#Patient Sixty Seven | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

whirlybirbs · 1 month

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— BRUISED EGO ; PART ONE ; TOSHINORI YAGI ; 俊典

summary: you & toshinori have a great working relationship. all might is like a mentor. a great guy. a real, stand-up dude. a hero who inevitably has to help you deal with the side-effects of being hit with a love quirk. pairing: younger!toshinori yagi / f!reader ; hero name: derecho word count: 3.6k of pure smut tags: afab!reader, fingering, oral (female receiving), piv, denying feelings, toshi being a genuine lover-boy, someone has a praise kink, surprise it's me, minors dni a/n: i love young dumb full of cum late-twenties all might the tag | next →

"You don't look well—"

"Don't."

You could fry him right now. You could totally, absolutely, blast him with ten thousand volts and call it a night — but you can't, really, because he's fucking All Might. He's All Might and even worse, he's Toshinori Yagi.

He's... kind. And gentle. And patient. And levelheaded... If not the single reason your entire life fell apart seven years ago.

(That is not true. You know it. You and your therapist have worked through that stuck point — but, it sounds a hell of a lot better than explaining the reason you ended up in prison was by your own actions, not being caught by All Might.)

You're reformed.

Blah, blah, blah, you're the Villain Rehabilitation Program's star graduate.

They loved using your imagery — the ones of you before you got clean off those Quirk enhancers and put on the straight and narrow —in their PR packages. They love that picture of you — the ones with hands behind your back — cuffed by All Might as you're effectively muzzled by the local law enforcement.

Your lip catches in a snarl.

Don't think about that.

Don't think about his hands on your wrists. Don't think about the way his boot nudged your leg apart for the frisk — don't think about the way he threatened you, so low and so dangerous, not to move.

Don't think about how All Might is a bastard, and the media just doesn't know it.

He's cheeky. Sly. When he's out of the limelight, that eerie #1 smile drops and he's almost normal — if not nearly five hundred and sixty pounds of muscle.

Like now, on this rooftop, he's more like Toshinori Yagi. Your impromptu mentor in all things heroic. After all, the Hero Commission thought it would be great for the program's image if All Might, the man who arrested you countless times, was the one to integrate you into a more heroic notion. Never mind the dozens of times you went head-to-head with the man, never mind the handful of times you almost won.

"Derecho, I'm serious," comes his voice; it's softer, almost like he's in his smaller form — the one you always find yourself being partial to, "You look feverish..."

Static snaps across the air and Toshinori takes it — the way it bites at the skin of his hands is nothing. It's a warning shot. Don't come any closer.

"I was hit with that guy's quirk," you mutter as you try to square your breathing, "I'm fine, I just... Need some time—"

Son of a bitch.

You've always been a hard one to shake — and even now, as you climb well into the Top Ten ranks, he's never seen you this out of it. You've taken a crowbar to the ribs and recovered better than being hit by some petty criminal's love quirk.

Toshinori curses under his breath as he winces at the desperation cracking in your voice.

"If you need to take the night—"

"Yes."

He was slotted to patrol this prefecture with you for another two hours — but seeing the way your whole body looks like it could collapse is... a bit concerning. Toshinori nods, exhales, and waves you on.

"Should I call Recovery Girl?"

Your boot toes the ledge. You need out of this outfit. It's too tight. You're too hot. Your skin feels like it's on fire and the embarrassing ache between your legs is just getting worse with every low, timbred syllable out of his mouth. Don't think about his mouth.

"I'm fine."

You're not fine.

Even when you're back in your apartment, trying desperately to shower off the skin-crawling, mouth-watering heat of desire, you can't even come close to relating to the word 'fine'. You're a mess. You try to stand under the heat of the water for a while, to burn the need off your skin, but that doesn't work.

You're so not fine.

You can't stop thinking about Toshinori. Must be something to do with the fact he was closest when you were struck with the quirk. Yea. Totally that.

You have to be fine. You need to be fine. This is just a stupid love quirk that will wear off within a few hours.

Well, a few hours come and go, and it's just getting worse.

Come on, you are torturing yourself with the evening news, just breathe it out.

Because you're a hero, and you were a villain. You know what it's like to get hit with disconcerting quirks like this in the heat of a battle. With just a little time, it goes away. Right?

Right...?

"I AM CALLING! I AM CALLING!"

Your phone vibrates on the coffee table. Your pupils, full-blown and big, swivel to the photo that ignites the dark of the room. It's a photo of Toshinori — he's in his smaller form, posed beside you in a ramen booth close to U.A.'s campus. He was hellbent on giving you a tour of his old high school.

You always loved how cute he looked in that picture.

Fuck.

You snatch the phone up and answer the call.

"What?" it comes out snappier than it needs to be.

"Are you doin' alright?" his voice has lost its persona'd gusto. You can tell, just by the soft way he speaks, he's no longer in uniform or on patrol. All Might has clocked out for the evening, and Toshinori Yagi is in the building, "I haven't heard a peep from you all night, zippy."

Something in your brain goes blank at the nickname. You usually hate it. Usually, you'd bite at him for it. You don't even realize you're white knuckle gripping the edge of the couch as he continues to speak.

"Y'know, it's okay — I've been hit by love quirks plenty of times before," he goes on; you can hear him juggle the phone to his other ear, "They aren't fun. I'm sorry you're—"

"Come over."

Toshinori almost drops the can of soda in his hands. In the middle of the convenience store aisle, he feels his entire body lurch.

"What?"

Your head is back against the couch, your hands covering your face in sheer embarrassment. You grit it out again. "I said come over."

