#carrie bradshaw also has no soul | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

theskytraveler · 2 years ago

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!!!!!!!

I didn't want to read this until I was done writing my own new chapter, but now I am and I am so excited about this!!!

As usual, I got carried away with the commentary so I had to put in a "keep reading" thing 🙈

It looks like Disneyland trying to do stately

Dying at this description, I love it.

Part of you feels sad for having missed out on the Say Yes to The Dress moment

MAY, HOW DID YOU KNOW I'M OBSESSED WITH THAT SHOW?? One of my life dreams is getting married in a Pnina Tornai dress 😍

he’s always looked a little too much like Tom Cruise for comfort

I was waiting to see if she'd mention the uncanny resemblance and I can't stop laughing 😂 Also, "I'll be your witness today" man, stop being so serious! This is a wedding! At a building that could belong at Disneyland! Lighten up!

Pete excuses himself to find some water after a while, but you suspect he might just be trying to give you and Bradley some space.

Either that or he needs to check in with his cult 😌

It’s a ring. A simple silver band with a little diamond, nothing flashy, nothing big. Classic. Reliable. So Bradley Bradshaw it would make you laugh if this whole thing weren’t so goddamn sad.

How do you do this?? How do you characterize someone so well through an object?? Show me your ways.

After the divorce

Yeah, right. As if I believe that's gonna happen. Pfff, please.

After all, you’re the one bringing all the baggage here.

Has she met him? That man is all baggage. I'm surprised they let him fly the jets instead of putting him with the rest of the cargo.

trying to forget what you just forced Bradley to do

She forgets this was all his idea a lot 😂 I get it, but like, everything is mostly fine 😂

Phoenix wears a broad smile

PHOENIX!!! I'm suddenly reminded of my campaign!! Let Phoenix Punch Luke In The Face 2k22!! Soon to be 2k23!!

Bradley shrugs, but you catch sight of his expression before he turns toward the bar room again, and you think he looks pleased.

This man is a puppy. I feel like I've said this before. Still true.

Whitney Houston bellows about wanting to dance with somebody from the speakers.

Listen, I love Whitney as much as anybody, but I thought you said we were listening to modern songs? I thought that meant One Direction. Dua Lipa. Can't name any more artists from the top of my head because I only listen to Broadway and West End cast recordings, but you get what I mean. This is such an unimportant detail, but it caught me off guard and it's important to me that you know that.

“You guys have been disgustingly in love with each other since you met. The baby on board is just the cherry on top of the perfect peanut butter chocolate sundae, right?”

I cannot believe that the first person in possession of all of his brain cells in this fic is Hangman. Caught me off guard as well. Maybe he should start singing to Whitney too, that would throw me for a loop.

He disappears into the mess of the night, whistling a tune

I NEED TO KNOW, IS IT WHITNEY????

“I never would have predicted Hangman would be the first one to figure it out, right?”

No, sir! This is the part you confirm you're in love so we can avoid the miscommunication shenanigans later on. It's like none of them have ever read a book! Watched a movie! His mom is rom-com royalty Meg Ryan for crying out loud!

Careful where you tread, you think, dumbly, you might be treading on my soul.

I can't believe it took me this long to say this, but this woman needs a therapist. Someone get her one.

“If I followed you on Instagram… would you follow me back?”

Love seeing she has her priorities straight 😂😂😂

“It’s my Bronco. I have a picture of my car as my profile pic.”

AHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHA I AM SCREAMING!!

for a moment, just a moment, you think that maybe, after all, things might turn out okay.

They will. Meg Ryan, rom-com royalty, is his mom. Happy endings are basically 50% of his DNA.

May, this was so worth the wait! And there are so many directions I see this story going, so I'm excited to see which one you'll choose.

Hangman is 100% a Whitney Huston fan, you heard it here first!!

My HC is that Bob is away since I don't remember seeing him even in part one. Lucky for them. The second he glances at Y/N and Bradley he's gonna understand their entire story up until that point and then probably predict their future too.

AND WHERE IS LUKE SO THAT PHOENIX CAN PUNCH HIM IN THE FACE???

I love this series ❤️

baby, let's play house. rooster (part 2)

part 1

pairing ; bradley bradshaw x female!reader

synopsis ; marriage of convenience. you got yourself in trouble. bradley has a bit of a savior complex. together, you come up with what could potentially be the worst idea in the longstanding and illustrious history of bad ideas.

wc ; 6k

warnings ; angst; explicit language; explicit sexual content in later parts; pregnancy; mentions of Tom Cruise; unhealthy family dynamics

note: jesus this is so late... and it's so short.... I'm so sorry y'all???

Two weeks later, you marry Bradley Bradshaw.

The Miramar City Hall is a horrible building, all the worst aspects of suburban SoCal architecture wrapped into one. It looks like Disneyland trying to do stately, with the walls painted an indefinable color somewhere between salmon and eggshell. Massive white pillars protrude from the facade, and through the square windows, you can see rows of underpaid clerks poring over documents, computer screens, or jelly donuts. A long fountain stretches in front of the stairs, water bubbling forth in steady streams.

You stand under the sloping canopy of the front entrance, feet aching in the heels you dug out of the depths of your closet, seven out of ten nails bitten down to the beds, heart fluttering in your throat as the panic swallows you whole, and wait.

Bradley offered to pick you up, but you declined politely but firmly, insisting instead on driving yourself. Some weird, last stand for your independence, maybe. Or you had just needed the fifteen-minute drive to calm down, to let the wind whistling in through the rolled-down windows whip some sense back into you, to listen to the same song on loop until the routine of the rhythm, the repetition of the notes, lulled you into a false sense of security—either which.

All that forced calm is gone the minute Bradley climbs the last step and smiles at you. Behind that smile, though, barely concealed by a thin veneer of cheer, in his eyes, you can see his tension clear as day.

He’s in his dress whites, cap and all, and for some reason, that makes you want to cry. With the added breadth of the shoulder boards, he looks even broader than usual. You can’t stop staring at the ribbons pinned to his chest.

“Hey,” he says, his voice soft. “You look beautiful.”

It dumbfounds you. You glance down at the dress you panic-bought using your nest egg last week, at the open-toed sandals you got on sale for your senior prom. It’s hardly Vera Wang, hardly what you imagined for yourself.

Part of you feels sad for having missed out on the Say Yes to The Dress moment, on the champagne and the entourage and the lace and veil. Part of you wonders why you even care when there are so many more important things going on.

“Thanks,” you mumble, even though you’re pretty confident he’s lying. “You look handsome.”

Bradley acknowledges that with a twitch of his mustache. Then he turns and points at the man behind him.

“This is Mav. I don’t know if you guys have met….”

Mav is just as dressed up for the occasion as Bradley is, and you almost feel bad. With how focused you were on Bradley and the dread of the impending nuptials, you didn’t even notice him.

“Yeah, we’ve met,” Mav says, a wistful smile on his face as he leans forward to offer you his hand. You’ve seen Pete Mitchell around the Hard Deck pretty frequently since Penny and he started dating, have poured him the occasional drink. You get the feeling he used to be the kind of handsome hotshot aviator Hangman fancies himself to be these days, but to you, he’s always looked a little too much like Tom Cruise for comfort. “I’ll be your witness today.”

“Oh.” You shake his hand in a daze. Somehow, you’d expected Bradley to bring someone else. Anybody else. You didn’t even know these two had any ties except for their military ones, but now you can see the tether of familiarity between them. It’s glaringly obvious, and it makes you uncomfortable for reasons you can’t explain. “Thanks for that. It’s very nice of you.”

Pete chuckles. “No worries at all. Happy to be here. It’s not every day you get to watch a boy you’ve known since he was born getting married, can you?”

It’s light-hearted, affectionate, but it hits you like a fist to the stomach. You can barely breathe.

Oh God, you think. Oh God, what am I doing?

Suddenly, you feel so alone it builds like a lump in your throat.

“You ready to go?” Bradley asks, and you wonder if he can sense your profound discomfort or if he’s just eager to get this over with and continue with the rest of his day.

“Sure,” you say, fingers tangling in the straps of your purse. “Yeah.”

The city hall is cooled down to arctic temperatures. Outside the office, waiting your turn, you clench your jaw to the point of pain to keep your teeth from chattering. Covertly, you try scooting closer toward Bradley on the rickety chairs. The man radiates heat like a furnace.

Pete excuses himself to find some water after a while, but you suspect he might just be trying to give you and Bradley some space.

“You okay?” Bradley asks the moment you’re alone, twisting sideways in his chair to get a better look at you.

You don’t want to lie to him, but you also don’t want to tell him the truth: That you’re miserable. That nausea kept you up all night, ripped you out of bed at three am every day the past week. That you can’t sleep anymore. That your legs ache and cramp. That the guilt and the worrying are making you dizzy. That you’re fraying at the seams, unspooling, coming apart like an old sweater.

So you just shrug without looking at him, which isn’t an answer at all, and say, “And you?”

“I’m fine.” Bradley is quiet for a moment, and then he says, “Do you still want to do this?”

His voice is neutral, a blank slate, but you know what he means without saying it. If you want to call this off, I won’t be mad.

Maybe he’d be relieved, actually, some masochistic part of you thinks. Relieved to get away from you and all your chaos.

At least he should be if he is even half as smart as you suspect.

It makes you wonder how he would react if you actually were to leave him at the metaphorical altar. If you were to release your inner Julia Roberts right now and book it out of here runaway bride style.

Not that you could. These shoes definitely weren’t made for running.

Part of you wants to, though - just get the hell out of here. Leave this whole thing behind and never think of it again. Maybe it would be doing you both a favor.

But then you think of the baby. You think of free healthcare, of a house with a separate nursery, of the trust fund. You think of waking up in the mornings and not being alone.

Voice halting, words slow, you say, “Yeah. Do you?”

Bradley doesn’t hesitate. “I do,” he says, and then he’s reaching into his pocket and pulling something out. “Hey, I got something for you.”

It’s a ring. A simple silver band with a little diamond, nothing flashy, nothing big. Classic. Reliable. So Bradley Bradshaw it would make you laugh if this whole thing weren’t so goddamn sad.

Stunned, you stare at it for a moment, and then you say, “You… you bought a real one?”

Figuring that he might actually end up needing them, you’d given Bradley back his dog tags the night he proposed, and you hadn’t even considered the issue of a ring again. It was such a stupidly trivial thing in the face of everything else that’s been going on, the thought hadn’t crossed your mind.

Now, looking at it, it makes your heart skip a beat. It’s a beautiful ring, inconspicuous but lovely. Exactly the kind of thing you would have picked out for yourself if the situation had been different. If everything had been different.

“No, I… I had this at home.”

Confusion sets in. “What, you just have wedding rings lying around your place? Do you propose to girls a lot? Are you like… a habitual proposer?”

Bradley laughs and shakes his head. “Nah, I…” Then he’s clearing his throat, and he’s shifting in his seat, and your heart is racing. “It was my Mom’s.”

The panic ignites like a forest fire. You feel it everywhere, tingling in your fingers, snapping in your bones.

“No,” you say immediately, trying to push it back into his hands as you shake your head. “You can’t give this to me, Bradley, no, I.….”

“It’s fine,” he interrupts you. He’s smiling. “You can just give it back to me… after.”

After the divorce, your brain supplies helpfully, filling in the blanks he left in that sentence.

It feels like you can’t breathe. Your hands and feet are numb. The telltale burn of tears sears behind your eyes.

“Bradley,” you whisper, “this was your Mom’s.”

And it sounds like a plea. Like you’re begging. Like you’re saying, Please, don’t make me do this. Please don’t make me even worse of a person than I already am.

But Bradley’s still smiling. A soft, genuine smile as he closes your fingers around the ring. You feel the cold, circular shape of it against your palm.

“It’s fine,” he repeats, and he’s so calm about it all. How can he be so goddamn calm? “We want it to look real, right? No way I wouldn’t give this to my wife.”

And then you don’t know what else to say. Don’t know how to argue with him. Not when he’s the one pushing the whole thing.

So you give in. Nod. Hope that maybe, in some strange way, this will make him feel better. Even if it settles like a stone in your stomach, stacking on top of all the others.

You offer it to him on your open palm. “Maybe you should give it to me inside there, then.”

Bradley laughs, the sound a little sheepish, and accepts the ring back. “Right,” he says, “good thinking.”

Bradley is too nice for his own good, that’s what you’ve determined so far. Even if this might be a mutually beneficial agreement, you know he’s getting the short end of the stick. After all, you’re the one bringing all the baggage here.

A thought crosses your mind belatedly. “Does your Mom… not need it anymore?”

Almost imperceptibly, Bradley stiffens next to you, and you know right away that you’ve made some mistake, some miscalculation, even if you can’t tell exactly what it is.

Without looking at you, he says, “No. She’s dead.”

You open your mouth to say something, to apologize, to quell that horrible, sinking feeling in your stomach, but you’ve barely made it past a choked Bradley when Pete comes back, handing you a small paper cup.

“Here,” he says, “you should have some water. You look like you’re about to throw up.”

The smile he gives you is so warm it makes you want to scream. Can’t you see? you want to ask. Can’t you see I don’t deserve your kindness? Can’t you see I’m ruining Bradley’s life?

Instead, you accept the cup, nod, force an answering smile, and say, “Thank you.”

“Wedding jitters?” Pete asks as he sits down next to Bradley again, elbows braced on his knees to look at you. “You’re not getting cold feet, are you?”

“No…” you begin to protest, but Pete is already pushing on.

“I wouldn’t blame you,” he jokes, grinning at Bradley. The kind of mischief on his face could put the fear of god in women stronger than you. “This one is a handful. You know, when he was twelve, he….”

“Mav,” Bradley interrupts, tone somewhere between long-suffering, warning, and affectionate.

You never do get to hear the story because the door opens and your names are called.

Everything happens very fast after that. Your officiant is a bored-looking woman in her forties who manages a well-practiced but pleasant smile throughout the vows. You stand facing each other in a lackluster room with a painting of palm trees on one wall, with no one in the rows of wooden chairs but Pete Mitchell, a man you barely even know. Bradley won’t take his eyes off you, and you can’t look at him without feeling the guilt overwhelm you.

It should be a happy day, but it reads an awful lot like a tragedy.

You both say I do, Bradley slips the ring on your finger, and then the officiant is saying, “Congratulations. You may now kiss the bride.”

It’s lightning fast. Bradley leans over, leans into your space, leans so close you can see the streaks of gold in his facial hair, can see the apology flickering in his eyes, and then his lips meet yours. It’s the softest pressure, like the brush of a butterfly’s wings. It’s the coarse hairs of his mustache tickling your skin, the warmth of his mouth against your own. It’s the fluttering of your heart, your hands clenching into fists, your stomach swooping.

For a moment, time is frozen, suspended, moot.

Then Bradley’s pulling away, a shy smile crossing his face, and you’re dizzy, you’re spinning, you’re falling. You want to cry.

And that’s how you marry Bradley Bradshaw: In a city hall on a Tuesday morning, with something in your chest that feels suspiciously like foreboding.

“I promise I didn’t know about this,” Bradley whispers into your ear half an hour later. One of his hands hovers above the small of your back, and though he doesn’t touch you, the phantom pressure of it sends shivers down your spine. His breath traces over your exposed shoulders.

You let your eyes wander over the Hard Deck, only half full and populated with people from Bradley’s life: His old squadron, friends from the Naval Academy, a few from back when he apparently attended UVA. (You still don’t understand his CV one bit and decide to ask him about it later. These are the things you should probably know about your husband. These are the things you would know about your husband if any of this were real.) Everybody’s smiling and congratulating you, and a banner strung from the ceiling, dangling between the models of airplanes, between the beer jugs, spells out CONGRATULATIONS! in big, colorful letters.

It’s obvious, it’s glaring, it’s so visible it blooms a shame somewhere in your belly - that they’re all here for Bradley. Your parents didn’t make it to California on such short notice, and there hadn’t been anybody else to invite. The only people one could count as your side if they were being especially generous would be your co-workers from the Hard Deck, standing behind the bar and looking out of place.

The whole day is a stark reminder of it all. Of your loneliness, of your solitude. Lonely enough that you had no one to invite to that ceremony at the city hall. Lonely enough you agreed to marry a stranger.

“That’s okay,” you tell Bradley, and it’s only a little lie. “It’ll be fine.”

You don’t know what you expected to happen after the wedding. Maybe to get fast food from whatever drive-through you passed first and then spend the rest of the night curled up in your bed, trying to forget what you just forced Bradley to do. Maybe just to get out of these heels. Certainly not for Penny to discover her inner event planner and throw you a surprise party.

But there was something on Penny’s face as she went to embrace you, something about the way she looked when you told her you were getting married to Bradley. An expression she was trying to hide. A flash of hurt, maybe, or a trickle of frustration. You chalked it up to her being upset that a guy she’s known since his teens didn’t tell her about his relationship with her employee, but that reasoning seems threadbare now.

Phoenix wears a broad smile, warm, her hair for once out of the army-commissioned coil and spilling dark and glossy over her shoulders. She’s out of the usual uniform and slipped into a blouse and pants for the occasion. The whole picture of her as anything other than the put-together pilot you see usually unsettles you a little.

“Congratulations,” she says, moving to give you a hug. Then she leans back to look at you. “Or should I say condolences? I can’t believe you married Rooster. Poor girl.”

You force a laugh, but you wish she’d step away a little. Up this close, she might be able to see the shame. It must be written all over your face.

Penny starts handing out shots. The tequila rushes from the bottle into the glasses in a stream of clear liquid, splashes of it landing on the bartop. You stare at the lime wedges, the salt shaker, stare at everybody lining up shoulder to shoulder, and the panic flares in your chest.

“I have to pee,” you announce to no one in particular, and then you’re slipping toward the bathroom, pretending you don’t feel Bradley’s eyes on you.

When the door falls shut behind you, you turn the key in the lock and lean your forehead against the wood. The material is cold against your skin, and you blink at the patterns, at the stains running through the dark oak like veins. Press your finger to one, and your eyes closed.

With your heart racing, your hands shaking, you stand like that for a moment, bracing yourself. You hadn’t expected all the attention, all the pretending, and you feel drained before any of it has even begun. You’re not sure if you can really pull this off. Maybe you’ll just crumble under the weight.

