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goldustwomun · 2 years

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take a chance on me (b.b.)

pairing: bradley ‘rooster’ bradshaw x ex! mother! reader

summary: your daughter stumbles upon a photo of you and a mysterious man, immediately noticing the similarities between him and her. nothing good can come from revisiting the past, especially one you’d hoped to avoid because you’d never gotten the courage to tell him, the man from the photo, that he’s a father.

warnings: major rip-off of the mamma mia! plot but this was purely for enjoyment so xxx; angst angst angst; swearing; allusions to sex; a lot of exposition so sorry ‘bout that

wc: 9.2k+

note: had so much fun messing around with this request (thank you by the way!!). listening to the mamma mia! soundtrack the whole time and now yearning for an island romance<3

ps. reader’s age is slightly hinted to being over 30 but that’s only if you do the math and i left the daughter’s age ambiguous (she’s a teen, over sixteen at least); also, daughter’s name is poppy!

pps. i probably won’t be writing a second part to this because i love the ambiguous ending; let your imagination run free lovelies :))

more of my work x

The summer heat was thick and just about everywhere, like sticky honey you can’t wipe clean off your fingers after spreading it onto a piece of too-burnt toast.

You were on the verge of giving up, trekking back home and collapsing onto the sofa with a stand-up fan aimed at your sweat-slick face.

Maybe the dungarees hadn’t been your best idea when it came to thirty-degree weather, but the utility of them, their pockets filled to the brim with spare screws, a cylinder-shaped glue for the hot glue gun you’d lost in your storage room a week back, a few hair ties for when the one currently holding yours up snapped for the third time that day.

Practicality over comfort, as was your motto for the past over-a-decade of your life. As it had been, since you’d found yourself pregnant after a one-night-stand (turned many, many night-stand) you’d yet to shake yourself free of).

You were never one to ask for help, and when it came to raising your child, things hadn’t changed. No matter how desperate you were, working two jobs on an island you didn’t speak the language of, an infant perched on your hip, whaling in your ears whilst you simultaneously cleaned the rooms of the little bed-and-breakfast you’d landed a job at.

When you weren’t taking care of your kid or working, you were thinking about one of those two things, or both.

And it wasn’t like you hated it entirely; she was the best thing to ever happen to you, could have arrived at a more opportune time, but she was your best friend if you’d ever had one. So saying she was a mistake or something you regretted– it was an unfathomable thought that had only crossed your mind once, sat in the doctor’s waiting room, pregnancy test wrapped in toilet paper, clutched tight in your trembling hands.

“Ma’!” she yelled now, your little Poppy with her chocolate-brown curls, sun-kissed skin from all the time spent at the beach. Remarkably like her Father, but you’d never tell her that.

“I’m here, I’m here!” you answered in a similar, exasperated fashion, bent over a crack in the intricately tiled mosaics that covered the floor of the plaza.

You still worked at that bed-and-breakfast, though now it was yours and had expanded to a vast number of the buildings at the centre of the island. Everyone helped out, whether out of kindness or a small fee, and you were grateful for the community, the small army, you had behind you, catching you every time you stumbled (far too often than you’d ever admit).

“Need help?” Poppy asked, amused, hands perched over her white-tiered skirt clad hips, looking like the stubborn replica of her mother, of you. Her head just about obscured the sun from beating down on you anymore than it already was, framing her with a halo of gold that tinted the edges of her hair.

“I’m alright, love,” you assured, heaving yourself straight with a pained groan. Poppy crowded you, arms going around your shoulders to help you up. “Why don’t you go help Esme. She’s in the storage room, looking for the hot glue gun.”

“Still haven’t found that thing?”

“No, I– fuck. Everything disappears around here. Swear we’ve got a ghost or something, the only logical explanation.” Poppy nodded along, taking your finger-pointing at the supernatural with a deathly seriousness.

“Makes sense if you ask me, ghost with a hankering for rusty tools,” she agreed, voice solemn. “Aaaand you’re sure I can’t help you here?” she asked again, murky brown eyes baring right into your soul. You brushed her off, nudging her in the direction of the sweet old lady, Esme, with her wonky English accent and pastries to die for.

“If you see anything you like, put it to the side!” you called after her retreating figure, shaking your head as she chucked a ‘thumbs up’ behind her back.

Not only was she the spitting image of her Father, or rather, the man who got you pregnant as you called him in your head, but she walked and talked with that same air of breezy confidence that got him into your pants in the first place.

You’d hoped a few more of your mannerisms (and none of your risky mistakes) would have brushed off on her as she grew up, but other than your resolute anger and little patience, she was nothing like you.

Always headstrong, sometimes teetering on the precipice of arrogance, but she usually relented and bugged you with her incessant chatter until you forgave her.

Would stare up at you, all watery and doe-eyed, hair curling around her chubby cheeks still splotchy from her tantrum, near ready for tears again until you were shushing her with a carrot stick coated in hummus (her favourite but you worried she’d turn into a chickpea or something close to it).

Even if she was part-chickpea, you’d love her forever.

Named her Poppy after the bunches of wild, scarlet-red flowers you’d seen breaking through the stones of the Acropolis when you were pregnant and needed a break from the island. Your Poppy was a lot like that; able to push past even the most inconceivable of hardships, past whatever unmovable stone that might be surrounding her, threatening to cage her in, until she was illuminating the world around her. Painting it a little brighter for everyone to enjoy.

Your very own field of flowers.

Poppy could admit that even with having grown up on the island, she could never get used to the heat or the muggy feeling of her clothes sticking to her like a second layer of skin. But she persisted, finding Esme with a cloth tied around her head as a make-shift hat in the barn they used for storage.

It was… falling to pieces, and still, that was an understatement.

The blue doors looked more grey than anything ocean-like, the junk crammed inside, stacks on stacks of unlabelled cardboard boxes she worried had a family of something disgusting in at least one of them. The ceiling had caved-in in places, allowing beams of sunlight to penetrate through, and acting as a door for the birds to fly in and build their nests.

So yes, the barn was falling to pieces, the entire hotel was, actually. But what worried her the most was that her Mother seemed close to the same fate despite being so young, so she’d persist where she had to.

“Little girl, come help me with this box would you!” Esme ordered from somewhere within the labyrinth of boxes. Poppy picked her way through, using the groans Esme exerted as a homing-beacon and eventually bumping into the older woman. She was caked in dust and dirt, but didn’t seem to care all that much if the grin on her face was any hint of her mood.

Esme was rather grumpy a lot of the time, so a smile like that, one that screamed mischief, and her eyes beaming with that all-knowing look she got sometimes after visiting the psychic on the other side of the island… Well, something told her this couldn’t be good.

“What’s in this particular box, May?” Poppy questioned, huffing as she pushed it onto the ground.

“You’ll see in a moment–” Esme tssked at her impatience, patting her back so Poppy would move into the light so they could see its contents more clearly. When it was in place, Poppy looked-up at her from her crouched position on the floor expectantly, still unsure of where this was headed.

“Don’t give me such a dumb look, little girl, open it!” she scolded, frowning so deeply Poppy worried her mouth would be stuck that way permanently.

Sometimes she thought it already was. “Okay- Okay– Stop calling me that,” she added under her breath, pulling back the hole-ridden flaps and immediately rummaging through, wondering what all the fuss was about.

“This just looks like a bunch of old junk, May. I don’t think the glue-gun is in here.”

“Keep looking,” she insisted, peering over her shoulder. It was only a few minutes later that her hand came down on Poppy’s shoulder, gripping tight enough that Poppy stopped shuffling things around, hand stuck on a tattered journal she’d never seen before. “That one– take that out.”

“This?” Poppy asked inquisitively, lifting it from the box and standing up so Esme could see.

“Yes, this,” she nodded with a relieved sigh, flipping open the first page. Inside, Poppy admired the elegant script, eyes widening at the name inscribed on the first page.

“This was Ma’s?”

Esme held it out to her, confirming her wild thoughts, doing little to halt the curiosity currently poking at her mind. “This was your Mother’s when I first met her. Maybe… younger than you, or the same age, I’m not sure. But she was beautiful, and hardworking, and very, very pregnant.”

A forced laugh stumbled past her lips, disbelieving as she carefully turned to the next page. A stray photo, not stuck down like the others, flew out of the bottom. Poppy scrambled to pick it up, not wanting it to get lost amongst the piles of stuff they desperately needed to sort out.

In it was her Mother, looking radiant with her head tilted back in laughter, flowers in her hair, an arm around her waist that belonged to an unfamiliar man. “And– this guy, who’s he?” Poppy’s heart was hammering now, knowing the answer before Esme could even respond.

He had her curls, unruly and deep brown. And something about him, the fluidity in his shoulders, the ease with which he carried himself, the look on your face. It couldn’t be…

“I’m not sure. I never knew his name but he was following your Mother around that summer, like a lost puppy. Very cute,” she murmured appreciatively, gaze fixated on the photo in your hand.

Poppy’s heart sank, hating the lack of answers, the not-knowing. She needed to know, could feel the fire stoked in the pit of her belly that would keep her up until she found out more, more, more.

You wouldn’t say anything. You were tightlipped about the ingredients in your famous pasta sauce, so anything about Poppy’s potential Father would be a no-go, a dead end she couldn’t get herself stuck in and clue you in on her snooping.

“What happened to him– the puppy man?” Poppy did nothing to hide her curiosity, knowing deep down that Esme had lured her to this box for a reason.

Everyone could see how you were wearing away, working yourself to the bone everyday for a dream that seemed just about unreachable. You needed someone, anyone, to help you, and Poppy wouldn’t always be there to do just that.

She knew you didn’t need a man, bursting into your life and fixing your problems. It’d have you biting at his heels until he was running off into the sunset. But a partner– a companion, maybe, who could support you when the job was brutal and rough and you were nearing a breakdown like no other– you deserved, at the very least, that.

Poppy would make sure of it. It didn’t take long for her to do the calculations, nine months minus her birthday and she had an approximate date to look for. She thumbed through the journal, marking the pages that mentioned any indication of when you’d written in it, and shoved it into the back pocket of your denim shorts to search through later.

She’d find him if it was the last thing she’d ever do.

Hopefully, it wouldn’t be, but she needed to see you smiling like you had in that picture. And Poppy had an inkling, a feeling, a certainty like no other, that the answer to all of your problems, maybe her’s as well, would be found with the man with the funny moustache and wicked grin.

The internet was a powerful machine, and one, Poppy thought decidedly, she’d be forever grateful for. It didn’t take long to hunt down the mystery man from the photo. She smiled, somewhat maniacally, really, at the screen as she read through the email she received from the United States Navy.

She’d gotten the idea after noticing the dog-tag around his neck, nestled against his bare chest. It was hard to see at first, what with the obnoxious printed shirts he wore in every photo, but Poppy was nothing if not thorough, meticulous, error-free.

Anyway, it wasn’t like the Navy had actually responded to her far-fetched cries for help, but she did find a help-centre that was rather effective in hunting down men who had gotten someone or the other pregnant while deployed internationally.

Poppy wondered how often this kind-of thing happened that they needed a whole department for it, suddenly trying to burn the image in her mind of a few more miniature him-with-the-moustache-s walking around the Earth.

But it couldn’t be, not with the way he had stared at you in that photo. And you’d kept it, all these years, so it had to have meant something.

Bradley Bradshaw. She scoffed, what a dumb name. And his callsign? Somehow worse– Rooster. She hoped eternally her maybe-Father wasn’t a proper moron now, and could still live upto the photos she had of him (of which she found many more hidden between pages in your journal).

He was quite attractive, almost two decades earlier. And you– well, even today, you were ethereal in Poppy’s eyes. Carefree and determined.

“Pops– hun, I’m going down to the post office, need anything mailed?” you asked from the other side of her bedroom door.

“Yeah! One sec,” she replied, frantically shoving all of the post-it notes and pictures back into a drawer in her desk, doing one last scan of her room to make sure she hadn’t left anything lying around before snatching up the letter– to Rooster– from beside her laptop.

Poppy opened the door to see you resting against the door frame, flipping through the letters (bills, probably) you had clutched in your hand. You held out your hand, waiting for her to drop it in your palm, but she quickly yelled out, “No!” which had you looking up from the dreaded envelopes with a raised brow.

“No…?” you asked, confused at her unusual outburst. “So you don’t have any mail?”

“No,” she repeated, dumbly, mouth forming words that never made it out. “No– I have a letter, but I’ll come with you. Drop it off myself,” she explained eventually, nodding along as if she was trying to convince herself.

You relented, sending another curious look towards your daughter but stomping down the stairs, creaks following, to the car. “I’m leaving now so put your shoes on!” you sang.

She sighed out of relief, shoving her feet into her trainers and barreling past you into the front seat of your Jeep. “God, Poppy– what’s gotten into you? Acting like a five-year old, I swear,” you grumbled, irritated and lethargic enough to have her wincing with guilt.

This was a good thing, right? Sure, you’d be angry– scratch that, furious, murderous, down-right irate, when you found out, but you’d understand. She was doing this for you.

“Sorry,” she appeased, kicking her feet onto the dashboard that earned her another withering glare from you. It did little to dissuade her as she continued talking. “Just giddy, that’s all.”

“Giddy? About a letter?” Poppy hummed in agreement, watching the ocean and mountain-side trees rush by, painting an array of abstract strokes across her vision. “Is it for a boy?” you asked, teasingly, side-eyeing her before returning to concentrating on the winding road ahead.

“Mmm, funnily enough, yeah,” she giggled, loving how you were entirely clueless.

“Interesting,” you murmured, then reaching across the console to squeeze your daughter’s bare knee. “Be careful, yeah?”

Poppy’s eyes flashed, chest-clenching painfully as she worried her lip between her teeth. Her hand moved to rest across yours. You’d never opposed her love-life, of her having one, but Poppy had always wondered why your own dating history was so sparse, time spent, instead, taking care of her or, later on, the hotel.

“Always, Ma’, you know that,” she made sure with a tight grin, praying you missed how it didn’t reach her eyes.

This was a good thing, she reminded herself. This was for you.

Poppy was jumpier than usual, like a skittish cat, you observed silently. Slamming doors and screens shut when you walked by. You didn’t necessarily care what she was up to until she was rambling off, a mile a minute, going on about an excuse you hadn’t asked for.

You were a good mother, one that didn’t pry or push when you wanted the gossip and highlights of your kid’s life. Had built a relationship, a friendship, even, with your daughter where she voluntarily shared the information without you ever needing to bat an eyelash.

So you tried not to worry, to let the mishaps distract you from the seemingly never-ending list of work you had tugging your attention elsewhere.

But that was another thing about being a mother; worrying was second nature, a muscle that unknowingly worked itself sore whenever your daughter was out of your sight.

She’d go off during the day, by the beach with her friends, at the dock helping with shipments or sailing into the late afternoon, returning only when the sun was sinking into the horizon and the sky was all shades of purple, pink, a burning orange.

She’d give you a soft, routine kiss on your cheek as you sat on the dinner table, skin sticking to the plastic cover you’d laid on the surface to protect the wood. Spew details of her day, who said what, who kissed who– though always failing to mention the letter from a month ago, the unknown boy she was secretly buzzing about was still unknown.

You hadn’t forgotten the letter, not recognising the address, some small town in America with little significance to you.

Poppy sat across from you now, talking around a mouthful of the sandwich you’d made the both of you with the leftover baguette from the bakery across the street, one that hadn’t sold that day so was priced cheap.

“--and then, you’ll never guess, but Dom was changing on the boat and basically flashed everyone. Tony and Riley included. I felt so bad, almost pushed the boys overboard and she was so red for someone who, basically, never got embarrassed.”

You snorted, stopping mid-bite. “Just because someone doesn’t make their emotions obvious doesn’t mean they don’t feel them. And I hope they’ll apologise to her.”

“Oh, of course, of course,” she agreed enthusiastically, eyes wide as if digesting every single one of your words. “And they did right after I threatened them. It wasn’t awkward for long, they’re not a bad bunch or anything. It was an accident, Dom said so herself.”

“That’s good,” was all you answered, now distracted by a letter in your hand you’d pulled from the pile as Poppy talked. She was watching you intently, burning a hole through the paper, and, being her Mother, you already knew she was dying to know who it was from.

“It’s for you,” you said eventually, putting her out of her momentary misery as she squealed and snatched it from your hand. You watched discreetly, touched by the sight of her mouthing the words as she read the letter. “Is it from that American boy of yours?”

“American?– what– I mean, how do you– how do you know he’s American?” she stuttered messily, mouth agape and ready to argue.