"Derecho—"

"I've tried everything," you mutter defeatedly into the phone; you can't even pull your hand from your face, you're so embarrassed you're even telling him this but you need help, "Fingers, toys, even the Hitachi on the highest speed, Toshinori, and I can't—"

Jesus fucking Christ.

This is bad.

This is... not you. So not you. This is... fuck, okay, right. He's All Might. He helps people. And you're important to him. You're his enemy turned pseudo-protégé turned colleague turned woman-he's-been-ignoring-his-feelings-for-the-last-seven-months. You're Derecho. Number Eight Hero in Japan, his friend. His...

"Give me ten."

And he hangs up.

Two boxes of XL condoms earn him a severely skeptical look from the cashier, but it's fine. Toshinori has bigger things to worry about — like the fact he has no idea what this is going to do to your working relationship, but it's fine. You need help. He knows what this is like — and he would feel awful if he left you to deal with it alone.

Fingers, toys, even the Hitachi—

Maybe he'll die, actually. Maybe he'll just throw himself from the nearest roof.

The mental image of you, alone in your apartment, hands between your thighs as you try desperately to shake the painful ache in your core has him walking a bit faster — your apartment is three blocks over.

He makes good time.

His knuckles don't even touch the door before you're yanking it open — and Christ, you're a sight to see.

Wet hair, wild eyes, and a permanent heavy breath. The oversized t-shirt clinging to your shoulders is definitely going to be a topic of discussion for a later date. It's All Might merch. His fucking merch.

When did you even buy that—?

"I'm sorry," you blurt out, looking pained.

Toshinori's eyes hold your own. Then:

"I've always been a sucker for a damsel in distress."

He's a bastard. A serious bastard. A bastard who you're dragging in by the neck of his t-shirt — a bastard who doesn't complain in the slightest when your mouth is on his in a flash. With ease, he slams the front door shut with his boot and quickly allows you to guide him through your apartment. Your mouth is still latched to his, your hands digging into his shoulders as his hands chase your waist.

You recognize in the heated haze of the kiss there's a grocery bag in his hand. It knocks against your hip as you accidentally back into the edge of the couch — your hands fumbling for some purchase in the dark living room.

You pull your mouth from his just long enough to breathe out another apology.

"Don't. We'll talk about it after," he says, leaning down over you as you scramble back against the leather couch cushions, "What do you need?"

"What do you think?" you hiss as his body presses against yours; he's still in his boots, still in his shirt and jeans. He's... too clothed. Your body couldn't handle anything except the less-than-flattering pair of cotton underwear and the biggest t-shirt you owned.

You swear he's smirking in the dark.

"Mouth? Hands?" he presses, his touch cradling your face as he continues to navigate your steady, bruisingly needy kisses, "Use your words."

"Anything—"

Your voice is a rasp, your hands scaling his back as he nudges your knees apart with his thigh and slots his hips against yours. Even in this smaller form, he's got the tactical advantage — not being near death from a fever so high you can hardly think anymore.

"I need to know," he says as he leans back, his voice dipping lower as his palms brush the skin of your stomach. His fingertips hesitate at the edge of your waistband, and you whine.

"Anything, Toshinori, stop jerking me around!"

...What a brat. He almost laughs. But, then he remembers the one time he was left like this — and how desperate he was even after six hours of exhaustive attempts at self-pleasure.

"Be nice," he chirps as his fingers slip beneath your underwear; his satisfaction builds when you fist the back of his shirt and gasp — his fingers grace the slick, wet folds of your core with ease. It's a tender movement, one that assesses just how pliable you are at this moment.

And then, two of his fingers are pushing into you down to his knuckles.

The babbled thank you bursts from your chest — and Toshi actually laughs at how fast you cling to his chest. He didn't anticipate his night going like this. Not with you, wild-eyed and desperate, pulling him into a kiss that's so bruising he thinks his lip splits.

Hands. Hands. Hands. His hands. One hand is between your folds, working you open, and the other is pressing up your curves and settling along your breast. You can't even think straight. The fact Toshinori is so slick, so eager, so good at whatever he's doing, is making the coil in your abdomen go white hot.

"Fuck—" you strangle out, your lips parted in a gasp as he wets his own lips and watches your face in the dark, "G-God, okay, th-that's good—"

"Better than your own?" he asks, genuinely worried this isn't the progress you need to shake off the quirk's effects.

"So much better," you wail, coincidentally fueling his ego in a way he never knew he needed. Because, ha, well — who knew Derecho, little miss spiteful and mysterious, just needed a little bit of him.

"Is it enough?" he asks against her jaw, his forearm flexing as he works the pace up, his palm rubbing gently against your clit. It's an attempt at a coordinated pace, and it seems to be working from the way you're writhing beneath him.

"I... I still — I can't — I'm so..." you look like you could cry out of sheer frustration, and Toshi suddenly feels a pang of guilt. He can only imagine how you've done this very thing over and over tonight, trying to just cum. Your voice cracks and you whimper, "I can't. I'm so close, but I just can't—"

"Okay," he breathes, his mind swirling with strategic planning, "So mouth."

"Mouth?" you choke, suddenly looking alarmed, but Toshi doesn't seem to care about the added snare of intimacy that comes with him slipping to his knees before the couch.

Oh my god, he's on his knees. He's on his knees and he's grappling with your underwear, hauling it down the tops of your thighs before throwing it over his shoulder in a very Toshinori manner.

You've got All Might on his knees.

It suddenly hits you as he sits up on his knees and nudges your legs apart. He's a man on a mission — dedicated entirely to the task at hand.

Making you orgasm.

You wonder how many people have fantasized about this very thing — granted, he's not costume. Thank god. You can't even imagine what the conversation with his dry-cleaning team would look like.

Toshi's voice knocks you back to reality. "Is this okay?"

