence)
got excluded from high school for a week as a sophomore because she tripped taigen down the stairwell and it ended in 5 kids being hurt not including taigen
#blue eye samurai#mizu blue eye samurai#bes#bes mizu#modern au#headcanons go brrrrr#loser mizu my beloved#mizu come home the kids miss you#modern mizu has my heart
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Human society collapses as 25% of living adults transform physically into semi-animate objects. But it doesn't collapse all at once. Someday, inside of it, you come in to work and your boss is a quivering mass of artificial hair approximately the size of a housecat, stridulating and moaning. "Another day, another dollar," says your coworker Stupid James, whose empty eye socket has a SCSI cable dangling out of it. "Ha ha ha." Nobody knows how you're all getting paid anymore and it's all felt like it stopped mattering. You go home and jerk off to porn from the before times, the insolidity of it, the rubberiness, it all feels like silicone toys mooshing against each other. It's not good but it's a relief from the horrors.
You wake up - must have passed out from the torpidity of it all - and there's a hissing at the door and your mailman is rasping his glass skin against the door, terrified of knocking for fear his transformation into an electric kettle be interrupted by shattering what is to become his body. The advertisements are all in lockstep about how we're going to get through this together and it's unprecedented but not a big deal. Trader Joe's has a special on sprayable lithium grease. You think it's better to get there ahead of the rush so you call up an Uber. Guy in the driver's seat makes no conversation, seems afraid to look at you, talk to you. Can't tell if anything fucked up has happened to him yet. You slide past the National Guard attack dog checkpoint and there's a car doing donuts in the parking lot, no driver at the wheel; another car has a sandstone obelisk thrust through the driver's seat, still buckled in. You wonder if it's affecting the animals. Everyone always argues about that. "I figure it isn't," says the first person you ask, walking a stroller covered in cameras pointing inward at an apparently normal human toddler. "I figure it's some kind of punishment, you know, or the government did it, and why would they do it to animals."
The cashier's Hawaiian shirt clashes with his skin, which has the texture and color of an American flag. "You holding up okay," you ask. You kind of expect him to be crying, but he isn't. "Nah, man," he says. "You know how it is." "I do."
You dream like you do every night, of your allegedly protective Faraday garment cracking open and some pile of clutter - dust bunnies, CD-ROM drives, stacks of twenty-dollar bills - spilling out of your guts. You haven't told your therapist. You're not even sure if your therapist is still technically alive. The worst thing you can imagine, in the long run, is that you will die of old age, surrounded by loved ones, untouched by regret, no business unfinished. There's an email in your inbox in the morning and it's from your new boss
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ocean in a seashell . ( rooster )
pairing ; bradley bradshaw x female!reader
synopsis ; bradley has lived with his father’s ghost for long enough to know he’ll never make the same mistakes he did. and then he meets you.
wc ; 10.5k i'm sorry
warnings ; 18+ only, minors do NOT interact; bradley bradshaw's sad, sad life; angst, literally SO much angst; mentions of canon past character death; near-death experience; alcohol abuse; explicit language; explicit sexual content (breeding kink, cumplay, p in v, dirty talk, fingering, idk?)
note: ... yeah i don't fucking know either goodbye. stole the title from "sidelines" by phoebe bridgers aka god.
sol. sunderlust... none of this would be possible without you, thank you forever.
Bradley doesn’t remember much about his father.
These days, he recalls him only in fractions: Hawaiian shirts, mustache, hair that stood up spikey like grass covered in the first tentative November frost. He had big hands, Bradley remembers that, and he used to swing him up on his shoulders and let him ride around living rooms in Army commissioned houses they never stayed in longer than a few months. He always smelled of engine oil, and he played pianos like he didn’t even know the meaning of the word embarrassment.
Bradley based his whole life on the fading glimpses of that man he carries locked in the chambers of his heart. The older he gets, the more gaps he finds.
Suddenly he’s taller than Goose ever was, older, ranked higher. He wants to say, wait, hold on, go back. Wants to rewind to a time when he felt closer to his father, when he could remember what his voice sounded like, what it felt like when he tucked him into bed. When he thought if he just sat by the front door long enough, his father would inevitably walk through it again, hoist him into the air, and press tickling kisses to his cheeks.
Sometimes, Bradley wishes he could go back to when he thought bad things happened only in movies. When he had a father and a mother and an uncle and the bone-deep, unconscious conviction that things would always stay this way.
He can’t remember the day Goose died. Can’t remember Mav coming to the house, can’t remember the dog tags pressed into his mother’s hands. Strange how the most significant day of his little life remains in his memory as just another day - morning cartoons and PB&J sandwiches and his mom reading him a bedtime story. Part of Bradley thinks it’s unfair, his whole world crashing down and him not even remembering it. Like he’s arriving late for a movie and can’t make sense of the plot.
Not once did he see his mother cry over his father. He’s sure she must have shed tears, remembers now the empty tissue boxes and the eyes rimmed in red, understands now what he was too young to see then. But Carol carried her grief like a secret. She locked it behind the mahogany of her bedroom door, she hid it behind the veneer of her smile.
Bradley is nineteen, standing at his mother’s open grave, when he decides he’s never going to do to someone what Goose did to her. What he did to him.
For a while, he wants nothing to do with the memory of that man. Wraps himself in his mother, toys with the idea of taking her maiden name. Goes to college and gets drunk, gets high, gets himself into trouble. Thinks sometimes, in his very darkest moments, that maybe the best thing he could do for the world is to stop existing.
One night lands him at the police station. And it’s not like he got arrested or anything, they just take him in to sober up and tell him to call somebody to come get him. Mav is in town, thank God, and he comes in wearing his old aviator jacket and a wistful expression. Bradley’s call probably pulled him out of some bar or some girl or both.
Mav doesn’t say much, just drives him back to his college dorm and pulls over to the curb, doesn’t even turn off the car. They sit there in silence, with the blinker going and the engine purring.
Finally, Mav says, “Sometimes, you remind me so much of your father, it scares me.”
Bradley doesn’t know what to say to that, so he says nothing. Sits there for a little longer and watches as frat bros and law students and cheerleaders cross the street on their way to hook-ups, to parties, to midnight fast food runs. Envies them just for a moment. Then, without saying goodbye, gets out of the car, goes to his room, and buries himself beneath the weight of his blankets.
So it’s like Bradley always suspected. It really is a futile thing, trying to escape the memory of his father. His ghost lives inside Bradley’s chest. Rattles against his bones.
And he loves him, even if he doesn’t remember him. Thinks that love is some intrinsic, primordial thing. Something that was there before he was born and will be there after he dies. Something he can’t fight. Unstoppable like the tide.
So he embraces it instead. Tries growing a mustache he’ll only be able to pull off much later in life, gets those old Hawaiian shirts out of storage. Decides to give into the underlying current of longing he’s felt every time he tipped his head back and looked at the sky.
Accepting that he loves his father is much easier than he thought it would be. Much easier than hating him.
It’s good for a while because it feels like he has a purpose, a goal. For so long, Bradley has been drifting at sea, unmoored, unbound, with no sense of direction. Now he’s swimming toward something, broad strokes, every move deliberate.
Then Mav pulls his papers.
The worst part of it all, worse than the betrayal, worse than the anger, is the confusion. He thought Mav would understand. Mav of all people.
(It’s his mother, setting a casserole on the table, smiling at Bradley and saying Pete over here, he’s the craziest pilot the Navy’s ever seen. It’s his sixth Christmas, the second one without his dad, and Mav gives him a model of a plane they’ll build together. It’s Mav staring at him with eyes gleaming with moisture the time he stole the Navy hat from his uncle’s head. It’s Mav in every memory of his life, laced so tightly to him he thought they were inseparable, woven together. Now the seams are coming apart.)
Mav, who keeps flying, who seems only to be a real, complete person for those few, short, fleeting moments just after he steps off a plane. Who’s never happy unless he’s going break-neck speed miles and miles above the ground, jumping off death’s shovel, laughing, flipping the bird, and saying look, I can fly!
If Maverick doesn’t understand why Bradley wants to fly, why he needs to fly, then who ever could?
Mav wants to explain it, calls him, shows up at his apartment. Bradley declines the calls, turns off all the lights, and sits on his couch in perfect silence, pretending he isn’t in.
He doesn’t want to hear explanations, doesn’t want to listen to excuses. He wants to fly.
Back when his mother was alive, she wouldn’t even let him get on an airplane. His whole childhood, they only left their state once to go to a funeral of some distant aunt or cousin or uncle, Bradley can’t remember, and his mother drove the whole ten hours there and back. It didn’t even register as anything weird to him - it was all juice boxes and gas station ice cream and goldies on the radio. It was his mom’s laughter and her smile and her fingers carding strands of hair warmed by the sun out of his eyes.
So Bradley remembers his mother every time he gets into a car. But his dad? Him, he can only get above the clouds.
He doesn’t give up. He finishes college, works odd jobs for some money, drifts further and further from the orbit he used to inhabit. And then he applies to the academy again, and then he goes to Top Gun, and he graduates top of his class and wonders what it would feel like if there were somebody to be proud of him. If somebody were congratulating him, taking him out for a celebratory dinner, or just somebody to hug him. What it would feel like if he weren’t so alone.
It’s what he dreams about sometimes, in the very darkest pockets of the night. A house with a swing set and a big, smiling, dumb dog and a pretty wife and a whole gaggle of children running through the garden. Bradley would teach them how to throw a football, and he’d carry them to bed at night, and his wife would smile at him, and there would always be food in the fridge and brownies on the table, and every room would be filled with love, and there would be no ghosts to haunt him.
It’s a dangerous fantasy. It’s a trap door, a slippery slope, it’s a snare, it’s a cliff’s edge. If he stays in it too long, he’ll be lost.
His mother always used to say he was a functional dreamer. He had his head stuck in the clouds, sure, but he knew exactly when to pull it out of there too. Maybe that’s why he’s such a good pilot.
So Bradley still is a functional dreamer. He knows that this is something he can never have, can never allow himself to have. He knows the pain of it too well, too intimately, still feels it every time he catches sight of his reflection in a mirror, the golden streaks of sun in his hair, the mustache, the split second of pure, blank horror, of oh god I look like him, I look so much like him, and feels it slice right through him like a knife through butter. He’s been carrying his father’s ghost for so long, sometimes it feels like his spine will crack under the weight.
Maybe people that live life like he does, like Mav does, like his father did - up in the sky, heads in the clouds - aren’t meant to have anything on the ground. Inevitably, they always end up leaving it.
He decided the day of his mother’s funeral, before the long procession of I’m sorrys and If you need anythings, before he let real estate agents into a house overflowing with cards and flowers - flowers in every room, flowers blooming and wilting and dying like a garden watered by his grief, like a garden watered by his ghosts - that he would never have a family. Not a wife to mourn him, not a child to miss him.
So there’ll be nobody to carry the burden of him.
And then he meets you.
It’s not momentous - it’s easy. Natural. Quicker than he thought possible. It’s stolen glances across a room and a smile that brands him like a mark, that cuts right through to the bone. A smile that settles in his heart. A smile that’ll never leave again.
In the beginning, he tries to fight it. Tells himself not to engage, not to get involved, to stay out of the mess he knows he’ll make here inevitably. To shield him, but to shield you too, to protect you from whatever hurt he’s going to inflict sooner or later.
But then it goes like this:
“Are you never going to ask me out, Bradshaw?” you ask him, smiling as you pluck his Ray Bans from him, as you place them on your own nose, and blink at him from over the rims.
The sun is casting you in gold. Bradley wants to catch the moment in a mason jar and put it on his bedside table. Let the glow illuminate his nights.
“I don’t think….” He trails off, wonders why it’s so easy for him to talk to you, why he can’t stop spilling truths like leaking water taps. “I don’t think I’ll be good for you.”
You don’t miss a beat. One eyebrow raising, you say, “And don’t you think that should be my decision?”
That’s when he knows that for him, you will always be it. That it’ll never be this way again with someone else. It’s not even a question. It’s just the truth.
When he’s with you, for the first time since he sat shotgun in a car with his mother, head nodding along to Elvis on the radio, Bradley feels like he belongs somewhere. Like he’s reached a shore, maybe. Like he can breathe.
For the first time, it feels like he knows peace, even with his feet on the ground.
His mother would have loved you.
You have a long conversation about it. About how he knows you want it - the diapers and the first days of school and the family Christmases. The pitter-patter of children’s feet, the cribs, the tiny fingers curling around your thumb. He knows you’ve dreamed of it all your life. And Bradley also knows, as much as it hurts, as much as it aches, that he can never give it to you.
He needs to be honest. He needs to put all the cards on the table so you know your options, see the truth about him. So you can walk away before you get any deeper into this.
Part of him is sure you will. Thinks it might be better, the safest option for both of you. Hopes you will, fears you will.
It doesn’t matter that he loves you. It doesn’t matter that he only feels at peace when he’s with you. It doesn’t matter that for the first time since he was four years old, the ghosts have gone quiet.
What matters is that he wants you to be happy. What matters is that if that happiness lies somewhere else, with someone else, with someone who’ll give you everything you dream of, give you a life, give you a child… Bradley will let you go. It’ll be the hardest thing he’s ever done, but he will.
Only you don’t leave.
You think about it for a very, very long time. Sit at his kitchen table with your hands folded on the tablecloth like you’re praying, with your head turned down, without looking at him, and then finally you say, “Alright. Fine with me.”
And Bradley’s protesting, pushing, saying, “Honey, you want this, I know you do, you want a family, you….”
“I want you more,” you say, and that’s that.
There’s no lie to it. It’s the truth, naked and beautiful and awful.