You reflexively held up your hands in surrender. “Hey, love– I just saw the sender’s address, that’s all,” you assured.

She collapsed back into her seat, mumbling an apology for getting all worked up.

It was now or never, you decided, finally sick of the anxiety coursing through your veins these past few weeks.

“Poppy, you’re… alright, right?” you asked, struggling to find the right words and sighing, forehead resting against your palm while the other crossed the table, holding your daughter’s hand, grip light and featherlike, in comfort.

“I mean– you’d tell me if you were in any trouble, or anything. I wouldn’t judge or–”

“Ma!” she scolded, sounding appalled by your line of questioning and roughly pulling her hand out of your grasp.

“Don’t ‘Ma’ me, Pops. You’ve been going mental for weeks now! I’m allowed to fret, I’m your Mother!” you retorted, standing up abruptly, chair screeching against the linoleum tiles as you dropped the plates into the sink.

“It’s nothing, I swear–”

“Is it drugs?” you asked suddenly, turning around to face her.

She looked completely aghast, arms crossed against her chest defensively and, what was likely subconsciously, pouting at you. “If it’s drugs, Pops, we can get help. I’ve got money saved up and I know a decent doctor on the mainland. I’ll get you an appointment tomorrow if you let me–”

“Ma!” she screeched again, parroting your earlier movements, walking right up to you, holding your shoulders firmly, and shaking as she spoke, or rather, yelled. “I’m not on drugs, don’t be stupid!” You scowled at her, pushing her off of you.

“Then what is it because I’ve been wracking my brain for what could possibly have my child on fucking edge and–”

“I found a journal!” she interrupted, voice loud and exasperated. You whipped around, pinning her down with a stare you’d mastered over the years. She froze on the spot, likely shocked she’d let it slip in the first place.

“You found a– a journal? Where? Who’s?” you asked succinctly, hiding your shaking hands behind your back.

“Uh– it was– Esme, she– it’s her’s, and she wanted me to help her find the name of this guy who’d visited her when she was younger. I reached out and it’s a letter from him, that’s it. I was excited for her,” she explained, but the way her voice wavered made you certain that wasn’t the whole story.

“Then why didn’t you just tell me?” you reasoned, still unbelieving. It was too convenient of an explanation.

“Because she told me not to! You’re– you’re a bit harsh, sometimes, a bit cynical when it comes to love,” she said, hesitantly, mouth twitching with a smile at how you were now the one pouting. “Anyway, you’re always telling me to butt out of people’s business so I thought it’d be best to just keep it to myself.”

The two of you, mother and daughter, stood in silence for many long minutes, bathed in the nauseating yellow glow of the kitchen lights, flickering bulbs casting ugly shadows across your faces. But it was home, the one one you knew, so you never complained, at least not out loud.

Not when Poppy was around to hear you. “Okay, I believe,” you relented, returning to the dishes, though Poppy nudged you out of the way.

“Why don’t you let me do this, huh? Go sit down for a bit, I’ll finish tidying up.”

You opened your mouth to protest but Poppy was quick to give you a look– the look. Same one you’d mastered after many years of dealing with her fits, and evidently, she seemed to have learnt it as well. You acquiesced reluctantly, hands raised for the second time that night, and fell back, fainted more like, onto the sofa.

Poppy stood, hunched over the sink, and you watched her from your position in the living room.

Something– a nagging feeling you couldn’t quite get rid off– poked at you, at your brain in all of its aching, slimy glory– that the story she fed you was just that– a story, fictional. But you trusted her, unlike some other mother’s who’d lecture you over the cabbages in the market about how you were too lenient with Poppy, how she’ll end up just like you.

You griped internally. She’d be lucky if she turned out anything like you. Your gaze returned to her, shoulders moving as she scrubbed at the dirty dishes.

Okay. Maybe not exactly like you.

He arrived on an assuming Tuesday, a single bag strapped to his back, all brown skin and smouldering looks hidden behind decade-old sunglasses. Poppy couldn’t believe it, not one bit, as she greeted the stranger while working at the pier.

He had her curls, unruly and deep brown.

“Can I help you?” she asked politely, lips pulled into a frown to hide the urge of flinging herself at him with no explanation at all.

“Yeah, I’m looking for this address–” he fumbled with a piece of paper, pulling it from his back pocket. It was a letter, her letter, and he jabbed at the address, her address, on the front of the creased envelope. “--or if that’s not familiar, Poppy? She said her name was Poppy. Do you know anyone like that around these parts?”

She snorted. What were the chances?

She’d almost bailed on her shift, persuaded by Ben and his pretty smile to sneak out to the hidden beach on a nearby island. You’d managed to coerce him into going another day, mumbling an excuse or two in between kisses as you rushed down to the dock.

And then there he was, looking a lot like the lost puppy Esme had described to you. He still had the same odd facial hair, though it fit him a little better, having aged well.

“Poppy? Yeah, I know her,” Poppy mused, pulling at her bottom lip in faux-thought, eyes darting between the letter and the confused man holding it.

“Right, well–” he cleared his throat, shifting his weight between his feet. “Can you direct me towards her?”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” you nodded vehemently, hoping he couldn’t see the grin threatening to take over your features.

He sighed defeatedly after waiting for you to continue, and after you failed to expand on the information, he shoved the paper back into his pocket. “Okay, thanks for the help”-- sounding not the least bit thankful.

Better put him out of his misery, she thought eagerly, looping an arm around his shoulder, having to lean up on the tips of her toes to reach. “It’s actually you’re lucky day, Bradley–” you began, that same grin winning its battle.

“How do you know–” he cut you off, then stopped himself, pausing as he turned to face you. “Oh…”

“Oh!” she mirrored, though a lot less like she’d had some sort of epiphany. more mocking and exaggerated.

“So you’re Poppy?” he asked, stupidly, bashfully, shaking his hair out of his eyes. They were slightly longer, the strands, than in the photos, but he had that same boyish charm you’d sensed.

“The one and only,” Poppy enthused..

“So you’re–”

“Her daughter? Yeah, that’d be me,” she finished for him, teetering towards something more serious, more solemn, bracing yourself for the moment of realisation as the both of them walked up to the road, identical gaits and hair and noses, where Poppy’s Jeep (or the one she’d borrowed from you) was parked.

It never came.

“And your Dad?”

You choked on a breath that never made it down the right pipe, halting in your steps. “My Dad?” you asked, bemused.

“Yeah– is he around? Would love to meet him, your Mother as well, of course. I was really surprised by the letter but I think–”

“My Dad isn’t around. Never met him,” she explained slowly, frustrated by how he really wasn’t understanding. Had she not been obvious enough?

Shit. Would she give him a fucking heart attack if she told him now?

She looked him over, deciding he wasn’t so old that an unannounced confession would kill him.

“I’m sorry about that, men can be real dickheads,” he stated, as if knowing from experience, not bothering to censor his language, and she liked him just a bit more for it.

He was perfect for you.

Poppy watched, unspeaking, as he settled into the passenger seat, admiring the interior of the car– probably the one thing you owned that wasn’t ripping at the seams. “So, where are we headed?”

“The hotel Ma’ owns, it’s at the–”

“Centre of the island?” he interrupted, staring distantly out at the unwavering landscape.

Bradley-- Rooster let out a shaky breath, one she tried not to notice, understanding that the two of you, meeting after all these years– it wasn’t going to be easy. Not when there was a significant part of his life he didn’t even know existed, one that came in the form of her.

“You remember,” you pointed out, surprised and sounding more like a statement rather than a question.

“Yeah, I mean– I remember everything. How could I not?” There was something beneath his words, a weight to them that had her shifting uncomfortably in her seat, foot colliding with the accelerator as they hurried home.

“So you’ll be staying here,” she announced, shoving her shoulder against the barn door and coughing at the dust that attacked her senses once she managed it open. Bradley– or Rooster, as he’d told her to call him– followed close behind, cautious with every step as he took in his dilapidated housing.

“Here?” he questioned out loud, pushing at the bunches of hay lining the floor with the toe of his combat boots. He was sweating like it was no one’s business and Poppy giggled to herself, finding amusement in his unspoken disgust.

“Yeah, here. The hotel’s all booked up–” a lie, she just couldn’t have you stumbling upon him before she’d planned how it’ll all go down. “So this was all we had left. I’ll find a spare mattress for you, and the bakery across the road– owned by a sweet, old lady–” another lie, it was Esme and there was nothing sweet about her. “--who can help you with showering, food, all the necessities.”

He stared intensely as she spoke, as if not really listening to a word she was saying.

“What is it?” she asked eventually, breaking free from his gaze as she busied herself, distracted herself, with collecting the boxes into a corner, out of the way to allow him some more room.

Rooster shook his head, convincing himself to look elsewhere, and smoothed his hair back.

“Nothing, sorry. You just– you’re so much like your Mother. It’s crazy, really.” She beamed at him, suddenly sitting on the floor opposite, and he joined her amongst the dust and hay.

“Really? You think so?” He nodded, laughing at her eagerness. “She said once, I don’t think she knew I was awake and I was really young, or younger,” she amended then continued. “She said I reminded her of my Dad, but I couldn’t ever tell you if it’s true or not.”

“Can’t say I knew him either–” Brilliant, it was all just brilliant. “--but you’re as… fiery, I guess would be an appropriate word, as she was.”

“And what was she like?”

He was ready to answer, not needing even a moment to think his response through, but your voice from outside the barn had Poppy’s eyes widening with fear, heart sinking low in your chest.

“Poppy! You in here?” You struggled with the door, pushing all of your weight into the crumbling wood.

“Fuck–” she cursed. “You need to– you need to hide, like– now.” He watched, perplexed, opening his mouth to question the sudden turn in events but she held up a finger, shushing him like he was a child and not her Father-who-didn’t-know-it.

“I’ll explain later just– please,” you begged quietly, urging him deeper in between the organised junk and out of sight.

She inhaled, exhaled, steadying her thrumming heartbeat. “Ma’! Y-yeah, I’m here, one second.”

Poppy pulled on the handle, hauling it open but the circular, metal ring broke-free from the door.

“Another thing to fix, I guess,” you noted, nodding at the rusted metal in her hand. “What’re you doing in here?” you asked, as if only now aware of where the both of you were.

“Here? I’m just– glue gun, yanno. Esme still couldn’t find it so I thought I'd try again.”

“Alright you flaky weirdo. I swear, you wouldn’t even need drugs to act all high and jittery, manage it just fine all by yourself,” you mumbled, dismissively pushing past her and heading straight towards the area Poppy had, moments earlier, shoo-ed Rooster towards.

“You can't go there!” she burst out, holding out a hand in front of you that you glowered at.

“Yeah, and why’s that?” you asked, voice tight and ready to pull the Mother card you never really enjoyed playing. You’d earned it, sure, but it was a little demeaning considering how old your daughter now was.

“Because– Because–”

Shuffling footsteps alerted your attention towards the disarray, squinting between the piles, searching for where the noise originated from. “Is there someone else here?”

“Yes! There is!” Poppy admitted, and your stare returned to her. She could see, right past your head, where Rooster was stepping into the light, assuming she was about to explain his presence, but she shook her head imperceptibly– not yet, go back, go back

You stared expectantly, waiting for a response. “It’s Ben,” she blurted, not sure, even herself, where she was headed. “And he’s– well, you see– he’s naked. Yeah, we were about to have sex and you walked in and he’s all embarassed.”

You sputtered, all but sprinting towards the door and unable to look behind you so you missed how Poppy relaxed minutely. “Oh– wow, okay. Just– that’s not what I was expecting,” you stuttered, palm shielding your eyes. “I mean, firstly– not here, gross, that sounds unbelievably unhygienic. And secondly– use protection.”

You didn’t stay any longer, escaping to the outside, and Rooster appeared beside Poppy almost immediately.

She turned, ready to barrage him with excuses and explanations she hadn’t thought of yet. “I’m so sorry, she’s–!”

“She doesn’t know, does she? That I’m here?” he asked, though he didn’t need you to respond to know the answer.

He groaned into his hands, bending at the hip and breathing raggedly. “Okay, so– I’m gonna go before she does find out. It was nice meeting you Poppy,” he said, all in one go with no room for you to interrupt.

“No you can’t– she’s just–”

“No, I really, really need to leave,” he bit out, not facing her as he strapped his bag to his back.

“If you just give her time–”

“You don’t understand!” he exploded, eyes fluttering shut as he visibly attempted to calm himself. “The last time she saw me– it wasn’t– it wasn’t good. And I left the next day, without a word of apology or justification or–” Rooster sighed as if he’d had this argument with himself countless times before. “--so no, I can’t imagine she’ll ever come around.”

He stopped at the boundary of the door, calling behind him. “I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

Then he left, again.

At least he apologised this time, she thought bitterly.

You were stepping down from the hardware store, or hole in the wall, really, when you saw him.

A flash of saturated colour, mind-numbing prints, and broad shoulders. You gasped, frantically searching around yourself as if questioning if anyone else had seen a ghost from their own past.

No. They seemed to be going about their day as usual– Johnny sweeping at the cobblestone directly in front of his store, Mia laying fresh fish on ice, ready to be sold, her six-year old daughter tugging on the bottom of her dress with tears in her eyes.

No one was phased, except you. You looked back to where you’d seen him, but he wasn’t there anymore, only an empty street corner with nothing particularly out of the ordinary.

What the-- You rushed forward, intent on finding out the truth as your boots slapped loudly against the pavement, dodging busy workers and locals, all, now, staring at your wild movements.

“Child– where are you in such a hurry to?” Esme yelled, head poking through her bakery window with a scowl at the abrasive noise you were making in your pursuit.

“I’ll explain later, May!” you hurtled back, not stopping despite the burning in your legs, your chest.

Still, you carried on, making it all the way to the edge of the city centre, rushing to a stop as you stared across the abandoned gravel road. There was no one there except you, and you panted, exhausted and head-pounding, as you scolded yourself for such a stupid daydream. The heat had never gotten to you like this before.

It felt so real, him.

“Hey,” a voice greeted, cautiously, from behind you. Your eyes closed, hands clenched at your side, before you turned to face the tentative owner.

“Hey yourself,” you answered, surprising yourself at how civilised and steady your voice sounded to your own ears.

Bradley fucking Bradshaw. It was real after all.

“Are you okay?” he asked, hurrying towards you and letting his bag drop to the ground between the two of you, pulling out a water bottle and holding it out in front of you. A peace offering of sorts.

You only stared at it, like it’d bite you if you got any closer. “Take it, sweetheart. It’s fucking miserable out here.”

The endearment had you flashing your eyes at him, fire or rage or something somehow hotter– the sun had nothing on you in that moment, but he stumbled back, remembering himself.

“What are you doing here?” you demanded between gritted teeth, chin turned up at him.

“Sightseeing,” he said simply with that reaching grin that had you melting years earlier.

You scoffed impatiently. Poppy really had gotten her knack for lying, or royally sucking at it, from him.

“That’s bullshit. Why are you really here?”

There must have been an edge to your voice that had him spilling the truth, because you were stunned when he explained.

“Poppy– you met Poppy?” you asked, forcibly nonchalant, arms no longer dangling stupidly at your side but rather picking at the straps of your dungarees, loose threading growing longer as you pulled at them.

“Yeah, she’s a good kid,” he said, nothing giving away– not in his words, his body language, the look on his face– that he knew. Knew she was his.

He sat on the edge of the pavement, right by your feet, and patted the burning space next to him. You blew at a strand of hair tickling your nose, hating how you listened, even then, and sat right next to him, shoulders brushing the slightest bit and you were scampering to put some more distance between the two of you.

He smirked, quiet, leaning his arms on his bent knees, and his head on top, turned towards you as he watched you fight yourself.

“So, how’ve you been?” he asked, waiting, patient, all things you could never be.

“I’m fine,” you grumbled dryly, accidentally meeting his eyes, Rooster’s smirk deepened, before darting away. “You?”

The mid-afternoon heat bared down on the both of you, colouring your shoulders darker and doing nothing to help the heavy thumping against your skull, like a jackhammer or a fucking normal hammer– whatever. It just hurt bad.

Rooster noticed, silently offering his water to you again which you reluctantly snatched from him, gulping almost half of it down before he decided it was safe to speak.

“Still get migraines from the heat?” he asked, though it was more an observation than a question. You nodded, placing the now-empty bottle between your feet.

“I’m fine, as well. After I left–” you visibly winced, glaring against the rays of the sun as you willed yourself to look anywhere but at him, not when the tips of your ears were burning, ringing, making you dizzy and woozy and about ready to throw up all over your worn boots.