What a mess, you think to yourself, rubbing the heels of your hands over your eyes, then panic when you remember the mascara you painted on earlier. You check yourself over in the mirror, reapply your lip gloss and smooth down some flyaways.

You remember staring at yourself in this very same mirror two weeks ago, the day you did the test. You remember thinking how strange it was that you still looked the same even after your entire world had changed. How the outside did not reflect the inside at all.

You still don’t look any different. But it seems to you you’ve gone from nothing to something by virtue of association - now you’re someone’s mother, someone’s wife.

Then why am I still here, in this bathroom, alone? The thought comes with a bitter taste spreading on your tongue, like blackcurrants bursting in your mouth.

Bradshaw, you think, and then you say it out loud, “I’m Bradley Bradshaw’s wife.”

You feel the shape of the words, feel as your tongue forms them, bounces them off the roof of your mouth, and then past your lips. Hear them echoing off the walls. Watch yourself in the mirror, the muscles of your face flexing and relaxing, your lips meeting to dispatch the bs.

And still. None of it feels real.

The room smells freshly cleaned, astringent in its intensity. Your nose tingles like you’re going to sneeze. Carefully, you slide the wedding ring off, put it on the side of the sink, place it with the quiet plink of silver meeting porcelain, and then you wash your hands three times. Just last month, you went to Costco with Penny and picked up a 20-pack of orange blossom-scented soap, and now you watch it lather to a foam, the water so hot steam rises off it, and your fingers burn. Watch as it spirals down into the drain, bubbles popping.

It shifts reality back into focus. You turn off the faucet, use a few paper towels to dry your hands, put the ring back on, and then you step back into the din of the crowd, where even friends suddenly look like strangers, and you don’t look into the mirror again.

Bradley is waiting in front of the bathroom, standing with his arms crossed over his chest and his head turned toward the ground. When you open the door, he snaps up immediately, unfolding himself from where he was leaning against the wall. His hands dangle uselessly by his hips.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” you echo. You don’t meet his eyes.

“I was wondering….” He trails off. You focus on his shoes - they’re shiny, shiny enough the light bounces off them, and you wonder distantly if he cleaned them for the occasion. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” you say and try to smile, but with your face still turned down, the effect is lost. Might be for the better, too - you have no idea what you look like. Your face is numb.

“I…” You glance at Bradley, at his furrowed eyebrows and clenched jaw. For a moment, it looks like he wants to say something stern, something probing, but then he changes course at the last moment. “Should I carry your bag?”

Instinctively, your fingers go to the strap of your crossbody bag. You rush, “No, that’s fine. It’s not heavy. I can…”

“Please,” Bradley says, reaching for the bag but not touching you. Leaving his hands hovering in the open air. “Let me do this for you.”

You want to tell him he’s done enough for you. You want to tell him he’s the only person, in a very, very long time, who’s done anything for you. You want to tell him that you’re sorry, that you’ll never forgive yourself, that maybe this was a mistake, maybe…

Some guy you don’t know squeezes past you and into the bathroom, winking at you and slapping Bradley’s shoulder as he passes, hooting something about wedding nights. Beer sloshes over the rim of his bottle and splashes to the floor.

When he’s gone, the moment has passed, and the need to tell him anything has been snuffed out by your own embarrassment. You slip off the bag and hand it over, watch as Bradley slides it over his shoulder. It’s a ridiculous sight: The dainty thing juxtaposed to his uniform.

It makes you smile.

“Thanks,” you say and mean it.

Bradley shrugs, but you catch sight of his expression before he turns toward the bar room again, and you think he looks pleased.

A few of his friends whisk him away as soon as you step back into the party. Somebody has turned on the overhead fans, and stale air circulates into a cool breeze. There’s a speaker system set up on the bar for once, playing more modern music than what the Jukebox has to offer, and out of the fog of your memory, of the whirlwind, haphazard thicket of the past few weeks, rises a single moment. Penny leaning across the bar, hand outstretched, saying, Let me have a look at your Spotify. I’m getting some inspiration for a musical update.

Suddenly, you feel warm all over.

Hangman finds you by the bar, grinning ear to ear. There’s always been something wolfish to his grin, but you don’t fall for it. As much as Hangman likes to pretend the opposite, play up his flirting and his taunting and his casual cruelty, when it comes down to it, he’s harmless. A sheep in wolf’s clothing through and through.

“Honestly,” he says in lieu of a greeting or even congratulations. “You could’ve told me about this. Would have spared me a lot of trouble.”

“Hello to you, too, Jake.”

He dismisses that with a wave of his hand and places his glass on the bar top. Condensation drips off the sides, pools in a puddle on the wood as the ice melts, and the lime goes sliding away from the center. “You gotta admit it wasn’t entirely fair.”

You sigh and decide to indulge him and his games. “What wasn’t?”

Jake points a finger between you and him. “This. You’re breaking my heart, sugar.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you say, frowning.

“I’ve been flirting with you every time I came down to Fightertown,” Jake says. “A whole year, sugar! You could have told me that all this time you were dating goddamn Rooster of all people.”

“Flirting,” you repeat, dumbfounded, at the same time as another voice says, “Don’t start harassing my wife, Seresin.”

Hearing it out loud pulls the rug right from under you. Bradley’s hand lands on your elbow - neutral territory, you think, inoffensive, harmless - and his mouth is twisted into a jovial smile, even as his gaze flickers over you like he’s looking for something. You blink down at your shoes.

“I’m not harassing her, Bradshaw. I’m flirting with her, not that you’ve ever heard of that.”

Bradley shrugs. “Aren’t they the same thing with you?”

Between their banter, you feel decidedly out of place. Just another reminder that you don’t belong into Bradley’s world.

“Anyway.” Hangman sighs, leans back against the bar and crosses his arms over his chest. For a moment, he glances between you and Bradley, prompting you to shift your weight, to step a little closer into the open fan of your newly-anointed husband’s arm. If you want to tell this story, you’re going to have to start selling it. Hangman’s mouth curls into a grin. “Jesus,” he says finally, “I can’t believe you knocked a girl up before I did, Rooster.”

The words run through you like lightning. If you had any liquid in your mouth, you’d spit it out right now. To your right, Bradley stiffens, his hand tightening around your elbow, then loosening again.

“What?” he asks, and his voice sounds like something got stuck in his throat. You can’t look at him.

Hangman’s grin remains firmly in place. “That’s why you guys did it, right?” Then he mimics somebody loading a shotgun, complete with sound effects. “Her dad’s got tone on you?”

“I…” Bradley’s sentence trails off like he ran out of steam. Whitney Houston bellows about wanting to dance with somebody from the speakers. Glasses clink, people laugh, cues hit eight balls. The sound of your own heartbeat in your ears is deafening.

Hangman laughs. “I’m messing with ya,” he says, clapping Bradley on the shoulder and giving you a smile that seems uncharacteristically soft. “You guys have been disgustingly in love with each other since you met. The baby on board is just the cherry on top of the perfect peanut butter chocolate sundae, right?”

“That’s not true!” you protest, and then promptly want to slap yourself. Somebody says you’ve been in love with the guy you just fake married and that’s the part you want to deny?

Laughing, Hangman shrugs and downs a tequila shot. “Keep telling yourself that, sugar,” he says, bending down to press a quick, sloppy kiss to your cheek. “Whatever. Congratulations to you two.”

He disappears into the mess of the night, whistling a tune, beelining toward a pretty, single girl at the back of the room. Bradley, stoic and silent and unmoving at your side, says nothing.

You watch the people, their easy joy, their thoughtless happiness. The way they smile without caveat, enjoy themselves without footnotes or guilt.

“Well…” Bradley clears his throat, but you don’t care to look at him. “I never would have predicted Hangman would be the first one to figure it out, right?”

“I guess so,” you agree, even though you think he’s wrong. Hangman is as perceptive as any Navy pilot has to be, quick on his feet and good at reading situations, people, lies. Even if you were never particularly close with him, you can tell this much.

“Is… are you okay?”

You shrug, shake your head before you can think better of it, then nod out of instinct. “Sure,” you whisper. In the breeze of an air vent, you shiver, moving to rub one hand up your bare arm.

Bradley springs into action immediately, moving your purse to one arm, unbuttoning his jacket and slipping out of it. “You’re cold,” he’s saying, obviously relieved to have found something to do, “here, take my jacket…”

“Stop!” Your voice is much too loud. Several heads turn in your direction and you duck your head, feeling the blood rushing into your cheeks, the wetness into your eyes, the blood in your ears. Everything feels shaky, like you’re on deck in a rough sea. Your hands twist into the fabric of your dress and you watch as you crumple it between your fingers. “Just… stop being so nice to me, Bradley. Just stop it. Please.”

From the corner of your eye, you watch as Bradley’s arm drops uselessly to his side, the jacket dangling from between his fingers. His feet shuffle along the hardwood floors. “Oh,” he says, the word soft and airy and so full of something like hurt that you bite the inside of your cheek bloody. “Well. I’m sorry.”

Another beat passes. You should say something, you think. Apologize or thank him or tell him that you’re stupid and mean and ungrateful and you don’t deserve someone as nice as him. But no words come. You’re completely empty, drained. You’re so tired and so confused and you don’t get it. You don’t get what’s happening here and what Bradley is getting out of it and how you even ended up here in the first place.

Tomorrow, Bradley is going to drive a U-Haul truck to your shitty apartment where your life has been shoved into boxes. You’re going to move out of your own space and into a house with a man you don’t know and you don’t love but whose ring you wear. You’re going to wait for a baby you never wanted, and you’re going to watch as your dreams and your plans wash away like water down a drain. You’re going to give up the person you used to be, shove her into the very back of your sock drawer, something to be marveled at only in private, only on rainy Sunday mornings, only when nobody else is looking. Tomorrow, you think, in a way, your life will stop being your own and start being somebody else’s.

So what you want right now then, more than anything, is to be alone.

Bradley says nothing else. You hear as he leaves, as he follows after Hangman, moving away from you, but you don’t turn to look. You stay staring into nothing, your heart in your mouth, a ring on your finger, a baby in your belly, and your life in shards on the floor.

Careful where you tread, you think, dumbly, you might be treading on my soul.

The first thing Bradley Bradshaw - your husband, you have to remind yourself, your actual, real-life husband - says to you in your new house is this: “I’m sorry about last night.”

He’s sitting cross-legged on the carpet in the living room, clutching a bottle of beer like a lifeline. The television is on to provide background noise, some talk show you’ve never seen before where twins separated at birth are currently being reunited. You sit curled-up in an armchair Bradley brought, knees up at your chin, hands on your ankles. A pizza box is unfolded on the coffee table, steam still rising off the sizzling cheese. Your mouth waters at the scent, but you’re strangely shy about taking a slice. Like tearing into this pizza is going to be the straw that finally breaks the camel’s back on this strained truce Bradley and you seem to have entered into.

“No,” you say, fingers tightening around your ankles. “I’m sorry.”

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.” Bradley looks relaxed from his position, his back leaning against the couch. At home, here in this house for which he provided 90 percent of the furniture, 100 of the artwork. Mostly weird watercolor landscapes and one or two Hitchcock film posters you’d rather not ask him about. “I was being… overbearing.”

The thing is this: Bradley did help move your stuff into this new house. He loaded the U-haul and he lugged your meager belongings up to your room. He didn’t say anything about the water-stained mattress or the lack of a bedframe, about the peeling paint on your desk, the squeaking office chair. He hung the curtains you wanted and gave you a string of fairy lights to climb up one wall. This is your home now, you’d told yourself up in that room, staring at the powder blue walls, the floral bed sheets, the potted plant. This is it.

And still. It feels like you’re sitting in a stranger’s house, visiting from out of town.

“You weren’t,” you tell him, and you mean the words. “You… you’ve done so much for me, Bradley, and I…”

“It was nothing,” Bradley cuts you off. “None of… it’s fine. I’m not… I wanted to help, okay? So stop… stop thanking me or feeling indebted to me or like… I don’t know. Have a slice of pizza, okay?”

He hands you one before you can say anything, and you hold the scalding dough in your hand, watch as he bites into his own slice. A bit of cheese gets caught in his mustache. His throat moves as he swallows.

Out of nowhere, suddenly, without warning, you ask, “If I followed you on Instagram… would you follow me back?”

It’s juvenile. It’s stupid, it’s so dumb, and you have no idea where it even comes from, but you have to ask, feel it like a need that burns through you. You just want to know.

If Bradley is confused by the sudden change of topic, he doesn’t let it on. Instead, gaze still on his pizza, he says, “I already follow you.”

“You… you do?”

He shrugs. “You probably didn’t recognize me. I don’t think I’ve ever posted on there.”

“What, you don’t have a profile pic?”

Now he has the audacity to blush and you hate the way it makes you feel, hate that something in you twists at the sight. “No, I do, just… I’m not in it.”

“Who is, then?”

He opens his mouth, closes it again, and turns half away from you, like he’s trying to hide his face. You frown.

“Bradley?”

“It’s…” He sighs, curses, licks the cheese off his mustache and runs a hand through his hair. “Fuck it,” he mumbles. “It’s my Bronco. I have a picture of my car as my profile pic.”

A beat passes, and then, miraculously, you’re laughing. Actual, real laughter that bursts from you like water from a pipe. “Oh,” you choke out. “Oh my god.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Bradley grumbles, but you see the tentative smile stretching his face, the probing, searching look thrown your way. “I’m a grandpa. At least I know what Instagram is.”

“Do you use the premade insta filters?” He doesn’t answer. “Oh my god, you do!”

Bradley rolls his eyes. “Whatever.” Then he leans forward and deposits another slice of pizza on the one you haven’t even eaten. Grease stains your fingers. “Here. You’re eating for two.”

He turns to stare at the TV, a furrow of concentration carved between his eyebrows, and in this living room, in this house, with him on the floor and you in the armchair, with pizza steaming between you and your things upstairs and his things everywhere, for a moment, just a moment, you think that maybe, after all, things might turn out okay.

#bea reads #apparently i'm keeping the bullshit tag #sorry not sorry

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biglisbonnews · 2 years ago

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Cole Sprouse Roasted For Chainsmoking on 'Call Her Daddy' Cole Sprouse has become the (literal) butt of the joke.Earlier this week, the former Disney star appeared on the Call Her Daddy podcast to talk with host Alex Cooper about everything from struggling with child stardom to his past relationships, including the way he lost his virginity. However, what was more interesting was that none of this really interested the internet, despite Sprouse also dishing on his split with ex-girlfriend and Riverdale co-star, Lili Reinhart. Instead, it was his cringeworthy decision to chain smoke through the entire interview that actually caught people's attention and, naturally, this resulted in plenty of online roasts.A prime example of life imitating art, Sprouse went full Jughead by bringing the wannabe bad boy energy of his comic-inspired character to the podcast studio, which can only be deemed an extremely embarrassing attempt at trying to look like a tortured and "introspective artisté." Happy 5 Year Anniversary to Jughead Jones's iconic "I'm a weirdo" speech 🥳 pic.twitter.com/GYMFyQwa0f— Alex Zalben (@azalben) April 13, 2022 As such, it wasn't surprising to see a number of tweets clowning Sprouse's self-serious smoke sesh, with the general consensus being something along the lines of "making smoking look this uncool is almost impressive.""Honestly he needs to be in some anti smoking ads cause he makes it look sooo uncool I’d quit," as another commenter joked, before a third called him out for "sitting indoors smoking a cigarette on call her daddy as if he’s mark twain and not the worst actor on a bad teen drama."making smoking look this uncool is almost impressive https://t.co/Yio1sJhcbb— laura 🦠 (@ecto_fun) March 7, 2023 Honestly he needs to be in some anti smoking ads cause he makes it look sooo uncool I’d quit— Mason 18+ (@MasonFleshwood) March 7, 2023 cole sprouse is so funny bro sitting indoors smoking a cigarette on call her daddy as if he’s mark twain and not the worst actor on a bad teen drama— genie yuss (@lil_pusss) March 7, 2023 Meanwhile, others said it projected the awkwardness of "an actor who doesn’t smoke playing a character who does smoke," while some posted photos of people he "thought he looked like," including Cillian Murphy in Peaky Blinders and Anya Taylor-Joy in The Menu. And even more scathing? The tweets that featuring characters like Chandler from Friends and pic taken from Sex and the City, where a somber-looking Carrie Bradshaw is taking a drag while thinking "can you ever escape your past?" Oof.He looks like an actor who doesn’t smoke playing a character who does smoke— Abigail Hardingham (@AbbiHardingham) March 7, 2023 this is what cole sprouse thought he looked like pic.twitter.com/6z9fXIwcKb— susie (@filmsbygays) March 9, 2023 He dreams of being Tommy Shelby pic.twitter.com/24bgDFNpjY— 𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧 (@hooli_zart) March 9, 2023 absolutely no one, not a soul: cole sprouse on call her daddy: pic.twitter.com/EJUzl65ohC— Melina Glusac (@LeminaGluestick) March 7, 2023 Sprouse has yet to comment on the internet's reaction. However, we'd still advise him to just leave the brooding to Ben Affleck next time. Photo via Getty / Frazer Harrison https://www.papermag.com/cole-sprouse-chainsmoking-roasts-2659582515.html

#Cole sprouse #Chainsmoking #Smoking #Cigarettes #Call her daddy #Podcast #Lili reinhart #Internet culture #Alex cooper #Famous people #Tv #Riverdale #Dylan sprouse #Child stars #Paper Magazine #PAPER

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croimilis · 2 years ago

Text

The Arrangement

title: the arrangement

characters: bradley ‘rooster’ bradshaw x doctor!mitchell!reader (rooster calls them angel)

words: 20k +

themes: childhood friends to strangers to friends to lovers, fake dating (minor), fluff, , smut, mutual pinning, idiots not realising they’re in love

rating: 18+

warnings: female identifying reader and female anatomy used, mentions of parental and canon character death, panic attacks, fingering (f receiving), oral (f receiving), fingering, penetrative sex (p in v), rooster has a lieutenant kink, rooster in dress whites, praise kink, unprotected sex, scratching, biting, cream pie, overstimulation

summary: 'he laughed, my darling you will never be unloved by me you are too well tangled in my soul' @atticuspoetry

You and rooster made an arrangement when you were 18 years old, that if either of you needed a date to an event and you were both single you would be each others date, you try your best to be at every celebration and ceremony for your education and respective careers. you managed to keep this up for a while, but the life of a doctor and the life of a navy aviator never seem to line up and suddenly you find yourself not only cities but countries away from one another and the arrangement falls to the background of your minds that is until you move to San Diego and Rooster finds himself calling on your arrangement one last time.

a/n: this ended up being sooo long and i am (not) sorry about it, i got so carried away with it. also this is the dress i imagined when writing this. also, i don’t consistently refer to Rooster as Bradley or Rooster in this, it switches so often. i also apologise if the smut is bad, i don’t write it often. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT this is an 18+ piece, I will be checking blogs that interact so please have an age indicator somewhere on your blog. this is part of the ‘fly me to the moon universe’

Rooster was sure the world stopped the minute you walked through the doors behind your father, it had been over 10 years since he had last seen you and yet he knew it was you instantly. If anybody asked, he would say it was your eyes that gave you away as being (Y/N) Florence-Mitchell. The same emerald green as your father, full of life and happiness as they crinkled at the sides when you smiled at Penny across the bar, giving your soon to be step mother a wave as your father guided you through the crowd and straight towards the group of aviators that made up the dagger squadron.