And Bradley - selfish as he is - accepts it. Because he doesn’t want to lose you. Because as much as he tries to convince himself of the opposite, deep down, he knows he’s not a good man. Just like his father wasn’t. They’re both just men willing to leave the people they love behind. Brave enough to fight for the “greater good”, but never brave enough to stay.
Regardless of it all, it’s the happiest Bradley has been in years. With you, he doesn’t feel like something is missing from him. He actually feels whole.
Your job as a freelancer allows you to travel with him, and he’s unspeakably grateful for it. He tries to show you, tries to be good about bringing flowers and cooking dinner, thinks if he can make you even a fraction as happy as you make him, he’ll have succeeded. When he gets deployed, he spends days memorizing your face, the shape of your throat where your pulse point jumps, the pattern of your heartbeat, the feeling of you beneath his arm.
And sometimes, when you’re asleep, Bradley puts his hand on your stomach and imagines a bump there, imagines a baby growing beneath it, and that’s when the ache gets so strong he thinks he can’t breathe.
That’s when he hates himself for not being something else: a doctor, an accountant, a real estate agent. Anything other than what he is. Could he have it then, this thing you both want so much? Could he let himself have it?
But eventually, when the fantasies fade, he always circles back to the truth: Bradley isn’t a doctor or an accountant or a real estate agent. He’s a pilot. Always has been, always will be.
He’s just too much like his father. That’s the whole point.
When he gets called back to Top Gun, three years after he met you, something shifts. He doesn’t know to explain it, but from the very first moment he sets foot on North Island again, something about it tastes like the beginning of an end. At night, he can’t settle, roams through the little house you rent off base like a sleepwalker. Checks in on you like he’s afraid you’re going to disappear. Can’t concentrate up in the air, can’t shut his brain off.
It’s like his father’s ghost travels with him in his suitcases, tucked between his neatly folded shirts, climbs out when no one’s looking. No matter where he goes, that ghost goes too. He can’t shake him.
You love California. You like the sunshine and the ocean. Like the Hard Deck and Penny and Phoenix. Turn your face into the warmth like a sunflower, and then you bloom, go brighter and brighter as Bradley goes the opposite direction. As something in him dims.
“Is it because of Mav?” you ask him softly, in the quiet of your bedroom. You’re carding hair from his forehead, fingers gentle, voice gentler.
Bradley can’t look at you. Shame coils low in his stomach.
“Yes,” he says, even if it feels like a lie in his mouth.
You sigh, no annoyance, only affection. Your head is heavy on his shoulder as you press the shape of a yawn into his skin.
“I know he hurt you, Bradley,” you whisper. “It’s okay to be hurt. But I think you need to talk to him.”
He nods into the darkness. You’re right. You’re always right.
“I know,” he agrees, even though he knows he won’t.
When you’re asleep, Bradley slips out of bed. Pats into the living room and sits on the floor, back leaning against the couch. Pulls his knees up to his chest, closes his eyes, and then he dreams.
He dreams he’s four riding on his father’s shoulders through the living room. He dreams he’s ten, in a car with his mother, turning up the radio. He dreams he’s twenty, and he lets Mav explain. He dreams he’s thirty-five, and he marries you. He dreams he’s thirty-six and holding his baby. He dreams it’s a little girl with your smile and his eyes, and he loves her more than he thought he was capable of, so much it almost breaks him apart, so much it puts him back together. So much it’s worth it all.
Bradley’s earliest memory is of the giant, bone-white seashell on his grandmother’s mantlepiece. He remembers how heavy it was, remembers how cold it felt against the side of his face when he pressed it to his ear. He remembers hearing the distant, muffled hum of the waves, the song of the sea, remembers imagining what it might look like.
It’s no comparison to the real thing, years and years and years later, he knows this, but it’s something. It’s better than nothing.
It’s all he can allow himself—an ocean in a seashell.
The mission is a disaster, even if it is successful. Later, Bradley won’t remember what he was thinking up in the air, when he hit the target, when Mav went down, when he decided to go after him. He won’t even be able to tell if that is because he’s in shock or because he really wasn’t thinking anything. Maybe for the first time in his life.
If he had been thinking, Bradley likes to believe he would have kept his plane on course. Would have flown back to the carrier and then back to you, home, home, home. Wouldn’t have gone back for a man he still hasn’t spoken to, not properly, someone he loved once and now barely knows.
But all the ghosts of the people he’s loved and lost crowd up on him in that cockpit - his father and his mother and even Admiral Kazansky and their sad, sad eyes. There’s no room for Mav to be up there, too, he thinks.
So at first, you don’t cross his mind at all. He just follows his instincts like he’s never done before, could never bring himself to do. So much of Bradley’s life has been about dissecting just those urges, dismantling them, disabling them. Making himself into a creature of logic and second-guessing. Now, for the first time, he gives in to the currents and lets himself be rushed away.
And then his plane goes down, and he drifts into the white white white of snow he hasn’t felt in so long - and still, he doesn’t think. But every instinct from the moment of impact on, the moment his feet hit the ground, every instinct centers on you.
Home, he thinks. I need to get home to her.
Up in that F-14, that’s when he realizes. The brink of death is a bleak place. It’s a place of memories, a place of despair. It’s a place of hope.
All he can think of is you. How he’s leaving you with nothing. How he’s going to die here, miles above the ocean, and what will happen then? Who’s going to bring you his dog tags, the way Mav had brought his father’s to Carole all those years ago? Phoenix? Hangman? How are they even going to retrieve them if he goes down in enemy territory? Will anybody even remember the girl in that house, the one he didn’t even marry? And why didn’t he anyway? Why didn’t he put a ring on your finger, buy you a house, get you a dog, give you a baby?
What will remain of him now, in this world after he’s gone?
Nothing, he thinks, and his lungs fill with water, high up in the sky. You made damn sure of that, Bradley.
There will be nobody to haunt. He will disappear, and he will take his mother with him, will take his father with him, will take Mav with him. Nobody to remember him. Nobody to mourn him except you, all alone, carrying the terrible burden of his ghost.
It used to be a relief. Nobody to mourn me after I’m gone. Now it feels like a punishment.
Home, he thinks, remembering the content of your smile and your eyes gleaming in the darkness and your face turning, always turning, toward the sun. Like a child, as he closes his eyes, as he tries to accept the inevitable, he thinks, I want to go home. I just want to go home.
And then that’s what he does—he and Mav. Incredibly, inexplicably, illogically, they go home.
From far away, as he walks up the driveway, the little house with the gardenias you planted blooming pink and red in front of the windows looks like an oasis at first. Then it seems to grow longer, taller, goes from beckoning to daunting. He almost doesn’t make it inside. Almost doesn’t dare to get out his keys, unlock the front door, push through and toe off his shoes. Feels like he’s doing something forbidden, like he’s an unwanted guest in his own home.
You’re in the kitchen, elbows deep in sudsy dishwater, and when he walks through the doorway, when you hear the pat of his socked feet against the tiled floors, you look up at him with an open face full of love, full of relief. It almost bowls him over.
“Bradley,” you whisper, voice soft, and then you’re crossing the room, bubbles and foam and water dripping from your wrists across the tile, and he blinks at the trail you leave for a moment. Then you’re there, arms wrapping around his neck, face pressing against his shoulder, saying his name again and again, like a benediction, like a prayer of thanks.
Automatically, he pulls you against him with both arms crossed over your hips. Inhales deep, lets the familiar scent of you envelop him. Listens to your breath echoing against the dip of his collarbone, to the steady rhythm of your heart.
Your hands leave wet prints against the fabric of his shirt, like something primeval pressed to cave walls, like something that’s been happening for centuries, something that is happening right now, something that will happen again tomorrow and next year and the year after that, and distantly, dumbly, Bradley thinks, Oh. I’m alive. I’m here.
He feels packed in cotton. He feels submerged. He feels not-real, not-present, not-normal. He feels like he’s going to fall apart, and no one will notice.
When you draw back, it takes you only a split second to realize something’s wrong. You frown, the furrow Bradley likes to smooth out with his thumb appearing between your eyebrows, eyes swimming with a concern he doesn’t deserve.
“What happened?”
It’s classified, all of it. There’s so much of his life Bradley isn’t allowed to share with you, even if he wants to. There’s so much he doesn’t want to share but knows he should.
From far away, he hears himself say, “My plane went down.”
He can feel the panic in your body, feels it go through you like a spasm. You try to draw back, but he holds you where you are, afraid he’s going to shatter all across the kitchen floor the moment you’re gone.
It’s not fair, he thinks, how he keeps looking to you to hold him together. It’s just that at the end of the day, you’ve always been so much stronger than him.
“Bradley…” you begin to say, but he can’t hear it. He doesn’t want to hear it. He doesn’t want to hear how scared you are every time he leaves, he doesn’t want to hear how it made you feel to know that he almost died because he already knows. He knows.
“I want…” he says into your hair, a fragment of a sentence, a statement that trails off halfway, that goes nowhere. He doesn’t even know what he’s trying to say.
In some ways, he feels stuck in that F-14. Like time kept moving, but he didn’t, remained static and crystallized like somebody dipped the moment in amber and preserved it on a bookshelf. Nothing makes sense to him. Rationally, he knows he’s standing here in his kitchen with you in his arms, knows he isn’t dead, knows he survived, but it doesn’t feel like it.
So Bradley tries to remember grounding exercises, focuses on little things, mundane things, things that shouldn’t exist on the verge of death. The bubbles popping in the sink. The specks of dust dancing through the room. The curve of your spine beneath the worn fabric of his Navy shirt.
Suddenly, the thought of you alone in this house is unbearable. Waiting for a man that never comes back. History repeating itself in the worst of ways.
“I want to have a baby,” he says, out of nowhere, out of some madness that took hold of him up in the air, or maybe when he touched the ground, or maybe at some other point he can’t name, can’t even think.
And it’s not a conscious thought. It’s not a decision he makes. It’s just something that spills from him, something that has been there unnoticed all along, words taking shape on his tongue before he can overthink their meaning, but then they’re out, and they drop between you like an anvil, and it’s like a relief, it’s like a breath he’s been holding for years, it’s like a sigh, something inside of him finally unlatching, finally escaping the shackles he put on it himself.
Oh, he thinks. He’s known this about himself, always, but it’s the first time he says it out loud. It’s always been a want, an ache, a yearning, but now it goes from all that to a need, a thrumming inside of him, something that cannot be ignored. Something that demands to be felt instead of thought.
In his arms, you stiffen.
With your palms on his chest, you push him away from you, take a step back, take the warmth and the scent and the anchor with you. Bradley is surprised he doesn’t float right up to the ceiling.
The openness of your face has shuttered now. You look at him with something unreadable crossing your features, something unfamiliar, and say, “What did you just say?”
Bradley swallows around a lump in his throat. “I want to have a baby,” he repeats, his voice smaller now, quieter, but the words more assured.
Because he does. Because it’s true. Because he’s always wanted this and doesn’t know how to explain to you that now he needs it. How now it’s the only thing that makes sense in a world that’s gone off the rails.
Your face falls, something crumbles, and it hits him like a punch to the gut.
“No,” you say, turning away from him. You step right into the trail of water you left earlier, it soaks into your socks, and then you’re leaving footprints too. Everywhere you go, you leave your mark like a brand. Not one part of Bradley has been left untouched.
Confusion zaps through him, but it’s a muted feeling. Muffled by all the chaos.
“I thought you….” It’s a great effort to form words, like pulling teeth. “You want children. Don’t you want this?”
“Not like…” You pause, rake your fingers through your hair, exasperation crackling from you like sparks from a burned-out socket, and Bradley can’t make sense of it.
You want this, he knows you do. So what’s the problem now? What did he do wrong?
“I don’t….”
“Don’t go there.”
There’s a finality to your voice, and he sees you drawing back from him, sees your shoulders come up, your face turning away, something wilting.
The idea of losing you, of pushing you away now that he’s finally decided to let you in, really let you in, the panic of it finally slices through the haze. Lifts the fog.
Bradley crosses the room and says, “It’s your decision too, honey, of course, it is, but I love you, and I want this, and….”
You whirl on him, and it punches the air out of his lungs. There’s real anger on your face now, your eyes sparkling with unshed tears, and Bradley’s heart clenches in answer.
“You don’t get to do this,” you say, voice heaving with the barely contained emotion, a ship on a stormy sea, “not after I compromised, not after I spent so long trying to get used to the idea of not having a baby, not after giving that up for you, Bradley. You don’t… don’t get to just come in here and change your mind just because it suits you, because you had some near-death experience and you’re full of adrenaline and… and….”
Bradley frowns, moves to touch you, but you flinch away from him, one arm going up to hug your own ribcage. As if you have to shield yourself from him.
Suddenly, he feels a sob building in his throat. To realize how much he’s hurt you, not just today by springing this on you, but by how selfish he was, again and again. By letting his past stand in the way of your future.
“It’s not that I changed my mind,” he begins, trying to string together something that will make you see the truth of it, make you understand what he means.
You interrupt, “You said you didn’t want kids.”
Bradley pauses. Did he say that? If he did…
“And it…” You gasp for breath, the tears now streaming freely down your face, and god, it hurts, it hurts worse than thinking he lost Mav, hurts worse than thinking he’d die in that F-14 because all of that he’d been prepared for, had been practicing for his whole life. Losing Maverick, losing himself, all of that had been inevitable. But losing you… Bradley always assumed he was going to be the one to go first.
“It’s fine,” you go on. “I was fine with it, Bradley, I gave that dream up because… because I wanted you more, and I was okay with it. It was my decision, and I don’t regret it, but for you to just… to just….”