“--I went back to training and was then deployed overseas for a long time. Been training new recruits for the past few years now. It’s–” he stopped, glancing at you momentarily, but decided to continue. “--it’s nice. Feels like I’m moulding them to be better versions than me because I sure wasn’t picture perfect by any means.”

“No, you really weren’t–aren’t–” you agreed, voice barely above a whisper.

“I know I never said sorry, and it seems pointless now but–”

“Bradley,” you said his name and his heart stopped. He was dead and even though it was you that had killed him, right there with your voice alone, it was also only you that could bring him back to life. “I really don’t want to hear this,” you begged, and you never begged– never.

What had he done to you?

“Please, sweetheart–” Again with the nickname. You bristled beside him, standing up all of a sudden as if you were about to run in the opposite direction of his familiar ruggedness. “I need you to hear this, just a second–”

“No– you don’t,” you growled out of frustration, tugging your hair free and pressing your fingertips into your skull, anything to soothe the ache growing there. “--you don’t get to need anything, you, you– fucking prick!”

He said nothing, baffled, shocked, certain nothing he said now would make this situation any better. It was downhill from here.

“You said you loved me– promised me the fucking world and a ring and a life together, and the next morning, you left! You fucking– you left!” You were yelling now, unafraid, unabashed, uncaring if anyone could hear. They couldn’t, and if they could, they wouldn’t clue you in that they were.

The people of this town loved to know the darkest, most confidential secrets of its inhabitants, all without ever showing their face. This wasn’t any different.

“I had to!” he insisted aggressively, pushing off the rubble and invading your personal space, leading you back, back, back– until you hit a wall. You held him at arm's length, hand pressed against his hard chest, holding him there.

If he got any closer– well, if the past was anything to go by, you wouldn’t remember to stay mad long.

“I had to!” Rooster repeated, desperately. You said nothing, so he went on. “I got a letter– they needed me back, I can’t– I can’t tell you why–” You sneered, typical. “--but, I was going to come back. I swear it.”

His breathing was loud, dense in your buzzing ears. It’s just words, nothing but words– you repeated to yourself, over and over again. Bradley stepped back, giving you space and himself, as well. But his despairing stare– it pierced something inside you, something you hadn’t thought was still there.

“I wrote letters,” he stated.

“I know, I got them,” you retorted acridly, slumping into the wall for support.

“You never responded.” Again, stating facts.

“I was busy.” Being pregnant.

He nodded, unable or unwilling, you weren’t sure, to argue. An emptiness stretched between you and him, the kind you don’t think any words, half-hearted i’m sorrys, or passionate confessions could ever fill.

He bent to pick up his backpack. “Is there anything, and I mean anything, I could say to make you forgive me,” he asked, voice dejected and the rest of him following suit.

You shook your head, words failing you.

Rooster, Bradley– he turned to leave, accepting defeat, and something roared in your chest, urging, begging, pleading for you to stop him.

You don’t know why you did it, or how you thought it would ever be even a half-decent idea, but it spilled past your lips before you knew what you were saying, confessing, like a foot jamming between a door, forcing it open for someone, anyone.

Bradley.

“Poppy,” you said, loud enough for him to hear. He stopped but didn’t face you. “Poppy. She’s– she’s yours.”

His bag– the poor thing had been rattled all day– fell off his shoulder, and he spun, in slow motion, questions discernible on his face but struggling to make it out of his mouth. “How– We didn’t– I used–”

“What’s that thing they say– ninety-nine percent effective.” You shrugged blandly. “Guess we were the one percent.

It was strange having a man in the house, but there he was– Bradley Bradshaw, or Rooster, sat right at your kitchen table looking a lot like a man you’d once loved but hoped to forget.

There’s this story you loved to tell Poppy when she was young, dealing with the realities of bullies and snarky kids with nothing else to do but poke fun at her absent Father and questionable living circumstances. It was ironic, really, because it wasn’t like they were exactly well off, but kids were mean and you were sick of seeing your daughter upset everyday when there was nothing you could do.

So you told her the story of Pandora’s Box, or Jar, actually, as she corrected you, having read about it in the library but still entirely enchanted by your way of storytelling. It was like letting her in on a secret only grown-ups knew and Poppy was downright bewitched to be a part of the club.

It was never the whole let-out-everything-awful-and-wrong-with-the-world part of the story that was your motivation for telling it, or her love for hearing it, but rather, the ending.

After all the evil, poverty, greed and general nasties had escaped, tainting the world and the humans that inhabited it– out came hope, fluttering on its weak wings but beautiful all the same.

At the time, you’d believed hope to be this beacon of light, something to keep you going when nothing else could, when the bullies had you down bad.

Now, however, you saw hope as a cruel joke.

That after all of this negativity that had made mankind wrought with sin and selfishness, hope lingers about for no reason other than to yank your chain, keep the wheel of capitalism turning, the public nothing but a lot of pigs with hope dangled in front of them like an out-of-reach carrot.

You’d admit it’s a pessimistic take on the story, but it wasn’t long after Poppy was born that you realised hope was a sweet lie fed to the ignorant.

The proof of it sat right in front of you, looking exactly the same except for the way in which his hair tickled the tops of his ears, having grown out from his previous military-ordered buzzcut.

“Can I get you something? Tea? Water?” you asked, words maddeningly courteous as you yanked the fridge door open, searching for something to offer your guest.

He hadn’t said a word since you’d blurted it out an hour ago, instead, guiding him back into town, to your house, Poppy nowhere insight (likely hiding out until she’s certain you’ve cooled down, though unluckily for her, the very sight of her would have you revved up and raging whenever she dared make an appearance).

Rooster stared at a single tile on the opposite end of the kitchen, fixated and motionless like a statue and nothing like the passionate, begging man from earlier.

“Helllooo?” you asked again, waving a hand in front of his face that snapped him from whatever trance he’d been under. He blinked at you, face blank enough to unnerve you. He should’ve said something by now, right?

“Water would be good, thank you,” he answered eventually, hoarse like he hadn’t spoken in years. You nodded, pulling a glass from the cabinet and letting the sink run into it before placing it on the plastic-topped table in front of him.

You sat down on the only other usable chair that happened to be right next to him, the other two with the unstable legs and missing backrests having only been kept to make your kitchen look a little less incomplete.

You both sat in silence, one that seemed just about never ending and had you gnawing on your lips and nails like a mad man. He looked over at you, noting your anxious state, and pulling your hand away from your mouth. It was infuriating, the way he acted like no time had passed.

Well it had if your daughter was any indication. A whole lifetime had come and gone, for you, at least, and he couldn’t ignore it away, not like the rest of his problems or like he’d done with you. You were about to say as much, going off like you’d been itching to since you’d set sights on him, but he beat you to it.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He wasn’t looking at you, but you didn’t need to see him to hear the distress in his voice, and beneath that, a restrained sort of anger.

“I had nothing to tell,” was all you offered him, and his gaze snapped to you in the blink of an eye, his temper apparent on his features as that one vein at the top of his forehead stood proud, face going scarlet as he held himself back.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he spit out, unbelieving. “Nothing to tell?” he repeated. “I have a daughter, for Christ’s sake! One I would’ve loved to know about if you’d done me the courtesy of actually letting me in!”

Your hands clenched into tight fists, fingers twitching. “What? Like you were any better when you up and left?”

He was shaking his head at you, unwilling to hear anything you were saying, and you were no different. “It’s not the same fucking thing, you know that. I had to leave. It’s my job, my duty, to my country and to–”

“Well what about me, huh?” you bellowed, reaching decibels you didn’t think were physically possible. Yet there you were, defying all odds. “What about your duty to me? To us? You promised–”

“I know what I promised you, but how could I give you anything– a life, a home, a family, a future– if I was broke and unemployed. Money doesn’t grow on trees, sweetheart, not here in the real world.”

You couldn’t take it, exploding out of your chair. He didn’t know, couldn’t know, what you’d been through, what you’d fought past. But he followed close behind, grabbed you by your wrist until you had no choice but to face him.

Rooster’s breaths escaped him in hard bursts, and you looked no better with the flush creeping up your neck and the scowl permanently etched to your face.

“That’s pure coming from you, the same man who was throwing away his life to join the army, giving up a paying job, all because his ego wouldn’t let him work for his Dad.”

Bradley recoiled like you’d slapped him.

“You weren’t around to see me working two, sometimes three if I could manage it, jobs– for years, Bradley, years. It was hard, so fucking hard, but I did it because I had someone dependant on me. I wasn’t alone, living like some unattached bachelor. I worked myself to the bone for her– for Poppy.” You were close to sobbing by then, the weight of it all finally registering. “Because if I didn’t, no one would.”

He looked like he wanted to argue more but thought better of it in the end, letting go of his hold on you and moving to lean his forehead against the wall in the living room. You watched, not wanting to move lest he remember you’re still there and end up going for a second round. You couldn’t, yearning for respite of any kind.

And his head turned from where he was, catching the chest of drawers nestled in front of the window with photos of you and Poppy adorning every inch of its surface. He walked over, wordless.

You joined him where he stood, hand brushing against his, by accident, you’d tell yourself later, but when you tried to move away, he slipped his fingers through yours, squeezing hard.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, though there was no one else to hear it, no one but you.

You nodded, accepting his apology, then realising he wasn’t looking at you, you said, “Me too. I’m sorry.”

He reached forward, picking up a photo of Poppy at age two, hair in pigtails, chubby knees covered in sand at the beach. It was the first time she’d gone into the water and you wanted to live in that moment forever, freeze it and hold it close to your chest. It had seemed like the biggest milestone at the time, and you remember wishing he was there to treasure it as well.

“I know why you did it,” he admitted, and you faltered from where you stood. “And I’m not going to stand her and pretend like I would have dropped everything, put everything on pause, for the two of you. I can’t guarantee that, knowing who I was back then.” You inhaled shakily, eyes glassy from barely-held-back tears.

Bradley turned to you abruptly, hand sliding out of yours to hold your face instead, close and intimate. Like nothing had changed.

You didn’t fight it, savouring the feeling of being held, of relinquishing control to someone else, if only for a second. “But that’s not who I am anymore. I don’t care about what happened and what didn’t. I’m here now, and, if you’d let me, I’d like to stay. Learn a little more about you, and about– about Poppy, as well.”

You searched his face for any hint of a lie, that innate urge to protect your child at all cost threatening to label Bradley’s confession as pretence. It’d be easier if it was, you thought, if things weren’t so complicated and you could just say no.

But no matter how hard you looked, how long as well, you found nothing, only love and a sincerity you couldn’t possibly fault, even if you were still broken and bruised from years of delayed burn-out.

So you did the only reasonable thing one could do. You nodded, complimenting it with a watery smile he chuckled lowly at.

“Yeah? Gonna take a chance on me, sweetheart?” he asked, needing confirmation but unable to hide his budding rapture.

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Okay, okay. I think– maybe, we can work something out.”

He grinned and fuck– was he a vision. No matter how you framed the past, it was all going to be both of yours’ fault for what happened, and how it did. His for leaving and yours for keeping the child you shared a secret.

And it wasn’t like the road ahead was going to be at all easy, you’d accepted your fate already. But maybe, and you might have been overstepping or consumed by an unexpected wave of euphoria that impaired your judgement– but maybe a family was worth fighting for.

After all, the best things in life, the things truly worth having and celebrating, were never meant to be easily acquired, otherwise you’d just take them for granted.

You didn’t take this for granted, and you didn’t let the hassle deter you.

For the first time in a long time, you had hope, and there was nothing cruel or funny about it.

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lcahwriter · 2 years

Text

Running (Part 3)

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Fem!Reader (non-descriptive)

Word Count: 6.7k

TW: Swearing, Nightmares (death in nightmare), stalking, mentions of sex but no actual sex

Summary: You ran across the country to the place you knew you’d be the safest- with Maverick on a Navy base somewhere in California. Your plan was to lay low until the coast was clear - but then you met Bradley Bradshaw.

Will you be able to escape the man who was determined to find you? Will you be able to keep Bradley safe? To fall in love again?

READ PART ONE , PART TWO , PART FOUR

Authors Note: Thank you so much to everyone who has read this series. I appreciate all the love! I hope you like Part 3 as much as I do.

**********************************************

“What?”

You croaked. You stumbled back against the bar counter, your chest starting to fill with panic. Mav instantly is next to you, putting a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“It’s going to be okay.” He said firmly. You looked up into his eyes and searched for the comfort you needed. But you didn’t find it – you could tell Maverick was just as fucking scared as you were.

A sob rippled up from your chest, awakening more sadness and panic in you. You leaned forward into Mavericks arms and rested your head on his shoulder.

“It’s going to be okay; I promise.” He repeated, rubbing behind your shoulders softly. You gripped him like your life depended on it.

What were you supposed to do? How could you protect yourself? How could Maverick even begin to help you?

You stayed silent; your brain was too muffled with emotion to speak.

“Let’s go back to the house, and we’ll talk about a plan.” He said softly. You nodded against him and took a small step back. You looked up to see Penny looking between you and Maverick with concerned eyes.

“I have some last-minute things I need to do here. You guys go.” She said, directing her statement to Maverick. Mav nodded and you looked up at him with tear filled eyes.

“Just stay close to me.” You looked down at Maverick’s side to see his hand hovering over a sleek black pistol holstered on his waist. Your eyes widened with surprise.

“Is that—” you started to ask but you already knew the answer.

“Just incase” is all he said before opening the bar door. You shakily nodded in agreement and walked behind him closely.

The parking lot was dark and quiet – the only sound was the distant waves and both your footsteps.

You sat in Maverick’s passenger seat. Jaw clamped together, body rigid and chest tight. The streets were empty, and the inside of the car was dark.

You kept glancing in the back seat because you couldn’t get rid of the paranoia you felt.

Images of Tim popping up behind you to strangle you had your mind teetering over the edge into a pure panic.

You jumped when you felt your phone vibrate in your back pocket. You pulled it out of your jeans and read the message.

Bradley 🐔: You done with work yet?

You clenched your phone, tears welled in your eyes. You flipped it over without responding.

How could you tell Bradley that Tim was in town? Tim was just an imaginary person in Bradley’s head. If he knew that Tim was in this city, looking for you now- you weren’t sure how he would react.

Any sane person would run the other way.

Your mind wandered back to Tim - back to his anger - his violence.

Tim would kill Bradley if he knew you kissed. He would kill him and then kill you- oh god you couldn’t let this happen.

“Please, you have to breathe!” Maverick’s shout broke you from your trance. He was driving, eyes on the road, but glancing to you worriedly. From the looks of it, he’d been trying to get your attention for a while.

You choked out a small sob and nodded your head emphatically.

“I’m sorry.” You said shakily, trying to take in deep breaths even though it caused your chest to burn.

“Do you think Tim knows about Bradley?” You tried to regulate your breathing, but the dread you felt had only been amplified.

“Now is not the time to think about Bradley’s safety.” Maverick glanced at you with serious eyes. “We need to think about yours.”

You shook your head. You knew he was right. Bradley was safe at training; you were the one that was unsafe.

“How could he have found me?”

That was the next logical thing you could think of to ask. Was this really happening?

“I’m not sure.” Maverick said with frustration.

“Maybe I should leave here, go to Canada or something.” You suggested. You were putting everyone around you in danger just by being with them. Maverick- the closest thing you had to a father was now in danger too.

“No, leaving is not an option. You’re going to stay on base with me until we find him.” Maverick’s jaw was set, and you could tell he was not changing his mind.

“He may be in California, but he is not allowed on this damn base.”

**********************************************************

You laid in your bed, surrounded by darkness and quiet. You had a cold layer of sweat all over your body, despite the air conditioner blasting over you.

How were you supposed to sleep? Knowing that Tim was out there – looking for you. Possibly plotting to kill you? Sleep was an impossible feat. And the worst part was the complete helplessness you felt.

The room lit up with a text from your phone. It’s buzzing made you jump.

Bradley : Did you make it home? Call me before you go to bed.

You stared at his message. He made you smile; he was a breath of fresh fucking air. You were suffocating without him. But how could you tell him something that would worry him? Or even worse- scare him away?

Before you could turn off your phone to ignore his text, which you had fully planned to do- his name popped up on your screen again.

He was calling you.

And how could you ignore him? You were so alone, so scared. And his voice was like a fucking drug. You swiped to answer it before you could stop yourself.

“Hey.” You said softly.

“Well hello there beautiful. How are you doing tonight?” His voice was so happy, so carefree. And the way he called you beautiful so effortlessly- like he fucking meant it. How could you feel so warm inside but so scared? You moved the speaker from your face to take a deep breath.