Realising your destination, Rooster's heart began to beat erratically as he stood from his bent position where he had been planning on taking his shot at the pool table, causing a confused look and a 'dude' from Hangman. Out of all the ways he had imagined and dreamed about reuniting with you, he never would have imagined it happened in Fightertown, never mind at the Hard Deck.

Yet here you are, getting closer and closer and he swears his heart is gonna beat straight out of his chest. You're beautiful, you always had been but what had once been a soft and innocent beauty when you were younger and never knew a life without Bradley had turned into sharp edges and maturity as you found what it meant to be your own person without him. He was awestruck to put it lightly as his eyes stalked you through the bar until you were standing just at the other end of the pool table, Mavericks arm wrapped tightly around your shoulder as he made introductions.

“Everybody this is my daughter, Dr (Y/N) Florence-Mitchell.” With a smile you rolled your eyes at your father's insistence on using your title, he was very proud of everything you accomplished in your life and career and while he very rarely actually used the words ‘I’m proud of you’ he always made sure to show it when he showed you off to other people. “Please call me (Y/N/N)”

With pleasant smiles and shaking hands everyone introduced themselves, though you had heard about all of them so many times you were sure you could pick out each and everyone member of the dagger squad by name if you tried. Your eyes moved over them all the same as they introduced themselves, taking in their features and finally putting faces to names. Maverick was the absolute worst at having pictures on his phone, preferring to keep a hard copy of photos in his hanger and you were never around the hanger anymore, much to busy with your own life that you could only really talk to your father over the phone, especially considering he was usually on the other side of the country or world. But maybe now that dagger squad had become a permanent fixture at Top Gun for whenever they were needed and you had taken a job in San Diego (that Mav was still completely unaware of) you would see the old man a little more.

Your eyes finally made their way to the other side of the pool table where the WSO Bob sat with a small smile on his face as he introduced himself, finally your eyes met with Roosters and he swears he nearly melted at the sight, at the friendliness and tenderness towards him that remained after all these years, and your smile. God your smile still made him weak at the goddamn knees and he silently curses to himself about how you still have such an effect on him and how he should be over his silly childhood crush. “Bradley”

Walking around the pool table, Rooster gladly opens his arms for you as you unwrap your father from your shoulder and meet him in the middle, wrapping your arms around his torso as he wraps his around your shoulders, placing a kiss to your forehead as he does. It was comforting, to the both of you, it was something he always did before you grew apart, when you were still an everyday presence in each other's lives. You had missed it. It had been far too long since you had even spoken to each other, never mind seeing each other. “Hey angel.”

The familiarity of the nickname warms you from the inside, or maybe that was just the heavy radiating of Bradley as he held you in his arms. Or maybe it was the flush slowly spreading up your body and making its way to your face as you relish in how nice it feels to be held by him once again, or maybe it is because you're thinking about just how handsome Bradley had become since you last saw him.

He had always had a bit of boyish charm about him, that cheeky smile he usually sported that was so similar to that of his fathers always drew the ladies in when he was turned their way pair that with the fact that he was always athletic and fit and you had a deadly combination that turned Rooster into quite the heart throb when he was younger. But now, you swear he's never looked better, even as he sports that ridiculous mustache he started growing when he was in college, all rugged muscles and that same charming smile alongside the new air of confidence and maturity that was unrecognizable to you.

Never one to have a moment taken from him, the voice of Hangman forces the two of you to seperate, though you still stand close to one another. “How long you in town for?” With a gentle chuckle you cross yours arms over your chest and appraise but your father and Bradley before you answered, they both looked expectant. You had told your father you were in Fighter town for around 2 weeks but had yet to drop the bombshell that you were relocating to San Diego permanently.

“Well I’m in Fighter town for the next 2 weeks, staying at an air bnb close to the base.” You eyed your father as he sent you a small glare, he didn’t know you were coming and so he couldn’t insist on you staying with him and Penny and that was deliberate not only did you want to surprise him but you wanted your own space, somewhere you could retreat too if need be and have some time to yourself because you were sure that every moment he could your father would be at your side to make up for not only the time he missed as an adult but the time he missed out on when you were a kid. “But after that…I am permanently relocating to San Diego.”

You had to bite your lip to stop the giggle that tickled your throat as both Bradley and Maverick whipped their heads round to stare at you, mouths and eyes wide with shock. “(Y/N) (M/N) Florence-Mitchell!” You had to giggle at your dad’s tone as you turned to look at him with innocent eyes and a small smirk, “Yes?” Though Mav tried his hardest to look stern and serious, ready to scold you for not telling him, he can’t help but smile at the fact that you weren’t going to be so far away now.

“What?” Now you turned to Bradley, who’s shocked expression had lessened a little but you could tell from the pinch of his brows and the down turn of his lips that he was still confused. “I wanted to surprise my dad, that was the whole purpose of this trip. Safe to say I surprised him. But I uh, I got offered head of the ED and trauma at one of the hospitals in San Diego a few weeks back and I accepted it. Spent the last few weeks sorting out a place to live and getting ready to move, I start there in 3 weeks.”

Strong arms wrap around you as Maverick brings you into a tight hug with a chuckle and a kiss to your forehead. “That's amazing news kid.” As he lets you go, your eyes meet with Bradley’s and you smile at him, which he reciprocates before turning to Phoenix who pulls his attention away from you and back to the pool game they were playing.

Though now he was playing much worse than he was before, he was sloppy as his eyes followed you as you flitted between the crowd of aviators getting to know everyone and he was sure Phoenix would kick his ass in the morning for making them lose against the tag-team of Hangman and Coyote but he couldn’t bring himself to care, though she wasn’t really going to catching onto the love sick look on her friends face the minute he caught sight of you. All he cared about was the fact that you were here and even when you left you would only be 30 minutes away from him and he was determined to not let you slip out of his life once again.

------

The next time Bradley sees you is three days later, not that he’s counting or anything, and the squad are on the beach playing some dog fight football to relax after a grueling training session with Maverick. You had been at the Hard Deck with Penny and Amelia looking at some bridesmaid dresses for the pair of you to wear at the upcoming wedding of Penny and Maverick, your eyes occasionally moving from the laptop in front of you down the beach to where they were playing. You had to admit it was quite the sight and you just couldn’t help yourself from watching, I mean who could blame you.

The sight of the 12 aviators, excluding Hondo and Mav who were now sitting on the sidelines enjoying just watching their squad enjoy themselves, shirtless and sweaty would make even a nun stop and stare. But your eyes were on one particular aviator and his on you, it seemed that every time you looked over his eyes were already on you, a smirk on his face as he sends a wink your way that has you rolling your eyes everytime.

“So… you and Rooster.” Penny’s voice pulls you away from your staring and you turn to her with a questioning look that she rolls her eyes at with a scoff. “Oh come on (Y/N), I’m not blind. I can see the way you two look at each other, you can’t tell me there’s nothing there.”

With a gentle huff, you fold your arms and place them on the table in front of you, pushing your laptop forward slightly as you do, “There is nothing there Penny. He was my best friend for 23 years and then we drifted apart, him busy becoming one of the best naval pilots currently serving and me busy becoming the best doctor I could.” A soft hmm falls from Penny’s lips, one that perfectly conveys a very sarcastic ‘I believe you’, “Are you sure about that? You didn’t see the way his entire face lit up when he saw you in the Hard Deck the other day, I swear that boy looked like he was on cloud 9 the minute he held you in his arms,”

Rolling your eyes, you shake your head at your step mother and tell her once again that there is nothing romantic about your relationship with Bradley. At least now anyway, but you would never tell her about the fact you’re pretty sure you were in love with him in college. “Bullshit.” Eyes widening in shock, you turn to Amelia with your mouth open and she at least looks a little bashful about her outburst obviously not meaning to say it out loud as her cheeks flush a little and her mouth gapes a little.

“Sorry,” her eyes flit to her mother, expecting to be scolded but Penny is simply watching her with amusement in her eyes, “but it’s true.” Leaning forward in her chair, Amelia places her head in her palm as her eyes flit between you and the aviators on the beach. “Look, I know I’m only a teenger and I know nothing about relationship and being in love and all that adult stuff” at the words ‘adult stuff’ she uses air quotes that makes you let out a small chuckle, “but Rooster looks at you the same way Mav looks at Mom, and from the photos I’ve seen the way Goose looked at your aunt Carole.”

Moving to look down the beach once again, you smile as you see the aviators carrying Bob about on their shoulders with a small chant of his name, Rooster is once again looking at you and this time you give him a small wave and a smile as he offers you a salute in return. Behind your back, Penny and Amelia share a knowing glance and a smile seeing how completely fucking gone you were for Bradley Bradshaw. “Why don’t you go bring them down some bears to cool them off? Maybe you and Rooster can talk a little.”

Though you rolled your eyes, knowing Penny was simply scheming, you did as she suggested, pilling some beer into a cooler she had on hand and carrying it down the beach to where your dad and the rest of the squad sat as they took a breather. Placing a kiss to your dad’s cheek as he turned his head towards you and greeted you with a gentle ‘hey honey’ you smile at the aviators as you set the cooler on the sand as you announce your presence to the rest of the group. “I bring gifts”

You’re meet with a chorus of thanks and greetings, and of course a flirty remark from Hangman who got hit up the side of the head thanks to Phoenix who had planted herself next to the Texan which caused you to let out a laugh as you bent down to open up the cooler and begin handing out the cold beers, and soda for Bob. As you go to hand Rooster one he smiles at you and instead of taking the beer from you, offers his hand out, palm facing up as if asking to take your hand, ��Walk with me angel?”

You nod your head gently and place the bear back in the cooler, placing your freehand in his to allow him to guide you through the lounging aviators that were lying haphazardly across the sand. Though Rooster’s hand was sweaty, you had to admit to yourself that you enjoyed the few seconds in which your hand was clasped in his. It reminded you of simpler times, walking to school hand-in-hand as your mothers walked behind the two of you, playing with his fingers as you lay on his bed as he lamented about the most recent girl whose heart he broke by telling them he wasn’t interested, and even of less simple times where you would hold onto his hand in the hospital waiting rooms as his mom's health began to decline, and him holding yours the day you got the call that your mom had been in a major accident involving a drunk driver and he drove you all the way from Virginia to your home town, holding onto one another at the funerals of both Carole and your mother as if you were the last people you both had in the world, and in a way you were. While Maverick was very much present in your life now as an adult, growing up he was never really around throwing himself into missions and detachments to distract from the pain of losing Goose, you saw him at holidays and birthdays and got a few letters through the year if you were lucky, but you really only had your mom, your aunt Carole, and Bradley until you were an adult.

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” Rooster’s voice cut through your thoughts and you let out a soft little ‘hmm’ as you came back to reality and looked over to him, ignoring the fact that his hand was still in yours despite it no longer needing to be, “I lost you there for a second angel, where’d you drift of to?”

You gave him a sad smile and looked out to the ocean as you walked, “Just thinking about how the last time I held your hand was my mom’s funeral.” He let out a soft ‘oh’ and gave your hand a soft squeeze as you turned round to face him once again. “And about how much I’ve missed you B.”

You always knew you missed Bradley, he had been such a constant in your life with your mom and aunt Carole being best friends that bought houses right next to each other and were basically co-parents for the pair of you growing up and by the point you were in high school the two of you were attached at the hip, only really seen without the other when in classes you didn’t share together, hell, you even ended up at the same college as one another when the time came.

So when you slowly faded out of each other's lives it was like you slowly lost a part of yourself, you always found yourself wanting to turn to Rooster whenever anything important happened. Like when you did your first solo surgery during your internship in Seattle, or when you meet the guy you thought you were gonna marry only for him to turn round and break your heart, though if you were being honest you weren’t as upset about that as you should have been, or even to tell him about the little things in life like the day you went to the pound with a friend and ended up coming home with a little scruff ball of a dog who turned out to be part german shepherd and grew up with the size to prove it.

Even after 10 years, you still found yourself thinking ‘I should tell Bradley about this’ and then getting disheartened when you realise, you can’t. You had no real way of contacting him, you knew you could reach out to Maverick but that felt like crossing a line, a complete invasion of privacy, and even if you did reach out to Maverick he would only really know roughly where he was but not how to contact him, and it broke you over and over again. But seeing him, it hit you like a ton of bricks just how much you missed him and with the way your heart twisted with the realisation you made sure to take a mental note to not let Penny know or find out because she would have the smuggest grin and ‘I told you so’ mentality about it, seeing him again truly felt like a piece of your soul had been returned to its rightful place.

“I’ve missed you too angel.” If you thought you missed Bradley, he missed you just as much if not more and had spent so many sleepless nights searching you up on social media and google to keep up with your life and see how you were doing. When he was at basic, he tried to write letters, something that he could send you to let you know he was still thinking about you but he couldn’t get the words out. Couldn’t articulate just how much he missed you without it sounding far too much like ‘I love you’ and that was not something he wanted to tell you in a letter, that was something he needed to say in person, so he sent nothing instead.

He had saw you at your med-school graduation, smiled you and told you how proud he was of you but he never told you, he apologised for the lack of communication blaming being busy and not having a chance and you did the same, med-school had kicked your ass and meant you just did not have the time to sit down and put thought to paper, or email, to send to him. And then he got deployed and the cycle started again, he would start writing you a letter and then he would trash it because it didn’t like the way it sounded and even the ones he liked never got sent as he lost the nerve and instead stashed them in a box that now lived under his bed, and you started your internship to and communication was run into the ground.

He was just glad you were a social media person, while he wasn’t and rarely posted on any accounts he had, he got to watch your life unfold through the screen. He watched you enter relationships which made his heart twist in pain as he thought about you being with someone that wasn’t him and then he watched those relationships end which hurt even more because he couldn’t be there to comfort like he had been when you were younger. He watched as you moved from Seattle after your internship being offered a position in one of the best trauma centres in the country where you adopted your scruff ball that had been adequately named ‘shaggy’. He watched as you posted photos of you and your dad, though his own relationship with Maverick was in the gutter, he was happy to see yours healing. Happy that you had someone when he wasn’t there.

Now that you were back in his life, he felt like that one piece of the puzzle that had been missing since he enlisted had finally been put back into place, though he would never admit it anyone, especially Phoenix after she interrogated him about your relationship after you had left the Hard Deck that first night, he didn’t want her to have the satisfaction of known that he was in fact, in far too deep with you even after 10 years after he spent so long denying that there was anything romantic between the two of you.

Though your admissions hung heavy around you, as if waiting for one of you to reach out and grab it in an admission of blame of whose fault it was you drifted apart, conversation flowed naturally between the two of you as you caught each other up on the details and events in your lives for the past 10 years, neither one of you wanting to play the blame game though it was heavy on your heads because you both knew you were equally to blame.

As you talked and caught up, you were none the wiser to the lingering gazes of the squad of aviators who sat with either a questioning look or a smug smirk on their faces (Phoenix and Hangman specifically) as one of them voiced the question to Maverick, “What’s going on with those two?”

With a shake of his head, Maverick let out a small sigh and moved his eyes away from the form of his daughter and surrogate nephew as they walked hand in hand along the shore line and to the aviators who had now downed their beers and were getting ready for another round of dogfight football without Rooster. Pushing his aviators back up his nose, Maverick laid back in his lounge chair and shrugged his shoulders, “They were attached at the hip once upon a time, they’re just catching up.”

Though his tone was playful, there was a warning edge to it that warned the others to drop the subject because truthfully even Maverick didn’t know what was going on between the two of you. He knew you were close growing up and you grew apart as adults, something you lamented to him about as you healed your relationship with him after graduating college, but watching you two he could finally see what your mother saw every time you two were together. The undying, unbridled love in each other's eyes that you were too blinded to see, the same kind of love he saw in Carole and Gooses eyes every day. Yeah, Maverick found himself thinking, maybe your mom was right and you were gonna be Mrs.Bradshaw one day.

---

Its 2 weeks later and you’re finally moved into your new place in San Diego, only 30 minutes away from Fightertown on a good day and 60 on a bad day, a 3 bedroom, 2 bathroom (1 ensuite, 1 main), bungalow with an open plan living room and kitchen. It was a nice bungalow, sitting right beside the beach and a small garden out your front, the amount of bed rooms meant one could be converted into an office or home gym while the other can be a storage room, maybe changing into a baby room a few years down the line. And it was all yours, after years of renting, you owned your own home and you couldn't be happier.

You had been moved in within 5 days with the help of your father and dagger squad who spent most of their evenings helping you move furniture and unpack everything after it had arrived. Though you were pretty sure they were doing it under the orders of your father, it was nice to have them around. The squad were your dad’s family, which meant by extension they were yours now and it was nice to get to know them. You grew especially close with Siren, Phoenix and Halo, the three happy to have another woman around to break up the testosterone, especially one who could handle Hangman’s ego and kept him and Rooster in line when things started to get heated between them.

Your relationship with Rooster also got better, since that day on the beach where you seemed to walk the entire length of the beach and back as you talked, though you weren’t as close as you were when you were younger, which was physically impossible as he had training and drills every day and you were helping Penny with both wedding planning and in the Hard Deck on busy nights, you were still close.