“I do want children,” he says because he doesn’t know what to do except explain it, except make you see the truth of it all. “I’ve always… I’ve always wanted children, honey. I just… after what happened to my dad, after what that did to me, what it did to my mother, I didn’t… I didn’t want to do that to you. I couldn’t do that to you.”
For a moment, you say nothing, eyebrows furrowed, lower lip caught between your teeth.
“You…” You look like you’re trying very hard to understand it. “Are you saying you decided not to have children with me because you thought it would hurt me too much if you died?”
When you say it like that, out loud, logically, through your tears, it sounds so incredibly stupid.
Bradley opens and closes his mouth, once, twice. Finally, he nods.
He expects you to start crying harder, to hit him (all valid reactions, really), but instead, you do the one thing he doesn’t expect: You laugh. It’s a watery sound, barely amused, but it is a laugh.
You bury your face in your hands, then reemerge after a moment, eyes rimmed in red, and say, “God, Bradley, you’re so stupid.”
“I…” He doesn’t know what to say to that. Probably, you’re right. “What?”
“You just…” You exhale a long, shuddering breath. “You keep trying to make decisions without me.”
“... I do?”
“Yeah!” Your voice rises a little, then settles, and you say, “This is my decision as much as it’s yours. If I say I want it, if I say I know the risk and I know the danger, then you don’t get to tell me no. Do you think I’m dumb? Do you think I don’t understand what goes on when you get deployed? Do you think I don’t know that you’re risking your life all the time?”
“No, I… I know you know that.”
You shrug, and it’s a gesture of such helplessness that Bradley’s knees almost buckle.
“I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow. I don’t know if… if one day there’s going to be a mission you don’t come back from. I don’t know that, Bradley. I can’t know that. But until then… can’t you just let us be happy?”
Bradley’s shaking. Head to toe, tremors that run through him like the tides. Unstoppable. Unrelenting.
“I…” And he knows he’s the one who brought it up, but suddenly all the doubts come crashing down. Suddenly the ghosts crowd around him. “What if I die? What if I leave you? What if we have a baby and I’m not… there?”
“Oh, Bradley…” Something on your face melts. You step closer, put a hand on his cheek, fingertips still pruned from the water, and say, so gently it breaks something open inside of him, “Bradley. You’re not your father.”
And Bradley can’t help it - he cries. It’s an ugly sort of crying, the sort that leaves you with a headache and snot dripping down your face and eyes that hurt. The one you feel in the morning. But it’s a relief too. A release. Rain after years and years of drought.
For so long, Bradley was trying to let go of a world that didn’t want him to leave. He’s been preparing for an early exit since he entered, has been so caught up in dreaming he forgot to live. So caught up in thinking he forgot to do. He thought he would be content to go out of this world and leave nothing behind, to disappear without a trace, without a word, without a ghost.
But now he sees it clearly. Now he understands.
Bradley doesn’t want to stop existing. He wants to cling to this world like someone clinging to the edge of a cliff, like a leech, like a cancer. He wants to haunt someone.
Only there’s something else, too.
A week before his mother died, when she had gone all quiet, when she had lost the vibrancy she used to carry around like a glow, when she had slept longer and spoke less and Bradley had known, somewhere deep inside of him, that things were ending, that they were truly ending, he’d gathered all his courage and asked a question he’d been rehearsing for weeks, months, years.
“Do you regret it?”
Do you regret loving my father now, knowing all that would come after? Knowing the landslide it really was?
And Carol had just smiled, something of that old light returning for a moment, a tenderness so big it felt like violence, and she’d said, “I could never regret him. Not even the heartbreak or the grief or the pain. After all, he gave me you, didn’t he?”
Maybe, he thinks, it’s time to let the past be in the past. Maybe it’s time to let himself have a future.
Maybe it’s time to let go of the ghost.
And you just hold him as he cries like he hasn’t since he locked himself in a bathroom stall after his mother’s funeral, cries until it feels like he’s going to throw up, cries until the gnashing teeth of grief of pain of hurt of anger finally leave him be.
After half an eternity, you pull away, warm hands cupping his face, tugging him gently away from the crook of your neck, so he has to look at you, can’t look anywhere but at you, and then you say, “Bradley, what happened to your father was a horrible, terrible accident. But he loved you. You know that, don’t you?”
He nods. His father, the hazy shape of him, the ghost he’s carried for so long - frosted tips and Hawaiian shirts and the smell of motor oil. Large hands and a mustache and rides around living rooms. So much of him is shadowed, fractioned, incomplete, but not this. This he knows. When he thinks of his father, there’s nothing now but the hazy, easy warmth of love.
“Do you really think,” you say softly, “that they made a mistake when they had you? Your parents? Do you really think they shouldn’t have done it?”
Bradley has thought about his life in boxes. Big cardboard ones, the kind you get when you move apartments. He tucks the good parts away beneath his bed, stows them, hoards them like a secret. Like his mother kept her grief. But all the bad parts - the pain and the sadness and the sorrow - those he lets pile up everywhere, in hallways, in living rooms, on kitchen tables. He stumbles over them on his way to the bathroom. He stubs his toe halfway to the closet.
He never looks at those good parts, afraid they’ll become tainted somehow if he thinks about them for too long, afraid they’ll lose their appeal or their strength. But there’s so much good there too.
Goose loved him, he knows this without a doubt. Carole loved him. Mav loves him, Phoenix loves him, you love him… At the end of it all, even despite all the terrible things that have happened to him, even with the ghosts that have haunted him for so long, Bradley has been loved, and he has lived, and he has been happy.
Shouldn’t that be worth something, too?
“No,” he says, voice soft, “no, I’m glad they had me.”
His life has been a long, long road. Difficult to walk sometimes, full of potholes, some as big as canyons. But there’s so much happiness there, too - car rides with his mother, Mav telling him stories about his father, the moment when the wheels lift off the tarmac at take-off. This long, terrible, winding road that led him here. That led him to you.
You brush your fingertips across his cheekbone, and Bradley capsizes.
“I love you,” he says, and it’s the truest thing he’s ever said. It’s the truest thing he’s ever known. “I want… I want to have a life with you.”
“You do,” you answer. “You have one.”
Bradley’s tears have dried so the sound he makes isn’t really a sob, but it’s damn close to one.
“Do you…” He clears his throat. “You love me, too?”
It’s a dumb question, unnecessary because he already knows the answer. But he needs to hear you say it anyway.
And when you smile, your whole face lights up. It echoes somewhere inside Bradley, somewhere at his core, goes through him like a current.
“Bradley Bradshaw,” you say, and there’s only a little bit of amusement in your voice, “you’re the love of my life.”
His heart jumps like a jackknife in his chest.
Before he recognizes that he’s made the conscious decision to do so, he’s bridged the space between you and has pulled you into a searing, soaring, slow kiss. He fumbles it a little, teeth knocking against yours, but you just laugh into it, going up on your tiptoes, arms wrapping around his neck, pulling yourself closer to him like you want to meld yourself to his bones. Bradley feels like somebody’s poured liquid sunlight into his chest.
Somewhere it goes heated, goes desperate, goes near frantic, all the adrenaline, all the fear, everything pouring from him in a shower of want. Somehow he’s got you pressed up against the counter, tongue tangled with yours, fingers in your hair, fingers on your back, fingers pulling up the edge of the shirt you’ve stolen from him to find the warm, soft skin beneath.
Breathless, heart stuttering, Bradley pulls away, looks at your lips swollen from the tug of his teeth, your eyes with the heavy lids, the hair mussed by his fingers, and he needs to hear it. Needs to know you want this as much as he does. The ache in him twists like a knife between the ribs.
“Tell me,” he whispers, afraid the moment will shatter if he makes a wrong move, speaks too loudly. It’s so fragile - he wants to protect it so fiercely. Presses the tips of his fingers into the place where your pulse hammers away. “Tell me you want to have a baby with me.”
“I want…” And you sigh, a sound like a spring day, a sound like a rushing mountain stream. “I want it.”
He surges forward, lips against yours again, and you’re so alive beneath him, heart racing, breath heaving, fingers grappling along his neck, his shoulders, his chest, his arms, and Bradley wants to devour you. Wants to sink his teeth into all this life and never let it go again. He wants to exist, right here, in this moment with you forever.
“I love you,” he mumbles into your neck, lets his mouth move over the column of your throat, down to the sharp points of your collarbones beneath the soft skin. Sinks to his knees on the kitchen tiles like he’s kneeling at an altar to pray.
“Bradley,” you whisper, fingers going to tangle in his hair, to smooth along the sides of his face, and the softness in your voice cracks something in him. He swears he could cry again.
He doesn’t even know what he’s doing as he nuzzles his nose against the sloping curve of your upper thigh, as his fingers tighten on your hips. He just wants to be close to you. And you’re so soft, so warm, you smell like home, and it tears through him, blazes everything in its wake, to realize just how close he came to losing it all.
“I’m gonna marry you,” he whispers, babbles, barely coherent, pressing his face against the fabric of your panties, inhaling your scent, opening his mouth to push his tongue where he knows your clit is. “Gonna make you so happy, baby, I promise, it’s all I want. I’m never letting you go again, I’m never….”
Above him, you whimper, hips knocking forward, arching into the movement of his tongue for a moment, and he wonders if you’re wet, thinks about the hot, tight vice of your cunt, and groans against you. His cock jumps.
Then you’re tugging him away from you by the hair, and Bradley goes reluctantly, mouth still open, wishing he could stay where he was forever. Drowning in you.
You’re looking down at him with eyes blown wide.
“Bradley,” you say, and there’s something unsteady to your voice. “Take me to bed.”
He doesn’t need to be told twice. It’s a tumble all the way to your bedroom - he kicks off his shoes on the way, you lose your shirt, and he’s somehow, miraculously, gotten down to his boxers by the time he drags you backward with him onto the mattress.
“I love you,” he says as he drags you on top of him, your legs opening around his hips like the petals of a flower. The mattress dips where your knees press against the springs, your weight grounds him. “I love you, you’re so perfect, you’re….”
He has no idea what he’s saying. His brain checked out a while ago, and it’s all just feelings now, just emotions coursing through him, and every once in a while, one will plunge its head through the surface, and then he’ll tell you something nonsensical, something dumb, something important, something he needs you to know, something…
You lean down to kiss him, to shut him up, his brain buzzes, your breasts press to his bare chest, and he’s so hard in his boxers it hurts.
“I love you, too,” you whisper against his lips, smile into the kiss. The curve of it burns against Bradley’s face.
He sits up, grasps you by the thighs to drag you closer, drag your core across his cock, and you both moan against each other. Your fingernails scrape over the back of his neck, where his hair is buzzed so short he knows it feels like prickles, and he shudders, sighs, lets his tongue run across your teeth.
For a while, you just stay like that, rutting against each other like fucking teenagers, tongues lazy, fingers eager, mouths hungry. Even through your panties, he can feel your wetness, wonders if it’s going to leave stains on his underwear, across his thighs. Bradley thinks he’s going to die, but this time it’s nothing like it was up in the F-14.
It’s difficult in your position, awkward, but he gets a finger first on your clit, and then, when he finds you wet and swollen and open, he slides it right inside you. Watches your face as you squeeze your eyes shut, as your mouth falls open on a muffled gasp, as your head tips backward.
You’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
He fucks his finger in and out slowly, adds a second to stretch you, and then he’s saying, “Baby, honey, you’re so tight, you’re so fucking wet, god I….”
You whimper, and then you’re pulling off him, shimmying out of your panties, leaning down to tug his boxers off.
“Gotta have…” Your throat moves when you swallow as you clamber back into his lap. “Want you inside me, please, Bradley. I’m ready.”
He groans, something in his stomach yanking tight, and he’s pretty sure he’s leaking precum steadily by now.
There’s no time to tease, no need for it either, not when you’re both aching for it, not after what you’ve just gone through. The hot slide of him inside you, feeling you all around him, Bradley thinks that might be the only thing that could make him realize he’s actually back here, that it isn’t all just a dream, that he didn’t actually go down in that plane and has been stuck in some kind of cruel limbo for the past few days.
But there’s the other thing too. The need he can’t explain. The selfish, horrible, depraved thing he can share with nobody but you. That nobody but you would ever understand.
Slowly, tentatively, he places his palm on your stomach, fingers splaying wide, and leaves it there. He’s too scared to look at you, too scared of what you’ll think of him, too scared of what you’ll do once you find out how deep his desire runs, how desperately he wants this. Will you hate him? Will you be disgusted? Will you draw back, pull away, leave him alone with all his depravity and all his fears and all his sorrow?
“I need… I want…” He can’t even finish the sentence, brain too foggy. Too scared to meet your eyes, Bradley just blinks at the sight in front of him, his big hand on your skin, and his heart seizes, his insides clench, and he can’t breathe, can’t, he’s going to…
Slowly, your fingers wrap around his wrist.
“Yes,” you breathe above him.
It’s a visceral thing. The words burn through him, wrap around him, curl into him. He surges forward to kiss you, desperate, a choked sound escaping him, and licks into your mouth. Around his wrist, your fingers tighten.
He pushes you back into the sheets, crawls over you and spreads your legs, slides between them where he belongs. When his gaze falls to your face, there’s so much trust there, so much love, and it cleaves him in two, just how much he loves you, just how much he needs you. He doesn’t have the words to express it, can only hope you understand what he means when he plunges into you without preamble, when he whispers your name against the shell of your ear, when he curves around you like he wants to shield you from everything bad in the world.
You moan, fingers coming up to grasp his arm where he’s balancing his weight on the elbows. Your mouth tips open, your eyes not straying from his for a second as he goes slow, as he goes deep, as he goes home. There’s an answer in that too.