You pictured him out in the middle of the ocean with his chestnut hair blowing in the breeze. You tried to pretend you were with him, holding his hand.

“I’m great. You?” You lied through your teeth. Your voice wavered on that one making you wince.

“Good now that I’m finally getting to talk to my favorite girl.”

You smiled sadly, even with your chest being torn apart. You needed to say something - anything to him to be normal but you couldn’t fake it. It was all too much.

“Are you okay?” He asked through the phone - his voice was hesitant.

“Um” is all you could get out before you sucked in a harsh breath and a sniffle. It was so fucking obvious you were holding in tears. You were fucked.

“What’s wrong?” Bradley’s voice was more concerned now- which made you want to cry harder. Ignoring this conversation was not going to work. You sat up in your bed, trying to collect your emotions – trying your very fucking best not to sob.

“I don’t want to distract you from training.” you squeezed out. You moved the phone from your mouth again so you could let out a shaky breath.

“Don’t worry about me.” You could hear Bradley’s footsteps in the background. “What’s bothering you?” You heard a door shut in the background. It was quieter than before on his end, and you assumed he was completely alone now.

You knew he wasn’t going to give up asking why you were upset. You had to to lie to him or tell him the horror filled truth. You bit your lip so hard you tasted blood in your mouth. Your head hurt from holding in your sobs.

“It’s Tim. He’s in California.” Your voice was raw when you spoke. Just saying the reality of the situation made you close to vomitting. There was silence for so long you almost wondered if Bradley had hung up.

“Where are you right now?” Bradley’s tone had completely changed from concerned to- well something you never heard from him before. He was commanding- domineering even.

“I’m at Mavs.” You took in a jittery breath and covered your mouth trying to mask your sobs. But you couldn’t physically take it anymore. Cries ripped through you throat and you knew you sounded fucking pitiful.

“Does Tim know where you are?” He asked in the same serious tone. It made shivers ripple up your spine.

“I don’t know.” You choked out.

“Fuck.” Bradley hissed so softly you wondered if he meant to say it out loud.

“I’m so scared Bradley.” You whispered between your fingers and into the phone. You breathed in harshly, whimpers coming out between each breath.

“It’s going to be okay.” His voice was firm. You wanted to believe him, but there were so many reasons he could be wrong. It felt like no one could help you- you were completely hopeless.

But his voice was so god damn convincing.

“I need to get back to you.” This time his voice sounded more strained, more raw. You shook your head.

“You need to focus on what you’re doing there.” You said, even though you literally wanted nothing more than him to be with you. But that was so very selfish of you.

“You’re all I’ve been thinking about.” He said softly. “Now I’ve just shifted to worrying about you.”

You cracked a small laugh, one that caused you to hiccup with tears streaming down your face.

“He can’t get to me here. Not on the base.”

You were partly reassuring yourself, and partly trying to convince Bradley of the same.

“I can convince my command to let me fly home tomorrow. I’ll take one of the jets back.”

You shook your head and looked up at the ceiling, letting tears roll freely down your face.

“Bradley if you come near me- and he finds me- he will hurt you.” Your jaw was clenched so tight to hold back sobs that your head was starting to throb from the pressure. “Please, just stay away from me until they find him.”

“Nice try sweetheart. Not gonna happen.” Bradley said back, his voice a little more teasing than serious this time. “I’m not worried about him hurting me, I’m worried about him hurting you.”

Before you could argue back with him, he took a deep breath, loud enough for you to follow suit.

“But he’s not going to get to you. Or me.” You sniffled; tears still fresh down your face- but you couldn’t deny the relief you felt just by talking to him.

“It’s almost 2am, why don’t you get some sleep?” He asked. You slouched back down in bed and used your free hand to wipe away tears. There was no fucking way you were going to be able to sleep tonight.

“I’m too anxious to sleep.” You laughed sadly while pulling the covers over your shoulders.

“How about I stay on the phone with you until you fall asleep then?” His voice was so god damned soft. It was addicting, every time he spoke your need for him to speak again grew.

“I can’t ask you to do that. You need sleep for work tomorrow- and you know it.” You pictured him falling asleep while flying and his plane going up in flames. You shook your head at the intrusive thought.

God damn anxiety.

“Who said anything about me not sleeping?” He questioned. You heard him walking now, his footsteps clicking against a hard floor on a boat somewhere in the middle of the ocean. “We’ll both sleep- but I’ll keep the call going. That way it’s like I’m there.”

You knew it wasn’t love- but something warm and really fucking similar to it was filling your chest. You were being chased by a crazed ex- boyfriend, crying like a dog on the phone with him and yet he still wanted you? He still wanted to make sure you slept? He was unreal.

“Close your eyes baby- I’m crawling in bed now.”

The way he said baby made your toes curl. His voice was sounding so tired – and you were afraid if you didn’t agree to stay on the line, he would stay up even longer trying to convince you to.

“Okay. I’m already under the covers.” You snuggled into them and set the phone down next to you. You turned on your side and pressed the speaker button.

“That’s good baby, now close your eyes.” You heard Bradley pull covers over himself. You wondered if he was sleeping naked- or at least shirtless. You were kind of regretting not switching to facetime.

You blushed and slapped a hand over your face to rub your eyes. Not what you should be focusing on at the moment.

You tried to be silent but your breath was just too ragged from the anxiety and sob fest you had. You took in a deep breath and exhaled- just like your therapist had taught you. It burned your chest to breathe in so deeply – but you felt a tiny bit more relaxed.

“Think of Montana.” He said sleepily. “The mountains are beautiful there. Like out of a movie.” You sniffled and snuggled into the covers surrounding you.

“I’ve heard there’s Moose there.” Your eyes were suddenly growing heavy. “I’ve always wanted to see one.” Bradley laughed softly.

“Then we’ll find you one.”

Your heart warmed at the thought. You pictured following Bradley through the woods in Montana. The mountains, lakes and rivers were all so beautiful. You swore Bradley was saying something on the other line, but you had already fallen into a deep sleep.

*********************************************************

A knock on the door sprung you out of the dreamless sleep you were in. The light from the windows in your room was blinding, and you really wondered how you managed to sleep through it. You checked your phone- it was 11:00am. Damn.

Your mind flashed back to your phone call with Bradley. How he had literally soothed you to sleep embarrassingly well. Then you remembered your reality.

Tim’s in town.

A shudder settled over you. But your attention was brought back to the knocking at the door.

You froze under the covers.

You heard Mavericks hesitant footsteps, then the opening of a door. Maverick’s voice sounded friendly, which calmed your heart beat.

Then you heard it– a voice as sweet as honey.

Bradley Bradshaw.

You jumped out of bed and slipped your sleep shorts on under your oversized college t-shirt you’d slept in all night. You didn’t even bother fixing your hair before heading down the stairs.

How did he get here so fast? Was he serious about flying here on a fucking jet?

You knew your eyes were probably blood shot and puffy. And you knew for a fact that your hair was tangled in a nest from the long night of sleep. But Bradley’s voice was a light house, and you were a ship drawn straight to it.

You got to the end of the steps and stopped to see Bradley and Maverick talking quietly. Bradley looked up to meet your eyes.

He was wearing his pilot uniform and a small black duffle bag was held at his side.

“Bradley.” You said softly, stepping down from the last stair and walking straight to him. You hesitated before wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling yourself into his chest.

A shudder went down your spine, almost from a sense of relief rather than nervousness. Bradley’s strong arms wrapped behind your back and held you close to his chest.

His head fell into the crook of your neck, and he took a deep breath.

“I came as fast as I could.” His breath was warm as he spoke against your neck.

“You didn’t have to.” You murmured, grasping your hands around him tighter. “But thank you.”

Maverick cleared his throat and you flushed. You stepped away from Bradley, but you made sure that you were still close enough for your shoulders to touch.

You missed him, oh god you missed him more than you’d like to admit. You had missed his smile, his voice, his scent his body.

“Let’s talk in the kitchen.”

All three of you sat at the wood table in the small kitchen that was filled with tension. You offered to cook breakfast but both men refused it. You made coffee for all of you instead- setting three mugs down on the table.

“I can’t believe the admiral let you take the jet.” Maverick said his eyebrows raised. Bradley took a sip of his coffee and stretched his arms behind his head.

“Better to ask for forgiveness than permission?” Bradley gave Maverick a wide smile. “Someone really wise told me that once.”

Maverick rolled his eyes and tried hide the smile on his face by looking down at the table.

“I guess I can’t be mad at you then.”

You grinned at the conversation between them. You knew their history, and how hard they both worked to get to this point. The fondness in Maverick’s eyes matched the same kind of love he had for you.

Maverick looked between the two of you and sighed.

“I don’t like the idea of leaving you guys here alone.”

You shot him a confused look.

“What do you mean alone?” You asked, watching Maverick intently. You realized that he was in uniform, not in his usual t-shirt and gym shorts.

“I got called out to Nevada to investigate a jet that crashed.” Mav slid his arm over the table and grabbed your shoulder. “I’ll be back by tomorrow. But I trust Bradley to keep you safe while I’m gone.”

You glanced up at Bradley who was watching you with those sweet warm eyes. He was watching your every move, like his life depended on it.

“You’ll be off base Mav- you’re less safe that way.” You countered; anxiety found you again.

“It’s not me he’s after.” Maverick said, removing his hand from your shoulder.

You knew he was right.

Bradley’s grip on his coffee cup was tighter than before, judging by his tight white knuckles. He was looking down now, jaw set and his shoulders tensed. You tore your eyes from him to look back at Maverick.

“Any update from John?”

Mav shook his head.

“He still doesn’t have eyes on him. All he knows is that his plane landed at the airport last night.”

The fact that Tim was this close to you again terrified you. It didn’t feel real.

“How does he know she’s here?” Bradley’s voice was dark, just like it had been on the phone last night.

“He must have known she would hide with me. It probably took him a while to find out where I was stationed.” Maverick was frustrated, and you shook your head. You refused to let him blame himself for this.

“Has John been able to uncover files?” You were growing extremely frustrated.

Frustrated at the situation, frustrated the cops that didn’t believe you and most of all frustrated that the man you ran all the way across the country from had found you.

Maverick shook his head and disappointment.

“Maybe I should let him find me. Use myself as bait to at least get him arrested for stalking.” Your body rejected the idea by a swift wave of nausea.

“No!” Both Maverick and Bradley said at the same time.

“What else am I supposed to do?” You said your voice cracking. Tears started to well in your eyes, and you cursed your ability to cry at any moment.

“He won’t stop until he finds me. You know that Mav.” You wiped away your tears before they could roll down your cheeks. You avoided looking at Bradley.

“We just have to wait for him to slip up, or for John to recover your files.”

Bradley sat up straighter causing you to look at him. His brown eyes were fiery with disbelief.

“We can’t just wait for him to hurt her!” Bradley’s nostrils were flaring and his grip on his coffee cup made you wonder if it would crush in his hands.

You sucked in a breath anxiously. He had a point. But there was just no other way.

“Bradley calm down.” Maverick said in a warning tone. “It’s the only way we can do this, if we arrest him now then he will be released in 48 hours. There’s nothing they can actually charge him for.”

You looked over at Bradley who was shaking his head, his jaw was still clenched but his expression was now more sad than angry.

“I hate this.” He murmured, leaning back in his chair. You twisted your lips and grabbed his hand.

Bradley wrapped his hand around yours as soon as you reached for him. You swore you could see his stress melt away in that moment.

Even though you were the one who needed the comfort, all you wanted was to make Bradley not whatever he was right now.

The Bradley you wanted, needed, was a one with bright eyes and a smile that could bring you to your knees. Right now, he was the furthest thing from it. You gave his hand a squeeze and let go.

“You should go Mav. I know you’re probably already running late.” You gave him a small smile and stood up, collecting both men’s coffee cups. You knew you were glossing over what needed to be talked about. But what more was there to say?

The reality was that Tim was after you and there was pretty much nothing you could do about it.

“I can make some breakfast for us Bradley.” You said, not even bothering to look back at him. You started pulling ingredients from the fridge.

“You don’t have to.” Bradley said tentatively. You scoffed at him.

“I know you’re hungry Mr. I woke-up early enough to steal a jet and fly here by 11am.”

Bradley laughed at that, making your heart skip a beat. His laugh was like medicine.

“I’ll see both of you tomorrow.” Mav pointed between the two of you. “Call me if anything comes up.”

He grabbed his duffle bag that was sitting by the door. You didn’t want him to go, but you had no control over that.

“Bye Mav!” You and Bradley said at the same time. Mav rolled his eyes and waved goodbye before hurrying out the door. You were right, he was late.

The house felt quieter, and much, much smaller now that Maverick was gone.

You continued making breakfast while sneaking glances at Bradley. He looked so … so himself in his pilot’s uniform. Like he was made to wear it.

His tall frame looked silly sitting in the dinky wooden chair, and the coffee cup he held looked like a child’s cup in his hands. You caught a glance of his soft lips that were so damn kissable.

“What do you want to do after breakfast?” He asked, breaking you from your trance. You blushed and flipped the egg on the skillet.

“Netflix?”

*************************************************

You laid on a white sand beach, looking out at the crystal-clear ocean. The sound of the curling waves radiated in your ears. The sunshine warmed your skin, making you feel completely at ease.

You watched as Bradley waded in the ocean. His bare back was tanned and strong. You wanted to join him, but you felt so light where you were. You took a deep breath, and let a smile crawl to your face.

Bradley’s laugh filled your ears. He was dancing in the water now, looking as beautiful as ever.

Perfect. This was perfect.

The sound of footsteps startled you. You looked to your right to see a tall figure dressed in all black walking towards the shore. Walking towards Bradley.

You tried to move, but you couldn’t. Your feet were stuck in the sand holding you down. Panic washed over you.

“BRADLEY!” You screamed. He couldn’t hear you. He was still laughing and running in the waves.

You looked in horror as the man turned around to face you. It was Tim. His ice blue eyes were emotionless. You screamed and tried to move again, but your body refused.

“BRADLEY! BRADLEY PLEASE!” You cried again, this time screaming so loud your chest was aching.

It didn’t matter how much you screamed; he couldn’t hear you.

Tim turned and walked into the ocean, just steps away from Bradley now.

“Bradley turn around!” You sobbed, still thrashing in place trying to get to him.

You watched in horror as Tim wrapped his hands around Bradley’s neck and slammed him into the water. Both men disappeared under the waves.

You screamed. You couldn’t get to him, no matter what you did- you couldn’t fucking get to him.

The water was still. You were waiting for Bradley to resurface. It had been too fucking long.

You had sweat dripping down your face, your heart felt like it was going to pop out of your chest.

The water started to bubble with movement.

“NO!” You sobbed, falling to your knees.

Tim, was walking out of the water, dragging Bradley’s lifeless body behind him. You screamed and a pain stronger than anything you felt before ripped through you.

He let go of Bradley’s body at the shore like he was nothing and started walking towards you. You had nowhere to run.

“No please, please please please!” Your chest was burning, you screamed again, praying someone would hear you.

“No please!” Tim reached out his hand-

But then he was gone.

Suddenly you were staring at familiar pair of brown eyes.

Bradley.

You weren’t on the beach anymore. You recognized your room, the bed you were laying on – the smell of home. Bradley was leaning over the bed looking at you with panicked eyes.

“You’re okay- you’re safe” He said,softly.

You blinked a few times, trying desperately to focus on him. Trying to forget what you’d seen. It had felt so real.

You tried to speak but you were breathing too hard. Your eyes felt like they were going to pop from your skull. Your hands were rolled in fists, tucked into your chest. You could feel the cold sweat sticking to your T-shirt. Your throat was burning just as it had in your dream, and that tears were covering your face like you’d been crying for hours.

“It was just a dream.” Bradley’s voice cracked. He had woken you up by shaking you- you’d felt it. But now he wasn’t touching you at all- it was like he was scared to hurt you.

“Oh.” Was all you could think it say. You were afraid if you looked away from him, he would disappear. You let tears fall from your eyes, though you stayed silent. Your chest was painfully raw.

You gasped when the image of Bradley’s lifeless body flashed into your mind.

You reached towards Bradley, just needing him close to you. He seemed to understand, and immediately moved to crawl under the covers with you.

As soon as the bed dipped with his weight you were against him. Your face was pressed against his chest, and his arms slowly wrapped around your body.

It was the first time you’d been like this, but it was so God damn natural to be this close.

You could feel his steady heartbeat. Alive. He was alive.

A flash of Tim��s icy blue eyes popped in your head.

You jerked in Bradley’s arms and he squeezed you closer. Your heart was beating so hard but your cries were soft, and tired.