You were happy to find all the quirks and mannerisms you had memorised still existed, like the way his lip upturned when he was scheming or the how he fiddled with his dog tags when he was nervous or thinking (when you were young he would always fiddle with his dads), turning the metal over his fingers again and again, or how when he was lying he would scratch behind his right ear and his eyebrow would twitch slightly (honestly, it was such a small reaction that most people didn't notice it) everything about him so familiar and it was welcome because it meant he was still your Bradley even after all this time.

Which is why when Rooster walked into your bungalow that night, pizza and beer in his hand with a certain look in his eye, you knew immediately that he wanted something. You watched him carefully with your arms crossed over your chest as you leaned against your kitchen sink and he placed the pizza down on your island. He was avoiding your gaze, another nervous habit when he was scared to ask something, instead looking over your kitchen as if he hadn’t been there every night for the past week. With a gentle sigh you moved forward, uncrossing your arms and putting your hands on the island so you were now leaning on it instead.

“Spit it out Bradshaw. What do you want?”

Rubbing at the back of his neck, Rooster almost looks sheepish as he also leans on the island with his forearm against the cold granite and this only makes you raise an eyebrow at him in a questioning manner.

“You see…” You very rarely saw Bradley struggle to ask for something, especially not from you as there was very little you would say no to him about, now he seemed nervous as if what he was asking would cause you to reach over and slap him across the face. “I, uh, I wanted to call upon our arrangement one last time.”

Now, whatever you were expecting him to say it was certainly not that and the shock was clear on your face as you quite literally stood up straight with wide eyes and your mouth opening and closing. It had been a while since you thought about your arrangement with Bradley, years even as the last time it came into play was your med-school graduation 10 years ago, before everything fell apart. While the arrangement was something the two of you agreed upon almost 20 years earlier as freshly graduated high schoolers, you still remembered it like it was yesterday.

----

It was just after your high school graduation, your mother had organised a small party with a few of your relatives that lived nearby and a few friends from outside of school but you and Bradley snuck away in his old Bronco he had gotten as soon as he got his licence (it was almost the exact same one as Gooses) and you ended up in what you had dubbed ‘your secret spot’. It was a silly name, but it was where the two of you would always go to escape when the world got a little bit too much, either together or alone. After Bradley parked near the large oak tree that took up most of the clearing, you clambered out of the car and laid down the blanket you had brought with you, popping open the champagne you had snuck off one of the tables at the party.

Letting out a content sigh, you plopped yourself down on the blanket, your legs spreading out in front of you as you leaned back on your arms with your head thrown back to look at the stars that decorated the night sky. Your eyes traced over the shapes of the constellations, following them until an image formed in your mind of what they were meant to be. You knew them all, and their stories, that was something your mom had taught you. Bradley settled next to you, one leg propped up so he could lean his arm on it, the other pressing against yours alongside his shoulder as he leaned back on his hand, following you in looking up at the stars.

Bradley never understood your fascination with the stars, you had explained it to him once telling him a story your mom constantly repeated to you about how you would never settle at night unless she took you out to the stars and told you their stories, it seems that even as a baby you found them calming. You told him that even if the world was in chaos and falling apart around you, the stars were always there, they were the one constant in a world where nothing else was and looking at them brought you comfort. But no matter how much you explained it, and how much he said he got it, there was always a part of him that never quite knew what you meant but that never stopped him from listening as you explained the different constellations to him, no matter how many times he had already heard the story.

The two of you sat in silence for a while, passing the bottle of champagne between you quietly, simply revelling in each other's company because you knew things were gonna be different come September time. Sure, you were going to the same college things were going to be different, you were hoping to join a sorority and Bradley was going to try out for the baseball team, you didn’t imagine you would have the same time for each other that you have now given you were never apart for more than an hour or two when you weren’t asleep. Eventually you moved from your sitting positions, instead opting to lie on the blanket, you with your arms on your stomach and Bradley with his arms under his head causing the muscles in his arms to flex and you cursed him for it, finding it hard not to look at him as he did.

“I have a proposition.” Turning your head to look at Bradley with an amused smirk, you see he’s already looking at you with soft eyes and an even softer smile and you raise your eyebrow at him. Bradley turns on his side, using his arm to prop up his head, and you do the same giving him your full attention.

“Go on, you’ve piqued my interest.”

He rolls his eyes at the teasing tone in your voice and lightly shoves your shoulder, just enough that you wobble but not enough that you fall over which causes you to giggle. “Come on, I’m being serious.”

Wiping the smile from your mouth, you put on a fake serious face, “Okay, okay, I’m serious.” Bradley only rolls his eyes again but he doesn’t shove you, instead his free hand starts to play with a loose strand of fabric on the blanket, his eyes casting down to avoid meeting yours as he spoke.

“We make a promise, an agreement, that when we get to college and even after we won’t forget about one another. Like, if one of us has an event or a party, and we’re both single, we go together, if one of us has a ceremony or an award or any sort of celebration we go and support the other.”

His eyes moved up to meet yours, having been scared you were going to tell him no. Tell him that now you were grown you wanted some independence from him, a chance to see who you were without Bradley Bradshaw attached at your hip. But you don’t, instead you reach out your hand, fingers clenched closed with your pinky extended and a small smile on your face.

“I promise B” Bradley reaches out and intertwines your pinky fingers together.

---

And that was the start of your agreement with Bradley Bradshaw that saw him as your date to your first sorority event and you as his to the college baseball formal, it’s what saw you at multiple events together throughout college and saw peoples always asking about if you were dating or not, with some of your sorority sisters commenting on the fact that you were lucky to have him. It was what saw him supporting you when you were given an award by the school for academics and you supporting him when he got MVP three years in a row with the baseball team, it was what had you in the crowd of his graduation from the naval academy and him in the crowd of your med-school graduation. But after you started to drift apart, the agreement fell apart with it and it hadn’t been brought up since. Until now that is

“The arrangement?” Bradley let out a small chuckle and stopped rubbing at his neck, instead now leaning on the island with both arms as his eyes swept across the room, determined not to meet your stare he tried to find something, anything he could focus on instead of you because he was sure he would see rejection in your eyes. Finally, his eyes settled on the photos on your fridge, one of you and your friends on your graduation day, one of you and your dad working on the F-14 he had in his bunker, one of you and Shaggy from shortly after you got him, and one of you and him at your senior year prom.

A small huff passes your lips as you look him up and down, once again crossing your arms over your chest your, “Okay, but I need details first.” Bradley’s eyes snapped from the photos on your fridge to your face as his mouth opened in shock, he was truly expecting you to say no. To tell him to fuck off, that it was a stupid promise made when you were teenagers but here you were agreeing.

“You’re serious?” Rolling your eyes, you leaned forward onto the island once again, this time folding your arms over one another, matching the way Rooster was standing, and you slid forward slightly so your face was just millimetres away from Rooster and you had to stop your eyes from flickering down to his lips and imagining the way they would feel on yours. Rooster was having a similar issue, finding himself forcing his eyes to look into your eyes because he knew if he looked anywhere else he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from reaching out and pulling you into a bruising kiss.

“Of course I’m serious, I did pinky promise after all and we both know those are sacred.” With a small smile you suddenly pull back, all too aware of how the heat of his breath against your skin was starting to cause a blush to spread over your cheeks. Quickly you clear your throat and reach for the pizza on the counter, lifting it as you round the island and head towards your living room. Throwing yourself onto the sofa you place the pizza box on the coffee table and reach down to pet Shaggy who is asleep in his bed at the end of the sofa, motioning to the other side of the sofa with your hand, “Now, details.”

Lifting the beer, and a bottle opened, Bradley joins you on the sofa and hands you an open beer, while you’re sat with your back against the arm of the sofa and your legs pulled up to your chest, Bradley leans back, stretches one arm around the back cushions of the sofa and spreads his legs in front of him. Taking a deep swig of beer, he lets out a sigh and runs his hand over his face before he starts to explain.

“An old navy buddy is getting married on Saturday and I was invited to the wedding a while back,” Okay, so far so good, you think to yourself and you let a gentle ‘hmmm’ to let Rooster know you were listening as you took a swig of your own beer, “At the time I was just a guest, but one of his groomsmen has dropped out, well he’s been kicked out but that's another story for another time, so now there’s an uneven number of bridesmaids and groomsmen and the bridesmaids already have their dresses so it would be a complete waste of money to ask one of the bridesmaid to drop out and he doesn’t have any other close friends or family, his brother’s are already part of the grooms party”

“B you’re rambling.” You very rarely saw Bradley rambling, only when he was really really nervous like that time he asked Ashley Stone to be his prom date in junior year or when he confessed to his first college girlfriend.

“Right, sorry. Anyway, he reached out to me and asked if I would be his groomsman, all the other guys are navy men, and I said yes, no problem. The thing is this all went down when I was still seeing that girl, Molly, I was telling you about and I had put down a plus one.”

Realisation hits you and you nod your head along with what he’s saying, “So you want me to be your plus one.” His eyes, which had been staring up at your ceiling, move to your face and he nods slowly, but there’s something in his eyes that tells you that’s not all it is and you let out a small sigh and narrow your eyes at him.

“There’s something else, isn’t there?” He nods solemnly and takes another swig of his beer before he leans forward and places his elbows on his knees, head turned towards you with an apologetic look on his face.

“I heard Molly was going to be there with her new man, apparently he’s a friend of the brides, and I may have said I was bringing my new girl.” You close your eyes and curse at his stupidity, taking swig of your beer as you rubbed at your temples.

“So you want me to be your date and play pretend as your girlfriend?” It wouldn’t be the first time you had pretended to be his girlfriend, you had done it once or twice in college when he was clearly uncomfortable when someone was flirting with him to chase him off, and he had pretended to be your boyfriend numerous times when some creeps wouldn’t take the hint that you wasn’t interested in them, but that was short bursts. This was going to be an all day thing, and you didn’t know if your heart could take that.

“Pretty much.” Bradley knew it was a lot to ask, it even feel outside the parameters of your agreement and he was sure you were going to turn around any second now and tell him to get lost, that you wouldn’t do it. But as you opened your eyes with a resigned sigh and looked at him, he knew you weren’t going to do that.

“Okay Bradshaw, you got a deal. But…” You were caught off guard by Bradley reaching over and pulling you into a tight embrace, practically putting you onto his lap as he did so as he muttered thank you over and over again into your ear. You hugged him back and let out a gentle chuckle before pulling back, your hands on Bradley’s shoulders as his remained your waist where he had pulled you in.

Your heart picked up in your chest from the contact and you felt heat rush through your body as a blush spread across your cheeks, you didn’t want to pull away any further than you already were, you actually wanted to pull him closer to you and press your lips against his. In fact every muscle in your body was screaming at you to do just that but you didn’t listen, instead letting go of his shoulder and shuffling back to your position on the sofa.

“As I was saying, I need to know details of the wedding. Time, theme, colours, bridesmaid colours, dress code, what you’re wearing.” You ran your hand through your hair, starting to panic a little the more you thought about it, which Bradley saw. He reached a hand out and took the one carding through your hair in his, pulling it to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss to it and something about the gentle intimacy of it almost stopped your breathing.

“Stop panicking. I will text Mercury, uh, Gerard and ask him anything I don’t know and then I’ll text you. He’s asked all the groomsmen to wear their dress whites so it won’t be hard to match me. I don’t know the theme, the dress code for the reception for the women is princess? I don't actually know, and I don’t know about the colour scheme. But I will find out, I promise.” At Rooster’s words you calm a little, taking a few deep breaths to settle your racing heart before you nod.

“Okay, okay.” He gives you a smile before dropping your hand and reaching over to the coffee table, flipping open the pizza lid and pulling out a slice, handing it to you with a smile, “Now let’s eat before it turns to ice.”

---

Saturday rolls around quicker than you would have liked, you thought you would be over the nerves by now but as the day approached the only seemed to get worse and worse until you felt your chest constricting and your lungs felt like they were collapsing in on themselves as you struggled to breath. Eyes squeezed tight, your hands gripped onto your island lip with such force that you knew your knuckles were turning white even without looking at them. Your thoughts were spiralling a little, little what ifs that were nothing if not intrusive thoughts like what if Bradley’s doing this to embarrass you? What if he’s doing just to make his ex jealous? What if? What if? What if? They swarmed your mind and you felt like you were beginning to drown.

Suddenly a hand is placed on your arm, slowly rubbing up and down the skin to soothe you and another is placed on your head slowly moving through your hair and you hear voices but they feel a million miles away, distorted by your heartbeat that was thundering in your ears. Slowly you opened your eyes, to see Natasha and Callie looking at you from either side with concern and you could see their mouths move but still couldn't quite make out the sound coming out. Callie removed her hand from your hair and instead used it to guide one of your own to her chest, where you could feel her taking deep long breaths and you tried your best to match the pattern. In for eight seconds, hold for six, out for eight and repeat. Your heart beat started to calm and you could start to make out what the girls at your side were saying.

“That’s it (Y/N)....”

“Nice and easy…”

“You’re okay…”

The tightness in your chest slowly fades, it still lingers but it doesn’t inhibit your breathing anymore, and the rapid beating of your heart slows to a relatively normal rate. Finally, your hands release their grip on the island and you stretch your fingers open and closed to ease the ache that had settled in them. Your eyes move to Natasha, whose hand is still running up and down your arm and then to Callie who stills holds one of your hands against her chest with a small smile and look of appreciation.

“Thank you guys.”

They give you small nods in return, Callie lets go of your hand and instead wraps an arm around your shoulder and brings you into a hug while Natasha threads her fingers through your hand, “No need to thank us,” it was Natasha who spoke, “I’m just glad we arrived when we did.”

Callie let out a soft ‘yeah’ agreeing with her girlfriend, “That looked pretty bad, you okay?” You had told the girls before about having panic attacks, you were at the Hard Deck one night, just the three of you, and some creep was not leaving you alone and you had a little freak out in the bathroom that they witnessed, but it had been a while since you had a full blown attack like the one you just experienced. You were glad the girls arrived then they did as well, you didn’t know how you were going to calm down from that one on your own and it was a gift to have them there grounding you.

With a small nod you pull back from Callie, “Yeah, I’m good now. It’s just one bad thought spiralled into another and another and another and I didn’t know how to pull myself out.” Natasha’s hand moved from your arm to rub at your back softly, knowing your body is probably still pumping with adrenaline, to sooth you further, the looks of concern remained but their lips turned up into soft smiles. They knew you were nervous about the whole thing, having lamented to them your nerves and fears when you went out dress shopping only yesterday because Rooster didn’t give you the details you needed to find a dress sooner.

The theme of the event was fairy tales and what can only be described as royaltycore, with the bride wearing a replica of the live action Cinderella dress and her bridesmaids baby blue and baby pink dresses obviously inspired by the dress worn by princess Aurora in sleeping beauty going by their shape (matching the wedding dress in the live action movie) and colour (an obvious nod to the changing blue and pink in the original animated feature), with a pastel colour scheme, Bradley had told you that guests would have to wear pastels that matched the table you were assigned and those wearing dresses were under orders (straight from the bride herself) to dress like the princess of their childhood dreams (and surprisingly she didn't care if you ended up looking better than her, it seems she just wanted to live out her childhood dream of living a fairy tale for just a few hours) , and the table you and Bradley would be placed at was designated the lavender table so you had to hunt for a lavender dress.

Having found nothing in San Diego you, Natasha, and Callie all ended up driving over 2 hours to LA in the traffic and heat to try and find something you could wear. You had formal dresses, having attended many a charity gala and medical events but they were all dark navys and emerald greens, you weren’t really one for pastels and you certainly didn't have anything that made you feel like a princess, in fact most of your dresses made you feel like a display, a prize to be given to the highest bidder as you were paraded around to convince donors to up their donations with a flutter of your eyelashes and your tits pressed against their arms as you walked, so you had to go out and shop for something.

While some of the dresses you found when in San Diego had potential, they were either the wrong shape or the wrong size (and you most definitely did not have time to have anything tailored) so you made the journey to L.A and finally found something in a small shop owned by an independent designer that had been recommended by Siren (who couldn’t join you as she was dragging a very nervous Bob to meet her family in Miami that weekend). You were lucky, it was the last of the dress in stock and it was just your size and, in Callies words, you looked like a knock-out in it. With dress in hand, the three of you made your way back to San Diego and settled in your respective homes just before midnight.

Natasha removed her hand from your back as she felt your breathing even out completely, the tightness in your chest was now completely gone and your panic had settled though nervousness still brewed in the pit of your stomach, and she turned to Callie with a smile, “Now let’s get you all dolled up.”

That’s right, you forgot you asked them to help you get ready, well you told them you didn’t know what to do with your hair and makeup and didn’t have time to book in with anyone to get it professionally done, to which Natasha let you know that Callie is phenomenal at doing makeup making a joke that if she wasn’t a pilot she would be on a movie set somewhere doing makeup for the stars. Callie blushed at the compliment and let you know she could do yours for you, while also volunteering Natasha to do your hair because she was surprisingly good at it. And that’s why they were at your place at 8am in the morning after getting home so late at night. You were gonna have to buy them a bottle of wine or two to thank them later.

Natasha guided you into your room, her hand in yours and placed you down in front of your vanity. It was an old thing, the one your mom used to keep in her room though she very rarely used it, but it was nice to have a piece of her. She turned you to the side, so you were facing the door into your ensuite while she positioned herself behind you and Callie positioned herself in front of you, placing her makeup bag on the vanity. You were thankful she brought it, the only makeup you had were the basics to make you look less like a zombie when out in the ED, some foundation, concealer, blush, eyeliner, and maybe three eyeshadow palettes none of which contained pastel colours. Under their instructions, you closed your eyes and let the girls get to work.

The ceremony was starting at 10, would be finished in 30 minutes and Rooster was coming to pick you up on his way to the reception venue, with the reception not due to start until 12, Rooster would pick up at 10.45, giving him time to get to the venue with the midday San Diego traffic.

Which was great, considering the fact that both Natasha and Callie restarted their entire process at least 3 times each drawing out the time it took for them to actually finish doing your hair and makeup, well that and the breaks you took to eat something and to sneak a drink of champagne that Callie had brought with her deciding you would need a little bit of an edge to calm your nerves before Rooster arrives. Between the stopping and restarting, your hair and makeup was finished by 10:40.

Though you couldn’t see yourself yet, Callie had covered up the mirror halfway through because you kept trying to peek, the looks on Callie and Natasha’s face were enough to let you know you looked good. “Beautiful. Now get your ass into your dress, I can hear Rooster pulling up.”