“You’re so beautiful,” he says, voice choked as he bottoms out, as he holds himself perfectly still. “So tight and beautiful, and you’re all mine, and I’m yours and….”
“Bradley,” you stop him. Wrap your legs around his hips and pull him in. “It’s okay. You can move now.”
So he does.
It’s frantic from the first moment. It’s all the tension that’s been building up for years and years inside of him, all his love and all his longing finally laid open, and he can’t hold back anymore, not when he feels like he’s going to burst out of his own skin at any moment now.
The wet squeeze of your walls around his cock has his eyes rolling into the back of his head.
“Fuck,” he curses, hips pushing forward at an unsteady pace, as he leans down to kiss you again, as you open your mouth for him easily, as he nips at your lower lip.
And it’s so dumb - he’s inside of you, curled around you, his tongue tangled with your own, but Bradley wants you closer, still. Needs to know that you’re there with him, that he’s here with you, that he came home and he is letting himself have this, you’re letting him have it, and he loves you, he loves you, he…
Bradley takes his weight off his elbows, gets his arms around you, plasters himself to you, chest to chest, hip to hip, mouth finding the side of your neck, your collarbones. Like this, with his arms around your shoulders, it feels almost like he’s pulling you down to him with every thrust, like he slides just half an inch deeper into you.
You try to muffle a moan into his hair, but Bradley pulls your face away, keeps his pace as he says, “Wanna hear you. Let me hear you, baby, tell me how much you like it. You love it, don’t you? Love my cock, yeah? Love it when I fuck you?”
Maybe it’s pathetic, but Bradley needs to hear it. Needs to know you’re as desperate for him as he is for you. Needs to know you want it just as much.
On a thrust in, your walls flutter around him, and you whine, back arching a little, head sliding across the pillow as you nod.
“Yes,” you gasp, “I love it, Bradley, I love your cock. Thought about it while you were gone all the time, every night, I….”
Bradley groans, shudders, suddenly so close to the brink he needs to squeeze his eyes shut against the image of you - the glossy eyes, the swollen lips, the absolute ruin he’s reduced you to.
“Can’t say shit like that, baby,” he whispers, leaning to press tender kisses to the column of your throat. “Not when you’re this fucking wet, not when you’re making these sounds… you’re gonna make me cum.”
You giggle, then moan, head lolling to the side to give him better access.
“Good,” you say, legs hiking higher up on his hips, his cock sliding deeper, “that’s the plan, isn’t it?”
If there were any air left in his lungs, Bradley would laugh with you. As it stands, he just ups the ante, going a little harder, watching as your eyelashes flutter, feeling your fingers spasm against the skin of his back.
It’s so hot in the room, both of you sticking to each other with sweat, and maybe that, too, should be disgusting, but Bradley doesn’t care. When he leans down to lick a long, wet stripe along the edge of your jaw, he tastes salt on his tongue.
“I’m gonna….” When he glances down at you, at the eyes wide with that much trust, as he realizes you would let him do just about anything to you, that you’ve both opened yourself to each other completely now, no barriers and no ghosts standing between you, it’s like a dam breaking. He moans, so loud it echoes through the room, leans to plunge his tongue into your mouth, desperate, and then he’s saying into it, “God, I’m gonna fuck you so full, honey, gonna fuck you until it takes, yeah? Gonna keep you right here and fill you up, again and again, gonna make sure to get a baby in you, fuck, you’d be so fucking pretty, honey, so pretty all full of me, I know it, I can….”
And you sob. Full-on. Back arching off the bed, legs sliding off his hips, spreading so wide it must hurt.
“Bradley,” you say, fingernails breaking skin, forehead pressing against his throat to hide your face. “Bradley, fuck, I… the pill….”
He’s shaking his head, cutting you off with his mouth on yours. Conveying what he can’t speak, what he’s too far gone to formulate, here where logic has become a distant, remote concept, here between your legs. Don’t say it. Let me live in this fantasy. Let me dream a little longer.
It’s the thought of it all - a bump beneath your dresses, a baby in your arms, tiny fingers wrapping around his thumb, it’s about the long, long stretch of life ahead of the two of you. It’s about a house filled with love and free of ghosts. It’s about the first glimpse of the ocean after listening to its roar in seashells all his life. It’s about giving himself over to you completely, after years of only dreaming of it.
Do you know? he wonders. Do you know that you’re holding his whole life in your hands?
“I love you,” he mumbles, repeats it as he sinks into you again and again, as he buries himself in you, as he holds onto you like he’ll be back in the cold, cold, cold of all that snow the moment he lets go, like he’ll go back to the cockpit with the ghosts like jailors around him, like he’ll float right off the face off the earth. You have always been his anchor. “I’m gonna give you a baby, honey, I promise, gonna cum inside of you, you want that, right? You want me to come right here in this pretty pussy, fill you up all nice and wet, and….”
Your mouth moves against his clavicle, the feel of it spreading like wildfire through him, and you’re saying, “Yes, yes, Bradley, give it to me, please, I wanna feel it, want you to come inside me, please, please, I need it, I….”
A yell punches from him as he thrusts inside one last time, buries himself to the hilt in your warmth, and then he’s panting, his ears are ringing, his veins are buzzing as he cums, as he paints you with his release. He can’t do anything except hold onto you, bury his face in your hair, inhaling your scent, jerking his hips forward erratically, little sounds escaping him. It’s never felt like this before - like dying and coming back alive. The release of it is so big he feels shattered under its weight.
And you’re saying something to him, whispering words sticky with honey into his ear, pouring them right into his heart, and he can barely hear you over the hammering of his own heart, but it doesn’t matter. You hold him as he trembles, as he shakes, as he tries to collect himself, to control his breathing, hold him and stroke lazy, soft circles up and down his back, trace patterns against his spine, leave soft kisses on any inch of skin you can reach, trapped beneath his weight as you are.
Finally, after an eternity, Bradley pulls away an inch or two, careful not to let his cock slip out. There’s a little embarrassment spreading through his stomach now because he can’t believe he came that fast, can’t believe he didn’t even make sure to take you over the edge with him.
But you barely seem to think about your own lack of an orgasm.
“Are you okay?” you ask, voice gentle, face full of concern.
Bradley’s heart clenches. Maybe, he thinks, his ribcage is going to crack open. It seems impossible for one person to hold so much love inside.
“Are…” He clears his throat, suddenly unsure. “Are you?”
You nod immediately, smile, and the relief floods him. Then you shift, gasp, muscles fluttering around his softening cock.
“Well… I…”
He doesn’t let you finish, shakes his head, says, “You did so good for me, baby. Let me take care of you, yeah?”
He’s already looking at the place where you’re still connected, where his cum is beginning to drip from you in silvery trails. The sight of it is enough to make something like madness descend again, something like that earlier haze, the frenzy of the heat.
Bradley pulls out, sighs at the feeling, and your mouth opens as if in protest, but before you can form any words, he’s replaced his cock with two fingers.
You whimper, eyes closing, a muscle in your stomach jumping.
“I got you,” he says, keeps his eyes on the mess of your swollen cunt, the wet spot soaking into the mattress just beneath, the evidence of his pleasure, smooths his free hand over your chest to settle you. “Relax, honey. I got you.”
Your answer is a moan of his name, fingers twisting into the sheets. He can feel your walls bearing down on the motion of his fingers and knows you’re close, desperately, frantically, torturously close to the brink.
So he speeds up the movement of his digits, swipes his thumb through the sopping wetness, and then across your clit as he fucks his cum back into you. Not letting a single drop go to waste.
“Bradley,” you sob, mouth opening, fingers grappling for something.
Knowing what you need, knowing without you asking for it, he catches your hand with his own and interlaces your fingers. Then he leans down, leans over you, leans in. Finds the seam of your mouth with his own. It’s less of a kiss than both of you panting against each other, finding the same rhythm.
“You can let go now,” he whispers into you. “I’m here. I’ve got you, honey. My perfect girl.”
You come with his name on your lips, cunt clenching around his fingers, arching off the bed and into him, and it’s like a prayer. It’s like a song.
It takes you a while to come down, and he coaxes you through it, brushes kisses against your lips and your jaw and your ear. Hopes he can ground you the same way you ground him.
Finally, softly, voice faint and fragile, you say, “That was… intense.”
Bradley hums in agreement, and then a laugh rips from him. Because it’s all so ridiculous and so monumental, and he doesn’t know where to go with all these emotions.
“I… yeah. It really was.” He pauses, feels shame curling through him. “I’m sorry I sprung that on you.”
You shake your head, lift one hand to run a finger across his mustache the way you like to do sometimes.
“It’s okay,” you say, and he knows you mean it. “You must have carried that for a long time.”
It chokes him up, the way you know him so well. Better than anybody else.
“Yeah,” he agrees, drops his head into the crook of your neck. “It… I want you to know that I really want this. It’s not… it’s not adrenaline, and it’s not just almost dying, it’s… It’s you. I want this with you. Only with you.”
He can feel the curve of your smile against his temple, can hear it in your voice.
“I want it with you too, Bradley. Only with you.”
Bradley’s so afraid he’s going to start crying again that he springs into action instead. Reaches around you for a pillow to push beneath your hips, angle your lower body upwards.
“What are you doing?” you ask, laughing a little.
“I’m trying to keep my cum in you. Maybe we’re like super extra lucky, and it works out on the first try.”
Now you’re laughing in earnest, and he gets the impression it might be at his expanse.
“Still on the pill, Bradley,” you remind him, eyes luminous with your happiness.
Feeling a little sheepish, a little embarrassed, a little elated, he shrugs helplessly.
“Can’t hurt,” he says. Then adds, “Besides… I don’t want all my hard work to go to waste.”
Then you’re laughing together, breathless, loud laughter, the bending-at-the-waist kind. The belly-hurting kind. The kind that doesn’t come often.
And it’s good. It’s beautiful. It’s the kind of peace he’s never known before but has wanted always, always, always.
It’s so much better than anything he could have ever dreamed. Because it’s real. Because it’s true.
All his life, Bradley thinks, he’s been listening to oceans in seashells. It’s good, fun even, for a while, but it’s no replacement for the real thing. It’s no comparison to standing at the shore of the Pacific Ocean, watching waves crest and crash and throw themselves against the beach again and again, like a devotion that never ends. How big and beautiful and terrible the truth of it is.
And he’d thought the whole world was in that seashell.
Once the laughter has died down, once you’ve fallen back into the kind of comfortable silence that can exist only between people that really, truly love each other, Bradley strokes his thumb against your cheekbone, watches your eyes flutter closed.
“I love you,” he says, “more than I thought I could love someone. Thanks for loving me back.”
It’s bumbling, and it’s inadequate, and it doesn’t convey half of what it should.
But you smile at him, eyes opening, face so tender his heart stutters, and you whisper, “It’s an honor, Lieutenant Bradshaw.”
For the first time, Bradley doesn’t think about dying, doesn’t think about leaving. He thinks about living. He thinks about staying.
#rooster#bradley bradshaw#rooster x reader#rooster imagine#bradley bradshaw x reader#top gun imagine#mine#f: oias
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txt as memorable strangers!
✸ welcome to shit posting tuesday!
YEONJUN...
that one senior whose party you crashed with your friend but you insist that it's not crashing since he once saw your friend and as a courtesy told them to drop by and you're the plus one. but then you end up drinking too much (one shot diluted with apple juice) and end up passing out in the middle of the dance floor and yeonjun cannot get you to leave so he's waiting beside you waiting for you to wake up after everyone left.
SOOBIN...
soobin met your now ex significant other in a club and he was in his silly goofy mood that night so after he heard what a troublesome relationship yall had (he eavesdropped) he decided to talk them out of the relation which in turned helped you to cut off the dead weight and made you free! so now you're looking for that angelic stranger on the campus who helped you!
BEOMGYU...
he posted a tweet that said, 'saw a person doing pssppsspsss to a dog and got rejected LMAO . never felt so connected to a stranger before lol' with your back on the tweet which gets viral and you end up seeing it and you're like this certainly ain't me but that certainly was you. you're now pondering whether you should message him or not. he gets linked to you because one of his moots knows you and you wake up one day and you see he has liked around 79 of your posts.
TAEHYUN...
saw you slip on a banana peel and hit your head in the sidewalk and shoving him meanwhile which sent all his assignment paper flying in the air and now you were barely conscious, bleeding on his assignment paper. taehyun thinks about abandoning you but his aquarius sun collects his bloodied assignment papers, some pictures as proof to his professor and calls an ambulance for you. you can kinda hear him curse his fate slightly all the way through the journey but when you wake up he's not there.
HUENING KAI...
you were trying to show some toddlers a magic trick with a lighter but you accidentally set hyuka's limited edition hawaiian shirt imported from honolulu on fire. he puts out the fire but there's a huge burn mark there and he's like he's okay but you can tell he's not okay because there's tears rolling down his cheeks but he tells you he is fine and you are afraid to ask to reimburse because it did look expensive so you pretend to be mute even though you're sure he saw you speak to the kids.
a/n if any of yall see this as an one shot in the near future you did not see this post hahahahah okay? im only showing this because we are best friends.
copyrights to itgirlgyu. feedbacks are always appreciated!!!
perm taglist—@impureperhaps
#txt imagines#txt headcanons#txt funny#txt crack#txt scenarios#txt reactions#soobin reactions#soobin scenarios#yeonjun scenarios#yeonjun reactions#beomgyu scenarios#beomgyu reactions#taehyun reactions#taehyun scenarios#huening kai reactions#huening kai scenarios#txt fluff#txt x reader#soobin fluff#yeonjun fluff#beomgyu fluff#taehyun fluff#huening kai fluff#txt au#tomorrow x together reactions#tomorrow x together headcanons#tomorrow x together x reader#tomorrow x together scenarios#tomorrow x together imagines#tomorrow x together fluff
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“You’re in denial.” “i am not in denial” giving all the idiot rooster vibes😂
also “friends kiss each other all the time, right?” is such a good one!
pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x female!Reader
genre: fluffy
prompts list! | master prompts list
Rooster Masterlist | Main Masterlist
Jake always thought it was slightly weird how you and Bradley interacted. Currently, you were sitting on his lap, his arm wrapped around your waist, hand resting on your thigh. The rest of the dagger squad were say around the fire that they had built on the beach. It was now fall in San Diego and it had started to get cooler at night.