He sounds concerned.

Meanwhile, you could kill him. If he doesn't put his mouth on you right now—

Noted. He sees the spark of annoyance, dumb question, and hauls your leg over his shoulder as he delves in.

Ohmygod.

This is better — the coil is wound tighter, and a little bit closer to snapping, the second his tongue presses flat against your glistening slick. It's even better when he hums, his voice mumbles against your sex as his hands press your thighs to open a bit farther.

"Keep 'em open."

"Don't talk," you heave between pants, "With your mouth full."

It's like the two of you are at work — this banter. But, his laugh vibrates your core and you moan. That doesn't happen at work. That doesn't happen, ever. A greedy part of you sure as hell hopes this happens again, because holy hell, he's good at this. Methodical. Strategic. Thorough.

His pace doesn't change, the pressure doesn't lessen. The blonde streaks of his fringe tickle the inside of your thighs as he continues his work — and you swear you almost cum when he slips a look up at you in the dark.

His eyes are so blue that you feel like you're suddenly lost at sea.

Then, there are two crooked fingers back inside of you.

You and he are going to have to have a long talk about where he learned all this — because it's so good you genuinely can't do anything but reach out and grip his hair in a panic. You gasp, your whole body convulses, and you almost... almost cum. Almost.

It's Toshi's turn to moan.

You're suddenly so oversensitive you swear your heart might stop.

You're writhing away from him, squirming away, and Toshi's lips are parted as his breath fans across your core.

"Cock," you're suddenly rambling, "N-Need — I need—"

"Right," he stutters, realizing this is good — you're almost there, he can tell. You're so close he can feel it in the air. The static electricity burning off your quirk leaves the room feeling tingly.

He's wobbling back upright, cursing as he practically falls around the couch in the dark, and palms at the grocery bag he discarded on the floor. He's not graceful about the way he tears about the small box, or about the way he drops the foil square between his teeth as he leans back to work off his belt.

"Bedroom?" he asks through gritted teeth.

You're nodding, practically falling over yourself to lead the way. Boots, jeans, belt, shirt — all of it is left scattered along the way, and your bare body hits the sheets after an easy shove from Toshinori. Of course, the boxers clinging to his strong thighs are his brand. The All Might logo is almost comical stretched across his hardness.

You have the wherewithal to roll your eyes as he tears open the condom with his teeth.

"What?" he shirks, looking down.

"Seriously?" you grit, legs pressed together tightly to try and stop the empty ache between your legs. It hurts. It hurts so much worse when his mouth and hands aren't on you.

"Don't even start," he rumbles as he rolls down the waistband and his cock springs free — he's quick to roll the condom down the thick length of it and lift a finger to wag in your face, "You answered the door in my merch—"

"Setting the mood," you offer as he steps out of his underwear.

Toshinori then, unceremoniously, drags your hips to the edge of the bed. You almost shriek. It's a bit rough — a bit sudden — but you can't complain when the head of his cock is suddenly being guided through your folds teasingly. Up and down. Over the swollen bud of your clit, across your wet opening. You prop yourself up on your elbows, lips parted, as you try and nudge your hips closer.

His large hand presses your hips down to the mattress.

"Toshinori—"

"You sure this is okay?" he mutters, his pupils full-blown as he watches himself slip through your wetness, "I— If it's too much—"

"If you don't fuck me right now—"

"Right."

And he sinks in.

Ha.

Yea.

This is good.

You're so glad you didn't fry him earlier. You're so glad. You're so... oh, this is so so so ridiculously good you might die. You might die, because he's snapping his hips into yours and you can see the ripple of his muscles, even in this smaller form.

His breath is ragged, his voice low and easy.

"You're doing a great job," he says; your core tightens at the sudden praise, "Y-You're doin' really... good—"

Your chest bounces with each thrust, your legs locked around his hips, your whimpers increasing in frequency with every single in and out of his cock. The feeling is better than any sex you've ever had — you've never been so aware of every inch.

And then, he's knocking his forehead against yours, leaning over you — you're caged against the mattress, and one arm of his is holding your leg up around his waist. The angle change is minute but it's good. Everything is Toshinori so suddenly, everything is so blue eyes and a bright smile.

It's thorough, a word you're slowly beginning to realize describes Toshinori to a T. There's not a single falter in his pace, not a single thrust that doesn't wind the white-hot orgasm tighter and tighter in your belly. It's worse when he holds your face, though, worse when he keeps fucking you so well while chattering on about how good you are, how strong you are, how beautiful you are—

Your composure snaps when he rumbles out:

"I know you can cum for me like a good girl."

The coil snaps.

Finally.

After four hours of torture. After four hours of trying. Finally, you cum — and hard. The sort that robs you of your vision and hearing, the sort that has your whole body arching off the bed. The kind you haven't had in a long time. The kind that, of course, Toshinori Yagi would be the man to provide.

"Fuckfuckfuck—" you babble, gasping, still gripped by the force of the orgasm as his pace quickens.

He's laughing — laughing, and then you're clamping down on him so hard he sees stars. It's all fun and games until he can't stop himself, he can't slow down, he can't breathe, and he's rocked by an orgasm that makes his knees give out. He's wild-eyed, panting, snapping his hips into yours as you whimper and gasp and grip his shoulders so tight he may have bruises.

Toshinori swallows, then gasps to catch his breath, and then pushes himself up to give you a little room to breathe. His cock is still twitching inside of you.

Your eyes are closed, and your breath is fast. Your hair is spilled across the sheet — and you look content. Satiated. Peaceful. He's rarely ever seen you so tranquil.

Blindly, and lazily, you reach up to touch his cheek.

At first, he thinks it's going to be tender. Intimate. Romantic.