Callie left the room, leaving Natasha to help you get into your dress. As yout stripped out of your pyjamas, folding them neatly and placing them on the edge of your bed, Natasha turned away towards your bedroom door and started to remove your dress from the protective covering given to you at the boutique yesterday, while you made your way to your underwear drawer and pulled out a lacy thong and a strapless bra in a matching colour out and put them on. You then turned to Natasha who had removed the dress from the hanger and was holding it folded over her arm, you let out a gentle ‘okay’ to let her know it was okay for her to turn around.

While Natasha helped you into your dress, Callie let Rooster into your home with a smile and a bit of a questioning look as she noticed he was driving a black Bentley and not his usual bronco, “You give up the bronco?” Rooster rolled his eyes as he stepped over the threshold of your home with a small smile on his face.

“Gerard insisted all the groomsmen arrive in Bentley’s, he did wanna give me a driver but I insisted on driving to get (Y/N) myself.” Callie nodded her head as they walked into the open plan living room and kitchen, leaning against the island as she eyed up Rooster. Even she had to admit that he looked good in his dress whites.

“You clean up well Bradshaw.”

Roosters rolled his eyes at Callie, but his lips upturned slightly at the compliment, it fed his ego a little bit, though he only really cared about what you thought he looked like. Rooster’s eyes once again found the photo of the two of you at prom and a small smile spread across his face as he remembered just how beautiful you looked that night and how that was the first time he realised that he may have had not so friendly feelings towards you. He remembered his heart beating rapidly in his chest as he waited for your mom to go and get you from your room, how his hands felt clammy and his head began to spin as he saw you in your dress for the first time. This was no different, his heart was hammering in his chest as if it was trying to break through his ribs and throw itself directly into your hands, and his hands felt damp to his touch as he clasped them together in front of him to stop him fidgeting.

Callies eyes softened as she watched one of her best friends and she smiled, it was obvious from the very first day that you were Roosters girl to the point that even Hangman was leaving you alone not wanting to incur the wrath of a love sick Rooster, but now watching him Callie could see it was so much more than just an infatuation but was pure, deep love, one not everybody got to experience and those who did were lucky too. “She’s beautiful Bradley.”

Rooster’s eyes snapped to Callies and he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, he knew you were beautiful. You were always beautiful, even when you thought you looked your worst Bradley always thought you were the most ethereal being on the planet. The sound of a door opening and closing caused Bradley to look down the corridor he knew lead to your bedroom, but instead of you walking down there was Natasha with a smile on her face.

“She’s just getting her shoes on.” Bradley nodded his head as Natasha joined Callie leaning on the island, leaning over and giving her a kiss on the cheek before she turned her eyes back to Bradley. She narrowed them slightly and crossed her arms over her chest as she looked him up and down.

“This is your one shot Bradshaw, fuck this up and I will run you over with my car.” Bradley wanted to ask what she was talking about, argue that there was nothing to fuck up, you were just friends, and you were only doing this as a favour to him, but the sound of your heels coming down the hall stopped him and he turned to look at you.

Callie wasn’t wrong, you were beautiful but you were so much more than that. You looked like an absolute goddess, your makeup made all your features pop, especially your eyes and

your hair was styled to perfection with little decorative butterflies poking out here and there to match your dress. Your dress. God, you truly looked like a fairy princess. A gorgeous lilac, floor-length gown, with butterflies decorating the skirt and collar line with pink highlights, including a pink belt around your waist.

The world around Rooster faded away as he looked at you, it was like he had tunnel vision and everything else faded to darkness, and his heart beat so rapidly and loudly in his chest he could hear it and felt like he was underwater. Eyes moving over your form, not every discreetly, a flush rose on his cheeks and he felt his throat dry up and constrict as he tried to vocalise anything to let you know what he was thinking.

The intensity of his stare at you blushing profusely, eyes moving away from him as you ran your hand over the skirt of your dress to distract yourself from his gaze, which you could physically feel on you as if it was peeling back the layers of your skin and muscle and staring directly at your heart, which was beating so rapidly against your ribcage. You were so distracted by not looking at Bradley, you can’t see the sly smiles shared by Natasha and Callie, or the way they were eyeing the two of you just waiting for one of you to make a move.

Taking a gulp, making his adams apple bob in his throat, Rooster clears his throat finally moving his eyes away from your form, though the blush he sports is still rapidly spreading across his face, “You look good angel.”

Mentally Rooster curses himself, was that seriously the best he could come up with? That you looked good? Did you really short-circuit his brain that badly that he couldn’t even compliment you properly? Natasha groans internally, throwing her head back in exasperation as she lets out a sigh and rolls her eyes. She knew Rooster was an idiot but this was beyond idiocy. You didn’t mind though, you gave Rooster a smile as you finally looked at him again.

“You look good too B.”

A smile spread across Rooster’s face as he reached out a hand for you to take, which you do with a small smile, “Your carriage awaits princess.” You roll your eyes at his extravagance, taking your clutch from Callie as Rooster escorts you to the car, which you give him a questioning look about and you laugh as he explains that he was forced too, but if he had a choice he would be driving you to the ball in his bronco.

Natasha and Callie watch with smiles as you laugh with one another before driving off and as you do the couple turn to one another and sigh, “They are absolutely hopeless.” Callie nods along to her girlfriend's words and clicks her tongue, “Completely hopeless.”

---

The drive to the venue doesn’t take as long as you thought it would, the traffic isn’t as bad as anticipated with most people taking advantage of the beautiful morning and heading to the beach before temperatures reach their peak between mid-day and three pm. It’s a peaceful drive, mostly.

You of course tease Bradley about his moustache and how you’re surprised Gerard didn’t make him shave the ridiculous thing off to be in the wedding party and he rolled his eyes and chuckled, letting a little “you know you love my moustache” slip past his lips. And, surprisingly, you do love his moustache, though you would never let him know that it would simply inflate his ego to the point it would match Hangmans, and you did not need a cocky Bradley in your life.

But after you actually set off, conversation dies off with the only sound being the music playing gently from the speakers. You realise, half-way through the drive, that it’s a playlist of all your favourite songs from childhood and you smile at the thought that Bradley remembered and made a playlist specifically for you, you supposed it was to try and calm the nerve raging inside of you the closer you got to the venue.

For most of the ride, you’re sitting staring out the window with your elbow propped on the window and your head propped on a fist, just watching the world whizz by, occasionally moving your eyes to take in Bradley in his dress whites. Bradley is a handsome man, he knows he’s a handsome man and often uses that to his advantage, but in his dress whites? His dress whites take it to a whole other level and you swear he looks like Prince Charming coming to sweep Cinderella off her feet.

You take your time to admire him, from his nearly combed and styled hair that doesn’t have a hair out of place and it certainly being held in place by a mountain of products curving down along his chiselled jawline to his plump lips that had a light sheen to him, probably just a lip balm, but they looked so kissable as you stared at them for a little bit longer than you should have, being so lost in thought that you bite down on your own lips that were painted a light pink.

You finally move on from staring at Bradleys lips back across his jawline and down his neck, moving across his arms that looked absolutely amazing in the white overcoat until you reached his hands, which were gripping onto the steering wheel with such an intensity that his knuckles were starting to change colour and the veins in his hands bulged, causing heat to spread through your body as you thought about his hands on your body, wrapped around your throat, holding your waist, dipping lower and lower to where you wanted him the most. But before your mind wanders too far, you strip your gaze away from him and look back out the window to try and calm your now rapidly beating heart and quell the embers of burning desire.

Your gaze isn’t unnoticed by Rooster, oh no, he doesn’t even have to look over to know your staring at him, he can feel your emerald eyes burning into his skin as it moved over his form and as he looks over and sees you biting down on your lip, he has to suppress a groan because you looked so damn good and he didn’t know how long he could control himself if you kept looking at him like that, which is why he was gripping onto the steering wheel with such force to try and ground himself and focus on anything other than your pretty pink lips and how they would feel on his own, how they would feel pressed against the skin of his neck, his chest, his abdomen, his.

Suddenly, Rooster is shaken out of his thoughts as the venue comes into sight and he is directed by a concierge to park alongside the other groomsmens bentley’s and he quickly clears his throat before following the directions and pulling in. As he pulls the keys of the car out of the ignition, he turns to you with a smile tugging at his lips, eyes roaming over your body once again, “You ready?”

You take a few deep breaths, in for eight, hold for six, out for eight and repeat, close your eyes and steady your heart before turning to Bradley with a tight lipped smile and a gentle nod of your head, “Yeah, let’s do this.”

You go to open your door, but Bradley quickly slaps your hand away and you turn to him with a shocked expression. Bradley only gives you a goofy grin before he gets out of his own door, shutting it behind him, before he makes his way over to your door smiling at the other groomsmen who were gathered only a short distance away. Straightening out the collar of his jacket quickly, Bradley open’s your door for you and offers you his hand, which you roll your eyes at but gladly take, allowing him to help you out of the car.

You hear a couple of whistles as Bradley’s hands fall to your waist as you allow him to steady you, pulling you close to his chest in the process. You could hear a few voices calling out from behind you, all some variation of ‘go Bradshaw’ or ‘way to go Rooster’, which causes a blush to rise on your cheeks which actually mirrored the one on Bradley’s as he tried to let you go. You stopped him, moving your arms around his neck and pulling him down to put a kiss on his cheek. Afterall, you were supposed to be his girlfriend and with people watching, you were going to put on a show.

The blush you had seen on Bradley’s face was nothing compared to the one heating up his skin now, he looked like a tomato and he had to hide his face in your neck to avoid being seen by the other groomsmen who were whooping and hollering at the display of affection. You rolled your eyes at the antics but welcomed the display of affection from Rooster, especially as he snaked his arms fully around your waist and rubbed up and down your back. It was something you frequently did when you were both younger, a way for the both of you to ground one another when it was needed, and it was very much needed now as anxiety started to take root in your heart.

A strong smack on Rooster’s shoulder prompts him to pull away from you, “Rooster man, you gonna introduce us to your girl here or are you just gonna love up on her all night?”

The small group of groomsmen (a total of 3 excluding the groom) had made their way over to you and were now leaning either against the bentley you arrived in or the one beside it with cocky smiles on their faces and their arms crossed. You had to assume the one who smacked Rooster was the groom, Gerard.

“Uh, yeah. Gerard, this is my girl (Y/N).” Though he had pulled away from you, Bradley manoeuvred so he was now at your side with his hand around your waist. “(Y/N), this is Gerard, and the rest of the groomsmen are Sam, James, and Steve.” He motioned to each one as he introduced them and you met them all with a smile.

James was the first of the group to speak to you directly, his eyes trailed up and down your body appreciatively and even though you know he means no harm by it you can’t help but cringe slightly at the way his eyes rake over you, there was just something wrong with the way he did it, “Damn Bradshaw. When you said your girl was a knockout you really meant it.” Finishing off his sentence with a wink in your direction, he moves back to look at Rooster who holds you just that little bit closer.

“Yeah, I’m damn lucky to have her.”

You look up to Bradley with a smile, only to find him already looking at you with a softness you’re not used to. One that speaks to the way lovers look at one another in the privacy of their own homes, one that you had seen before in how your friend Graham looked at his husband and how Maverick looked at Penny. Not wanting to overthink, truly not wanting to think about it all, you turn back to the group of groomsmen and clear your throat.

“Are you all aviators?”

Steve is next to speak, “Gerard and Sam are, me and James are marines” You give a small hmm in acknowledgement before he continues on, “What about you? You in the navy?”

You shake your head with a small laugh, “No, I think my dad would have actually murdered me if I even considered joining the navy. Um, my dads a pilot, Captain Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell?” All the men exchange wide eyed shocked looks and Sam lets out a whistle.

“Wow, Rooster, the Captains daughter? And not just any Captain at that, Maverick? I’m surprised he hasn’t skinned you alive.”

You roll your eyes a little at that, sure your dad was overprotective and had threatened a few of your ex boyfriends, the one person he would never threaten is Bradley, and you both knew that. “There are two people in the world my father is scared of, one was my mother when she was alive. She was small but she was mighty and quite the temper. The other is me, unfortunately for him I inherited my mothers temper and his attitude.”

The boys around you let out a small chuckle, imagining you going in on Maverick, which you had done multiple times when he took on a dangerous mission and told you nothing about it (not even his flight details or that fact that he was flying, you really ripped into him after the uranium mission). The conversation looked like it was going to continue, until a small frazzled red head with a clipboard approached the group, the wedding planner you guessed.

“Boys!! You are needed for photographs before the reception begins!!” You stifled a giggle as you saw them all roll their eyes at her and cast your eyes to the ground, knowing if you meet any of the groomsmens eyes you would burst out laughing. The wedding planner let out a huff as she looked at her watch and then stormed off in the direction of what you assumed was the entrance.

“That’s our cue then.” James is the first to move off, throwing you a quick wink as he stood up straight and started heading towards the entrance alongside Steve and Sam. Gerard stayed with you and Bradley as you started moving towards the entrance yourselves, Bradley’s hand still wrapped firmly around your waist. As you walk the few metres to the entrance, Bradley and Gerard joke amongst themselves and all you can do is smile. Bradley was well and truly relaxed, you could feel it as he held you. There was no tension in his muscles, they way there usually was even if you were just hanging at the Hard Deck or at your place or at the hanger, even the micro muscles in his face seemed relaxed.

Stopping at the entrance, Gerard motions into a girl in a beautiful light purple dress with constellations stitched into the skirt and a small silver tiara in her hair, who was standing by a table of champagne, talking to an older woman in a beautiful regency style dress that looked like it had been picked out of Bridgerton , “That’s Sarah, she’s my cousin and Sam’s girl. Let her know your Rooster’s girl and she’ll show you to your table, she’s sitting with you. That’s her mother with her, my aunt Millie, be careful she’ll talk your ear off if you let her,” the last bit is spoken in a whisper as Gerard bends down to your ear, causing you to smile.

You nod your head and go to move in her direction, but Bradley grabs your hand and pulls you back into him, lifting your hand up and pressing a soft kiss to the back of it. It was something he had done before, the night you had agreed to this whole charade, and again it took your breath away as the simple intimacy of it made your head feel light.

“I’ll be in soon, okay?” You give him a gentle nod and a soft ‘yeah’ falls past your lips, which is enough for him to let you go. You give him a smile as you turn towards the entrance, eyes following him from your peripheral as he moves towards where the photos are being taken until he is out of your view and you look at Sarah, who has turned to look at you having heard you coming.

“Hi, I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Sarah.” She offers a hand out to you, which you take, and you instantly relax as you take in her gentle and welcoming smile and how something about her just eases peace, maybe it’s the constellations on her dress calming you or maybe she oozes the same energy that you found in them.

“Hi,” You don’t expect your voice to sound as small as it does and you quickly clear your throat before you continue, “I’m (Y/N), I’m uh…”

A look of excitement crosses across her features as she clasps her hands together and lets out a small squeal, “You’re Roosters girl? The doctor?” You nod your head slowly, shock settling in as to how she knew who you were, which you apparently weren’t good at hiding, as she links arms with you and smiles widely.

“At the rehearsal dinner the other day he could not stop talking about you! Honestly, I wish Sam talked about me as passionately as Rooster spoke about you. And, honey, the way his eyes lit up anytime someone asked about you, it’s adorable.”

Relief washes over you, Rooster had already spoken about you. He had planted the seeds that this relationship was legit in the minds of all the people here already, that made things easier. Now you just had to act like you were desperately in love with him, which was easy considering that you were no matter how much you refused to admit it to yourself.

Aunt Millie now turned to you with a smile and a glass of champagne, “Hello dear, I’m Mildred but you may call me Millie.”

You gently take the glass from her with a smile, “Hello Millie, my name’s (Y/N).” Her gentle smile and warm eyes remind you of your grandmother, and of the countless old ladies who made their way into an er throughout the year as a means to battle their loneliness, Gerard had said she would talk you ear off and you would have gladly let her if it meant she was a little less lonely for the night.

“Well my dear’s, almost all the guests are seated, shall we join them?” Sarah smiles at her mother and links her other arm through hers, keeping one linked with you, as you walk into the main reception area. Your mouth gaped open as you looked around, it was absolutely stunning. Vine wrapped stone pillars decorated with tiny lights that you were sure would look like twinkling stars once the night had hit, beautifully arranged circular tables curved in a crescent shape with a two person table at the centre reserved for the bride and groom that was decorated with beautiful white gardenias and wild flowers on top of a soft pink table cloth that resembled the colour of rose quartz,, with a lavender table either side (one for the groomsmen and their plus ones and one for the bridesmaids and their plus ones), which was followed by sky blue, then a gentle green colour, then a soft yellow, and then it repeated in reverse order (yellow,green, then blue, then lavender).

Each table had a flower centrepiece matching the colour of the table cloth, some sprigs of lavender on the lavender tables, blue daisies at the blue tables, limelight hydrangeas at the green tables, and coreopsis at the yellow tables. In the centre of the tables was the dance floor, edges decorated with bushes, all filled with blooming flowers of varying colours (you would have to assume most of them were artificial or else the smell would be completely overpowering), and hanging above it was a gorgeous chandelier that had been threaded with the same wildflowers as the bride and grooms table.

Behind the bride and groom's table, towards the back sat a photobooth very similar to the one found at proms and homecoming dances with a box of props at the side, that included toy swords, tiaras, and feather boas. At the very back of the room, hidden behind the floral background of the photobooth, was a pair of white arched doors that you assumed lead to the beach, if you listened close enough you could hear the waves crashing against the shore. It was like walking into a fairy tale.

Sarah gently guided her mother to her table and seat, it was at the blue table next to yours and she was seated with the mother and father of the groom, as well as some admirals from the navy who usually regarded you with a slight of disdain having meet you at naval event alongside your father, but now meet you with apprehensive smiles and a tilt of their glass in acknowledgment. You gave Millie a gentle goodbye and a promise that you would join her for a conversation at another time during the night.

Sarah then guided you to your own seat, the lavender table at the right hand side of the two person table, the groom's side you were assuming, and to your seat, though you probably could have figured that out yourself as placed at it was a placard with gentle swishing writing spelling your name. Thankfully, you were sat right next to Sarah and Rooster would be sitting on your right.