“You’re okay.” He whispered. You cried even more at his voice, grasping onto him.

“I couldn’t save you.” You whispered, while gripping onto his t-shirt that was now soaked with your tears. “He killed you.” You whimpered at the memory.

“I’m right here.” Bradley rubbed circles on the small of your back. “No one’s going to hurt me.”

Your legs were tucked under his and your hand was wrapped behind his neck. Your stomach was pressed against his. All you could feel was your heart beating against his.

You were still in his arms trembling when he spoke.

“You’ve got to take some deep breaths sweetheart.”

You let out a small laugh and hiccupped.

“Easier said than done.” You retorted. You tried though, because it had been at least 10 minutes since the dream plagued you. Your heart was beating just as fast as it was then.

“Think about Montana.” He suggested. You smiled lightly at that.

“I wish we could go there now.” You whispered. You pictured the same big mountains you always did when he mentioned Montana. Images of blue lakes and rivers flooded your mind. You tried to imagine that you were there, with Bradley without a care in the world.

“We’ll go soon.” He said, his chest rumbling your whole body. You nodded and finally felt your body relax in his arms. The worst part of waking up from the nightmare was over.

You paused to take in your surroundings. Bradley was holding you like he would die if he let go. He was practically covering you, sheltering you like gun fire would hit you both at any minute. You were so warm in his arms, so fucking safe. It was heaven even on the worst days.

Memories of the night before flooded your brain.

You both watched Netlfix on the couch all night – you hadn’t even bothered to cook and ordered pizza instead. It was bliss. Neither of you talked about Tim, or the impending doom surrounding you. You’d just pretended it was only you and Bradley that mattered.

You had fallen asleep on the couch when Bradley woke you up. He gave you a piggyback to your bed and tucked you in like a little “caterpillar.” His words, not yours.

You insisted he sleep in your bed with you, but he wanted to be next to the front door- just in case. You were too tired to argue with him. The last thing you remembered before the dream was him giving you a soft kiss goodnight.

“You get dreams like that often?” Bradley interrupted your thoughts.

“Sometimes.”

You were lying, you had nightmares periodically since you escaped from Tim. But they were never this bad – and they had never included someone else getting killed in the dream. It had always been just you.

You pulled your head away from his chest. Your hair was sticking to your face from all the tears you’d cried.

“I’m so sorry Bradley. I know this isn’t something you signed up for.”

A wave of shame washed over you. Maybe this was too much for him. The rawness of trauma – of fear.

You tried to move away but he held you steady against him.

“Please don’t apologize.” He shook his head at you and met your eyes. “And I did sign up for this. I signed up for you the first time I spoke to you in that bar 5 months ago.”

Your eyes widened.

“I don’t want to scare you- because I swear I’m not trying to rush this.” He said quickly. “I just know I don’t want to be without you.”

You bit your lip and searched his eyes. They were honest, pure and so kind.

“I don’t want to be without you either.” You said, reaching to touch his cheek. His skin was tanned and his stubble tickled your fingers.

“I’m home!”

You and Bradley both froze and looked at each other with wide eyes.

“Get up!” You said, shoving him off the bed. Bradley stumbled off the bed and you covered your mouth to cover your laughter. He looked back at you with a glare.

But you both knew you had to get it together quick. You knew Maverick suspected you and Bradley would be sleeping in the same room. But you didn’t want him to see that – even if nothing…sexual happened.

“I’ll come down in a few.” You whispered. Bradley straightened his shirt and hair.

“Sounds good sweet cheeks.” He winked and was out the door before you could tell him never to call you sweet cheeks again.

You rolled onto your back and stared at the all too familiar ceiling. How was it you could feel so raw and terrified, but so fucking happy at the same time?

*********************************************************

(Bradley’s POV)

Bradley walked down the stairs, still adjusting his t-shirt and hair as he moved.

“Is she still sleeping?”

Maverick’s voice caused his head to perk up. Mav was standing at the front door, still in uniform. Bradley reached the end of the staircase and let out a big sigh.

“She had a nightmare.” An ache that he hadn’t been able to shake since he heard you screaming his name in terror panged in his chest.

He thought that Tim had found you.

That is until he ran up the stairs into the bedroom to see you. The image of you thrashing in the sheets sobbing was something he wished he could forget.

“I hate that son of a bitch.” Bradley said, his jaw clicking. He felt hot anger was over him. He hated the fear that Tim was causing you.

He tried not to think about what kind of sick things he did to you before you were able to escape. Every time he did it sent him in a fucking tailspin.

“John still doesn’t have tabs on him.” Maverick said lowly. Bradley guessed he was trying to speak softly so you wouldn’t hear. Maverick walked towards the kitchen, with Bradley following closely behind him.

“Do you think he has the balls to come on base?” Bradley asked. He subconsciously balled his fists together. He felt an unatural instinct to protect you- and the thought of this disgusting man getting anywhere near you made him sick.

“I don’t know.” Mav’s voice was tense. Bradley shook his head and started pacing back and forth.

He loved Maverick- but he couldn’t help but feel like the older man wasn’t doing enough.

He was fucking terrified for you. And even though he would do anything to keep you safe – he wasn’t sure he could.

“I’m going to the police station.” Bradley said, walking towards the table with his keys on it. He could feel Maverick’s eyes on him.

“Bradley, I’ve already tried that. There’s nothing they can do.”

Bradley shook his head in frustration.

“Then we try again!” He said harshly with his chest puffed out in anger. Maverick’s eyes were disapproving as Bradley walked towards the door.

“Tell her I’ll be back soon.” He gestured towards your bedroom.

“Bradley—”

He heard Maverick calling him, but he didn’t care to listen. It took all the self-control in the world to not slam the door.

He trudged to his car and started the engine.

He was going to make them listen to them, whether they liked it or not.

*********************************************************

Bradley walked into the crowded police station.

The front desk was full of people, and the waiting room surrounding it was even fuller. Officers were mingling around their desks and talking with each other.

He waited with his hands in his pockets, trying not to fucking explode with impatience. Ten minutes passed before his thoughts were interrupted.

“Sir, can I help you?” A gruff voice yelled, catching Bradley’s attention. It was an officer behind the desk, gesturing towards him.

Bradley strutted towards the desk, trying his best not to lose his cool. As soon as he got to the counter he spoke. He did'nt have a fucking second to waste.

“My girlfriend, she’s being stalked.” Bradley took a deep breath in order to manage his stress. “He’s threatening to kill her.” Bradley swallowed, his eyes glowering into the officers.

The officer had no reaction, just looked down at his notepad to write. Bradley licked his lips and bit the inside of his cheek- trying to remain calm once again.

“Hello?” Bradley said, fucking annoyed that the officer was acting like he hadn’t heard say someone was threatening to murder his girlfriend.

“Sir, I’ll call you when we’re ready to take a full report. You can sit in the waiting room until then.” He still didn’t look up from his god damned notepad. Bradley wanted to rip it out of his hands.

“Did you not hear what I just said?” He seethed, his fists balling at his sides. “Someone is trying to murder my girlfriend!” Bradley’s voice was growing to a shout- and other officers were taking notice.

“Sir – I understand that. But unless there is an emergency, we can’t do anything but take a report.” The man finally looked up at Bradley.

His inconvenienced stare sent Bradley over the edge. He thought about your screams or terror this morning. Or all of the tears he'd seen you shed in just the last two weeks. He couldn't allow you to live in so much pain.

“That’s not good enough!” Bradley’s fist slammed on the counter, causing everyone to jerk at the noise.

“Sir- you need to calm down.” He said, his eyes narrowing.

Bradley noticed officers moving closer to where he was standing, hands hovering over their holstered guns. Bradley scoffed at their reaction.

“How am I supposed to calm down when you're all in here chatting like it’s fucking Easter Sunday and my girlfriend is running for her god damn life!” Bradley’s chest was heaving up and down.

He knew he had crossed the line yelling at the police, but he was so fucking desperate. He had to make them listen – he had to. For you.

He felt a hand touch his left shoulder. Bradley whipped around, ready to shove someone when he realized it was Maverick.

“Bradley, you need to stand down.” His voice was calm. The shorter man was still squeezing his shoulder. Bradley shook his head in disbelief.

“You’re just going to let them do nothing?” Bradley seethed and pointed at the officers in the building. He was making a damn scene, but he didn’t care.

“No, I’m going to take care of this.” Maverick raised his eyebrows at him. “And you’re going to go take a walk.”

Bradley felt angry all over again.

“I’m not going to take a damn walk Maverick. Not when he’s still out there looking for her!” Bradley shook his head, his fear now mixed with anger. Maverick stepped Infront of him, looking him straight in the eyes.

“Do you think you’ll be better off sitting in a jail cell for assaulting an officer?” He whispered at Bradley harshly.

He knew Maverick was right, but he was still pissed off.

“If you do nothing and she gets hurt – her blood is on your hands.”

He directed his comment to all of the police officers who were staring at him with wide eyes.

His veins were hot as he stormed out of the police station. He cursed under his breath, pacing Infront of his car.

That did not go as planned.

He weighed his options on what he would do next. Should he go out on a wild goose chase and find Tim on his own? Should he go back to you and provide comfort? Had Maverick left you alone?

He groaned and put his hands above his head to calm himself down. He sat on the bench Infront of the police station to cool down before driving.

“Not your smartest moment kid.”

Bradley looked up to see Maverick making his way towards him. Bradley rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest.

“You got a better idea?” He questioned Mav through narrowed eyes. Maverick sat down next to him shaking his head.

“They are going to patrol and check local motels for him. That’s all I could get them to agree to do for us right now.”

Bradley slouched at that. Well, that was a a better plan than the murder mission he had in mind.

“Did you leave her alone at the house?” He pictured you alone, scared. Venerable.

“No of course not. John is there.”

Bradley shook his head.

“I’m sorry Mav.” Bradley licked his lips and rubbed his hands over his eyes. “I just lose it when it comes to her.”

“It’s alright. I understand.” Maverick leaned his elbows against his knees. “Your dad would have done the same.” A fond smile flashed on Maverick’s face.

Bradley smiled back at him. They sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the clouds float through the sky.

Bradley tapped his fingers against his thigh. He licked his lips and took a deep breath.

If the police didn't find Tim by tomorrow - he would go out and find the bastard himself.

*******************************************************

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bradshawswife · 2 years

Text

Teasin’ Pictures. NSFW

a/n: AHHHH FIRST ONE SHOT, HOPE YOU LOVE IT (i’m so nervous besties seriously i hate my writing)

prompt: “YOU SENT ME PICTURES OF YOU NAKED WHILE I WAS IN A WORK MEETING!”

description: One morning while Bradley was working, you decided to be the absolute brat you are.

warnings: smut, obviously. filth, absolute filth. minors dni, please. rooster being hot as usual, reader being a brat. edging. oral sex (f! receiving), penetration (fingers and PIV).

check out my masterlist for more!

──────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─────────

It all started in the morning before he went to work. You were making pancakes and you were wearing his academy t shirt with nothing else on, instantly turning him on before work. He walks in to see this masterpiece of a lady wearing his favourite shirt.

“Jesus christ darlin’, are you trying to make me late?” he jokes, making you smirk in a way that makes his eyes widen. He proceeds to lean against the doorway and continue staring at you, in awe.

“No, i would never want you to be late, lieutenant” you mutter in a flirty way as you walk closer to him and wrap your arms around his neck

“Woman, you are trying to kill me.” He states as he begins making out with you, he wraps his arms around your hips and lifts you onto the counter. You’re rudely taken out of this daydream like make-out session when you smell the pancakes burning.

“Oh fucking shit” you scream as you turn off the stove. “Bradley Bradshaw you’re gonna make me burn this house down someday i swear” you whined, thinking back to the numerous times this has happened. “Sorry darlin’” he smirks, placing a sloppy kiss on your neck.

“You’re gonna be late for work, i’ll bring you lunch since you distracted me before i could make it” you whisper, in between kisses.

“Ok sweetheart, be on your best behaviour today, or else you’re going to be in for one hell of a night” he demands, smirking and grabbing your ass.

“Of course, baby” you assured, grinning ear to ear.

2 hours later.

While in class, Maverick was discussing why each of his flight-mates died during the training session they had. All of a sudden, Bradley heard a *ding* come from his phone. He quietly pulls his phone out and opens a text message from you, his eyes widening and quickly puts it away. “Holy shit” he mumbles. “She really just sent me pictures of herself, naked, in the mirror” he thought to himself.

Once class was over, he quickly rushed to the bathroom to stare at the pictures once again. You put your arm over your boobs and squeezed your leg shut in the one photo. And in the second, you were sort of bent over, with your tongue out. Stunned, Bradley quickly clicks your name and calls you. You were naturally having your afternoon nap, totally unfazed by the constant ringing.

“Fuck” he grunts, quickly hurrying out of the bathroom. He gets to his car when he heard another *ding*. He pulled his phone out to another picture of you, halfway under the covers with your breasts out. “Sweet Jesus”, he yelled, stuffing his phone back into his pocket and quickly (but safely!!!) drove home, barely putting his truck in park before he was rushing inside.

Once he got in, he quickly kicked his shoes off and ran upstairs to see you still under the covers, you looked so peaceful sleeping again. He debated what he was going to do next, not wanting to disturb you from your sleep, but he thought, “she’s been tormenting me all day, her turn”.

He speedily pulled the covers away from you, resulting in you gasping. “Good afternoon, brat.” he says, smirking. You could see his tent in his uniform knowing your pictures did the trick (as they always do). “Well hello baby, how was class” you laughed, with an added wink, driving him crazy.

“Oh sweetheart, it was great. I even enjoyed the mid class semi hard on you gave me, despite me telling you to be on your best behaviour..” he stated in a deeper voice.

“Oops” you say, smirking. He looks at you like you’re a 5 course meal (of course, you are). In an instant he’s undressing and goes to jump on you, making out with you vigorously. Grabbing you all over with his hands, which he knows drives you mad. His love language is physical touch, so he always has to have his hands on you, especially during sex.

“You are way too clothed lieutenant”, you confessed in between your breaths of air. “can I help you with that?”

“God yes baby” he mumbles, panting as he gets up from the bed to stand on the edge while you undress him. He loves when you do this, even when you’re being a brat.

“You’re in for one hell of a night, darlin’” he states, grinning as you give pouty eyes. “Don’t you look at me like that sweetheart, you started this”. Once he’s fully undressed, he sits back against headboard as he moves you onto his lap, straddling him.

You can feel his bulge as you’re grinding against him, trying to get some fiction to get yourself off, when he pushes you off and gets on top, “baby, you’re not allowed to finish until I say so.”

He sticks his two fingers in, and you spill out those pretty little sounds he loves, and he almost forgets you’ve been such a brat today. Just as he feels you getting close, he pulls his fingers out as you let out a soft moan, in a sad way. “Sorry baby, you’ve been really bad today.” He then proceeds to spread your legs open with his arms, and goes ever so close to your soaked area. He starts licking you, then when he comes up for air he knocks his nose against your clit, expelling one of the best sounds he’s ever heard.

He can feel you tensing up a second time, and despite eating you out being his favourite activity, he doesn’t let you finish just yet. Once he pulls away from you again, he licks his lips, you see a bit of your juices on his mustache, glistening in the light. As if he’s just eaten the best pie of his life. He stares at your sad little face, wondering if maybe this is just a bit too much. He proceeds to get you bend over the bed, as you’re hoping maybe you’ll finally get railed and you’ll be able to finish, but just as he bends you over, he slaps your ass really hard, leaving a big red mark.

“Thats one baby, now how many pictures did you send me?” he grins. “I think 2 baby” you whined, wincing in pain from another hard slap. “Nope, wrong”. He corrects, “You sent 3 baby, the one in bed counts…”

“Oh” you say. Smirking even though he can’t see you. He tugs your hair so he can get a better look at your face, and sure as hell you’re smirking. “You naughty little girl” He slaps you a few more times, making you count out loud each time.

After about 6 hits, he lines himself up with your entrance, and rams into you. You scream out in pleasure, hoping this is finally your chance. “Fuck sake darlin’, you’re taking me so well” he groans out, in a deeper voice. “Have you learned.. shit baby fuck… your lesson today, baby?” he grunts, tugging your hair back so he can see your true reaction.

“Yes baby… fuck… bradley, yes i have learned my lesson and i’m sorry for distracting you during class” you spill out, barely breathing from how hard he’s ramming into you.

“Ok, you have permission to finish, darlin’” he groans, causing you to squeal out in excitement because this orgasm has been building inside for at least 15 minutes, and you weren’t sure how long you could hold out.