Then, you roughly pat it twice.

"We're never gonna talk about this again."

Right.

Because he's All Might. And you're Derecho. You're colleagues. Friends. This was just... him helping you. Like when a friend has a cold. You bring them soup. He... brought you... an orgasm. Just like soup.

Definitely.

...Right.

"It was just, uh," he breathes, pulling out and cursing at the embarrassingly apparent load in the condom; not like he'd dreamed about this very thing for nights on end, no siree bob, "You needed help. I offered."

That is not what happened. Not even close. But, he's going to tell himself that.

Not like you totally won't think about this every single night ever for the rest of time. Definitely like you won't dream about the way he called you a good girl. Ha. Yea, right. Psh. You're fine. This is fine. Everything is fine.

After all, it's just Toshinori.

He's... kind. And gentle. And patient. And levelheaded... If not the single reason your entire life fell apart seven years ago.

And definitely not the reason your life is falling apart right now as you realize, fuck, you're definitely in love with him, aren't you?

Naaah.

#this is a rare birbs smut #toshinori x reader #all might x reader #mha imagine #mha x reader #toshinori yagi #all might x you #mha imagines #toshinori yagi x reader #toshinori yagi x you #mha smut #i would take back shots from this man at any age of his #bruised ego

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roger-that-cap · 1 year

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seven summers

bradley bradshaw x fem! reader

this my first fic in what feels like a century for a completely different fandom. i have been gathering up the courage to do this again, and i've been sitting on this for about two months now. take it easy on me y'all i feel like a sixty year old veteran re-enlisting right now and i have NO idea how to reload my weapon

warnings: absolutely none! well theyre a little sad for a minute but nothing that tumblr can't handle

word count: 5.9k

Loud spaces weren’t really in your list of favorite places. You could tolerate bars more than you could do clubs, though, and your best friend took that into consideration when she planned the night out for you two. The music was loud and the people were starting to get rowdy, but at least no one was grinding on you or begging for a dance. That was always when you would wrap it up for the night, shaking your head at even thinking that it was a good idea.

“Thank you,” you told the bartender, an exceptionally gorgeous older woman who always seemed to have a meddling look on her face. Her hair was lightly waved around her face as she looked you up and down for a second. You thought she was going to say something, but she just nodded at you once with a small smile before you turned away again, facing the crowd of people you were about to delve back into. You were just leaving the bar top with a soda (you were the DD, as always) when you tripped over someone else’s huge shoe.

“Oh, shit,” a manly voice said as you tripped, and hands caught your arm before you fell over all the way. You looked up and saw a blond man in an achingly familiar navy uniform looking down at you, and your eyes narrowed as his eyes grew wide. “I’m sorry.”

His uniform nearly brought you to a scene of painful flashbacks. You knew you were bound to run into attractive men in uniforms so close to a base, but there was an air about this man that made you feel like you were almost running right through the mist, right through the shadow of a man that you once knew, and a man that wore that very same uniform as he walked away.

You loved Alexandra, your friend you met through other friends. The only downside was that she was in the Navy, and that meant that you were almost always surrounded with memories of your ex boyfriend when you were with her. Him and that stupid uniform that stole him away.

“No worries,” you said after a few seconds, smiling at him. “It’s crowded here.”

“Oh, nice tattoo,” he said, and your hand immediately went to your collarbone, where the one tattoo you had rested. It was a nicely done tattoo of a honeybee, a mark of your past. Something you probably should have gotten removed, but every time you tried to convince yourself, you gave another reason to not get it removed. Deep down, you knew why you couldn’t go through with it.

“Thank you, I got it a while ago.” That was all you could say as memories flashed in your mind, but you managed to smile.

“You look really familiar,” he said, and you noticed that he also had an air of confidence to him as well as familiarity. He was an attractive man, almost too perfect. And he had a smile that you knew lured girls in far too often to be completely innocent.

“I’m kinda new to the area,” you said, shrugging your shoulders. “Maybe we’ve run into each other at the grocery store or something? Or if you’re a frequent flier at the hospital.” That happened a lot. People you had never had as your own patients would sometimes recognize you, especially if they were often there.

“Yeah, maybe.” He looked you up and down one more time, almost like he was genuinely trying to figure out what his own mind was trying to remind him, before he nodded his head at you with a small smirk and a toothpick between his lips and left just as quickly as he came. And then your friend was taking his place, jabbering on about something as you tried to clear your own head.

You never wanted to be one of those people that lived in the past, and for the most part, you weren’t. You lived in the moment. You loved to make new memories, find new things to do, and meet new people. You loved meeting new people. However, the problem with meeting new people, especially men, was that there was that one guy from that one specific relationship that you had gotten yourself in that made it feel like everything was all for nothing.

Bradley Bradshaw.

You didn’t even know exactly what it was. You had been in plenty of summer flings that were passionate and fun, but you got over them easily enough. You had met so many people, loved and lost, and they all stuck with you in different ways that all felt sweet in one way or another. But Bradley? There was something about him that stayed with you in a different way. The thought of him kept a lingering taste of something distinct on your tongue.

In a way, he was the biggest waste of time you had ever spent your life on. There were two years that you shared being officially together, but it felt like forever. You should have known he was trouble the second you saw that military-grade mustache, and the confident walk he always had. You should’ve known he would cause you some pain the second his eyes and his smile proved to be a deadly combo. You poured so much love into that man in a short time in the grand scheme of things, and looking back, it was as much of a waste as it was a privilege.

For a while, you prayed for his return. He had broken your heart right before he left for his deployment, but that didn’t mean that you wanted anything to happen to him. You prayed for a while for him to come back safely and then come right back to you, and then that progressed into you praying to never see him again. You wished for his safety, you always would, but you never wanted to hear anything about him ever again unless it was saying that he landed safely back on US soil. After that, you wanted his name to be gone with the wind and buried with the dust of time.