At the table were two other women already and Sarah introduced you to them as Peggy and Natasha, Steve’s fiance and James girlfriend. They’re both lovely women and conversation between the four of you flows quite easily, you discuss your respective careers, learning that Peggy actually works as a nurse in the paediatric unit of your new hospital, and Natasha teaches self defence, and Sarah is a pre-K teacher.

Throughout your conversation you feel eyes burning into you, though not in an unsettling way, more so a questioning way as if to determine if you were who you actually were and as you move your eyes away from the group of girls around you, you find a pretty blonde staring at you from the far lavender table on the bride’s side with a little bit of sadness in her eyes. She sits next to a tall man with dark curls and a soft lilac suit that perfectly matches her dress. She’s stunning and you quirk your head to the side, curious as to why she’s staring at you but, realisting she’s been caught, she quickly looks away from you.

You didn’t realise that everyone (minus the wedding party) were seated until the sound of the wedding march started to play from the speakers within the room and the door opens with the maid of honour and Sam making their way in first, followed by the next bridesmaid and Steve, and then the next bridesmaid and Bradley (who gives you a wink) as he enters, and then the next bridesmaid and James. All four of them make their way across the dance floor and to the couple’s table, where they separate to their respective sides with wide smiles.

“Introducing the newly wed Mr and Mrs Alcove!” Sam's loud tenor voice booms across the room, even without a mic, and in comes the happy couple wrapped up in each other’s arms. You had to admit you thought the bride was going to look ridiculous when Bradley had told you she was wearing a replica of the Cinderella dress, thinking she was going to be wearing the large iconic blue dress, but she looked absolutely stunning in the much simpler replica of the wedding dress from the live action movie. The dress was a beautiful creamy colour with a long, flowing skirt decorated with flowers, and atop the bride's head sat a gorgeous crown. She well and truly looked like a princess.

You smile and clap with the rest of the guests, some of them whooping and hollering as the couple make their way to the table. The couple share a passionate kiss in front of the table, arms wrapping around one another as if they needed the other to breathe, before sitting down and motioning for their wedding party to do the same. The party splits to either side of the table and takes their seat and as Bradley sits beside you, you reach over and place your hand on his thigh, rubbing it gently as you turn to him with a smile that he gladly returns.

---

The meal begins and conversation surges amongst the table, though it’s hushed it brings a buzz to the air and electrifies it. You're enjoying the conversation amongst your own table, Sam was telling a story about how Bradley literally tripped and broke his nose trying to impress someone while they were on deployment with each other. You, of course, laugh along to the story while Bradley leans back in his chair with a bit of a huff.

Once again you can feel the same eyes as earlier on you and as you look up, you’re once again met by the same blonde staring at you but this time she doesn’t look away until Bradley catches her eye. You can feel him straighten beside you as he leans forward, one arm wrapping around the back of your chair as he whispers in your ear, “That’s Molly.” And with that, the staring makes sense, though you’re still unsure how she knew it was you. With Sarah, you had introduced yourself but you hadn’t so much as said a word to the other girl.

Bradley leans back in his chair again, but keeps his arm wrapped around the back of your chair, his fingers rubbing gentle circles on your bare shoulder as you lean back into the chair.

---

After dinner and speeches, and first dances, Bradley joined the rest of the groomsmen to smoke a cigar out the front of the venue, joined by the wedding photographer who wanted to get a few more candid shots of the boys (you assumed she was still going to pose them, but in a more natural manner), leaving you at the table by yourself as Sarah had disappeared to talk to some of her relatives a few tables down and Peggy and Natasha (she insisted on you calling her Nat, but you just couldn’t having stored that nickname away for Phoenix) joined the bridal at the bridesmaids table for a conversation. Your eyes had met with Millies over the crowd, and you had every intention of going over to join the woman and converse with her, but a body landing in Sarah’s seat next to you stops you.

You turn to look who it was, not knowing anybody but those sat at your table, and find Molly sitting next to you. She looks nervous, chewing on her lips and fiddling with the golden chain wrapped around her left wrist, as she looks around for someone. She looks for a good few seconds, making sure whoever she was looking for was not going to suddenly pop up out of nowhere and usher her away, before her eyes settled on you.

When they do, you expect to see rage, jealousy, hate. Instead, they’re soft and kind and hold a hint of sadness in them that you recognise immediately, it's a look you’ve worn yourself. One of mourning a love lost, of grieving over a relationship you would never have, and you realise she’s mourning her relationship with Bradley.

Molly clears her throat slightly and she releases her lips from her teeth as she speaks, “I’m…uh, I’m Molly but you probably already know that.” Her eyes shuffle away from your face in nervousness, settling instead on the sprigs of lavender in the centre of your table, “And you’re (Y/N), right?”

You nod at her question, afraid to open your mouth but still wanting to acknowledge what she was saying, and she gives a small smile. “I thought so. When we were together Rooster would talk about you, tell me stories about the two of you, you look just like he described you.” You flush slightly, heat engulfing your cheeks, you didn’t know Rooster talked about you to Molly, didn’t know he spoke to anyone about you. “You really are as beautiful as he said.”

Molly’s eyes moved away from the lavender, landing on you and she tilted her head to the side with a small sigh. You know she isn’t here to be malicious, especially as she moves to take your hand in hers gently, “I shouldn’t be talking to you. The ex talking to the new girl? People will probably think I’m threatening you” You both let out a small chuckle at that, and you must admit she had a beautiful smile.

“That’s not what I’m here to do, promise.” She looks around her once again, this time you’re able to gather that she’s looking for Rooster, “I just wanted to let you know how in love Rooster is with you.” You’re shocked, and she gives a small giggle at your face as your mouth opens slightly.

“I’m not saying this to make you feel guilty, I am truly happy for Rooster that he finally managed to get you to agree to date him and , but I…I thought Rooster loved me, and maybe some part of him did, but after reading the letters I knew he would never love me like he loved you…” She looks back down to the bracelet on her arm and moves her hand away from yours to play with it again, “And seeing you two together? Seeing how he looks at you like you placed each individual star in the sky, as if you were born from stardust and the cosmos itself? God….”

Your brain finally catches up to you, and you reach an arm out to touch Mollys arm, “Wait. What letters?” Molly matches your confused look with one of her own, raising an eyebrow as she looks at you, “You haven’t seen the letters? He has a whole box of them, all addressed to you starting from when he was in basic and the most recent was one from his mission before he got called back to Top Gun.”

Your head suddenly feels too full, a million questions running through your head. He wrote you letters? All this time? Why didn’t he ever send them? What about them made Molly realise he was in love with you? Where were they now? Why did he keep them? Alongside your racing thoughts, your heart started to beat rapidly in your chest as the same tightness from this morning returned and you struggled to breath. Suddenly the sound of the party felt like it was a million miles away and it was distorted as if you were underwater, the pounding sound of your heart all you could hear, as your head started to feel dizzy and the room started to ring.

You could vaguely feel Molly reach out to you, a look of concern on her face, and she was speaking to you but you couldn’t make out exactly what she was saying. It seemed she called someone because in a second Sarah was at her side, a hand on your arm, she was also talking but you couldn’t make out what she was saying. You tried to relax your breathing, eight in, hold for six, eight out, a few times but it wasn’t working. As you panicked, your eyes moved from Molly and Sarah looking around the room for a way out and finally your eyes caught the edge of the arched doors leading to outside world, and you stand suddenly, knocking Sarah back slightly and mumble out, “I need…I need air,” as best you could given your inability to breath properly.

You rush away from the table and push through the large oak doors, letting them slam behind you, though you were sure no one was able to hear over the pounding bass of the music playing. It was dark out, night having fallen about an hour earlier, with the only light coming from the small porch you were standing on. Your eyes scan around you, the beach spreads out before you with the ocean only a short bit away and in a sudden decision you strip yourself of your shoes, leaving them on the porch, and stalk towards the water, not caring and not really in a rational mind to care about your dress.

You step into the water, walking until your ankles are fully covered and the skirt of your dress floats around you. The cold is a shock to your system and though the freezing cold would stop your panic attack you’re in too deep now for it to work, so instead you look to the sky. Lucky for you it’s a clear night and you can see some of the twinkling stars in the sky.

The stars, the one constant in a world of chaos and if your body was anything right now it was pure chaos. Your thoughts still hadn’t subsided and your heart was still thundering, the tightness in your chest remained the same and it felt like every breath you took was like breathing in shards of glass. You focused on the stars, tracing the familiar patterns of the constellations and picturing them in your head as you go. Slowly your heartbeat starts to slow and then your breathing even outs, your thoughts are cleared as you go over the names and summaries of each constellation you find.

Suddenly strong arms are wrapping around your waist and the scent of Bradley’s cologne fills your nostrils as he pulls you against his chest, saying nothing, just letting you ground yourself and come back down to earth.

The silence lingers for a few moments as you gather yourself, “How’d you know I was out here?”

Bradley chuckles slightly, arms tightening around your waist, “Sarah came out and got me, said you looked like you were having a panic attack and you ran off. Knew you would be somewhere looking at the stars.” You hum lightly in response, leaning your head back against his chest. It’s peaceful for a few seconds before you remember why you had your panic attack. Suddenly you’re pulling forward and turning towards Bradley with your arms crossed.

“Tell me about the letters Bradley”

Rooster curses to himself and avoids looking into your eyes, he knew he should have never left you alone. Should have known that Molly would seek you out, say something that gave away his secret. He brings his hands in front of him, wringing them together over and over again nervously.

“I-I…” Rooster was struggling to find something to say, wanting nothing more than for a huge wave to come and knock into the two of you so he could disappear. Your gaze was piercing, eyes narrowing slightly as he took too long to reply.

“I… I wrote them and then I meant to send them, I promise” Roosters hand carded through his hair, the effects of the products fading as he messed it up by doing so. Still he refuses to look at you, and you huff at it a little.

“Why didn’t you?” You uncross your arms, instead bringing your arms down and playing with your fingers in nervousness.

“Because…” Now Bradley looks in your eyes and he looks nervous, he couldn’t believe himself. Bradley flew F-18’s for a living, went into dangerous situations every day but this was the most scared he had ever been in his life. “No matter what I wrote, even if it was just about my day, about training, no matter the words, the only thing I wanted to write was I love you. I wanted to write it over and over and over again until my hands bled and that is not the confession you deserve.”

You let out a laugh, tears gathering in your eyes, “And this is?” You didn’t want to cry, didn’t mean to, but you were so overwhelmed with emotions that it was the only outlet you had. You still had residual adrenaline in your veins from your panic earlier and you were happy, oh so happy, that Bradley was in love with you, with his confession it was like every nerve in your body lit up at once and the only way you could express it was tears.

Bradley curses under his breath again, reaching a hand out to wipe the tears forming on your lash lines, “God no it’s not. This is not how I wanted to do this.” You let out another huff, rolling your eyes and looking away from him.

“Were you ever gonna do it or were you gonna let me go throughout the rest of my life thinking you didn’t love me back?”

Bradley, who had dropped his hand and turned his eyes away with your huff, snaps his eyes back to yours. He wasn’t expecting that, not in 100 years did he expect you to be in love with him as well.

“You really didn’t know?” He shakes his head, hands now reaching out to grab at yours as you step closer to him. You looked so pretty as you looked up at him through your lashes with a smile on your lips. You reached up to him, cupping his jaw gently in your hand and rubbing your thumb gently across the apple of his cheek.

“God Bradley. You wanna know why all my other relationships failed Bradley? Because I compare them all to you. No one was ever you. I have been in love with you since we were 16 and no other man or woman has ever compared to you.”

Bradley gulps, his adam's apple bobbing as he does, and he watches your eyes looking for any hint of dishonesty. Any glimmer that you were having him on. But there's nothing but love in your eyes, and suddenly he sees what everyone else saw. Pure, unbridled love.

“Can I kiss you?” His voice is soft as his hands move to hold you at your waist and you answer by pulling him down and pressing your lips against his. The kiss is sweet and gentle, your lips moulding together perfectly, but still filled with passion as he pulls you closer to his body. It wasn’t like the books described, no fireworks, no sparks, but rather a feeling of peace. One of home, as if your souls had been reaching out to each other your whole lives and were now touching. And though the kiss is sweet and soft and innocent, you can’t help the feeling of heat pooling in your abdomen as you thought of where this could be heading next.

You pull back from one another, but still stay close as he presses his forehead against yours and you wrap your arms around his neck. You stand like that, simply holding each other for a few moments, until a chill settles in you and you start to shiver a little.

Bradley gives you a small smirk, “Why don’t we head home and get warmed up? Huh?” You smile as he wiggles his eyebrows at you, making an obvious innuendo that you were all too happy to carry out, and nod and, reluctantly, untangle yourself from Bradley, making your way to the shoreline where you notice he’s abandoned his dress shoes. You suddenly turn to him with wide eyes and a hand over your mouth.

“Bradley! You’re dress whites!” He simply shakes his head with a smile, taking your hand in his as he puts his shoes back on, “Don’t worry about it angel. I’ll get them dry cleaned.” He places a kiss on your forehead to calm your nerves before you make your way back to the venue.

You disappear back into the room, your heels now in your hand, and make your way over to the table where Sarah is now sat with Natasha, Peggy, and Molly, who are all looking at you with slight concern. You simply smile and lift your purse, “I’m fine, promise. But we’re,uh, we’re gonna head home” The girls smile and give you hugs as you go, with Peggy promising to stay in touch and Natasha gives you a ‘be safe’ with a wink.

As you said goodbye to them, Bradley ordered the two of you an uber, having had a few beers and you having had a few champagnes and wine, and said goodbye to the groomsmen who are all giving him knowing looks, especially as you approach behind Bradley and place your hand on his upper forearm and rub it gently as you give your own goodbyes to the boys.

The uber is quick in arriving and you and Bradley climb into the back seat, anxious to get back to your place (which is closer than Bradley’s who lives in Fightertown). In the back of the car, your hand finds Bradley’s thigh and you start to rub gently on it, biting down on your lip as you do. You feel Bradley tense at the touch, his eyes shifting to watch you and figure out what you’re doing and he swears to god that the you were trying to kill him with the way you’re biting your lip and looking at him like you wanted to jump his bones right here in the back of the uber.

As your hand ghosts closer and closer to his hardening cock, Bradley has to suppress a groan, instead pretending to cough as he glares at you. You were playing a very dangerous game. He grabs at your hand as it ghosts across his cock, loose enough that you can pull away if you want but tight enough that it sends a warning. You only smile at him, cocking an eyebrow, “Everything okay, lieutenant?”

The sound of his rank rolling off your tongue has Bradley biting back a moan as he throws his head back against the headrest, you were definitely going to be the death of him, and by the looks of it you knew exactly what you were doing to him. Instead of releasing your hand, he threads his fingers through it to stop your hand from wandering and you pout a little in your seat.

The drive to your place was far too long for Bradley, seemingly dragging on forever despite the almost empty roads, but that might have been the frustration bubbling inside of him that only seemed to grow every time he met your lust-blown eyes. When you finally stop at your place, he rushes out a thanks as he all but tumbles out of the car, causing you to giggle, and makes his way to your side, opening your door for you with a goofy grin on his face.

You mutter out a thanks to the driver before taking Bradleys outreached hand and climbing out yourself, you’re barely out of the car before the driver speeds off leaving you and Bradley at the bottom of the path leading to your place. Bradley can’t help himself as he cups your face in his hands and presses a deep kiss to your lips, which you gladly reciprocate, moving your lips in sync as you grab at the collar of his jacket.

You don’t wanna end the kiss, so instead you twist a little and start walking back on the path and Bradley’s hands move from your face to your waist to hold you steady and help prevent you from falling. Your back hits against the front door and you finally pull away from Bradley with laboured breaths, “I… I need to…”

All words vanish from your mind as Bradley starts to kiss down your neck, squeezing gently where his hands meet your hips, stopping at a particular spot that has you whining in pleasure to pay extra attention to it, you could already imagine the bruise that would be there come the morning. At your little sounds, Bradley smirks against your skin and kisses back up your neck making his way to your lips once again, where he places a gentle peck.

“What was that angel?” You roll your eyes at him playfully, turning your back to him with a smile as you start to rummage through your bag for your keys, which would be a thousand times easier if Bradley didn’t preoccupy himself with running his hands over your clothed body and placing kisses against your neck and shoulders, giving you a matching hickey on the other side. Finally, and with a fumbling hand, you find your keys and quickly unlock your door before turning to Bradley and pulling him in by his collar, dropping your purse by the door and pushing it closed with your foot.

Bradley hums appreciatively into your mouth, arms wrapping around your waist once again and pushing you against the door once again. You stay there, kissing each other slowly and passionately, as if you had all the in the world to enjoy each other. Eventually Bradley pulls away from you, laboured breaths fanning against your face as yours fanned against his and you want nothing more than to pull him forward into another kiss but you also know if you continued this here you wouldn’t make it to the bedroom.

You placed a hand on his chest, your blown out eyes looking into his, “I want this off lieutenant.” This time Bradley let’s himself moan at how his rank rolls of your tongue and pulls away from you enough to let himself the room to unbutton his jacket, and for you to bend down and take your shoes (which you put back on waiting for the uber, not wanting to carry them) off, throwing them down beside your purse.

After all the buttons are undone, your hands are spreading across the expanse of Bradley’s chest that was still covered by his hunder shirt until you are moving the jacket down his shoulders and off his body completely. His lips press to yours once again and you run your hand up his chest, and around his neck to play with the little hairs at the base of his neck. With this kiss, Bradley pushes his tongue into your waiting mouth and plays with your own causing a small moan to resonate from your throat.

While your hands are preoccupied, Bradleys are smoothing over your hips and running up the expanse of your rib cage to reach behind you and undo the zip on your dress, which he does quite fluidly and the bodice falls gently from your chest onto Bradleys. You pull away from him again, finger pressing against his white undershirt, “This too.”

Bradley only smirks and gladly removes the offending item of clothing, allowing you to take a step back so that your dress would fall from your frame completely and pool at the ground which leaves you in nothing but the matching set of underwear you put on earlier. Bradley groans at the sight, his hands reaching out to paw at the skin now exposed to him. He grips at your hips tightly, fingers digging into the skin as he does, pulling you close to his body.

“You are so goddamn perfect.”