You and Bradley were friends, the best of friends. You had met each other during your freshman year at UVA. Bradley had spotted you in a classroom full of NROTC students. He spotted you fairly quickly, seeing as you were one of two females in the class. He sat down next to you on the very first day, and the two of you hit it off right away. You were nearly four years younger than Bradley.
Jake’s eyes widened as you whispered something to Bradley, and then kissed him before getting off his lap. Bradley watched you walk away with his baby cow brown eyes. He could feel someone staring and turned his head to see Jake eyeing him down.
“What?”
“The fuck you mean ‘wHaT’? You just kissed her,” Jake said.
“Okay,” Bradley shrugged and drank his beer, “Friends kiss each other all the time, right?”
Jake rolled his eyes, “Yeah me and Bob swap spit every tuesday night.”
“Hey,” Bob interjected.
“Dude, you’re in love with her,” Jake said and Bradley laughed, “You are! How long you been banging her?”
“I’m not-“ Jake raised his eyebrows and Bradley sighed, “Like 8 ish years, i don’t know. Freshman year of college.”
"DUDE!" Jake exclaimed, and Bradley rolled his eyes.
"I'm not in love with her," Bradley sipped his beer, "We are best friends."
Jake shook his head, "You are in denial."
"I am not in denial-"
"Yes you are," Jake said, "Bob could take his glasses off and still see it. . . You're scared."
Bradley looked up at his friend, "Of course I'm fucking scared. She's my best friend. I can't lose her. She's the one constant in my life. She's never gone away. She's the one that I can count on to be there when I come home," Bradley shook his head, standing up, "So, if I have to pretend to like whatever pretentious fuckwad she brings home and listen when he breaks her heart and push my feelings away, than so be it. It means that I don't get to lose her cause she doesn't feel the same."
"So you'd let yourself be miserable for me?"
"Yes, because I love her," The voice the question came from didn't register at first, but when it did Bradley turned around to see you standing there, looking at him with tears in your eyes, "Wait- Y/N?"
"You stupid, stupid man, Bradshaw," You shook your head and grabbed the collar of his Hawaiian shirt and brought him in for a kiss. He froze for a second, but his arms wrapped around your waist to bring you in close to his body.
"How much did you hear?" Bradley asked pulling away from you.
"Every last word," You said, "And here I was, thinking that you didn't love me the way I loved you."
"For two people who claim to be best friends, y'all don't have good communication skills," Jake piped up from behind Rooster, "Ow! What did you hit me for?"
"You're ruining a moment, Bagman," Bob spoke up. You laughed and rest your head against Rooster's chest.
"Bradshaw," You said and looked up at those puppy dog brown eyes that you loved so much.
"Yeah?" He asked.
"Take me to bed or lose me forever."
A/N: IM OUT OF TUMBLR JAIL:)))
#top gun#top gun fan fic#top gun fan fiction#top gun imagine#top gun maverick#top gun maverick fan fic#top gun maverick fan fiction#top gun maverick imagine#Bradley Bradshaw#Bradley Bradshaw imagine#Bradley Bradshaw fan fic#Bradley Bradshaw fan fiction#Bradley Bradshaw x reader#Bradley Bradshaw x you#Bradley Bradshaw x y/n#rooster#rooster fan fic#rooster fan fiction#rooster imagine#rooster x reader#rooster x y/n#rooster x you#Bradley rooster Bradshaw#rooster bradshaw
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wasted + rooster please! congratulations 💝
golden hour
pairing- rooster x afab reader
warnings- 18+, unprotected piv, slight dumbification/degradation, light d/s, dom bradley, mention of oral (f receiving), completely unedited
length- 1.2k
an- thank you so much love!!! for the prompt "i know baby, i know" & many apologies for the wait on these celly requests. this was written in like....20 minutes. i have no idea if it's good or not
edit- realizing the next morning whatever took over my brain to write this was clearly inspired by @gretagerwigsmuse and the bradley & smart aleck cinematic universe (pls go read that it’s way better than this)
You don’t know how you ended up here. Mere hours ago, you were seconds away from killing Abby for making you go to the Hard Deck. Military bars all have the same kind of guy.
Now, your brain is melting out of your ears as you attempt to take in the gorgeous man above you, his sharp features glowing in the setting sun that filters through his salt-stained windows.
“Fuck,” Bradley groans from where he’s doing his best to bend you in half. “Feel so good, like you were made for me.”
That’s hot, your brain supplies as your eyes catch his biceps bulging where they bracket your head laid out on his pillow.
Shut up, you tell it, trying to keep some semblance of dignity in the face of having gone home with the exact kind of guy you swore you wouldn’t give the time of day.
You were excited when he first set down a fresh Jack and Coke for you at the bar, thinking this mustached man’s worn Hawaiian shirt equaled local instead of infantry. Unfortunately, his friends in khaki who kept trying to get Rooster’s attention quickly proved your instincts wrong.
It would’ve been easier not to end up in his bed if he didn’t look the way he does, brown puppy dog eyes so earnest and kind. If he hadn’t mentioned how much he loves to play Wordle, if his friends hadn't tried to coax him to the piano at least three times while you were there.
(If his arms weren’t threatening to break out of that old Hawaiian shirt.)
Your self-respect is getting shot to hell the longer you babble incoherent nonsense, breaking your gaze from his tan skin as your head lolls to the side, eyes going hazy and unfocused. He pulls all the way out to thrust back in again, slow and teasing, enough to bring you towards the edge again but not tip you over.
You know you’re whining, high-pitched and reedy, but you can’t find the wherewithal the stop any noises from tearing their way out of your throat.
It takes a Herculean effort to move your hands to his neck, tangling in those brown curls, wrapping your legs tight around his hips in an effort to ask for more, something your lips just can’t form right now.
Bradley grins, the edges a little sharp, a little mean as your pathetic whines must have gotten the message across. “Greedy little thing, aren’t you? Made you cum on my tongue and now you want more? Clench that tight cunt around my cock?”
Nodding desperately, you're feeling unhinged, your head bobbing up and down like a bobblehead. When you finally make yourself form actual words, your voice is wrecked. “Please – I need – ”
He catches your lips in a filthy kiss as those skillful fingers make their way down to your clit, stroking in strong, decisive circles. “I know baby, I know.”
Bradley speeds up and you get even louder, throat straining with the mewls leaving your lips.
“Cum for me,” he murmurs against your lips, cock hitting you just right on every thrust.
Your climax snaps through you almost immediately at his command, your back arching up into him and bringing him over the edge with you.
+
You leave the next morning before he wakes up. You can’t help it.
Sure, he’s hot, but you’re not actually going to date this guy. You just had a momentary lapse in judgment after seeing his deft fingers fly over piano keys, singing his heart out and so fully into the performance you thought the vein in his neck might burst. It was oddly endearing.
Every girl is a sucker for a guy who can sing. Serenades make logic and reasoning fly out the window. It’s totally not your fault.
So, it stands to reason that you nearly knock him down walking into the grocery store later that day. Because that’s the kind of fuck you the universe always has in mind for you.
“Hey,” Roos—no, Bradley, smiles, easy like you didn’t sneak out of his house without a second glance mere hours ago. He takes a look at the cold water bottle you have resting against your forehead, barely holding back his amusement. “Rough night?”
You want to glower at him but it’s hard to be mad at someone that looks like that under fluorescent lighting, turning away instead so you don’t have to stare at his unfairly beautiful face and remember what that ridiculous mustache feels like between your thighs. “Shut up.”
“I think you’re limping a little bit,” Bradley mock whispers as he follows you down the chips aisle.
He sounds way too proud of himself. You flip him off and he laughs, musical and happy despite the awkward circumstances. You can’t decide if you want to punch him or kiss him.
You and Bradley start talking at the same time, words rushed and overlapping.
“You snuck out before I got a chance to ask – ”
“Bradley, you seem like a nice guy, but I – ”
A tan arm reaches across you for a bag of salt and vinegar Lays and tossing them into his basket on the floor after you both fall silent. “You don’t like military guys.”
You freeze, mouth gaping open like a fish.
He shrugs. “It was pretty obvious last night.”
“I – yeah, I don’t – ” you stutter before pausing for a deep breath. “Not sure we’re a good fit, is all.”
Bradley nods. “I get it. I had fun with you though, and not just at my house. If you're willing to reconsider, I’d like to think I’m much more than my job.”
You purse your lips, wondering if your brain is actually broken as you consider taking him up his offer. He must catch on to your deliberation because he takes a step closer to you, big hand settling against your waist slow and gentle, giving you plenty of time to step away. Your feet are glued to the floor as you try not to sway into him and get lost in the spicy scent lingering on his tan skin.
“Breakfast,” he suggests when a few moments pass without you answering.
“It’s four p.m.,” you say warily.
He scrunches his nose like that’s inconsequential. “I’ll cook.”
“You know how to cook?”
He shoots you a withering glare and you smirk, pleased to have made him feel as wrong-footed as you’ve felt since he sat down across from you yesterday.
“Do you remember where my house is, or did you sprint out too quickly to notice?”
“I don’t remember saying yes.”
“You strike me as the kind of girl that isn’t afraid to tell me to fuck off.”
“So?”
He gestures at the lack of space between you with his free hand, where your body has betrayed you by leaning into his warmth. “This doesn’t feel like you telling me to go to hell.”
“It’s not,” you sigh, mouth twitching up at the corners despite your best efforts as you shove your basket into his hands. “Put my groceries on Uncle Sam’s bill.”
Bradley practically beams at that. “Of course. But you’ll have to come over to my place to get them, can’t have you sneaking off before I get a chance to play some Righteous Brothers for you.”
The picture that paints for you makes you want to melt. You’re fucked.
#rooster smut#rooster x you#bradley rooster bradshaw#rooster bradshaw#rooster top gun#rooster x y/n#rooster fluff#rooster x reader#x reader#bradley bradshaw smut#bradley bradshaw x reader#bradley bradshaw#bradley bradshaw x female reader#bradley bradshaw fanfiction#bradley rooster bradshaw x you#bradley bradshaw fluff#bradley bradshaw imagine#bradley rooster x reader#mae's 1k
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Welcome Home - Rooster
Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Fem!Reader
Prompt: Your brother Jake throws a party at your place, but all you wanted to do was take hot shower before getting into bed.
18+ ONLY // smut warning!
Co-written with @fanficgirl429 ! Thank you @imjess-themess and @blue-aconite for reading it over! <3 you both!
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It was already dark when Y/N got out of work. Things at the office had been crazy, and she just wanted to go home and take a nice, hot bath. With Christmas just around the corner, Y/N’s work had picked up considerably. Since she was in a managerial position, she had been on her feet for most of the day, and barely had any time to rest.
When Y/N drove up to her house she was shocked to see numerous cars scattered about the street and her driveway. Most of the lights were already on, a stark contrast to when she normally arrived home. It took her a moment to remember that her twin brother was living with her for a brief while and that she told him it was alright to have some people over for a barbecue. She silently regretted allowing it, being that all she wanted to do was have a quiet night to herself in bed.
Before stepping into the house, she took a deep breath so that she wouldn’t go off on her brother, Jake. She slowly opened the front door, surprised to find that it was relatively quiet inside. As she walked further into the house, she noticed three men sitting on the couch in the living room, beers in their hands. When they saw her, each of them nodded hello as she continued past them toward the patio. Two of the men she didn’t know, but one of them was familiar to her. She’d recognize that mustache anywhere. He smiled at her, and she smiled back at him before heading outside where music was currently blasting.
Her brother was currently grilling hot dogs and hamburgers, and he smiled at her as she sauntered toward him.
“Welcome home sis!” Jake greeted her.
“And what a welcome it is! What’s going on?” Y/N asked, motioning to everyone around her.
“Just having a get-together with some of the guys.”
Y/N glanced around the backyard, “Some of the guys?”
Jake frowned at his sister, “You said it was okay, it’s okay right?”
“I just thought you meant a small get-together. There are a lot of people here, Jake. I hope you know you are cleaning everything up tomorrow!”
Jake placed his free hand over his heart. “I promise you will never know that anything happened here.”
Y/N laughed. “Thank you.”
Just as she was about to turn around, a pair of arms wrapped around her waist and picked her up, spinning her around in a circle.
“I’ve missed you!” a familiar voice said from behind her.
“Coyote!” Y/N smiled, “I’ve missed you too, it's been so long!” Coyote wrapped her up in his arms and squeezed.
It was then that Y/N noticed someone was leaning against the door frame watching her interaction with Coyote. His brown eyes locked with hers before she quickly looked away. She waited a few moments before looking back at the door but by then the figure was gone.
She turned her attention back to Coyote and quickly caught up with him. Although Y/N enjoyed catching up with Coyote, she had a hard time staying focused. A certain someone was lingering on her mind and she really wanted to see him again, preferably alone and away from everyone else.