Either way, he was in your thoughts forever and always, regardless of how many summers passed or how many people there were after him, how many you had met to pass the time. And as you stood in the middle of the bar with Alexandra, you were frozen in shock as you realized that you probably manifested the very fighter pilot in front of you.

He had seen you first. He was surrounded by attractive people in uniforms that you knew had to be his friends, and when you caught the eyes of the very blond man that you fell over before pointing at you with the angle of his head, your jaw dropped a bit. The man from earlier looked at you and slapped Bradley on his back, giving a blinding smirk before saying something to him that you couldn’t hear.

You were sure you looked silly standing there, freezing up the second you recognized him with a pool stick in your hand. You felt all the tension in your body work together to keep you as straight as a board. You blinked when your friend nudged you, completely oblivious to the mini panic attack you were about to have, and you swallowed and looked away like it didn’t nearly hurt you to stop looking at him.

You felt like you were drowning.

“You’re not tapping out or anything, right?” Alexandra asked, narrowing her eyes at you. “We’ve barely been here an hour, and you already have that uncomfortable look on your face.”

“What look?” You managed to murmur, completely aware that he was still looking at you. His gaze felt as familiar as it had back then.

“The one where you’re looking for escape routes,” she teased, even though she was starting to look concerned. “You do it all the time. Hey, are you okay?”

“Yeah!” You said, way too loud to be normal. “I’m good.”

You prayed he didn’t approach you. He had plenty of distractions on his side of the room, lots of friends to talk to even though it was obvious they were trying to get him to go over to you. You were hoping that he would never come up to you or look your way again, but you were sick to your stomach when you realized that him walking away would mean he didn’t care nearly as much as you did.

You closed your eyes for a moment as you tried to understand that none of what you were seeing was a dream.

“Hi!” A woman’s voice from behind you said, and you turned around. You saw a woman in uniform smiling politely at both you and Alex, and you assumed that she knew her, but then her attention was on you. “I’m sorry, I just had to come over and say I love your dress.”

You were a simple creature, and one of your fatal flaws was that you were exceptionally friendly. That easily, the tension left your body as you spoke to the woman. You smiled kindly at her. “Thank you! I got it at a thrift store, but you can check the back to see where it’s from if you want!” She grinned at you, and then you saw her eyes wander to your hand.

“Oh, your ring is pretty, too!” The woman said. “When’s the wedding?” She joked, and you laughed. You wanted a big wedding, back then. Back when you could see the groom in your head, imagine the words he would say, and even imagine your first name combined with his last: Bradshaw. But that was nothing now.

“Thank you! You’re so sweet. It’s from my mom though, she gave it to me a few years ago.” She gave it to you, her big, shiny ring that her first husband had bought her just as a gift. Instead of pawning it, you begged her to have it. It had no sentimental value to you at all. It kind of looked like an engagement ring, but you couldn’t bring yourself to take it off. It warded off men for the most part, and it was a piece of her.

“Aw, that’s so sweet. I’m Nat! Most people around here call me Phoenix.”

You grinned at her and shook her hand before telling her your name, and you knew right then that you liked her. She was extroverted, but very polite. Just your type of person.

“It’s nice to meet you.”

“You too!” She smiled at you before she continued her walk to the bar, and you didn’t think anything else of the nice girl in uniform.

The next few minutes went without any issues at all, and you felt like you could ignore the situation at hand and have a good rest of the night with Alex before it was time for you guys to head home.

“Hey.”

You weren’t hearing his voice. You just weren’t. You made your next shot in the game and ignored him.

You could feel him get closer to you, so close you could smell his cologne. Your eyes watered when you realized it was the very scent you picked out for him all those years ago. He still wore it.

You heard a very manly throat clear from beside you, and you realized that he wasn’t going to give it up. “Hi,” he tried again, and you breathed through your nose and finally turned around, looking face to chest at him before you looked up.

He was smiling down at you. He was smiling down at you as if nothing had happened, and no time had passed. You smiled back at first like muscle memory, but then your face dropped to a frown almost immediately. His smile fell, too. He nodded at your friend in acknowledgement, but she was too busy eyeing him up and trying to decide if he was a threat to you or the night to know that he was being friendly.

“Bradshaw,” you said, and his frown got deeper when he realized you called him by his last name. He hated that. You weren’t in the Navy and you had been together, you and he always insisted you reserved the rights to using his real name. Not his call sign, not his last name, but the one his parents had given him. “It’s been a while.”

“Bradley,” he corrected gently, almost like he thought you genuinely forgot, or like you threw out his first name from your personal dictionary. As if you could ever forget a detail about him. That was the blessing and the curse that he left you with. “You look-” he stopped talking for a moment, and you could have sworn that you saw an ocean of fondness in his pretty eyes that shouldn’t have still been there. “You’re still so beautiful.”

Your words felt caught in your throat. You wanted to tell him that his tan made him look beautiful. You wanted to say that he had filled out so nicely, and that his scars still fit his face perfectly. You remembered kissing them while laying in the summer sun and you remembered kissing them under the tiny Christmas tree you guys had bought together and plugged in. You were both so broke it only had about ten ornaments on it, but that never mattered. Never to the two of you. “You… still have that mustache.”

“You always liked it,” he said, a small smile coming back into his expression, but you didn’t give one back.

“So you’ve kept it growing in hopes to run into me?”

“Maybe I have,” he answered, and you blinked at him. He had always had a flirty personality.