If you weren’t already flushed from the situation, you most definitely would be from his compliment. You place a hand on Bradleys chest, pushing him slightly so he starts to walk backwards down your hall towards the bedroom, and while Bradley loved seeing you take a little bit of control he couldn’t let you have it all. So he very quickly has you pushed against the wall of the hall, right beside a photo of him and you, with his knee pressed between your thighs and he swears he can feel how wet you are through your panties and his dress trousers, causing him to groan as he kissed you once again. This time a little bit more fervently than the last.

You happily reciprocate, mixing your tongue with his and throwing your arms around his neck to pull him as close as possible. You moan gently as he knocks the knee in between your thigh against your aching core, which only encourages him to do it again only harder. This time you pull away from him with a desperate moan and he smirks at you.

“You like that angel?” You nod your head at him as he presses against you again and this time you grind down to meet the movement, letting out a moan as you do so. The sight of you grinding down on his knee has Bradley groaning and growing even harder in his dress pants than he was before. He needed to have you and he needed to have you now. Quickly, Bradley falls to his knees in front of you, his hands making quick work of discarding your panties, and he moans at the sight of you.

“You’re so wet angel, is all this for me?” He looks up at you through his lashes, hands now gripping onto your thighs and he looks so good between your thighs, pupils absolutely blown so that very little iris remains and a devilish smirk on his face. You can only nod at him, to which he tuts and bites gently down on your thigh causing you to whine. “Come on now angel, use your words like a good girl”

You swear you feel your wetness dripping down your thighs at his word and you bite back the whine gathering in your throat, “All for you lieutenant,” you had noticed the effect calling him by his rank had on him earlier and you were going to fully take advantage of that.

“That’s a good girl”

Suddenly Rooster licks a stripe up your slit, causing you to throw your head back with such force your picture frame shakes and let out a moan, your hand coming to tangle in Bradley’s hair as he continues to lick at your cunt. It goes at it like a man starved being presented his last meal, licking and sucking at your clit as he goes, which has you a moaning, panting mess above him, barely able to utter a coherent word other than ‘Bradley’.

You were teetering so close to the edge now, the coil in your stomach tightening and tightening. Bradley removed a hand from your thigh, instead bringing it round to rub gentle circles on your clit while he pushed his tongue into your entrance, causing you to tug on his hair with such a force that Bradley moaned and that was it, the coil in your stomach snapped and suddenly you were cuming all over Bradley’s face with a choked moan of his name.

But that didn’t stop him, no Bradley continued on throwing you into overstimulation as he swapped his finger and mouth. His mouth latched onto your clit while his middle finger slide into you, you were a babbling mess of ‘too much, too much’ but Bradley wasn’t going to stop. Not when you tasted and felt so good. Slowly he entered a second finger into you and you could feel your coil tightening once again as he moved in and out of you, occasionally curling his fingers to try and find the spot. Which he quickly does, your sharp intake of break and deep moan letting him know he’s found it.

Bradley lets go of your clit with a pop and looks up at you, slightly teary eyed at the overstimulation and with your mouth wide open as moan and moan slipped from your lips. He could have stayed like this forever, just watching you as he got you off with his mouth and fingers. He continued to abuse your g-spot, pressing against every time his finger push into you, watching your face twist in pleasure as he does. God you look and feel so good that he can’t help but reach into his dress trousers to rub at his cock to get some kind of relief, because at this point he feels like he might burst.

Bradley feels you tightening around his fingers and he presses a kiss against the inside of your thigh, “You gonna cum for me again angel?” You nod your head, eyes squeezed shut as pleasure courses through you and the coil in your stomach gets tighter. This time Bradley bites at your thigh and scissors his fingers inside of you, “What I say angel? Gotta use your words?”

You let out another strangled moan, the coil read to snap once again, “Yes lieutenant, gonna cum again.” Bradley smirks against your thigh, you can feel it against your skin as he presses another gentle kiss there, “Go ahead angel, cum for me.”

Another strangled cry of his name falls past your lips as you cum for a second time and Bradley nearly moans at the sensation of you squeezing on his fingers and he can’t help imagine that feelings on his cock when he fucks you. Pulling his fingers from you, Bradley stands once again, smirking at your already fucked out expression, and places his fingers on your lips. Without needing instruction, you open your mouth and suck them in, swirling your tongue around them to clean them off.

“You’re such a good girl angel.” You whimper at his words and Bradley pulls his fingers from your mouth to cup your jaw and pull you into another searing kiss as his other hand wraps around your thigh and pulls it up to his waist in silent instruction, which you follow jumping to wrap both your legs around his waist, your bare cunt now rubbing against the fabric of his dress trousers and against his clothe cock hidden inside, causing a moan to fall from both your lips.

Bradley pulls you from the wall and proceeds to move towards your bedroom, he had spent the night innocently when you first moved in earlier in the week and knew exactly where he was going, never breaking your kiss as he does. Gently, he lowers you down onto your bed before breaking your kiss to stand at the end of your bed and watch you. Your pupils are completely blown and you whine at the loss of contact, which he finds just absolutely adorable.

“Patience angel. Now be a good girl and take your bra off for me.” You do as you're told, reaching behind you to unhook your bra and then throwing it somewhere in your bedroom, as Bradley reaches down and strips himself of his dress pants and boxers. Now, you had heard many a rumour in college about Bradley and how well endowed he was, and you were very happy to say that the rumours were true.

As Bradley’s cock smacks against his stomach, you salivate at the sight of it. You sit up as Rooster crawls onto the bed, strong thighs in between your knees, your chest rubbing against his providing stimulation to your nipples that has you moaning which Bradley takes advantage of by shoving his tongue into your mouth. You moan at the sensation, one hand grabbing at his neck while the other reaches down to stroke his cock.

You rub gently at the tip first, gathering the precum in your palm, which Bradley moans obscenely at, and then you start moving your hand up and down his length using the precum as a lubricant. You smirk into your kiss with Bradley as he continues to moan at the sensation of your hand wrapped around his length, suddenly the sensation of your nail scratching lightly at the underside of his cock has him cursing and stuttering forward. Bradley knew he wasn’t going to last long if you continued your teasing and there was no way he was going to cum unless he was wrapped in your pretty pussy.

Suddenly Bradley grabs your hand from his length, as well as the one on his neck, and pins them above your head with one hand with a small growl that has you clenching your thighs together to get some friction despite having already came twice.

“That's enough teasing from you angel.”

You whine lightly, and struggle against his grip, wanting to touch him, but he simply tuts at your behaviour and rubs his cock through your folds, catching your clit on the tip as he does. You moan at the sensation and let a please slip past your lips.

“Please what baby?”

“Ple…Please fuck…fuck me lieutenant”

You can barely get the words out as Bradley continues rocking though your folds, hitting against your clit every time he does, but you do. Bradley smiles, leaning down to kiss you as he lines himself up with your entrance and pushing himself in. You gasp at the stretch, eyes closing and mouth falling open as you do.

“You okay angel?”

You nod your head, “Yes, feels s’good, keep going.”

Bradley was not one to deny you what he wanted, so slowly he kept going until he was bottomed out in you. God you felt absolutely amazing as you squeezed him trying to adjust to the size. He was definitely bigger than anything you had before, so you needed time to adjust. After a few seconds you're begging Bradley to move, you needed him to move, and so he obeys by pulling almost all the way out and slamming back in again which causes a loud, pornogaphic moan to fall from your lips.

He does it again, and again, hitting the right spot over and over again as he did, which caused you to see stars but you still needed more. “Faster Bradley, please.” Your eyes roll into the back of your head as Bradley moves faster, causing a moan to fall from your lips with every movement. The pleasure was immense, you could feel every part of him inside you, every ridge and every vein pressing against your walls and you could swear his head was hitting against your cervix, and you could feel the coil in your stomach begin to tighten once again.

You begin to babble out Bradley’s name as you approached another orgasm and he threads the fingers of the hand holding your arms down with one of yours, letting the other one go to come down and grab at his shoulder as he pistoned his hips into you, “I’m right here angel, you’re doing so well for me.”

He lets out a deep moan as you squeeze down on him with the praise, pressing kisses and bites to your shoulders and collarbones, moving his way down until his lips wrapped around your nipples as a way to contain his sounds and to stop him from speaking, because if you squeezed down on him everytime he praised you there was no way he was lasting to give you another orgasm, and he was determined to give you another one.

With a sharp snap of his hips, he finds your g-spot once again, moving on from beating your cervix, and instead beating into that spot over and over again causing loud moans and whimpers to fall from yours lips as the coil inside you tightened and tightened again and with a whimper you let Bradley know you’re gonna cum again.

With a pop he releases your nipple and brings his free hand down to rub at your clit to bring you over the edge as he continues his abuse of you g-spot, “Come on angel, cum for me. You’ve been taking me so well.”

With the pressure on your clit and the praise falling from Bradley’s lips you quickly fall over the edge and cum around his cock, the pressure from you squeezing him so tightly causing his hips to stutter as he reaches his own peak, filling you up with his cum. You openly moan at the sensation of him pulsing inside you, the feeling of his cum painting your walls just felt amazing to you.

Bradley quickly presses a kiss to your lips as he pulls out of your sensitive hole, and runs a hand gently through your hair, your little butterflies lost somewhere in the chaos. You place a hand against his cheek and kiss him back gently, your fingers moving to push some hair off his sweaty forehead. As he pulls his lips of yours, Bradley presses his forehead against yours with a goofy smile on his face.

“You’re amazing (Y/N), I love you”

“I love you too Bradley”

Bradley lifts himself off you and off the bed, to which you groan already missing his warmth, and Bradley just rolls his eyes a little as he moves towards the bathroom. “I’m only getting a washcloth to clean up with, stop being a baby.”

You still pout at his turned back, though you are grateful he’s going to clean you up, most men didn’t but then again Bradley wasn’t most men. He’s back in seconds, a damp washcloth in hand and he’s gentle in the way he wipes you down from your neck and chest to your aching pussy where his cum is dripping out, making sure to wipe down your thighs as well before throwing the washcloth in your wash basket.

Bradley gently lifts you from the bed, allowing you to wrap your legs around his waist as he does, so he can pull back the blankets before he sets you back down. Though you are desperate for his touch, and he knows it, he goes over to the drawer he knows you keep your pyjamas in and pulls out and oversized shirt he gave you in college and then he goes to a drawer you had made up for him of some sweats and stuff so he could get changed at your place after training.

Quickly, he slips the sweats on over his hips before making his way back over to you. Your eyes are slightly glazed over and they are struggling to stay open as you fight with sleep, but still you turn to him and match the small smile on his face. “Arms up”

Bradley’s voice is soft but still commanding and you do as your told, raising your arms up so he can put the oversized shirt on you. Once it’s on, he leans on the bed slightly and presses a kiss to your forehead, “You need anything angel? Water? Snacks?”

You shake your head and move over on the bed, “Just you B”

Bradley smiles and crawls into bed next you, pulling you close to his chest as he wraps his arms around your shoulder. Your head rests on his pec while your hand reaches out to rest opposite you, just about his heart, and you follow the rhythm of beating until your eyes are closing and your drifting off to sleep.

---

You wake up to a text from an unknown number of a photo of you and Bradley wrapped up in one another in the ocean the night before, you seemed to be in the perfect position for the moon to illuminate your bodies as you kiss, “You’re souls are so deeply intertwined with one another that even the moon bends to your love xxx Molly”.

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sebsxphia · 2 years ago

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I literally can't stop thinking about Bradley and a breeding kink...i don't remember if you answered something like this before ❤️

Like imagine this man whispering all these dirty things in your ear.

He'll for sure stick a pillow underneath you afterwards, keeping you elevated to make sure nothing goes to waste, maybe even using his fingers to make sure.

"Gotta keep it all inside baby, make sure it takes."

He does this all with consent tho but I feel like it would kinda just slip out one time before he talks about it (he might find it slightly embarrassing that he so desperately wants to see you pregnant and it could be early in your relationship)

He's in the middle of completely fucking you dumb, hand on your lower stomach just to feel himself inside you (another thing I fully believe he does, i fight anyone who disagrees, jk...unless). You look so pretty taking his cock, completely blissed out and moaning his name and begging for more he’s mind just floods with thoughts of you pregnant, your bump underneath a sundress, the way your tits will be bigger, a little mix of you and him running around the house and he's completely lost in that fantasy, he can't control himself or his thoughts oh and if you ever ask for him to cum inside you, the man would he wouldn't even hesitate.

"I’m gonna fuck you so full, you’d be so fucking beutifull carrying our baby, Gonna keep you right here and fill you up, again and again ."

He stops immediately, embarrassed by his lack of control, fearing he just

1. Freaked you the fuck out.

2. Completely ruined to mood.

But bless your soul if you tell this man please do so (bonus points for begging) he's a goner, truly fucking you like the rent is due.

You would probably pass out after *our aftercare king would make sure you're alright, cleaning you up and getting you comfortable*

You would wake up to him gently running his fingers over your stomach and it clicks in your brain that Bradley Bradshaw always wanted a family even if he is scared to do so (I truly believe that scene were he tells Maverick that he has no one to mourn him when he's gone, no kids or a wife was a reflection of Bradley's own thoughts and fears of what lies ahead for himself)

But i also stand behind the fact that this man would love you either way. If you don't want kids, he has you that's enough, if you are a bit scared of pregnancy, he's right there he won't ever push you, if you aren't ready, he'll wait,

He loves just the way you are.

Shit this got emotional real quick, I either need to cry or have a cold shower maybe both idk. (Sorry it's so long my brain just went type type type Bradley type)

-🦕

my beloved anon!!!! this is just incredible!!!! i love this so much!!!! 🥹🥹🥹

it’s been mentioned before, but never in this much detail and i’m literally frothing at the mouth and also feeling so soft!!!

i completely agree with what you said about that scene with maverick. bradley definitely wants kids with you, but won’t push you if you’re not ready yet or just don’t want them flat out. you can still indulge in the kink, just without the actual breeding.

he also absolutely loves pushing down on your stomach to see himself through your belly!!!! “you look so full with me right now, doll face. can’t wait till you’re full with my cum. gonna make you so big.”

when you wake up to him gently running his fingers over your stomach you hold his hand and look up at him with a warm smile. “i meant it last night bradley. i want a baby with you.” he’s giving you a soft kiss before taking you again.

thank you so so much for this my beloved anon!! 💌💖 i think tears in the cold shower are due!!

#💌you’ve got mail #🦕 anon #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw x y/n #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #rooster x y/n #rooster x you

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gretagerwigsmuse · 1 year ago

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OHMYGOD NIK!! i am already so so excited to see this series fleshed out! i’ve loved talking about it the last few weeks and am so happy to see it’s finally here!! i love how excited you are about this and can already tell how much work you’ve put into the lore (love me some lore ☺️) and i can’t wait to see how things roll out. i’m gonna hold back on some questions for a couple more chapters, but here are some of my fave parts 💕

You had tried for centuries to prove yourself worthy. Completing quest after quest and defeating enemy after enemy. Yet, none of them were good enough, hard enough, righteous enough. Simply put, you were not enough. - to quote one of the top 10 most devastating taylor swift lines “is it enough?” i’m gonna go out on a limb here and say somebody we know and love is gonna think she IS enough ☺️☺️ and more than enough at that

And the best part about it is that you could go by your real name, not one of the silly ones the humans insisted on having. - this is such a cute character trait! i like her cheekiness already

And yet, each one knew what it meant when you showed up. It meant a mission that would surely end in tragedy was coming. But, somehow, each time you cheated death, it was almost like you were untouchable—immortal even. - oh wow this makes so much sense!!!

You weren't here to be best friends with the Daggers. You were here to train with them, fly a mission in a few months, and leave. - SIKE!!! you’re gonna fall in love!!!! and meet some lovely people (and jake seresin)

You out ranked all of them and had more confirmed kills than the whole lot combined. You had thirteen. You'd personally sent thirteen souls to the Underwold. - oooooooo outranking them!!!! damn!! 13 kills!! that has to have some significance!

Everyone around you made it seem like it was a good thing, but it troubled you deeply. - respectfully and it might be the military hater in me, but i never liked that they “bragged” about the air to air kills? always makes me sad

He'd answered your call and provided you with some lotus flower. You swallowed them quickly and let the numbness wash over you. - fuck YES give me the good god drugs!! dionysus my man!!

The last thing you needed was to flame out and hurt someone. - fuck YES (again!) i love this!! i’m so curious to see how this comes into play!

Just like clock work, the lifetime counters appeared for you over the heads of each of the new aviators that you were meeting for the first time. All of them still had decades left. You'd make sure it stayed that way. - THIS IS SO COOL! LIKE THAT SHE CAN SEE THAT!??? how often can she see that? like just when she meets people or??

"Good morning all. My name is Commander Y/N Kolasi. Call sign: Hades." - COMMANDER!!! also knowing you kolasi has some meaning so i’m gonna let you explain that one to me 😉

He wore a smile on his face, but you could feel the lifetime of pain and the burden of the world that he carried with him. "Good morning, Commander. My name is Lieutenant Commander Bradley Bradshaw. But you can call me Rooster." He told you before giving you a firm handshake. - i love that descriptor for bradley! he definitely puts out a front/mask to others and it takes someone special - like a god - to see the other side of him ☺️

You slipped on a pair of jeans and sighed as you pulled them up to cover the inked words and images across your hips and thighs. - i’m so excited for the tattoo backstories!!!

"So if you could back the fuck off and not lean on it, that would be great." You say sarcastically. - i love her because i too dislike the blond man!

You cut your eyes to your rearview mirror. "You aren't here to make friends, and you aren't here to fall in love." You tell yourself. - oh sweet girl 🥺 (also i really like that this bradley is just genuinely very nice and kind to her because i feel like one thing i took away from tgm is that bradley at his core is kind?)

The first thing she asked you was if you knew where her Goose was. It took a few minutes of her explaining for you to realize she was talking about her husband. You think fondly of their reunion. Moments like those made your godly job more tolerable. It must have been almost fifteen years ago. You realize how young Rooster must have been. - awww bubbe!!! i love that she has this ability to remember people like of all the countless souls she must see and she can still recall bradley’s parents awwww

"Persephone, calm down, you'll wake the dead." You half scold her. "Well, I want them to know too, Hades." She tells you before kissing you again. - EEEEEEEEP THIS!! i hope we get way more of her and persephone and how their relationship broke down etc

He was so much like her it scared you. You remember how easy it was for her to break down your walls. You could already feel them slipping again after just a day around him. - BRADLEY AS PERSEPHONE BRADLEY AS PERSEPHONE BRADLEY AS - AHHHHHHHH

false god

Series Warnings: Mythology!AU. Language, alcohol, drinking. Military inaccuracies. Mutual pining, unrequited love. Allusions to and eventual smut. Slow burn. Minors DNI. 18+. Individual chapter warnings will come as needed. Banner Credit @thedroneranger

Masterlist Next Part

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Chapter 1: Villain Era

For generations, people have said that the gods from mythology weren't just myths, that they were real. Some even believed they walked amongst the mortals of the world.