The conversation with Coyote came to a good stopping point and Y/N stood up, excusing herself. “It was nice to see you again,” Y/N told him and started to head into the house.
Phoenix, one of her brother's squad mates, was standing in the kitchen and talking to Bradley. He was dressed in one of his infamous Hawaiian shirts, blue jeans, with his aviator sunglasses resting on the top of his head. Once again their eyes locked for a brief second. Phoenix pulled Y/N into a hug and asked if she was going to be sticking around for the party. Y/N shrugged and said, “I don’t know. It’s been a long day. I really just want to take a long bath and go to bed.”
Phoenix shook her head at Y/N’s response. “You are not going to bed! Go shower, wake yourself up, and then come back down here! We have so much to catch up on!”
Y/N conceded and headed toward the staircase.
“And if you take too long I'm coming up there to get you!” Phoenix shouted behind her.
Y/N spun around and winked at her, knowing Phoenix well enough, that she would come up and drag her ass down the stairs.
Y/N walked into her room and closed the door behind her, blocking out most of the noise from downstairs. She walked straight into the bathroom and turned the shower on. As she waited for the water to warm up, her mind drifted to Bradley. She couldn’t help but notice how every time she saw him, he looked better and better. She felt like a middle schooler crushing on her brother's hot friend. It made her even more excited at the thought. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, she was excited to go back downstairs.
The bathroom was beginning to fill with steam and Y/N felt the water to make sure it was warm enough. When she was satisfied with the temperature, she reached down and pulled her dress shirt over her head, revealing her lacy black bra. Just as she had removed her jeans, she noticed the door to her bathroom opening out of the corner of her eye.
“Bradley!” Y/N gasped.
“Can I come in?” he asked.
Y/N took a deep breath as Bradley opened the door, standing with his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes widened at the sight of her standing in her bra and underwear.
“You look amazing,” he said, his arms wrapping slowly around her waist.
Her cheeks turned slightly red from the compliment. She stood up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his before pulling away quickly. Her body tingled from his touch and she instantly wanted more. He must have been reading her mind, because a moment later he gently pulled her closer and continued kissing her.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, wanting to be as close to him as she possibly could be. Bradley gently bit down on her lower lip and tugged before slipping his tongue into her mouth. Their hips were pressed against one another and Y/N could feel his erection already beginning to form. His hands moved hungrily up her body and reached behind her, expertly unhooking her bra. He gently slid it off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor.
Their mouths moved together, having done this a few times before, but due to time constraints, a protective brother, and nosy friends, they had never been able to be this intimate. Now, in her own house, far from prying eyes, she was ready to give him everything.
It was at that moment Y/N came to the realization of what was happening downstairs. Her brother, as well as all of his friends, were drinking and partying as her and Bradley continued to tear off one another’s clothes.
“Please tell me you locked my door?” she asked.
“Of course I did,” Bradley replied, his lips grazing her ear.
Bradley’s fingers grazed Y/N’s hips as he slowly walked her backwards and into the shower. Bending down, he placed soft kisses along her jawline, down her neck, and across her breast. His tongue tenderly ran circles over her nipple, making it stand erect.
Y/N could not believe that this was really happening. She had imagined many times what this would be like, but it was already exceeding all of her expectations. Y/N tangled her fingers in his shaggy brown hair as he continued to leave a trail of kisses down her body, towards her throbbing core.
“Bradley,” Y/N whined.
Without hesitation, Bradley tugged her soaked underwear down her legs and she quickly kicked them off, exposing all of herself to him. When Y/N hooked up with a guy for the first time she was normally nervous and a little self conscious, however with Bradley it was completely different. He always made her feel like she was safe and could be herself with him.
“You're so beautiful,” he whispered in her ear.
Bradley placed his hand on the back side of Y/N’s thigh and placed it over his shoulder. His tongue slowly moved up and down her core, driving her mad. His lips continued between her folds, occasionally stopping to brush his mustache against her sensitive spot.
Her whole body ached with pleasure from the feeling of his tongue on her sex. She threw her head back and closed her eyes, reveling in his touch. Within moments, her walls were clenching together and she let out a moan as Bradley worked her through her climax.
“Fuck, I need you,” Bradley groaned as he pushed his wet hair back away from his face.
She reached down and wrapped her hand around his length. He let out a soft moan as she began to move her hand up and down. His lips pressed against hers, as he kissed her quickly.
“Are you…” Bradley began.
“Yes, I'm on the pill,” Y/N muttered between breaths.
Bradley lined himself up with Y/N’s core and slowly pushed in. Y/N’s body quickly adjusted to his size and when she nodded, he began to move his hips against hers. Water dripped down Y/N’s chest as Bradley’s teeth nibbled her ear.
Bradley held tightly on Y/N’s waist as he pressed his body against hers. Reaching up, Y/N grabbed onto his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin. There would definitely be marks there when they were done.
“Oh fuck,” Y/N breathed as Bradley reached down and rubbed his finger against her sensitive spot, bringing her closer to her high.
A knock on the door made Y/N freeze but it only made Bradley go faster.
“W-Who’s there?” Y/N squeaked.
“It's me,” Phoenix said from the other side of the door. “Are you almost done?”
Y/N threw her head back, her body melting against Bradley’s touch. “Y-yeah, umm, a few more minutes,” YN mumbled.
Y/N listened as Phoenix left the room and closed the door behind her. A loud moan escaped Y/N’s lips as she reached her high. Her walls clenched around Bradley’s length as she roughly bit down on his shoulder to hold in a whine. Bradley wasn’t far behind as he let out a moan and released inside her.
After catching their breath, Y/N smiled and placed a kiss on Bradley’s lips. “I thought you said the door was locked.”
Bradley shrugged before shoving his face into the crook of her neck. “I thought it was. I guess Phoenix got a party and a show.”
#rooster#rooster imagines#rooster fanfiction#rooster smut#bradley rooster bradshaw#bradley bradshaw fanfiction#bradley bradshaw smut#bradley bradshaw imagines#top gun#top gun maverick#top gun smut#top gun maverick smut#top gun imagines#top gun fanfiction#top gun maverick imagines#top gun maverick fanfiction#jake hangman seresin#jake seresin#hangman#rooster x reader#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader#bradley bradshaw x reader
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Can't think of a caption or clever phrase. Have a Rollo
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Ringside Attraction
Pairing: Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fiancée!reader
[y/n] wasn’t a stranger to feeling the gaze of Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw. With a past full of loss and peripatetic career but a love for domesticity and companionship, [y/n] understood how the sight of her kept Bradley grounded in the present. His gaze spoke volumes when he was unable to with his body, as his other favorite pastime was to be near her. If his gaze was directed at her lips, she knew he would tease a kiss from her with no more than a boyish smile and a well-placed joke. If he gazed at her chest or ass, she knew they would end up pressed against each other in the near future showing their love in private. She wasn't, however, used to his stare being directed at her hands or more accurately her left ring finger. A finger which had recently become adorned with a diamond ring that spoke of their love and shared future.
Bradley had always sought a place to call home after experiencing the love and loss of his parents so [y/n] knew the proposal would happen at some point. The night in question occurred a few weeks after their first anniversary. The day before, Bradley had claimed that he was going to help Iceman move boxes from the attic into his garage, but [y/n] found out later that he had actually gone to see Maverick. Though their relationship was strained, Bradley felt that he had to at least tell his ex-pseudo-uncle of his upcoming nuptials.
The following morning, [y/n] had kissed Rooster Bradshaw goodbye at the door with a promise to meet him at the Hard Deck at 8pm as he made the two-hour drive to Fightertown, USA to guest lecture at Top Gun.
[y/n] was none the wiser when she walked into the Hard Deck to find it devoid of anyone but a man in a Hawaiian shirt on one knee. A man, who proposed in the place where it reminded him of his father, the family he made in the Navy and their shared future. A man, who spoke of the love he never thought was possible until a woman walked into his life at this very bar and called him “Brad-Brad”.
Which brought [y/n] back to the present as it was becoming increasingly hard to speak to her fiancé when his attention was focused on the ring than her words. She often found herself staring at the ring throughout her day as well. The elation to being able to marry Bradley hadn’t lessened, if anything she was grateful for the ring because it served as a physical reminder that she was in fact marrying Prince Charming.
However, the future Mr and Mrs Bradshaw never shied away from jokes so [y/n] did what she knew best and teased the man.
“I think we need to throw out the piano.” [y/n] began as she watched the pilot lounging on her lap run his fingers over the ring. “Ok, whatever you think, darlin’.”
Rolling her eyes, [y/n] used her foot to push the porch swing. “I’m going to run away and elope with Phoenix.”
“Sure, baby.” The motion of the swing had Bradley closing his eyes as he cradled her hand to chest. But as the words “elope” and “Phoenix” swimmed in his mind, he shot up and turned toward his love. “You are not marrying any pilot but me!”
[y/n] crossed her arms across her chest as she suppressed the urge to giggle at his clouded expression. “Oh, so now I have your attention.”
“You always do.” Leaning in, Bradley brushed a kiss against the tip of her nose hoping to earn himself a kiss or at least a giggle.
Pushing herself back against the plush swing pillows, [y/n] mustered all her self control to keep this charade up and not fall for those chocolate puppy-dog eyes. “Don’t give me that cute face.”
Sensing that he was winning this, because Bradley Bradshaw was nothing but an expert on [full name], he shot her a boyish grin. “It’s the only one I got.”
[y/n] was an idiot if she thought she could win this battle, the Lieutenant knew her controls just as much as he knew the controls of a F-18. “I’m happy that you’re happy.”
Drawing her face towards, Bradley whispered against the plump expansion of her lips. “I’m the happiest, thank you for everything.” She gave in, pressing their lips together. Bradley spared no moment of hesitation. He deepened the kiss, parting her lips as a shiver of pleasure ran through her. Parting for air, Bradley made no move to separate their bodies and instead had his thumb rub up and down the hollow of her neck. He let a smile grow across his swollen lips, leaving [y/n] to ponder the oncoming trouble. “Plus let’s not pretend you don't do your own share of appreciative staring, baby.”
“Not to the point that I don’t listen!”
“Really? What about yesterday?” Bradley asked with an incredulous tone and raised eyebrows.
“What about yesterday?” [y/n] remembered it well. Bradley was sporting a wife-beater while the warm San Diego heat had him glistening gold between his sun kissed skin and sweat. But her fiancé didn’t need to know that.
“Well,” Bradley began before placing a kiss on her neck and continuing to do so between each phrase. “You were keeping me company,” a kiss left his lips.
“In the garage,” accompanied by another and an unintentional tickle from his mustache.
“When I was working on the Bronco and…” a sigh left her parted lips as his lips left another. [y/n] was left to wait with bated breath as Bradley’s mouth whispered in her ear. “And I had to throw a towel at you to get your attention.” However, her bated breath turned into a shriek as her fiancé took a playful bite out of her neck.
With the shriek still sounding in the air, their puppy Darcy left her perch on the other side of the deck to investigate the noise.
“It was loud because of Mr. Anderson’s lawnmower!” [y/n] argued, leading Bradley to pause his petting of Darcy to give her a look of skepticism.
“Let’s not blame your sinful gaze on our 80-year-old neighbor, the man is a veteran.”
A/N: Thank you for reading and feedback is always appreciated!
Taglist: @ateliefloresdaprimavera
#bradley bradshaw x reader#rooster bradshaw x reader#bradley bradshaw fic#bradley bradshaw imagine#top gun imagine#top gun maverick x reader
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Crack hc from yours truly, goblin anon.
During the Cannibalism arc, I believe it's confirmed that Chuuya was trapped in Poe's story for three months. Now I fully believe that he's smart enough to escape the story in like a week max, but he didn't.
(Also side hc, but Chuuya's absolutely the type of person to read mystery/crime novels to criticize the realism and accuracy of the murders. And on a day filled with slow paperwork, he totally leaves anonymous reviews on like Goodreads panning the murder realism. As a side effect he has absorbed a lot of mystery tropes and can usually guess the culprit immediately.)
So after three months go by and the Port Mafia can't find Chuuya, they reach out to the ADA. So Kunikida, Atsushi and Akutagawa go into Poe's book, where he was seen last, to investigate.
They find him chilling on the beach besides a mansion with like five dogs and a shit ton of alcohol.
Let's be real, it's not like the mafia has vacation days or anything. So taking advantage of the fact that the world isn't really real, Chuuya murdered everyone else at the party (the other suspects for the murder of the owner of the beachside mansion), stole five dogs from a nearby shelter, and has been chilling ever since. Because the story has a very limited script, the police will never arrive, the dogs will never be reported as missing, and Chuuya can literally just chill on the beach, taking beachside runs with his dogs and doing everything there is to do in the mansion (including drinking all the booze).
Well Kunikida isn't going to argue against Chuuya staying in the book and not committing crimes in Yokohama, Atsushi has the backbone of a chocolate eclair when dealing with anyone other than Akutagawa, and Chuuya is Akutagawa’s superior, so they leave without him.
It takes Kouyou personally coming in to get Chuuya to come back from his vacation.
(For bonus points, picture Chuuya wearing a shitty Hawaiian shirt, beach flip flops, and swim trunks with his usual fancy ass hat)
I am obsessed with this asjdjfkfjgj 😂 10/10, he deserves the vacation (also in a way this would explain why he’s relatively chill with the agency after getting out lol)
A client: why do you have this book laying around with a “do not disturb” sign taped to it
A.D.A: Oh that’s our mafioso-vacationing book. Don’t worry about it
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With My Dear Bro Day Four & Five
Love Tractor's leads got sent to El Nido in the Philippines by the production company and recorded it for With My Dear Bro. I got nothing but time, so I'm binging it and writing it up in three posts: One, Two, Three.