You just blinked. “Uh, yeah. That’s nice.” Was it? It was opening every old wound you had ever had. Every wound that was partially healed by another person’s fleeting kisses was being torn right back open by one sighting of Bradley Bradshaw.

“It’s- it’s amazing to see you, how have you been?”

You were becoming more and more confused. How in the hell was he being so chipper? Maybe chipper wasn’t the word, he was being polite. Or, maybe it was that he wasn’t falling apart like you were. How? How was he managing politeness when you were hardly breathing? The thought that he would walk away from the conversation like it never happened made you irritable and defensive at the same time. “Why do you care?”

His brows furrowed, and he was looking at you as if you were saying all the wrong things. “Because I care how you’ve been.”

“Why?”

He took a look at your friend, who was still staring him down. “Uh, can we talk for a second?” He asked, and you pursed your lips together.

“No, she’s good right here,” Alexandra said, and you gave her a small smile.

“No, it’s okay, he’s fine. He’s big, but he’s harmless.” You saw his chest puff up in just the slightest at the mention of his physique, and you rolled your eyes. “We can step outside, but I’m not going home with you.”

“Okay!” He said, a little too loud for the setting, and you fought back a smile at how excited he was just to talk. You squashed the fondness down. “Okay, uh, come with me.”

The second your foot hit the gravel outside, his fingers were touching yours. The touch was innocent, but you still yanked your hand away. He backed away understandingly. “Force of habit, sorry.”

And it was. You remembered his little quirks. You were always pretty independent, and he had always been touchy and protective, so the compromise back then was that he would lay off while you were inside of a building, but he would hold your hand and guide you all he wanted to the second you walked outside.

“I- uh, I wanted to talk about us.”

“The past?” You said, crossing your arms.

“We’ve known each other for a long time,” he said slowly, like he was just then realizing he was treading on very thin ice.

“We knew each other,” you corrected, fully aware of your friend piecing the situation together by the expression on her face, and you gave her a look that held promises of filling her in.

“Don’t be like that,” he said, coming a little closer, and you felt your eyes burn when you smelled his familiar scent even more. Your tradition of buying men cologne that matched their personalities had died after Bradley. It was something you didn’t really understand why you did it yourself, but it was fun, and Bradley loved it. He was the fourth guy you had done it with, and he was the last. It just didn’t feel right with anyone else, and it was simply something else you kissed goodbye when you and Bradley went your separate ways.

“I’m not being any certain way.”

“I would definitely say that we know each other,” he said, a short chuckle dying on his lips, and you could hear the hurt in his voice. “We were together nearly every day for two years. We’d sit on the river and on the beach and talk about everything for hours. We road-tripped cross-country. I remember everything you ever told me back home, and I remember the last summer we had together like it was yesterday.”

You looked back up at him with eyes that you knew had to be full of sadness. “That was four summers ago.”

You saw it set in with him how much time really had gone by. You watched his eyes widen and his lips poke outwards as he breathed out. “Wow.”

Had time really not passed for him as slowly as it did to you?

All you could do was swallow and turn your head away from the breeze. “Yeah.”

“Do you have a boyfriend now?”

Part of you was so thrown by his question and his lack of tact, especially because he had been such a good flirt back then. Maybe time had changed him. “I’m married.”

Immediately, he shook his head with a small smile. “You’re not.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, even though you were enjoying the back and forth. It felt so familiar. “How would you know that?”

“That was the first thing I checked before I came over,” he admitted, and you cocked your head at him. “I looked at your finger and saw the ring before you even noticed me. And then I asked Phoenix to go over to you and make sure it was what I thought it was, and I was right.”

You gasped. You should have known that that stupid nickname was a damn callsign, the glaring beacon of a person that meant that they were a pilot. And pilots were… they were hard to love.

“I knew that if I came over to you, there would be no way I could hold my tongue from trying to win you back, so I had to make sure you weren’t married first, at least. But I’m not even sure that would’ve stopped me,” he muttered under his breath, and you rolled your eyes.

You were still a little bitter over him sending one of his friends to talk to you, and how well he knew you. He knew you never would have responded to a random man the same way you did Phoenix. “How do you know I don’t have a boyfriend?”

“I’m praying.” And then he sighed. “I don’t have anyone either.”

You would have laughed in his face if you weren’t so gutted. “I find that hard to believe.”

“What do you mean?”

“Considering you broke it off so you could run around and meet other girls, I would be very shocked if you didn’t have one with a ring on her finger by now.”

His eyes widened to a size that was almost comical. “What?”

You rolled your eyes at him. “Before you deployed. You know, when you broke up with me so that you could go talk freely with other women.”

His facial expression was so shocked that you almost bought it. He looked genuinely thrown in a loop by your words. “I didn’t break up with you to meet other people, Bee.”

You nearly caught whiplash at hearing your old nickname pouring like straight up honey from his mouth. No one called you that in a long time, mostly because ‘Bee’ was reserved for Bradley after a day he met you in freshman year of college, and you did an entire presentation on conservation of bees with passion that none of the other students had in their slideshows. It was what had drawn him to you in the first place.

“That’s what it felt like.” It still felt like that, four years later.

“No, no,” he said, shaking his head slowly. You hated how handsome he looked even when he was confused. But he had no right to look confused. “That’s not what happened at all.”

Your tone said it all for you as you crossed your arms. “Um, that’s what I remember, Bradshaw.”

He ignored what you called him, but you saw it in his eyes that it still bothered him. “I cut it off because I felt awful that you were going to be forced to wait for me,” he said, taking a step closer, and you saw his sad brown eyes begging you to listen. “We were still so young, you were even younger than me. It wasn’t fair for me to ask you to keep waiting for me, especially because I kept going on dangerous deployments.”