Finally, you get that feeling in your stomach and you finally finish, clenching your walls around his dick, causing him to reach his climax just a few seconds after you.

You both collapse in bed, controlling your breathing after that. “Sweetheart, I loved those pictures” Bradley exclaims, placing a kiss to your temple, “But not in class, please. My face went all red and I swore Phoenix was about to call me out”

“Fine honey, I won’t” you laugh, winking, knowing damn well you’ll pull another stunt to get him flustered. “You are going to be the death of me.” he says, as you fall asleep in eachothers arms.

#bradley bradshaw #miles teller #rooster #top gun #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley fuck me please baby #izzy writes #oneshots #one-shot #smut #because i want bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw smut #first one shot

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kyber-crystal · 2 years

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May I please ask for hc? Rooster and his pilot are the "dad and mom" of the group. that's it, that's the plot

i'm actually going to kms i typed up a whole response here and then i was almost done but then tumblr wiped out on me and it's gone. hold on . fml. sorry for my rambling i couldn't help it

you're the snack mom, rooster's the dad that carries everyone's bags no matter how heavy they are. on beach days you make sure to have extra aloe vera with you because bob, rooster, and hangman burn as fast as they tan. both of you are the parents that put band-aids on their kids after they scrape their knees on the sidewalk. in this case in particular, you're in the medbay and patching the gang up after missions or rather rough training sessions. you're both therapists, basically. rooster listens to payback rant about cyclone, f1 racing, kuwtk or whatever tv show he's hyperfixating on for the week. he listens to fanboy talk about life back home. you listen to phoenix rant about hangman. you listen to hangman rant about phoenix. but you know that deep down, your kids truly care about each other more than anything. but amidst being busy watching over the gang, you sometimes forgo looking after yourselves. rooster tells you he'll try and keep you in check, and you promise the same. it's an exhausting job, but you wouldn't trade it for the world because you can't put a price on a family like this. sometimes you and rooster have considered adopting everyone...even though you're all adults. it's amazing because you know if things get too hard for anyone, you know there'll always be someone to help carry the weight for you. and when 'mom and dad' get married there's not a single dry eye in the house. you don't know who's crying harder, your husband, or maverick (it's probably rooster, but maverick is a mess too). and when you finally have a kid? rooster's so excited, but terrified of messing up as a father somehow. but you remind him that you guys have pretty much trained for it for years. i mean, there was the whole crew to thank for that.

#yall seem to like my headcanons more than my actual oneshots that i actually take so much time into writing #this is quite literally the shittest hting i've written. i sincerely apologize #rooster x reader #top gun #top gun: maverick #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #top gun fic #top gun fanfiction #rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x y/n #bradley bradshaw fluff #miles teller #top gun maverick fic #top gun maverick fanfiction

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carelesslywriting · 2 years

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Dandelions - Peter Hayes

This is an imagine for Peter based off of the song Dandelions by Ruth B. This is the first post for my 10 Days of Music theme for this month! Check out my pinned tweet if you'd like to request a song, or if you would like to request a character from some songs still available.

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 1371 Trigger Warnings: brief implied sexual comment Note: These imagines are my own work and I do not consent to distribution of my work elsewhere!

You were with Tris, Four, Caleb, and Peter hiding out in Amity after the slaughter of Abnegation and the hunt for divergents was on. You found yourself actually enjoying the peacefulness of the fields and life of Amity, which came as a shock to you. You were Dauntless to your core, and you knew that. That’s part of the reason you ranked as high as you did when you were an initiate. However, there was something so captivating about the endless fields Amity offered. Your favorite part, however, was the fields a little further out that were recovering from the war. There were wildflowers and even dandelions growing back. ‘Maybe I do have a little bit of Amity in me,’ you thought to yourself, laughing a little right after it popped through your mind. Total opposites, and yet to you, there was a beauty in both lifestyles.

You didn’t even know that you were divergent until that night at Dauntless happened. Everyone was waking up at the same time in a monotone, uniformed way. You had looked around, wondering what the hell was going on. Tris was the only one who seemed to have any emotion, and as you two locked eyes, you both knew you needed to blend in. You fell in line next to Tris, and she briefly explained her theory of what was going on. That’s when you finally knew what you were. Thankfully you were able to escape, and throughout the couple of weeks you’ve been at Amity you’ve started to come to terms with what you were.

You found yourself walking out to the field of dandelions for what felt like the 100th time since you arrived, it was just so beautiful and peaceful to you. You’d sit in the fields and just think about what you were. There was always one thing that came to mind while you were out there though, and that was Peter Hayes. You always found yourself in a rival with him all throughout training, but at the same time there was this captivating energy surrounding him that drew your thoughts to him constantly. Even throughout the rivalry, it was like there would be subtle flirting between the two of you occasionally. Maybe you were just imagining it, you really didn’t know. But the way he looked at you when he found out what you were, that’s an image you just can’t get out of your head. He hasn’t outwardly treated you different, but it felt like something might have changed.

You remember an old tale about dandelions, how people used to make a wish about a person and blow into the dandelion. Sure, it seems silly that whoever you wished about would end up loving you just by blowing on a flower. Yet, before you’d leave the field, you always found yourself blowing a dandelion and thinking of Peter. Today was no different, when you were ready to get up and leave, you had the same routine. You picked a dandelion, thought of Peter and what it could be with him, and blew.

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

“Go with happiness,” You heard Peter say, winking at the Amity girl serving his food. Tris rolled her eyes, and you couldn’t help but stifle a laugh at how Peter was handling himself in Amity.

Peter’s eyes locked with yours for a few seconds, and you found yourself almost struggling to breathe due to his gaze on you. You knew with that look that you’d be sitting with him and talking amongst yourselves like you did every lunch since you’ve gotten here. You couldn’t shake how you felt with him, so alive and free whenever you were with him. You’ve never felt as happy around anyone else as you do with him. There was a hardness that he showed around everyone else, but you knew in your heart Peter had a soft spot for you.

“I saw you walking out to those fields of flowers again, what is it with you and that field?” Peter asked you once you two had sat down across from each other.

“You’d just have to see it yourself to understand,” You replied, taking a bite of your food. “I always wonder what the world before the war looked like. All the sights and scenery, the wildlife, how peaceful nature was.” Peter tilted his head slightly, amusement on his face.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think Amity would be the faction for you,” He replied light heartedly, continuing to eat.

“Shut up, you know I’ll still kick your ass in a fight,” You replied, throwing some food at him.

“Hey!” He paused, picking off the food that landed on his shirt. “You know that we ended up basically tied the last time we fought,” He defended himself.

“If you call a tie my thighs locking around your neck while I was on top of you, then sure, we tied,” You joked.

“Too bad your thighs weren’t around my neck in bed with me,” Peter spoke, looking directly into your eyes for your reaction. Your heart fluttered a bit at the thought, blush rising to your cheeks. “So that field, when are you gonna take me there?” He asked before you could even reply to the comment he made.

“Whenever you’re up to it,” you answered.

“Let’s go then,” he replied, finishing the last of his food and standing up, grabbing both of your now empty trays and putting them back to be washed.

The both of you started walking off towards your favorite field, a comfortable silence surrounding you both as you took in the nature around you. As you got closer to the field, and away from anyone else around, Peter nonchalantly slipped his hand into yours. Nothing was said between the two of you out loud, but your heart rate sped up and spoke internally for how you felt.

“Here we are,” you said, entering the field of dandelions, leading Peter to your favorite spot to sit. He took in the scene for a minute, letting go of your hand and doing a little spin. Only you got to see this soft side of Peter.

“I see why you like it so much,” he said, taking in the entire view one last time before sitting down and placing his eyes toward you. “It’s almost as beautiful as you.” You couldn’t contain the blush that rose to your cheeks from that comment.

“I love the silent beauty of it, I could get lost in these fields,” You answered, at a loss for words on how to respond to the compliment Peter just gave you. He took your hand again and pulled you into his chest, wrapping an arm around you.

“Y/N, get lost in this field with me,” Peter said, looking into your eyes for some sort of confirmation.

You leaned up to look at him, and you aren’t sure what came over you. The next thing you know, your lips are on Peter’s, and his hand moved to your cheek to pull you in even deeper. You crawled into his lap, continuing to kiss him. His kiss was the exact opposite of you were expecting. You were expecting rough, and instead you were met with him being gentle with you, like you were a fragile glass he didn’t want to break. For the first time in Peter’s life, he wanted to take things slow with a woman, specifically with you. When you pulled apart after what felt like forever, Peter pulled you down onto the ground and just held you, tracing the tattoo on your arm.

“Y/N, I really like you. I’ve never known anybody like you, you bring out something in me that I didn’t know was there. I feel like I’ve known you all my life,” Peter confessed, staring deep into your eyes with a small smile on his face.

“I feel the same way,” You answered, an even bigger smile on your face as you leaned in to kiss him again. ‘I guess wishing on the dandelions wasn’t silly after all,’ You thought to yourself as you continued to slowly kiss each other, finally allowing the feelings you shared for each other to flow.

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dontbesoweirdkira · 2 years

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So you have anymore hc for yandere top gun, like which ones are a little more dark and will kidnap you and have delusions and which are strictly a watch from a-far type

A/N: Ugh yes! As much as I try to pretend I don’t like yandere lovers, I’m a sucker for this stuff!! Thanks for the request and patience as I get these works out. <33

Characters: I’m going to do Rooster and Bob because I feel as though Hangman and Phoenix are happy mediums and I don’t wanna be repetitive. I can do something if you’d really like. Just send it in.

Requests: open! Only for top gun at the moment.

Rooster

Rooster is definitely the most delusional out of the main four. Come on, you cannot convince me otherwise.

Everything he’s doing, he’s doing it for you. You know he’s just protecting you, right? He’s lost enough in his life, his dad, mom, and almost his uncle Mav. That cannot happen to you. No no no! He would not allow that to happen.

He’s not always aware of his actions when it comes to you. It’s like he’s in a trance, you make him do crazy things. Your safety, love, and attention comes before anything and anyone. He truly doesn’t give a shit about his job if that means you’re safe.

He thinks about locking you up as soon as his infraction starts. Why must you be so close and friendly to others? Why can’t you be more cautious when you’re in the air? Actually, why the fuck did you want to become a pilot, this shit is too dangerous. You’re going to get hurt, they’re gonna hurt you.

He’s seriously convinced that the other pilots are out to get you and that you’re too naive to see it. This is just basically Bradley’s competitive rivalry with the others projected onto you.

Bradley knows that locking you up is going to be difficult, you have responsibilities to attend to. If the military commands you to do something, then you must do it…your disappearance would be questioned and then led back to him.

Like I’ve mentioned in my other Yandere post, he’s not afraid to get his hands dirty and get you in trouble. He’ll get those fucking wings taken away if that means he can keep you safe.

He’ll probably hype you up and get you into a position where there’s of tons of responsibility. You have a deadline and you’re in charge of the whole crew. He’ll act like he’s helping you but in reality he’s passing you the wrong information, relaying false messages to others, destroying paperwork. This bitch has no chill at all, by the end of it everyone is screwed over so badly and all the fingers point back to you.

Once you’re done, he’s right by your side. Bradley is seemingly the only one that wants you to hear you out. Bradshaw makes you feel so much better, he’s your best friend and the only one who will ever be there for you. He invites you over to his place for some beers to relax and forget about everything. It was such a nice night full of laughter and fun…but honestly you cannot remember much else that went on.

Next thing you know, you woke up and now you’re locked in his bedroom😀

You may panic now.

Now he’s not one to get physical with you. I don’t see him actually wanting to slap or hurt you but he definitely has bursts of anger. Like he’s so overwhelmed and just wants you to calm down, he’ll just yell at you to get you to shut up. He doesn’t mean it, but why can’t you just understand you’re here for your own safety?? Huh?

Bradley is hella scary I’m sorry. This man is tall and has a rather large frame, he’s so intimidating, even when he’s bent down to your level. You can see the delusion and hurt in his eyes. He’s unstable.

“Y/N, WOULD YOU JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP FOR A MINUTE. I'M TRYING TO HELP YOU. GOSH WHY ARE YOU SO-“

“I- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I just want you to stop crying, please stop crying. Look I know you’re scared and this situation seems bad but I promise you, I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Please y/n just- STOP CRYING. THEY WERE GOING TO GET YOU KILLED AND I JUST-“

Yeah that’s what you’re dealing with. It’s even worse if yelling makes you cry even more and he’s just super overstimulated and doesn’t know what to do.

Once you both calmed down, he’s trying his hardest to convince you that you were in danger and that he’s keeping you here for your safety. He’ll go through great lengths to convince you. Stories and interactions are all fabricated and over exaggerated, and by the end of it you’re starting to question the relationships you had with people.

He doesn’t have you chained to the bed or anything, you can explore his bedroom. He’s removed anything that should be used as a weapon and has basically baby proofed it so he’s not worried. You can go through his stuff. I don't see him as someone being upset by that, he only cares about you hurting yourself. Besides he’s been fairly open about his life with you anyways.

He’d eventually let you roam around the house once you gain his full trust, by this point he’s already broken you in pretty much, you already showing signs of Stockholm syndrome and codependency.

But there’s rules, you cannot go into the kitchen, you’re not allowed into the backyard without his company, don’t mess with the fireplace, if you cannot reach something….please just ask.

There’s tons more but they are all just to keep you safe. He’ll get grumpy if you don’t obey them.

Speaking more about codependency, he basically cuts your contact with most people off. He wants you to the point where you follow him around like a lost puppy. He’s your protector, and he wants you to be able to come to him for anything. Only Maverick, and your very close family are allowed to talk to you. But you have to convince your family that you’re happy and healthy with him. If you’re showing signs of restraint towards him, you are not seeing any of them.

If you are trying to escape and get away from him, he has a far tighter grip, cameras are installed, you’re not allowed out of the room unless he’s with you, hes a bit more aggressive and argumentative. It’s not as much of a fun time.

Bob

Definitely the watch from the afar type. He’s fairly delusional as well. He knows his feelings towards you are wrong but he doesn’t care. You’re an urge he cannot shake.

Bob never really interacts socially unless he’s asked to or he knows it’s appropriate to. Most of the time he really just doesn’t have much input and doesn’t know what to exactly say. He enjoys just watching other people be in their natural habitat and have fun rather than needing to actually participate.

He most likely was like this as a kid as well, very observant. His mom or something probably kept him inside all of the time and he just watched the other kids play and have fun. He does give me the vibe he’s lacking some social development.

He loves watching you, especially when you’re playing different games like pool, poker, or chess. It’s so nice to see you so excited and focused. He’s learned so much about your personality and the things that make you happy. Most of the things he’s learned and gathered about you has been through observation.

I could see him staring daggers into whoever has your attention. He clenched his fist and grinds his teeth, He’s not really going to do anything but he so much wants to get rid of them.

He wish he was a lot more like Hangman or Coyote, smooth and Charismatic like them. He could just swoop in and take your attention away from em. That frustrates him more than anything.

-00% stalks you all the time. He’s surprisingly swift and careful when following you around. He loves to take pictures of you and save them to his computers and hard drives.

He easdrops on your conversations and phone calls just to see who you’re close to, what’s wrong, ect. Probably has access to all your social media, messages, and devices. He just wants to keep tabs and know everything he can about you.

I do see him as a kidnapping type as well. For Rooster he wants to keep you safe but Bob? He doesn’t exactly know why he wants to take you.

Can you imagine it? Like halfway through he’s like “wait fuck what am I supposed to do with them?”

Not really sure how he’d pull it off but it’d most likely be on impulse and very sloppy.

When you’re finally at his place, and you wake up he’s pacing around the room and is freaking out. Bro just committed a crime. :D

His face is recognizable, you’ve seen him looking at you from the corner of your eyes, you’ve even tried to speak to him on occasion but it never really went anywhere.

He’s not an irritable person, he understands you’re gonna scream and cry. He’ll let you do that and try to calm you down. He never raises his voice at you. Bob’s very gentle and is such a good boy.

He’s not super strict, he’ll get you anything you ask, he’d do anything for you. I’m serious Robert is not very hard to convince, you have honestly most of the power in the relationship. He worships you. Please love him.

He doesn’t keep you in one room and doesn’t really have tons of rules. His darling is most likely a kind and non confrontational type of person. Pretty easy going so he doesn’t have that much fear of you attacking him or something.

The house has been changed to what he thinks is your liking, it’s filled with all your interest, replicas of nicnacs from your own place, games and your favorite foods. If there’s something you’d like or you just want to redecorate…by all means. It’s basically your house now.