Do Won is holding onto a can of Raid like his life depends on it spraying the entire bedroom, so Yoon Do Jin decides to film him, but Do Won tries to hide in the bathroom, then asks for Yoon Do Jin's help picking out sunglasses. This is carryover from Day Two & Three because Yoon Do Jin notices that Do Won, a shy guy, hides behind his glasses.
Yoon Do Jin is giving compliments ("You look good") and compliments.
Then, he strategically plans for them to stumble upon a seafood restaurant even though he already looked it up because Do Won just casually mentioned that he wants seafood! This man is dangerous!
While at the restaurant (that Do Won is very excited about and Yoon Do Jin is very pleased with himself over), they discuss buying each other clothes and forcing the other to wear them. Do Won has stipulations. He wants a cool-colored Hawaiian shirt and flip-flops. Yoon Do Jin says he trusts Do Won to pick out what is best for him. But they get sidetracked because Yoon Do Jin wants to feed a dog. Do Won says no. So Yoon Do Jin feeds Do Won instead.
Do Won takes intricate photos of his food and Yoon Do Jin loves it.
Whoever said to send them on this trip deserves a raise! Do Won keeps asking if Yoon Do Jin likes the food as he keeps giving Yoon Do Jin food on his plate, but Do Won comments that "the forehead doesn't lie" so he stares at Yoon Do Jin's head because he thinks Yoon Do Jin doesn't actually like it.
They split up to do their competition shopping, but IMMEDIATELY Do Won gets anxious being alone and people watching him. He is the dog drinking coffee in the burning building. SOMEONE ADOPT HIM!
But Everyone's Best Friend Yoon Do Jin is thriving! He is waving at todo el mundo, singing songs in the street, and haggling which seems to be his favorite activity.
SOMEONE ADOPT HIM NOW!
They meet back up but Do Won is late because *ANXIETY!* and Yoon Do Jin fakes a fight with him because Do Won, the entire trip, has been harping about sticking to the schedule and being on time. Yoon Do Jin, once again, questions if Do Won is a man who keeps his promises. It's ridiculous and makes Do Won smile.
They go back to the house, and Do Won is cooking chicken for Yoon Do Jin. Yoon Do Jin mentioned his weight management previously (he was apparently heavier), so the chicken is good for his diet. Yoon Do Jin is going out on the motorbike to buy the fruit that Do Won likes. Do Won tells him to be careful, and Yoon Do Jin tells him if he sees a bug to call him. Do Won is not amused.
Yoon Do Jin goes back to the same market that he got the free fruit and haggles some more because now they are all best friends and in love with him (the crew blew up the girl's head just so we could know it was HER who complimented him). Dangerous, this man is.
Yoon Do Jin returns looking like he robbed the place with eighty million bags but stands outside for a bit watching Do Won make the food until Do Won notices.
Yoon Do Jin says he doesn't normally like fried chicken, but he really likes Do Won's. Then, he says the pineapple is so good, he'll probably see it in his dreams. And that poster about being loved just casually hangs behind him.
Then they exchange the clothes they bought each other, and this shit is LOUD AS FUCK compared to Do Won's normal style.
Do Won gives Yoon Do Jin the slippers he wanted the first day, a cool colored shirt, and SUNGLASSES! Someone clearly won this competition, and it ain't Yoon Do Jin.
Loose threads: Do Won is always tripping over his own feet. They wore those Hawaiian shirts to bed. Yoon Do Jin always cuts off the light at night because it's so dark that Do Won is already in the bed. When looking for a shirt for Yoon Do Jin, Do Won had to keep telling everyone it was for his large man friend. AND frugal Do Won went over budget getting the gifts because he felt Yoon Do Jin deserved them, while Yoon Do Jin was worried that Do Won would be upset if he went over budget so he bought cheaper items.
Obsessed.
It's the final episode and Do Won is still attached to the can of Raid since his normal bug killer, Yoon Do Jin, is still asleep. Do Won tells Yoon Do Jin about it as he mists him later in the morning. It's their thing.
Do Won presents his gift to Yoon Do Jin, and by "presents", he actually slides it onto the counter as Yoon Do Jin's back is turned, then runs away, and puts on his sunglasses. Yoon Do Jin is De. Fucking. Lighted. as he recites the heartfelt message Do Won wrote on the back of the poster in his cockiest voice. Then, he asks Do Won if he is shy as he states he will get a frame for his poster. A DANGEROUS MAN!
They head out to the final destination before the leave back home. But it starts to rain and Yoon Do Jin, a dangerous man, drops this banger of a line after Do Won tells him that his tension goes up when it rains. Do Won looks directly at the cameraman, The Office style after Yoon Do Jin drops this line. Do Won is the only reason I think this is real because he looks like he is being Punk'd every single second of this interaction.
They finally are able to get on the ATV, but it takes a second for Yoon Do Jin to figure out how to go. However, he loses his cool when Do Won KEEPS MAKING ODD NOISES!
They switch drivers. They ride faster. Then, they play on the beach. Yoon Do Jin asks Do Won for a reflection on the day, and Do Won says "The beach . . . is nice" and I think that is the most he has said in one go! Yoon Do Jin also takes off his shirt because . . . DANGER!
They go back to the glamping spot which is a yurt with TWO beds, and Yoon Do Jin does this ridiculous crawl into the yurt so mosquitos don't get inside, and when Do Won tells him to put repellent on, Yoon Do Jin drops another doozy line saying the mosquitos will ignore him then and he doesn't like being ignored (he is firing shots at Do Won for ignoring him sometimes). He also states he doesn't like his shirt, so DO WON GIVES HIM ONE OF HIS, but Yoon Do Jin doubts it will fit. However, it does, because Do Won made sure to get a big enough size because he made it FOR him since he designs shirts. As usual, Shy Glasses has to look away after that confession.
So Yoon Do Jin gives Do Won a gift too. Lip balm? Because he notices soft lips Shy Glasses is always applying lip balm. WHERE IS THE BRACELET?!
IT'S HAPPENING! IT'S HAPPENING! Yoon Do Jin is going to give Do Won the bracelet, BUT . . .
DO WON REJECTS IT!
But Yoon Do Jin is a dangerous man and tells Do Won it's an "amulet" to ward off ghosts since Do Won said he saw a ghost earlier. The gift is accepted.
They go outside to eat by a nice blazing fire. They act like their roasting sticks are fishing poles, they light marshmallows on fire, and they eat like caveman, but a dangerous man takes it too far.
They have to go back in because it starts raining, and Yoon Do Jin makes a dad joke through poetry (he has been doing this the entire trip), and ends it with "it . . . was nice" because he must tease Do Won about his reflection earlier on the beach. Do Won responds that he wishes he hadn't let his anxiety get the best of him on the first couple of days and that he was more like Yoon Do Jin. Yoon Do Jin reveals that he always travels alone, yet felt really secure traveling with Yoon Do Jin.
Do Won asks where they should go next, and Yoon Do Jin, a dangerous man, jokes that Do Won just wants a second season with him, but then offers up his dream place because it's "more realistic" which gets an honest laugh out of Do Won.
Hand over heart, I WANT A SECOND SEASON!
I don't care if this was scripted or not. Shy Glasses and a Dangerous Man who is everyone's best friend deserve more of my attention.
Or all of it.
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His Little Girl | Bradley Bradshaw x reader P. 4
click here to see the master list
I'm really happy that you all enjoyed the last part. I really hope you continue to enjoy the story! I'm sorry for all the hurt I left some with by leaving it on a cliff hanger 😭. Thank you so much for taking the time to read my story, bessssties! I love you all 💖
A/n: The drama continues, but it's only still just the beginning. Happy reading! Enjoy 😉
Word Count: 2.6k
Warnings: Cursing, angst, sadness, hints at possible death (please let me know if I missed any!)
Y/n/n: your nickname
Please don't take my work, I will find you.
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You leaned against the door frame to keep your balance. You felt like the room was spinning. But was it really him? What the hell would he be doing back here? Why out of all days you’re here, he’s here? On YOUR daughter’s birthday… he’s here? What are the fucking odds. There was absolutely no way. You pushed on your eyes to help your blurred vision get clear. Your ears were ringing but you could still hear everyone in the bar was singing with him. Well, if it was him. You couldn’t see.
Everyone was crowded around whoever was playing the piano and singing with him. Surely, he wasn’t the only person in the world that played and sang that song at a bar…. Right? The song was coming to an end. “Come on, baby you’re driving me crazy!” Everyone in the bar erupted, “GOODNESS GRACIOUS, GREAT BALLS OF FIRE!” Everyone was cheering. The man at the piano stood up. You straightened yourself out trying to get a good look at him. Mav came over and placed his hand on your shoulder. You stepped into the bar and felt Mav hold you where you were.
Mav: “y/n/n, don’t.” He said nervously. “Please don’t go in there, sweetheart.”
You pulled your shoulder from Mav’s grasp. You didn’t even understand what he had said to you. You were just so curious. You had to know, why now? Why on this particular day? You continued in and walked closer to get a look at the man at the piano. Then everyone was cheering for him, “Rooster! Rooster! Rooster!” He started to dance. Was it him? Surely it couldn’t have been.
That man’s voice was deeper and huskier. He was sun kissed, rosy cheeks, a thick sexy mustache, muscular, super tall, curly light brown hair, dressed so relaxed in a white beater and a Hawaiian shirt over, with some aviators on. That couldn’t have been him… The last time he was so light skinned nearly see through, shorter, chubbier and cuddly, he couldn’t grow facial hair even if he didn’t shave for months, he had longer hair, his voice still cracked when he would talk… There was no way that was him. Right? But it had been nearly 7 years since you last saw him. You stepped closer and felt a hand on your arm.
Leia: “Momma! Can you help me cut my cake please?” She said with her famous big green puppy dog eyes.
You looked down at your smiling daughter and cupped her cheek. You looked at her for a minute, but you were so distracted. “Momma?” You snapped out of it, “Of course, sweetheart.” You started to walk out back to the party holding your daughters hand, but right before you hit the threshold back to the deck you heard the confirmation. A distant voice calling his name.
“Bradshaw!”
You stopped dead in your tracks and turned around. You could feel the tears welling up in your eyes, your stomach churning, your cheeks burning hot. You started to feel dizzy. You were frozen just looking at him. Your tunnel vision took over. At this point all eyes were on you, but all you could see was him. Your heart rate sped up, it was all you could hear now. Your hands started to shake. You couldn’t decipher your emotions. You didn’t know if you were furious or happy to see him. You stood there for a couple of more seconds before you felt someone pulling at you again.
Leia: “Momma?” She said as she tugged on your hand. She looked at you so concern. She knew there was something wrong.
You looked around, some of the guests looked at you with worry. Only Bri, Mav and Penny knew what the real reason was. You felt like you had just come out of a trance. Your daughter was talking to you, but you couldn’t make out what she was saying. You still heard only your heart beat. Then slowly but surely you started to hear her. “Hey! Mommy!” You looked at your concerned daughter and crouched down to her and hugged her.
Leia reached up and wiped the tears from your eyes, “Momma don’t cry. Don’t be sad. I'm still your baby. I’m just 6.” And she smiled big at you.
It made you cry more and you hugged her tightly. “I love you my little Leia.” And kissed her head.
You then headed over to the cake with her and helped her cut pieces to hand out to everyone. You all had dessert before dinner, per request of your now 6 year old daughter. After passing out the cake you went to go sit on one of the lounger chairs. You were slightly embarrassed about your little episode, but you had to regain yourself for the rest of the party. Trying to relax, Austin came over and sat with you. He brought you a well needed drink. You took it and smiled at Austin.
Y/n: “Thank you Austin.” You chuckled and took a sip. You rested your arm over the top of your head.
Austin: “You’re welcome! I know watching your daughter get older can probably be heart wrenching. So, I thought I’d bring you a little something to help calm the nerves.” He said and smiled at you.
“Thank God. No one asked about my shenanigans from seeing my daughter’s FATHER.” You thought to yourself. Austin really thought this was about Leia growing up. You went along with it because you had no energy to talk about Bradley Bradshaw.
Y/n: “I can’t believe she’s 6. I feel like she was just born yesterday. The time has just flown by.” You took another sip of your drink. “Do you have kids?”
Austin: “I actually do not. But I can kind of imagine it’s kind of how I felt watching my youngest sibling grew up to be a teenager.” He laughed and sipped his beer.
Y/n: “Oh gosh! I don’t even want to think about when she’s a teenager!” You put your hand over your face and laughed.
You looked over at Austin and looked at his costume. You needed to change the conversation before he starts asking too many questions. “So did Bri tell you I was dressing as Padmé?” You poked at his Darth Vader helmet that was resting on the table in between the two of you.
Austin: “What if Darth Vader is just my favorite character?” He raised an eyebrow at you.
Y/n: “So you’re on the dark side, huh?” You sipped your drink. “I can go with that.” You smiled into your drink.
Austin: “Is that right?” He shook his head and sipped his beer. “I mean you are my wife, or well were.”
You looked at him with an alluring expression. You both laughed and clinked your drinks together before taking another sip.
“How about we get back for Leia? She’s looking for you.” He looked over and patted your thigh.
Nothing but chills ran through your body with the slightest touch from him, “I’ll go in a little bit, I just need some cool down time.” You smiled at him and put your hand on his.
“Then let's cool down together, y/n.”
After some time of getting to know Austin, you made it back to the party. Billy and Bri were playing with Leia and her friends. Mav and Penny were catching up after not seeing each other for a long time and all the parents were getting some drinks at the bar. You went and sat with Bri while Austin took her spot in playing with Leia and her friends.