His words were bouncing around in your head. You calculated what he was saying, narrowing your eyes and trying to make sense of how it was changing your entire perspective of what happened, second by second.

“Are you fucking stupid?” You blurted, but he wasn’t surprised. In fact, he looked relieved. You never really made a habit of swearing, not even while arguing, but when you rarely let a word slip, it meant that you cared a lot.

Bradley wasn’t quite sure which way you cared and if it was in a good way or a bad way, but he was determined to change the passion to a way that would benefit the both of you.

“If you want me to be,” he rasped, and you narrowed your eyes at him.

“Did you just say you didn’t want me to wait for you?”

He blinked. “Yeah. You were what, twenty three? Your whole life was ahead of you. It wasn’t fair for you to have to wait for me to come home when you… you’re full of so much life. You had just gotten your dream job at the hospital, and you were so happy. If you were to stick it out with me gone, you would just have to decide between your job and me anyway when I got home. I ended up getting stationed somewhere else not too long after I came back home, just like I knew I would.”

“Bradley, I told you I wanted to travel, anyway. That job was not my forever job.”

“But-”

“I was prepared to wait for- for forever.” It was his turn to look shocked. “I really would have, Bradley. You just never even gave me the chance to. You pulled the rug out underneath me. You didn’t even ask me.”

He ran a hand over his face as the weight of the decision he made for the both of you settled heavy on his chest. “Oh, god.”

“I assumed you were deploying and you wanted to meet new people. I mean, I know that a lot of… you guys are cheaters. The stereotypes are true a lot of the time. I just figured you were sparing me from the cheating and cutting it off before it could get to that point.”

“Oh, god, no.” He shook his head. “You- thought I was cheating on you?”

“Well- what else was I supposed to think?”

“I would never,” he said, using his hands to make a broad “no” gesture. “You’ve always been it for me, ever since we met. There couldn’t have been anyone else, and there hasn’t been this whole time.”

You tried to mask the way you were falling into a puddle at his feet. “You’re so dumb.”

“Is it dumb of me to think you’ll hear me out a little more?”

You rolled your eyes at him, but your skin felt like it was on fire being so close to him again. “You’re plenty dumb, Rooster.”

“You never called me Rooster.”

“Well, I don’t know Bradley anymore.”

“I- why are you saying that?” He asked, and his face grew even more distraught. “You do know me. Nothing’s changed. Nothing is different at all besides the time. I still- there’s nothing that has changed about the way I feel for you.”

“What do you want me to say?” You couldn’t confess your love to him again. You loved him, a part of you always would, but you couldn’t handle him coming out of the blue and telling you everything you had secretly been wishing he would say to you for years. He was coming in like a dream. It was far too good to be true. “We got lost in translation four years ago and there's nothing we can do about it. Unless you and your pilot friends have been smart enough to build a time machine.”

“I would build a thousand time machines if it meant that I could change what I did, I was stupid. I was so stupid.” He stepped closer. “But I never stopped loving you. Not even once.”

A tear ran down your face, and that’s when you knew it was time to go find Alexandra again. “I-I gotta go, Bradley.” Before you could even turn around all the way, he took you by your hips and turned you back around, both pairs of your eyes wide mirrors of the other.

“I have been haunted by the thought of you for four years now,” he said, voice as soft and gentle as the breeze, but the grip he had on your hips was so desperate it almost made you sob. “I haven’t even- I’ve tried, but there hasn’t been anyone else. Not emotionally. Not even close, Bee.”

You couldn’t say the exact same. You tried and succeeded for a time, but they were never complete fixes. Just when you thought you were happy with someone else and free of the clutches of Bradley Bradshaw, he snuck right back. He ripped that rug out from under you every time without fail without even being present. That was your problem with each “relationship”, you were looking for a remedy and closure for a relationship that the next person had no idea about and no obligation to make better.

But you had definitely been haunted by the lack of Bradley Bradshaw. He was there all the time with you in your mind, whether you wanted him or not.

“This,” you said, shaking your head, and judging by the look on his face, he knew he was losing you. “This is a lot.”

“Wait, don’t walk away. I just got you back.”

“I’m not back, Bradley.”

“You’re back in front of me,” he said, and you stopped turning away from him. “That’s all I could ask for. Even if you want nothing else to do with me ever again, I just want to stand here and look at you for one more minute. Please.”

You put your hands over your face the second you felt your eyes start to burn and overflow with tears. You could feel his energy before you even felt his true touch, and the second you felt his arms around you, you broke down.

“I thought- I thought you were so nervous a few days before you left because you were going to propose to me.”

You couldn’t believe the words that were leaving your mouth. You had been so humiliated about jumping to conclusions that you hadn’t even told Alexandra about that part. You never planned on telling anyone that was the reason why you were so hurt, especially not the man who caused you all that pain. It had been sitting heavy on your chest, the humiliation and the sadness alike, for all four summers. You never planned on letting it loose.

But you had already said it.

“You boys get married so fast, and honestly, I was ready. I thought you were nervous because you were going to ask me to marry you, not because you were breaking up with me.”

“Oh.”

“It gutted me so bad when you broke it off. I thought it was going to be the opposite- I thought we were going to start our lives together and then you just…” you looked down at the ground as you tried to swallow back down the memory, even though everything was coming back so strong. “It was gone, that fast. And I realized I loved you a lot more than you ever loved me, obviously.”

“That's not even close to being true,” he said, shaking his head rapidly. “You can ask any of the guys I shipped out with. I was fucking miserable the whole time. And I know you don’t know the new guys I’m with, but this new squad even knows that there’s nobody else. You’re the one that got away.”

“You let me go,” you corrected, and he smiled sadly.

“Because I loved you.”