With this said, don’t be foolish and underestimate him. He looks scrawny and dorky but he’s very fit and has formal training. He can apprehend you with ease. Don’t try to run away and force him to chain you up. He doesn’t want to but those chains are so pretty on you. He’ll scold you like an upset mother and just watch you for hours while you sit in those lovely metal chains.

Does withdraw food and sometimes water as a punishment but not to the point of starvation or dehydration, just enough where you cave into his delusions.

“Y/n, I know this is a bit hard…I-it’s hard on me too. But don’t you ever dare run away again. It’s dangerous out there and you didn’t even ask me for permission. It’s late anyways and there’s horrible things that happen at night. I’ve done so much for you and I’ve given you so much and you try to repay me by this?? you’re going to be grounded for a few hours.”

Did I mention he’s a worried mom? Yes. He literally speaks like one. 😭 He’s always checking on you, cooking food, has tons of medicine just in case anything happens, probably even has a parental lock on your phone. He mimics his own overprotective parents a lot.

He is a bit forceful with physical contact. Bob doesn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, he's just a bit awkward. He’ll give you tons of kisses, hugs and cuddles. You’re loved. He wants you to feel loved the best way he knows how since his words are a bit hard to get out.

I need to make a general Yandere headcanon so I can go more in depth for him, pronto. Hold on

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pinkpetalwaterimagine · 2 years

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No Miles Teller could ever compete (Shawn Mendes imagine)

Because the top gun men did something to me, here is a little something with Shawn related to the movie. Spoiler for Top Gun maverick I guess, but no « crucial » scene to the understanding of the movie. Anyways :

Words : 933

Summary : You went to see top gun and Shawn know how to make you forget a certain pilot.

It was a lazy Saturday and Shawn knew you didn’t like to waste your days in sleeping in bed all day at least not on saturdays. Staying in bed and doing nothing were for sundays. It was Shawn who came up with the idea. He wanted to see the new Top Gun movie and it was so sunny and bright that he was almost sure that no one would be in the theaters with such a sunny day. Sure, he was interested in seeing the movie but he also knew that you didn’t like this kind of movie usually and even him could admit that those movies have rarely a good plot. It was why he chose this movie. He knew you would quickly get bored and therefore turn your attention towards him and he knew it could possibly result in a hot make out session in the theater like two teenagers sneaking behind their parents’s back.

You had whined and tried to negotiate to go see another movie but he didn’t budge. So you went with him. It was only two hours and you knew that at the end of the movie he would take you on a proper coffee date.

What you didn’t plan, however, was to enjoy the movie as much as you did. There were several holes in the plot and you could care less about the whole « saving the planet mission », what you did enjoy were the men, the fine men of the movie. You hadn’t seen the trailer and you had the chance to see the infamous football on the beach seen on a big screen. You weren’t into mustaches but Miles Teller definitely knew how to rock one. During the whole movie you were salivating on the muscular bodies of the whole crew.

Shawn also didn’t see it coming. He thought after thirty minutes you would be all over him but it turned out to be the contrary. The movie wasn’t that good and even if he admit that the man had a agreeable appearance he didn’t care for it more than that. Every time he would try to make a move on you, or making you tore your eyes away from the screen you would gently slap his hand or thigh.

Even a few days later you were still enticed by Miles Teller performance and Shawn was starting to get a little bit jealous. It didn’t help when paramount leaked some scenes that was not in the movie. The performance by the famous actor of ‘great balls of fire’ had left you speechless. Shawn couldn’t stand seeing you thirsting over another man so he decided to bring the infamous scene to you to make you remember that only one man could have that kind of attention from you.

One morning, you were in the kitchen making coffee for the both of you while gently humming the melody of whatever song you had on your mind. You saw Shawn come down and before you could even say hello he sat on the little bench in front of the piano. He rarely did that but you knew that inspire could struck whenever so you let it slide, even though you didn’t understood right away why he had aviators on the tip of his nose. He started jamming the first few notes and you immediately understood. He was recreating the scene that you had replayed so much. He belted out the song as if he had written it. While he played you could only thought about how hot he looked. He was giving his all on this performance. The glasses were sliding down and you could see a glimpse of sweat on his forehead while the veins on his forearms and neck were popping. He had even dressed like the character, an open flower shirt with a white tank top underneath. And oh boy he knew what effect those tank top did to you. They were clinging to his body and you could see oh so clearly the outline of his muscles. At the end of the song you were biting your lip trying not to jump on him before he finished his performance.

Shawn saw the change in your demeanor, he knew his plan had worked he could see all the love in your eyes but also all the lust. He sported a cocky grin, he knew he made you forget the movie.

« So which version is the best? » he asked knowing that from now on it was just him being a tease.

You approached him slightly and put your hands on his shoulders. « You know you are the best and you always are and always will be. » you said softly as you started kissing his neck. « however there is another scene in the movie I would like you to recreate » you kept kissing him down his neck and your hands started sliding under his tank top. Your ear was next to his mouth and you could hear the small gasp as you kept moving your hands up and down his torso. « And which scene is it? » He asked in a small breath.

« Oh you know the one where they don’t have a shirt on » you trailed off.

He got up from his seat and picked you up before putting you on the couch. « You are in for a treat, my love » he smiled so fondly at you. « you know that you are the hottest man alive, no Miles Teller could ever compete. » he didn’t answer instead he kissed you like he hadn’t seen you for months.

#shawn mendes imagines #shawn mendes #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes oneshot #top gun #miles teller #rooster bradshaw #top gun rooster

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stillstuckin2000spunkrock · 1 year

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Masterlist Of Characters I’ll Write For (All male characters) Requests Open! 18+ MINORS DNI ~2023 Update~

~By now I’ve realized I’ve said I was coming back again like 12 times now, and there was no updates. Sorry guys💀😭. I just feel like I’m not as into anime anymore and my past imagines were just super cringey. I will be deleting my least popular posts and the ones I’m personally not proud of, so I apologize if any of my followers saved those😬. I will however be trying to get into creative writing once more, as I feel like I am able to write about more mature topics now and other things. My Masterlist of characters has changed, as some I don’t feel comfortable writing for and again I apologize. I won’t do heavy smut, nor certain topics of self harm as I don’t want to write for something I’m not entirely familiar with personally (nor do I want to compare my personal experiences with it to someone else’s as it’s different for everyone). I will however cover certain mental illnesses, but they will not be romanticized but rather comfort fics. As far as writing occasionally fics relating to a slight burp fetish (I hate that word🤧 it just sounds weird lmao) I probably won’t do too many of those requests as I’m trying to move away from that type of content. I also will be changing my accounts lay out, so if you see some changes dw it’s still me😅 Thank you, and I hope you guys will send me some great requests!💕~

HAIKYUU:

Iwaizumi

Kuroo

Tsukkishima

Suna

ACE ATTORNEY:

Phoenix Wright (During the time period of the Justice For All saga)

Miles Edgeworth (During the time period of the Justice For All saga)

AVATAR (James Cameron’s)

Ao’nung

Jake Sully

FREE! IWATOBI SWIM CLUB:

Rin

Sousuke

AKIRA:

Kaneda

Yamagata

MARVEL:

Druig

LOTR & THE HOBBIT:

Legolas

Thranduil

RANDOM:

Felix (Once Upon A Time)

Riff (Westside Story)

Draco Malfoy (Hogwarts Timeline up until the Battle of Hogwarts)

Rooster/ Bradley Bradshaw (Top Gun Maverick)

Jake Seresin (Top Gun Maverick)

Alec (Two Night Stand)

Miller (21 and Over)

David Shreiner (Gross Anatomy)

Andrew Neiman (Whiplash)

Coriolanus Snow (The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes)

Peter Hayes (Divergent Films)

*I am okay with writing minor weight gain and burp kinks if that appeals to you

PLEASE FEEL FREE TO SUBMIT A REQUEST OR DM ME. ID LOVE TO HEAR SOME OF YOUR GUYS IDEAS! 🖤😘

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promisingyounglady · 1 month

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bradley bradshaw. | TOP GUN MAVERICK

oneshots:

stranger.

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mavcentral · 2 years

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hi! this is my first post and I’ll be primarily doing oneshots, hcs, smut (mostly requests), and whatever comes to mind. Please don’t hesitate request whatever content regarding top gun 1986 or 2022 that you would like to see on my page!! love you all 🫶

#tom cruise #top gun #top gun maverick #oneshots #miles teller #pete maverick mitchell #rooster top gun

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the-lonelybarricade · 1 year

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The Asking Price - Azris Oneshot

“What’s the asking price,” I repeated. “The same thing I told Azriel when I found him snooping through my father’s woods yesterday.” - Acowar, Chapter 26 (Thank you @ofduskanddreams for pointing me to it!)

Summary: Azriel gets caught snooping through the Autumn Court woods

CW: Extremely Dubious Consent, Knifeplay, Restraints, Degredation, Wing play, rough oral sex

Read on AO3

In the last five centuries, Azriel had been to the Autumn Woods many times.

He knew the bends of the branches and each of the twisted roots well enough to glean familiarity out of the large tree beside him, seemingly identical to the ones that spread every direction for miles. Azriel had visited the Autumn Court for a variety of occasions, typically to keep an eye on the Vanserras and their ever shifting favors.

Yet it was never the memories of those trips that returned to him whenever he stepped foot on Autumn soil. Somehow, he always returned the same fledgling he was all those centuries ago, searching for the female he loved who had been left bleeding in the dirt. The taste of the crisp wind would always be laced with her pain, the changing leaves always colored with his rage. But it was the fear, most of all, that left him feeling unsteady. Even knowing what he knew now, that Mor was safe and had grown into a fearless warrior that was undefined by her past, Azriel could never seem to shake the panic thundering through his chest whenever he returned to Autumn.

“Shadowsinger.”

And there he was, lounging across a broad branch overhead, one arm tucked carelessly beneath his copped hair while the other drifted aimlessly towards the earth, stroking the breeze like it were his personal pet.

Azriel clenched his jaw. He didn’t know how Eris had discovered he was here—Rhysand wouldn’t have alerted him, not without telling Azriel first.

“Did you know,” Eris drawled, amber eyes tracking a leaf as it fluttered down from the canopy above, tumbling into his waiting palm, “that my hounds can sniff out any prey as far as the borders of these woods? After our last meeting—” the one where Cassian had put a sword through his gut— “I had them trained to detect Illyrian dogs. I had a feeling you’d be coming.”

Remember why you’re here, he told himself, fighting the snarl that threatened to curl over his lips.

“You want to know if I’ve told my father that your High Lady has taken a kernel of his magic.” Eris turned his head, studying Azriel in a way that drew out the rest of the snarl, regardless of Azriel’s best restraint. He hated how Eris could look at someone as if he were stripping them bare. When the Autumn Lord’s eyes dropped to Truth-Teller strapped at Azriel’s hip, he grinned. “And I suppose you brought that, in case I hadn’t. Intended to torture the memory out me?”

“You love to hear yourself speak,” Azriel said, reaching for the hilt of Truth-Teller instinctively.

A coil of flame curled around his wrist to stop him. Azriel’s siphon blared, prepared to cut through that flame, to meet the Autumn’s heir’s magic with equal might and power. Eris was not stronger than him, even here—

The shadows stirred, coiling around Azriel’s shoulder with urgency, but they were not fast enough. Azriel roared at the sharp pain that spiked through his thigh. The magic in his siphons fizzled to dust—poison. Faebane, perhaps, like Hybern favored in their weapons. Or something worse, a deadly concoction of Autumn’s own making. Azriel turned to track the archer that must have winnowed in, to have evaded his shadow’s notice, but flame pressed into his jaw. Not hot enough to burn, but enough to turn Azriel’s face back to Eris.

“None of that,” he crooned. “You and I have much to discuss.”

Fire spread over Azriel’s body, restraining his arms and legs so he could do nothing but watch as the Autumn lord sat up from the branch, jumping gracefully to his feet. A jungle cat advancing on its prey.

Then that flame against his jaw was replaced with Eris’s hand, the cool cut of his rings pressing uncomfortably into Azriel’s skin. He bared his teeth beneath the Lord’s unimpressed assessment.

“In private,” Eris added.

Azriel felt the fingers around his face tighten as they were enveloped in smoke. The air shifted first, replacing the chill damp of the forest with a pleasant, dry heat. Then he was deposited to his knees, none-too-gently, atop the wooden floorboards of what looked to be a sitting room.

“Welcome to my home, Shadowsinger,” Eris said. He offered a cruel smile. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Immediately, Azriel’s shadows swarmed and fled, taking this rare opportunity to explore the personal home of Eris Vanserra. The Autumn heir snorted, shaking his head so that a small strand of red hair flopped over his forehead. Azriel knew the shadows would find nothing of value—Eris had intended to take Azriel here, and there’s nothing he would have left for the Shadowsinger to discover that he didn’t want known.

“What do you want, Eris?”

Azriel kept his voice flat, refusing to betray a single emotion that might satisfy Eris. He hadn’t brought Azriel to the High Lord, which meant there was some angle he was working. Something ultimately self-serving, as all things were involving Eris.

“To talk,” Eris said, reaching for the hilt of Truth-Teller.

Azriel was still restrained by the male’s magic, could do nothing but growl, “Put that down.”

“Or you’ll what?” He asked, utterly unfazed by the warning in Azriel’s voice. The fire twisting around Azriel’s arms and legs constricted, holding him taut as Eris leaned closer, dancing the blade of the dagger across Azriel’s cheek. “Will you tell on me to Rhysand? Have him punish me for hurting his poor little Shadowsinger.”

He thrashed against his restraints, but stopped the minute he noticed the amused glint in Eris’s eyes. He wanted to see Azriel struggle, to witness the famed spymaster rage beneath his control. Azriel clenched his teeth, willing his body to still.

“Is that what you want to talk about, then?” Azriel asked coldly. “Rhysand?”

Eris stared down at Azriel knelt before him. His hand was still poised staunchly against Azriel’s chin, and his thumb swept over his cheek just the slightest bit, as though in consideration of the question.

“I want you to convince your High Lord to bargain with me,” Eris said finally.

“Ask him yourself.”

He spat the words, and Eris yanked him forward in response.

“Oh,” Eris whispered, his voice as sharp as the blade he trailed down Azriel’s throat. “I was intending to. But now that you’re here, it will be so much more entertaining to do it this way.”

Azriel’s pulse jumped. Not at Truth-Teller pressing into his skin, but at the gleam in Eris’s eyes.

“I heard a rumor once, about Illyrian males.” The blade traveled adjacent across his throat, threatening to break the delicate skin that he would not be able to heal. The arrow wound in his thigh pulsed, a dull ache that clashed with the strange exhilaration of danger, of anticipation. Of not knowing what torture Eris would be inflicting, despite torture being the language Azriel spoke more fluently than his mother’s native tongue.

The blade dragged backwards, over Azriel’s shoulder and the ridges of his spine.

“I heard that your wings are particularly sensitive.” Eris cocked his head, fire burning in his gaze as Truth-Teller’s razored edge danced along the base of Azriel’s wing. Teasing, taunting. Every muscle was begging Azriel to writhe against the flames containing him, to do everything he could to break free. He swallowed, unwilling to betray his anxiety at having his wings be touched—tortured.

“Shall we see if the rumors hold true?” Eris purred. Coaxing, but too chilled to belong to a lover.

Azriel shut his eyes. He had spoken to too many others with that same voice.

Cold metal dug harder into his cheeks where Eris’s hand still gripped him. Azriel resisted the urge to flinch as Eris said, “Look at me.”

A coward would keep his eyes shut. Azriel’s pride was the only thing he could still control, so he opened his eyes and met Eris’s cold stare. If he was looking for fear, for pain, they would be eclipsed by the rage and loathing simmering in Azriel’s gut.

Maybe Eris enjoyed the loathing just as much, because he smiled. “Good dog.”

The dagger teasing the base of his wing pressed forward, following the upward curve to trace his wing’s edge. Azriel’s hands turned to fists in the fiery restraints. Eris wasn’t pressing hard enough to cause any pain and instead… The shadowsinger huffed, struggling to control his breathing as the strangest, most reluctant sense of pleasure cascaded down his spine. Eris likely had no idea that a male’s wing was sensitive in this way. He thought he was teasing him with the threat of pain, but—

Azriel bit down on his lip to smother a groan. His cock was already twitching with interest, simply reacting to the way he was being unknowingly stimulated. It was natural, he told himself, trying to ignore the rising shame as he called his shadows back to disguise the scent of his arousal. Eris didn’t need to know what he was doing. No one ever needed to know.