Bri: “I think you should let Leia meet Austin.” She leaning back onto the table.
Y/n: “Not yet. It's way too soon. I barely got to know a little about him just right now.” You laid on her shoulder and watched the guys play with the kids. You had to admit, it was the cutest thing ever. “I think it's time for some presents so the real party can start.” You smiled at Bri.
She knew not to push the conversation and what happened with seeing Leia’s dad. She knew how you felt towards him and that tonight was about your little Leia, not her dad. Plus, she’s your best friend, she already knew what went through your mind when you started to gravitate to the bar.
You called everyone over so that Leia could open all her gifts. Penny came over to you and pulled you by the arm. You leaned into her so you could hear what she was saying.
Penny: “Honey, after the gifts, do you think Mav and I could talk to you?” She smiled and placed her hand on your shoulder.
Y/n: “Yea of course!” You smiled back at her and put your hand on hers.
Leia opened all her gifts. She was loved by so many. She was super excited and thankful for everything she got for her birthday. She was really excited about the Lightsaber that Mav somehow managed to get in a short times notice. Your daughter was so loving, she shared all her gifts with her friends as the all played in the sand, play fighting. Except for her R2-D2 and BB-8 that she had got from Billy and Austin. No one could touch those.
After cleaning up the gift wrap you made your way over to Mav and Penny. Mav grabbed your hand and explained to you why he was there. He was called back to Top Gun. Mav was called to come back to teach for an important mission.
Mav: “The mission is crucial. They’ve called back the best of the best to fly this mission, y/n.” He held your hand. You stayed silent.
Mav: “Bradley has done such an outstanding job while he’s been in. He is a part of that same 1%, I am. He’s a great pilot, y/n. I know you know that.” He paused and looked at you. Still silent. “But, there are a lot of risks, y/n. He may never come back.” Your heart sank.
Mav: “I know this is a lot to take in, y/n. I know it’s a lot to see him. But I just wanted to make sure you knew why he was here.” He was rubbing your hand. He continued to explain everything to you, but you heard nothing.
Penny was sitting next to you and she rubbed your back. You just really didn’t know how to process this. While being in the Navy, Bradley became a part of that same top 1% that Mav was in when it came to being a fighter pilot. It was a lot for you to take in. You tuned out Mav and were in your own head.
Bradley, a fighter pilot? Top 1% in the Navy? Going on a mission that he could possibly never come back from? Who the hell was this guy? You hated Bradley, but you were also proud of him for making his dream of being a pilot come true. You knew he deserved it, that he worked so hard for it even though you knew nothing about him now. You just know Bradley and his worth ethic. When he wants something he goes after it head first. But you were still mad at him. You really thought about it, he could possibly never come back? Your heart sank deeper and deeper. He has a daughter he has no idea about and he could possibly never know about her if things don’t go well. In this moment you didn’t know what to do. You felt the whole night like you were all here at the same time for a specific reason and it all became clear as you looked over at your giggly happy daughter.
Mav: “y/n?” He patted your hand. “Can you hear me, sweetheart?”
You shook your head no, “I’m sorry Mav. It's just a lot. Hearing this and seeing him, it's too much.” You were looking down. “But I need to know, why do you say he might not come back? What is this mission, Mav?” You were desperate for answers.
Mav had already explained the mission to you, but you were spaced out and didn't hear anything he said. He looked at you, “Sweetheart I already-” Penny reached her hand around you and placed it on his shoulder. His gaze went from you to her.
She shook her head and pointed at her ear. Then motioned with her hand for him to say it again. He took a deep breath and looked at you. He nodded.
Mav: “Sweetheart, this mission that he may possibly have to go on requires parameters that have never been flown in any such way. It's very dangerous. It requires these pilots to fly at super low altitude, way below the minimum limit.”
You stopped him, “Then don’t make them? It’s a written law to stay above 5000 feet. You told me that, Mav.”
He knew you didn’t quite understand, no one would, “I understand that, but for this mission they don’t have a choice. They have to stay below radar of the enemy. It's the only way.” He wanted to leave out some specifics because he already felt your hurt. “Along with that, the terrain they will fly through has to be flown through with utmost perfection, if not, they could crash.”
You closed your eyes tight, “My god, Mav.”
He squeezed your hand and Penny rubbed your back, “I can stop, sweetheart. I know this is a lot to handle.”
You shook your head, “No I need to know. Please.” You looked at him.
Mav: “Okay.” He took another deep breath, “After that, they need to be on their A-game. They’ll need to destroy a very small target. Once that is destroyed they will fight off enemies the whole way home.” He dropped his head.
Your chest felt so tight and you shook your head, “Then don’t send him.” You sounded so desperate. You hated Bradley, you were so mad at him, but deep down you didn't want him dead. You didn't want the father of your child to be dead. You wanted him to know her, to get to know her. “Don’t send him, Maverick.”
Mav sat back, “I’m sorry y/n. I wish that was the case. But if he performs well throughout these next weeks of training… I have to. If he proves to us instructors that he can be out there and do a damn well job and be a team leader, I have to. Trust me honey, I don’t want to. I more than anything would rather put myself in there to fly instead of him. But if he stands out above all the other pilots and shows us he can get the job done.” He stopped you could see the hurt in his eyes, “Well then who am I to not send him?”
You nodded, “I understand. It’s his job.” You covered your face, “A job he is damn good at. Obviously. It's in his blood.”
Mav: “I’m so sorry y/n. I didn’t mean to ruin Leia’s party like this.” He shook his head because he was upset with himself.
Y/n: “No, Mav. I’m happy you told me. I needed to know. You didn’t ruin anything, I promise.” You smiled at him and pulled him in for a hug. “Thank you, Mav.” It was now clear to you what had to be done. You would never forgive yourself for living with that guilt. The guilt of him never meeting or knowing his daughter. You had to put your differences and emotions aside. You had to do what was right, for Leia.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
What do you mean he could possibly never come back...? What about Leia...What about you? How will approach Bradley? How is he going to take it if you tell him? 😭 I hope you enjoyed ! I'll see you in the next part 😉
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#Miles teller#Bradley Bradshaw#Rooster#bradley rooster bradshaw#Rooster Bradshaw#top gun maverick#top gun#Maverick#his little girl bradley bradshaw x reader#pete maverick mitchell#pete mitchell#Rooster x reader#rooster x you#Bradley Bradshaw x reader#Bradley Bradshaw x you#Rooster Bradshaw x reader#Rooster Bradshaw x you#Rooster fic#Bradley Bradshaw fic#Rooster Bradshaw Fic#I love u#his little girl Bradley bradshaw x reader#Austin is Austin Butler... just saying lol
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Good Omentober Day 6 - The Bentley
Prompt by @disaster-dog
During a getaway in Tadfield, Aziraphale grows enamoured with the way humans spent their summers. Crowley can't trust Aziraphale with the Bentley alone. Bubbles ensue.
When Aziraphale burst through the door holding a bucket and car cleaning surprised, Crowley thought he was seeing red.
“What do you think you’re doing with those?” The demon hissed, making a grab for the cursed tools.
“I’m going to clean our car!” Aziraphale beamed proudly. He carried his trademark grin since he’d walked through the door and was truly excited at the possibility of doing something with Crowley. They had been staying in Tadfield for the week and Aziraphale had watched another couple cleaning their car. It simply looked like so much fun.
“You are not going anywhere near her with this rubbish,” Crowley scolded lowly, “We can miracle away any dirt like we always do.”
“Please Crowley,” Aziraphale pleaded. He could tell it was getting desperate so he had to use the one trick that always persuaded the demon. His puppy-dog eyes.
The demon looked at Aziraphale whose wide eyes were staring at him in some kind of adoration. He wanted to say no but Aziraphale knew exactly how to tug on Crowley’s heartstrings and get him to go alone with any kind of plan.
“You can’t wash a car in a waistcoat though, angel.”
“Oh, I’ll get changed most quickly! You best get changed too, Crowley,” Aziraphale beamed before placing the cleaning supplies down and shifting into the next room.
Crowley was less bothered, quickly miracling up a new ensemble. Crowley was never one to wear shorts but the thought of damp jeans clinging to his legs so here he was in a dorky pair of high-cut, quick dry shorts and a black tank top. His loose curls got pulled back into a half-up style and he made sure to bring a towel into the main room for when they were finished. He hadn’t washed a car himself but if any of the videos he’d seen were a good indication, it would be a messy affair. The demon would be absolutely mortified if anyone saw him like this, but it was for his angel so he’d suffer.
Aziraphale, much less confident in his changing wardrobe settled on something a little more conservative. He managed to muster up a button-down hawaiian style shirt with small books
on it, rather obnoxiously paired with a pair of light blue board shorts. He was truly enthused to make use of the limited good weather and would enjoy all the sun he could.
Aziraphale exited the room and Crowley’s jaw immediately dropped. He’d gotten used to seeing the angel in his centuries-dated ensemble and while this was somewhat of a welcome change, it threw the demon off guard entirely, “I like the…colours.”
Aziraphale blushed at the demon’s compliment, “And you look gorgeous as always. I didn’t know you shaved your legs?” He quizzed.
Red couldn’t even begin to describe the colour of Crowley’s face, “I mean, plenty of people do…”
The angel walked over and kissed Crowley’s cheek, “I think it’s cute.”
He grabbed the bucket and headed outside where the Bentley had parked herself perfectly on the grass, almost in anticipation of her bath.
“See Crowley, she’s excited!” Aziraphale gushed.
Crowley went to unfurl the hose from the side of their temporary residence. As he moved closer and began to fill the bucket with water. Aziraphale rather keenly squeezed the soap into the container and watched all the bubbles form, giggling with an almost childish delight.
Content to be getting attention from her parents, the Bentley began to play music, unprompted. Crowley’s embarrassment had almost faded but it all flooded back as ‘Fat Bottomed Girls’ began to blast out of the car’s radio.
The demon just grabbed one of the sponges and began to wash the bonnet of the car in a circular motion. Bubbles began to cover the entire car as Aziraphale joined in. For a while, they were just enjoying the company.
At some point, Aziraphale turned around hastily and his sponge landed firmly in the middle of Crowley’s chest, leaving warm soapy water dripping off him.
“Angel!” Crowley huffed but as he turned around and saw the giant grin on Aziraphale’s face, he couldn’t stay mad, “Oh, is that how we’re playing now?”
The demon leant down to dip his sponge in the water before hurling it in Aziraphale’s direction, landing squarely in the angel’s back.
Aziraphale gasped in shock, taking one of the rags they’d thrown aside to throw towards Crowley.
“Don’t move, angel,” Crowley grinned before reaching into the bucket and scooping a handful of bubbles. He moved closer to Aziraphale and pressed the bubbles onto his partner’s face, making a makeshift bubble beard.
The demon doubled over in laughter watching Aziraphale’s dumbstruck expression.
Azirapahle was hardly about to allow that and returned by taking a handful of bubbles and making a movement towards Crowley’s hair. In his movement, he slipped on the wet grass and began to fall.
Crowley rushed to catch the angel, holding him up from the ground and he just smiled at his angel. Aziraphale, slightly out of breath from the whole affair just let out a small breath and straightened up.
“Bit too old to be having this much fun, don’t you think?” Crowley teased, wiping the remaining bubbles from the angel’s face.
“Never too old. Hasn’t stopped us before, why start now?”
Crowley pulled the angel close to him once again, one hand resting on his waist and the other moving around his shoulder. He slowly pressed their lips together, enjoying the admittedly sloppy but all-the-while perfect point of connection. Aziraphale indulged in the kiss, his movements matching Crowley’s as they became one. After a moment, he slowly pulled away to stare into Aziraphale’s eyes.
“We should do this more often, angel.”
#good omentober#good omens 2#good omens#anthony j crowley#aziraphale x crowley#aziracrow#aziraphale#crowley#ineffable idiots#ineffable husbands#ao3 fanfic#fanfiction
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July 12th. And by coincidence, a Loona and Octavia double feature, two years before the one we had today.
Things kick off with Blitzo making Loona an adorable Pinterest breakfast (that she apparently enjoyed, albeit begrudgingly); Stolas pops by to compliment Blitzo on his cooking. The two have plans to go shopping and Stolas wishes Blitzo a fun time.
Meanwhile, Stolas has his own father-daughter day with Via, listening to her music and taking embarrassing pictures of the two in matching Hawaiian shirts befitting the dog days of COVID summer this was taking place during. The two go out shopping, run into Blitzo and Loona, Stolas blushes furiously at the midriff revealing outfit Blitzo is wearing or from the unexpectedness of the encounter or some combination thereof, and...that’s about it.
At least one commenter suggests Stolas was stalking Blitzo, but he maintains that he wasn’t, and they simply went into Stylish Occult because Via wanted to go. He and Blitzo exchange a couple of mutually flirtatious remarks, no one is overly forward or uncomfortable, and that’s the end of it. It’s just a sweet, simple moment that emphasizes what good fathers Blitzo and Stolas are, with a side of their growing attraction.
But there is one thing that stands out...something that, in light of today’s episode, breaks my heart a little. In the hashtags, Stolas refers to “Blitzy and his daughter.”
Seeing Stars was an entire episode, two seasons in, devoted to Octavia, Loona, their fathers, and fatherhood. Several times in the course of this episode, Blitzo sees how important Octavia is to Stolas, and relates to it. Several times in the course of this episode, Stolas thinks about how sexually attractive Blitzo is.
At no point does Stolas refer to Loona as Blitzo’s daughter. At no point does he take any special notice of her at all.
Not even once.
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