“That’s so fucking dumb,” you said, but you couldn’t stop yourself from getting closer to him. “That’s for fairytales, stupid.”

You felt yourself leaning into him, and he was letting you. His body language was inviting you in. You could see it in his eyes and you could feel his hands trembling as he moved them from your waist to hover over your back, like he was ready to pull you into him the second you gave in. You knew it was only a matter of time before you did give in, and the longer you felt his hands hover over you like you were stained glass, the more you craved his familiar, burning touch. You felt the pull to him like you were magnets. Like he was the sun and you were Icarus. You were the moth to his enticing flame, but he had always seen you as a butterfly. You were terrified to get burned for the second time, and fall from grace all over again.

“That one pilot said he recognized me,” you blurted, and you felt his eyes on you even though you couldn’t look at him. “I’ve never met him before, have I?” You might have. You used to know a lot of his old friends. He shook his head. “How did he know me?”

Without hesitation, his answer came. “I have pictures of you in my cockpit.”

That was what threw you. “What?”

“Most pilots keep photos of important people in their cockpit. It reminds them to fly safer. In the worst cases, it’s so that they can see a glimpse of family before they go down.”

Your heart was soaring so high that it was breaking with the pressure of it. “You have a picture of me in there?”

He had absolutely no shame about it as he nodded his head firmly. “Yeah, I have pictures of you. In my cockpit and in my locker.” Were you his screensaver, too? You didn’t know.

But you were in his locker. It made your heart flutter and it sent you right back to highschool. “More than one?”

“I have so many that my squad recognized you without me even saying anything. Hangman was the one who told me you were here.”

“Oh.”

He kicked the rocks underneath his foot, and then he was squinting back down at you. “You thought- you thought I was going to ask you to marry me?”

Just like that, your soaring, cracking heart plummeted again. “You don’t have to rub it in, Bradley.”

“No, it’s not that at all. I just- you would’ve said yes?”

“Of course I would have said yes, stupid.” You ignored how his eyes lit up and turned your body away with crossed arms. He was always so expressive, even when he didn’t want to be. “But that was a long time ago.”

“Not too long,” he rushed, and you shook your head.

You fought the urge to roll your eyes, especially because it was mostly to get the tears away. “It was a while ago, Bradley.”

“There’s no amount of time apart that would make me not want to be with you, Bee.”

Your head swiveled to him upon hearing your nickname from him again. “It- it doesn’t just work like that, dude.”

“Why not?”

“We were stupid back then. We lived off of blind faith and a whole lot of hopes. It doesn’t work that way anymore.”

“We make our own rules, that’s the glory of being adults.” He took your hands and you faced him, and the hope in his expression nearly floored you. “Who said we can’t pick up where we left off?”

You scoffed, even though you weren’t even close to laughing. “You’re crazy.”

“Crazy about you, but you’ve always known that,” he said with a smile. “You’ve always known how to work with it, too.”

For a moment, you felt a glimmer of hope and you felt the whisper of a smile come onto your face. And then you crashed again, and he must have seen it all over your face because his own smile went away and was replaced by concern. Before he could even ask what happened that fast, you threw your face into his chest and wrapped your arms around him.

He held you back just as quickly, and you knew he had been waiting for you. He smelled like home and he even felt like it, and when you opened your eyes all you could see was that stupid, loud Hawaiian print.

“I-if we do this again you- I can’t handle it if you leave me again. I couldn’t take it. Please, Bradley.”

“Don’t you even worry about that,” he said firmly, holding you so close that it felt like the two of you were physically molding together. “If you give me the chance, I want a shot at forever.”

You pulled your wet face away from his shirt and looked up at him as your heart raced in your chest. “Huh?”

He stared down at you for a moment, and you could see in his ever-expressive eyes that he was thinking about saying something to you that was about to change everything. “I fully intend to become your husband when we’re ready, if you let me. Just the way you wanted, and the way I’ve always dreamed about. I’m not going anywhere.”

The logical part of you knew that he was being ridiculous. Bradley was nothing if not overzealous, nothing if not reaching for goals that were just short of being unattainable. He was the version of Icarus that always managed to get back to earth safely by the skin of his teeth. He always put the cart before the horse, but somehow he always managed to get there.

So, you knew he was being serious. As crazy as he sounded, he was.

“Do you really mean that?” You didn’t have to ask that question. In fact, the words felt like acid on your tongue, but your heart pressed you to ask it anyway.

“Nothing could get me to leave you again, especially not my own stupidity.” He was holding you even tighter. “I promise.”

You were going to hold him to that with the same intensity that he held you with.

*****

oh boy.

so this one i’ve been sitting on forever and i’m tired of looking at it, but i have nothing but love for this fic that is pulling me out of a writing slump. i wrote it out of pure love for rooster though so i felt like i had to share it!! also- this comes from two main things;

two songs (“7 summers” and “ ‘98 braves” by morgan wallen) and then me being dumb enough to get involved with a military man of my own. he’s been gone for a while so i’m manifesting he comes back soon. anyone who is thinking about getting with a person- especially man- in the military (i can only speak for the united states military bc that’s where i’m from), you better be tough. i know they look good. i know they have this energy to them- trust me i’ve been obsessed since i was like 15. way before top gun maverick. but if you’re gonna be stupid, you better be tough 💀💀💀 and if you need any guidance to being stupid, i’m always here!!!

if you’re new here thanks for stopping by and checking it out! if you’re from an old fandom of mine but read it anyways i love you so much, it means a lot. 💕💕💕

#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #tgm #rooster x reader #my fics #bradley bradshaw x reader #heaven help me why am i writing again #lys’s fics #top gun maverick #top gun fanfiction #bradley bradshaw fluff

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