“Would you like it harder?” Eris asked, no hint in his voice that he was aware of what he was truly inflicting on the Shadowsinger.

“Fuck you,” Azriel panted.

“Would you like to? You are already on your knees, afterall.”

No, Azriel swore, even as his cock continued hardening. Eris moved the blade downwards, over a particularly sensitive spot that made his wing twitch. A strangled noise rose in the back of Azriel’s throat as he thrashed blindly forward, desperate to escape the glorious edge of that knife. To free himself of the building need in his gut. This was so much worse than torture.

Eris noticed, of course. “Sensitive here, hmm?” He pressed the tip harder, causing Azriel to bark out a groan as his pleasure mixed with pain. “Look at you, the famed Shadowsinger, squirming on my floor and I haven’t even drawn blood.”

He continued ribboning the blade across that same spot, over and over, thinking he was causing pain each time Azriel gnashed his teeth and jerked his hips into cruel, empty air.

“Do you want me to stop?” The knife scraped closer to a spot that Azriel knew well. One that past lovers had discovered, where a few kitten licks were enough to push him to completion. He nearly felt like screaming to imagine how the hard metal would feel against it, cold and merciless.

“I’ll kill you,” Azriel swore, tasting blood as he choked on his own desire. It crawled along his chest, up his throat, and to his cheeks. Would Eris be able to see it, would he know that Azriel wasn’t flushing in anger?

“Says the male on his knees,” Eris hummed.

The serrated edges continued dragging against the gossamer of his wing, and Azriel hissed, spitting a string of curses in his mind as Eris arrived at that infernal spot and pushed, very nearly breaking this skin.

Fire enveloped him, shooting beneath Azriel’s skin in a molten tremor that seized his entire body, tightening every muscle. Eris must have seen the way he tensed, the way his wings tucked in as he came, cock shuddering as it erupted in his trousers. Azriel was panting, holding himself so still as he stared at Eris and Eris stared back. Gaping.

Then his eyes flickered downwards, to the wet leathers now sticking to Azriel’s crotch. The knife was still pressed to his wing, and Azriel was still achingly hard as the aftershocks continued throbbing through his cock.

Then, slowly, Eris’s shock was replaced with sinister delight. “How generous of me.” Truth-Teller began moving again, more deliberate now that Eris was aware of its effect. “Have you been enjoying yourself, Shadowsinger? Rutting against my floor like an animal?”

“Eris,” Azriel gasped, alarmed that the male would continue now that he knew he was pleasuring his captive. The air knocked from his lungs as Eris dropped the knife and began using his fingers instead. So much softer—so much warmer.

A moan warbled in the back of Azriel’s throat. There was nothing to contain it besides his own teeth sinking into his bottom lip, and even that wasn’t sufficient in barricading the noise.

“Cauldron, are you going to come again? Like a pathetic bitch in heat?”

Azriel struggled in the restraints. There was no use disguising his urgency to escape, now that Eris was aware of what he was doing. Now that he wanted to continue, was forcing more of that devastating pleasure to build with his delicious, clever fingers.

“Let me go.”

It did not sound as threatening as Azriel had hoped. Eris laughed, scraping his nails and those Cauldron-forsaken rings against the most delicate part of Azriel’s body. He keened, shifting his knees like he might try to crawl away, well aware there was nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide.

“Will you convince your High Lord to bargain with me?” Eris pressed.

“Get fucked.”

Another laugh. “That’s you, Azriel.”

Azriel’s chest was heaving, hips bucking just as pathetically as Eris had accused. The male continued his assault on Azriel’s wings, intent on forcing another moan. There was nothing Azriel could do to stop the onslaught of bright, blistering pleasure. He cried out as that burning shot to his aching cock, spilling more warm, sticky spend into his trousers. It was humiliating, especially as Eris watched it all with a smile.

“Shall we do it again, Shadowsinger?”

Eris’s fingers were already moving. Azriel, who had never before broken under torture, whimpered. The male above him groaned, and Azriel realized belatedly that he was not the only one with a hardened cock.

Fingers fisted roughly in his hair. Eris must have noticed the Shadowsinger’s attention drift to the erection in front of his face, because he drew Azriel closer. Until his lips nearly brushed the stretched fabric. “Or would you prefer to suck?”

Azriel didn’t think his pride could survive orgasming beneath Eris’s touch a third time. At least if he sucked cock, he would be the one with some measure of control. Inflicting pleasure, instead of taking it.

Rather than speak, which would only add to his disgrace, Azriel simply opened his mouth. Eris needed no further prompting. He released Azriel’s wing to unlace his trousers, at which the Illyrian slumped forward in abject relief.

Until Eris stepped out of his trousers and revealed the large, flushed cock presented before him. The tip was already beaded with arousal, glinting beneath the afternoon sun that filtered in through the windows.

Eris fisted himself, taking a few slow pumps as Azriel watched, feeling his heartbeat in his throat. There was something undeniably fascinating about it. Seeing Eris naked, almost vulnerable. Though no one would think it by the darkness stirring in his eyes.

“Now open that filthy mouth,” Eris said, stepping closer. His hands slid into Azriel’s hair again. “Show me how a good Illyrian dog obeys its master.”

Loathing churned deep and low inside Azriel, utterly in contrast to the arousal clashing against it. Impossibly, Azriel opened his mouth, allowing Eris to push the head of his cock against Azriel’s tongue. His taste was salty, masculine, but otherwise not unpleasant.

Eris allowed him only that moment to savor the taste, before his fingers wound into Azriel’s hair, tugging his head forward at the same time Eris thrust his hips. Azriel choked at the unexpected intrusion, not anticipating that he would be taking so much of the male so fast.

“What’s that?” Eris asked at Azriel’s garbled protests. “Don’t sputter like that, Azriel. I expected Rhysand to have you better trained.”

It wasn’t as though it was the first time he’d sucked cock, but it had been a while since Azriel had gotten on his knees before another male. There was no shred of the control Azriel had been hoping to seize, and yet… there was almost something relieving about that. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d allowed himself to surrender so fully to another being.

“Good boy,” Eris grunted when Azriel forced his throat to relax. The backs of his eyes burned, but Azriel opened them wide, refusing to let Eris see him so undone. The Autumn male’s pace was punishing, fucking into Azriel’s mouth until he stopped struggling. “Such a good fucktoy,” Eris crooned as his reward. “I can see why they keep you around.”

Eris pulled harder on Azriel’s hair, until the Shadowsinger felt his nose brush the coarse red hair at the base of Eris’s pelvis. Eris groaned, holding Azriel there for several punishing seconds as the male’s cock twitched. Azriel heard a soft, almost surrendered sigh in the shape of his name, which was quickly overwhelmed by the bitter taste of arousal flooding Azriel’s mouth. Warm liquid trickled down his throat, and Azriel found himself swallowing when he knew he should be spitting it back at Eris’s face.

He was kept there, in Eris’s tight grip with his lips pressed to the base of his cock, even as Eris began to soften.

Meeting his eyes, Eris raised his freehand, tapping it to his own temple. “Now I have two memories and two High Lords you would prefer to remain ignorant. Convince Rhysand to help me take the throne, or I’ll let him see how enthusiastically his Spymaster sucks Autumn cock.”

Finally, he released Azriel, allowing the shadowsinger to pull his mouth free.

Azriel coughed, re-adjusting to the sensation of breathing unobstructed. His voice was raspy as he spat, “Go to Hell, Eris.”

The male merely shrugged, gesturing to the Autumn wood just outside the window. “I’m already there.”

#GOD LETS ALL PROMISE TO BE REAL COOL ABOUT THIS OKAY?#Azris #Azriel x Eris #Eris x Azriel #Azris fic #Azris fanfic #Azris fanfiction

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callsignmuse · 2 years

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BEYOND THE SCRIPT

Pairing: Miles Teller x oc Reader

Summary: You’re on set filming when a migraine strikes in the middle of a scene

Request: Yes

Oneshot

Author’s Note: Requested that oc reader was sick on set but since I know migraines a little too well I chose that!

Rolling!

You had been feeling a little off all day long. A tad bit moody even a little sluggish. But here you stood trying to finish your work day as you stood on set. You took a deep breath trying to center yourself. This scene took a lot out of you. You had gotten yelled at for one and doing that over and over again made your brain think you actually did something to deserve it. Especially when you were acting opposite Miles. He was able to bring such life to the character you both often forgot you were supposed to be acting.

“WHERE THE FUCK DID YOU THINK I WOULD GO!?” he yelled on the top of his lungs as he approached you. You shrunk. The sound and the inflection in his voice hit a nerve within your brain sending a signal to cause you a helluva lot of pain. You winced.

“Alright cut. I think we’ve got it.” The director announced. Finally. They had been working on getting just the right angle on the camera for when you shrunk away from him. Your director, Aidan loved the way you reacted to Miles in the scene. He loved it so much he kept remarking to all of his friends about how you got the role in the film. You were assisting at auditions to run lines with the callbacks when you read when Miles. Aidan had put down his pen and stared in complete shock at the chemistry created between the two of you. It was natural. It was sexy. It was playful. It was his ticket to winning an award this season. He had to go with it. You weren’t green by any means but you were new to the blockbuster caliber films that Miles was used to now. You were still in the indie phase of your career waiting on a big break like this.

You changed quickly ignoring the prickling sensation running down your neck and shook out your hands. You stood across from him in a brightly lit room. You squinted your eyes trying not to let it show but the pain was beginning to threaten your ability to seem fine. You had a high threshold for pain but when you had your migraines they reached the high level of an eight, sometimes nine out of ten. You were in the beginning stages of a long journey. Right now the migraine was just at the edge of being manageable and becoming a problem. You looked up trying to open your eyes all the way. “Another one?” He wondered his voice was dripping with concern. You had been on set for weeks with each other becoming extremely emotionally connected. He knew exactly what to look for on your face. He saw the pain creeping in and the uncomfortably tense stance you took on. “What can I do?” He asked his voice was so soft it was such a contrast to hard pain you were beginning to feel. You took your pills when you went to your dressing room for a costume change but they would take a while to kick in. And when you take it this late in the game there was the possibility they wouldn’t work at all.

“Just be with me.” You mumbled. It was as loud as you could make your voice go but he understood what you meant. Be present so you wouldn’t feel so alone. When you dealt with the pain on your own it felt much worse. The tingling in your pinky finger worsened and you groaned at the uncomfortable feeling. Underneath the tingling your palms began to sweat.

“Fuck” you cursed under your breath but he caught it and smirked. He always thought it was funny when you used profanity because of the sound of your voice. It sounded so inconceivably innocent. For as many years as you had apart in age, you hit it off as if you knew each other since brith. You had so much in common and the list kept growing every day. You were both insanely into music and loved to sing. You actually found yourself getting moody if you didn’t listen to at least one of your favorite songs during the work day. He loved to dance. You were a trained dancer since three years old. He loved sports. You had opposite taste in teams but when they would play each other it made for the perfect night in. And if you could sneak away from work, the perfect night out. Your sense of humor was the same and if peoples didn’t know you well they would think you hated each other with the way you exchanged insults and sarcasm. Really the only way you differed was how much you loved watching movies and tv.

They adjusted the lighting above you making you wince again. This time with a hiss between your teeth. “Do you we need to stop?” He asked under a lowered tone. You shook your head no.

“We have two more hours. I can do this.” You felt a wave of nausea hit making you gag behind your hand.

“You sure?” He asked behind a chuckle.

“Miles, I-“ you began to say.

“Quiet on the set!”

You knew it was time to show everyone what you were made of. You weren’t all that established like Miles was. You would have to work through this. You couldn’t cost the production money by delaying the shot.

“Rolling… Action!”

Luckily this was a quieter scene between the two of you. It was more of an intimate moment between lovers afraid of the future. He was supposed to show concern and compassion for you as you told him how you didn’t know if this business was going to be good for him. You were scared for him. He grabbed you by the hips leaving a tingling sensation where he touched you last. You let out a breath and stared into his eyes lovingly. You hid your physical pain in the emotional as you looked up to his face. Your height difference was astounding. He loved that about you too. He never said anything about it but you could tell by the smirk he had on his face whenever you were this close to him. He smelled amazing to you, you always had a weakness for guys who smelt enchanting. But then again he was enchanting all by himself.

“Remember what I told you when I got into this? Don’t worry about me, I know what I’m doing.” He tried to reassure you. He held a sparkle in his eye talking about doing the thing he loved, boxing.

“It’s just hard to watch them hit you.” You admitted with a furrowed brow. That furrowed brow was from the migraine. He knew it too. His eyes flashed with a deeper level of concern than written in the script. He placed his hand on your cheek causing you to close your eyes. When you opened them again he was still standing there but you couldn’t see through the blurry vision that taken over your sight. There was a visible layer of panic. Miles caught on to you. He steadied you and noticed your eyes reacting slower than normal. The pressure from the headache causing a delayed response as they glazed over. Quickly he grabbed you and pulled you into his body. You nestled your head in the crook of his neck letting your body relax. The physical touch was aiding you momentarily with the amount of pain you were in. The pounding in your head causing you to become extremely nauseous. You wanted to throw up at any moment. Honestly you wanted to lie down in a cold, dark room for all eternity to come.

Two and a half excruciating hours later and you found yourself on the floor of your apartment panting. You were trying to get to the bed but haven’t managed to get that far. You could only manage it by audibly moaning at this point. When your head pounded you felt it in your throat and it was hard to breathe. There was short knock at the door. Luckily you were already close to the entrance from your adventurous trip to the kitchen for some water. You were crawling on your knees because you couldn’t stand to walk right now. The pain made you almost pass out every time you stood on your feet. You reached for the handle as well as you could failing on your first try. The door opened revealing you out of breath and collapsed in front of the doorway.

“What the fuck? Are you ok?” Miles was clearly thrown off. He had never seen you this bad before.

“Quiet voices. Can’t walk. Hurts.” You said in short bursts your raspy voice carrying the point across. He put the box of pizza down on the kitchen counter and returned to you. Carefully he scooped your body into his arms and carried you to bed in your room. The tv was running softly as he looked at you to make sure you were comfortable. You laid there with closed eyes. “Thanks” you mumbled. It was all you were capable of at the moment.

“I brought pizza.” He said softly.

“Oh that’s sweet but it’s kind of hard for me to eat right now.” You told him honestly. You didn’t want to hurt his feelings for such a sweet gesture.

“Alright then, I brought pizza for myself.” He chuckled, “got any beer?”

“In the fridge” you croaked. He returned moments later getting himself settled in to the chair next to your bed. “What are you doing?” You were genuinely confused.

“There’s a Phillies game on” he shrugged before changing the channel. He ate his pizza and drank beer while quietly watching the game which was a challenge for him. He occasionally slipped up and yelled when he got too excited earning a groan from you in protest.

“Sorry” he would apologize.

He got you everything you asked for more pain meds, small snacks and water. He was an absolute dream to have around.

“Miles” you moaned clutching your head. “I hate to ask this but I have to pee.” He looked at you quizzically before it clicked. You still couldn’t walk. The last time you tried you ended up running to throw up not before almost passing out on your way there.

“S’no problem.” He smiled before getting up. Luckily it was a commercial break so he wouldn’t miss the action. The game was almost finished now and the sky had turned dark. He grabbed you gingerly placing your knees over his forearms as you clung to him. You buried your head in chest, “Jesus Monroe, your hands are freezing.” He shivered through a stifled laugh. Your hand had accidentally brushed against his bare skin on his shoulder blades. You ran your hands further down just to tease him causing him to nearly drop you. “Evil. Pure evil.” He teased before turning his back and leaving you to relieve yourself. A few short moments later he heard his name being called. He opened the door to find you lying on your back on the rug by the sink. You were squinting and out of breath. “You’re a right fucking mess you know that?” He chuckled. His smile was so light and genuine it made you feel unbelievably seen. “Aren’t you glad your stuck with for two more months?” You smiled through closed eyes. “We still have press tours don’t forget that Monroe Stacy. You’re stuck with me.” He joked as he placed you back under the covers.

You weren’t sure how or when it happened. But at some point you must’ve fallen asleep. When you woke you found him slumped in the chair. Your head felt clear, a welcome change from the painful cloudiness you experienced for so long yesterday. As you rolled over you took in the fact that he had cared enough to stay with you. He went beyond the script. Small butterflies erupted in the pit of your stomach as he groaned and stretched his limbs.

“Next time I get the bed.” He mumbled sleepily as he rubbed his eyes.

You laughed, “Good morning.” The light shone through the blinds igniting the hidden pigments in his brown eyes. He flashed you a cocky smile. “And we’re off.” You thought to yourself

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