Many people might brush it off, say it was the stuff of legends. That the Gods didn't exist. At least not the ones in the stories from ancient times, but that's a whole different conversation for another day.

Sure, people have claimed that the Gods of the days of old were real, and people have called them crazy. But those nay sayers are wrong.

The Gods are real.

And they do walk among the mortals. You know that without a shadow of a doubt.

Why?

Because you're one of them.

A millennia ago, you and the other Gods that once ruled over Earth from your perch on Mount Olympus were cast off by the Titans.

Angered by Zeus' taunting bravado, all of you were doomed to walk the Earth until each of you proved yourself worthy of your title.

One by one, the twelve of you earned your place back on the summit. Well—almost all of you.

It seemed that you were the only one of the bunch that hadn't been deemed worthy enough to have your seat on the high court given back to you, along with having your full powers restored.

You had tried for centuries to prove yourself worthy. Completing quest after quest and defeating enemy after enemy. Yet, none of them were good enough, hard enough, righteous enough.

Simply put, you were not enough.

So, you accepted your fate. That you would never have your seat back on Olympus. You gave up on trying to be worthy enough.

You spent centuries trotting the globe, doing what you pleased. However, even without your seat on Olympus, you were still forced expected to watch and govern over your realm.

After generations of trying to find yourself, you discovered that you loved flying, so, you chose a career where you could do just that.

Of course, you were still expected to do that. No one else wanted to. The Olympians all sat upon their mountain top and looked down upon you, literally and figuratively.

You spent three thousand years trying to prove that you are their equal. After yet another fail attempt to earn your rightful place, you decided you didn't need their approval. Who were they to tell you that you weren't good enough? They all thought you were a monster. Their minds were made up. So why try to change it? You vowed that you would no longer spend your life trying to prove your worth to the other Gods. You decided to do what you wanted, honor be damned.

You had traveled all over the world and eventually settled in America. You joined their Navy and became an aviator. A very good one at that. One of the best.

And the best part about it is that you could go by your real name, not one of the silly ones the humans insited on having.

After spending almost a decade in the Navy, you'd made quiet a name for yourself. And not in a good way. You had drifted from squadron to squadron. Each one more different than the last.

No one had ever seen a pilot like you. You were smart, clever, quick, deadly.

And the kicker of it all, you were a woman.

After a particularly sketchy mission overseas, where you somehow survived a total engine failure and heavy enemy fire, and crashing into the ocean due to a parachute failure, and then almost drowning, the Navy offered you the chance to have a more permanent duty station. To be part of the most elite squadron in the history of the program.

So, you packed your things and moved across the country to take on a role as the newest member of the Dagger Squadron on the North Island in San Diego.

Today was your first day. This would be your once chance to establish yourself, to assert your dominance. If you went in there friendly and smiling, they would think you're weak. You refused to let that happen.

So, you slicked back your bun, laced your boots, pinned your medals, and put on your game face. The metaphorical mask you wore to protect yourself and them. You weren't here to be best friends with the Daggers. You were here to train with them, fly a mission in a few months, and leave.

Making friends made the last item on the list harder. So, you would come in cold and calculated, team build enough to keep up appearances and earn their trust.

After giving yourself a once over in the mirror of your apartment, you grabbed your things and headed towards base.

.............

You stay quiet at the back of the room, taking a few deep breaths to calm yourself. The last thing you needed was to flame out and hurt someone. You're vaugly aware of your commanding officer introducing you to the group.

The first days were always the hardest. Just like in school, everyone always wanted a piece of the new kid. You could tell that the other aviators in the room were used to being the best of the best. Today, you took that title from them. You out ranked all of them and had more confirmed kills than the whole lot combined. You had thirteen. You'd personally sent thirteen souls to the Underwold.

You would think that being surrounded by death your whole life would make killing easier. It doesn't.

You remember the ache in your heart after your first confirmed air to air kill. People congratulated you, slapped you on the back, and applauded your accomplishments. You got a medal for it.

Everyone around you made it seem like it was a good thing, but it troubled you deeply. You remember sitting on the floor of your tiny rental downing bottle after bottle of whiskey and tequila, trying to ease the pain, but the relief never came. Finally, you broke down and cried out to Dinoysus. He'd answered your call and provided you with some lotus flower. You swallowed them quickly and let the numbness wash over you.

After coming down from the high, you swore you would never do it again. But you did. Each time making you feel worse than the last.

You prayed that your thirteen kill would be your last one.

You sucked in a breath and wiped your sweat palms against your uniform pants before quietly opening the heavy metal door and entering the hanger that was currently being used as a briefing room.

Though you didn't need much of an introduction, your reputation proceeded you.

You took a deep breath and walked to the front of the room. Just like clock work, the lifetime counters appeared for you over the heads of each of the new aviators that you were meeting for the first time. All of them still had decades left. You'd make sure it stayed that way.

One by one, you made eye contact with each of them. Everything was fine until your eyes met his.

You could see a spark in them that was oh so familiar. You felt a heat creepy over you. You had to squeeze your palms to keep them from bursting into literal flames.

Don't lose control

Don't let them see what you really are

You swallowed thickly before speaking.

"Good morning all. My name is Commander Y/N Kolasi. Call sign: Hades."

Twelve sets of eyes stared back at you. Each one of them wearing a different expression. Some were shocked, others surprised, and a few looked intimidated. One looked at you like you were his next meal, a challenge for him.

Keep it together

Each one came to introduce themselves. And shake your hand. Harvard. Yale. Halo. Fritz. Omaha. Payback. Fanboy. Coyote. Phoenix. Bob. Hangman. Each one telling you their call sign and welcoming you to the group.

Finally, after waiting his turn, he came up to introduce himself. He was tall and sun kissed. Golden brown curls and honey colored eyes with a thick mustache that he made work. He wore a smile on his face, but you could feel the lifetime of pain and the burden of the world that he carried with him.

"Good morning, Commander. My name is Lieutenant Commander Bradley Bradshaw. But you can call me Rooster." He told you before giving you a firm handshake.

You prayed that he wouldn't notice how hot your hands were from the flames that threatened to creep out of them.

You could feel the desire burning inside you. Something you hadn't let yourself feel for a very long time. You couldn't risk it. You couldn't allow yourself to lose control. Not again.

No, you can't do this again

You'll only hurt him

You could already tell that you would have to keep as much space between the two of you as possible. You wouldn't let yourself fall for him.

"'Rooster is going to be your wingman for the time being. He'll help you get acquainted with everyone while you're getting settled." Your commanding officer, Maverick, told you.

After a day of training and flying and fending off the flirty remarks from Hangman, you headed to the locker rooms to take a long hot shower. The water wasn't nearly as hot as you wanted it to be, so you gave it a little extra assistance.

Great. So much for keeping your distance.

...............

After spending some time soothing your aching muscles, because yeah, even the Gods get tired, you finished getting ready. You slid on a black sports bra and black v-neck shirt. You slipped on a pair of jeans and sighed as you pulled them up to cover the inked words and images across your hips and thighs.

You left your hair loose and swiped some mascara and a dark red lip on before leaving. You thought you might ask your new coworkers about the best place to get a drink around here. You couldn't actually get drunk, but you needed to keep up appearances and earn their trust. You've found that mortals are more apt to let their guard down and show their true selves after a few social drinks.

You grabbed your things and slipped your sunglasses over your eyes as you exited the building to walk to your car.

You fished your keys out of your bag. And you were just about to unlock your SUV when you noticed some of the boys crowded around your car.

"Excuse me?" You said as you unlocked your blacked out Land Rover Defender.

"Hades? This is your car?" Hangman asked you with wide-eyed amazement.

"Yes. It is." You deadpanned.

"Damn. This is fine as hell, darlin. Custom paint job?" He asked as he leaned against the hood and traced his finger down the electric blue pin stripping that ran down it.

"Yes, along with custom black chrome wheels and a custom sound system and custom interior." You tell him.

"So if you could back the fuck off and not lean on it, that would be great." You say sarcastically.

Good, don't let them think you're weak

"Sorry, honey." He smirked before standing up.

You rolled your eyes before looking over at the car parked next to you. It was a vintage blue Bronco.

"Whose Bronco is that?" You asks, looking at the group of men whose eyes went back and forth between ogling you and your SUV.

"It's mine." You hear Rooster's voice cut through them.

Of course it was

"I like it. I'm a big fan of the classics." You tell him.

"Thanks." He smiled. "Is this the Bond edition?" Bradley asks as he gestures to your car. "Yeah." You shrugged.

Don't smile back

Don't lose control

"So, Hades, how many drinks would I have to buy you at the Hard Deck for you to let me take this beauty for a spin?" Hangman asks you.

"Seresin, there isn't enough alcohol in the world for me to ever agree to that." You shoot back. Coyote laughs and smacks him on the back.

"But, the Hard Deck, is that where you guys go to get a drink around here?" You ask them.

"Yeah, it is. Mav's girlfriend owns it. If you want to, you can follow me over there, and I can buy you a welcome to the team beer." Rooster pipes up.

"Sounds good. Lead the way, Bradshaw." You say as you open your car door and climb in. A grin breaks out across Bradley's face as he jogs over to his car.

Great, you've been too nice.

Stop it.

You press your push to start button and the engine under the hood purrs to life. You can see the shocked expression of Hangman, Coyote, Fanboy, and Payback through your tinted windows.

You select your favorite playlist and turn the volume up. The beats ring out as you rev the engine before following Bradley out of the parking lot.

As the bass drops, you tap your shiny black fingernails along your leather wrapped steering wheel as you listen to the song

"She's in her villain era"

You cut your eyes to your rearview mirror. "You aren't here to make friends, and you aren't here to fall in love." You tell yourself.

"You'd better send a prayer up"

You took a deep breath as you pulled into the parking lot next to Rooster. You could do this. You killed the engine, but before you could open your door, Rooster rushed over and grabbed the handle before offering his hand to help you out.

"You didn't have to do that." You tell him.

Don't let him charm you.

Do you want a repeat of last time?

"I know, but my mom would roll over in her grave if I didn't." He tells you with a smile before leading you in.

The moment he mentions his mother, you can see her. You can see his memories of her. You know her. You had met her when she came through the gates. The first thing she asked you was if you knew where her Goose was. It took a few minutes of her explaining for you to realize she was talking about her husband. You think fondly of their reunion. Moments like those made your godly job more tolerable. It must have been almost fifteen years ago. You realize how young Rooster must have been.

Now you know why he carries sadness in his eyes.

"Hoping that she'll maybe spare ya"

You vow to yourself to not cause him anymore.

Don't lose control

................

You spend a few hours in the Hard Deck with your new squadron. You try your best to ignore the countdown timers of all the new faces. You swipe them away until you notice one of a young man who is sitting at the bar alone. He looks depressed and is clearly intoxicated. You see that he's got thirty minutes left to live.

He's fumbling for his wallet to pay his tab, and he sets his keys on the bar. You know exactly what he is going to do. You also know you shouldn't interfere because Minthe will tell you that all your time on earth has made you soft. But you can't help it.

You discreetly make your way through the crowd and swipe his keys without being seen. You look back and see that his time has jumped up several decades. You breathe a heavy sign and pocket his keys to turn into the bartender at a later time.

God, you are getting soft.

You're just about to pay for your drinks and the rest of your coworkers when Phoenix grabs your arm and tells you to come over to the piano.

You gather around to find Rooster sitting and playing a few melodies.

Then, he breaks into a song, putting on a show for the whole bar. You figured that's probably how he got his call sign.

As he is singing, he throws his head back, and you see them. You don't know how you hadn't noticed them before. His scars.

Before you know it, his words aren't his anymore. They are hers from ages past echoing in your brain.

"Come Hades! I want all of Olympus to know you're mine, mine, mine! I want to shout it from the mountain tops and tell the world you belong to me and I belong to you!" She chants out as you're racing her up a hill before catching her around the waist and kissing her. "Persephone, calm down, you'll wake the dead." You half scold her. "Well, I want them to know too, Hades." She tells you before kissing you again.

Her voice is as clear as day in your head. You can still feel the tingle from her kiss on your lips.

You didn't realize you had zoned out until Phoenix shook you to see if you were okay. You snapped back to reality and wiped a stray tear from your eye as Rooster began to play another song.

Don't lose control

Don't drop the mask

"Yes. I'm fine." You lied to her so easily. "It's just getting late. I'm going to head home. Will you tell everyone their tabs are taken care of." You call over your shoulder as you push your way through the crowd and out the door.

You struggle to draw in a breath as you get in your car. You turn on the headlights and zoom out of the parking lot as you try to regulate your heart rate.

It was all too much. Too similar. Too overwhelming.

You could feel the control slipping.

Get it together

Build your walls higher

You peeled down the highway towards your apartment, needing to put as much space between you and him. He was so much like her it scared you. You remember how easy it was for her to break down your walls. You could already feel them slipping again after just a day around him.

This is not good

Make your armor stronger

You couldn't relive the worst moment of your life. You would not let yourself fall in love with Bradley Bradshaw. You couldn't let yourself go through that heartbreak again. You might not be strong enough to survive it a second time

Not

Lose

Control

Taglist: @thedroneranger @roosterscock @shanimallina87 @teacupsandtopgun @mayhemmanaged @wkndwlff @roosterforme @daggerspare-standingby @dakotakazansky @startrekfangirl2233 @hecate-steps-on-me @cassiemitchell @na-ta-sh-aa @milestellerlover @katieshook02 @mak-32 @je-suis-prest-rachel @soulmates8 @ohgodnotagainn @diorrfairy @eli2447 @xoxabs88xox @djs8891 @roosters-girl @sebsxphia @rosiahills22 @dempy @callsign-magnolia @alchemxx @gretagerwigsmuse @sunlightmurdock @withahappyrefrain @lt-spork @multifandomlover4life @lewmagoo @bradshawsbaby @seitmai @kmc1989 @bcarolinablr @roosterisdaddy36 @itsdesiree86 @waywardhunter95 @hisredheadedgoddess28

#bradley fic

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buckyr00s · 2 years ago

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Top Gun Second Gen and Their Go-To Karaoke Songs

author's note: listen, I'm currently working on Fanboy x Reader and Coyote x Reader pieces, but I couldn't help but do this. Feel free to add your own song ideas ;)

main masterlist || send requests

It's very clear that Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw's go-to song is Jerry Lee Lewis' Great Balls of Fire. But he saves that song for the most special occasions--wouldn't want to overplay the song he cherishes most.

At the end of the day, his karaoke repertoire reflects his retro soul. Rock, jazz, and blues run through his veins and he's more of a lover than he is a fighter, which is why Frankie Valli's Can't Take My Eyes off You, Frank Sinatra's Fly Me To The Moon, Queen's Crazy Little Thing Called Love, and Roy Orbinson's Oh, Pretty Woman are some of his favourite karaoke songs.

All-American classics are Jake "Hangman" Seresin's wheelhouse. He's almost always one of the first to get on stage and take the mic. If he's going to perform, he might as well set the bar for folks. And you better believe he's the type of person to command the stage, taking the mic off its stand the second he can.

Being the man of the people, his absolute go-to song is Sweet Caroline by Neil Diamond. Don McLean's American Pie, the Eagles' Hotel California, Journey's Don't Stop Believin', and Steppenwolf's Born to Be Wild are his back-ups.

Natasha "Phoenix" Trace is the person to go to for up-beat karaoke vibes. Wait until the liquid courage sets in and she'll unleash her inner disco, country, pop diva. She'll always get everyone up, singing, and dancing. And she's definitely got moves of her own.

ABBA's Dancing Queen, Carrie Underwood's Before He Cheats, Spice Girls' Wannabe, Shania Twain's Man! I Feel Like A Woman!, and Cyndi Lauper's Girls Just Wanna Have Fun are amongst her favourites.

Robert "Bob" Floyd sticks to the karaoke classics. It takes a lot of convincing to get him on the mic and it'll usually take him until the chorus to loosen up. But my goodness, when he does, everyone is left with goofy grins on their faces.

Sweet, wholesome Bob only sings sweet, wholesome songs. He has a rotation of songs including Glen Campbell's Rhinestone Cowboy, Elton John's Rocket Man, the Monkees' I'm a Believer, and Electric Light Orchestra's Mr. Blue Sky.

You'll catch him on stage holding the mic with both hands, doing his signature side step move with an occasional head bob--pun not intended but so welcome.

Hero by Mariah Carey is Javy "Coyote" Machado's favourite karaoke song. You cannot convince me otherwise. While he isn't the most skilled singer, he puts on a hell of a production. Because if he's going to sing, then by God, he's going to sing.

And if he's not singing Hero, though, he'll choose a different power ballad. Whitney Houston's I Have Nothing, Jennifer Holliday's And I'm Telling You I'm Not Going, and Céline Dion's It's All Coming Back to Me Now are some of his back-up songs.

Each time he walks up to the mic, he'll half-jokingly, but very seriously preface his performance with, "I'm gunna slow it down for you now." Needless to say, he brings the house down every time.

I mean, come on. The man's call sign is Fanboy for goodness sake. He wears it proudly. Mickey Garcia is a big believer that you can't turn a room like you can with boybands' greatest hits. Backstreet Boys' I Want It That Way, *NSYNC's It's Gonna Be Me, and Boyz II Men's End of the Road (monologues and all) are some of his favourite pleasures that he's absolutely not guilty about.

He's also not shy about honouring his Latino identity with songs like J Balvin's Mi Gente, Enrique Iglesias' Bailamos, Bad Bunny's Yo Perreo Sola, and Shakira's Whenever, Wherever.

Any song he choses, he's singing his heart out and giving it his all. He wouldn't have it any other way. The man low-key has pipes, but he'd rather spend his time on the mic playing it off for laughs than actually showcasing his talent.

You can't tell me that Reuben "Payback" Fitch isn't the life of the party. The man makes it his mission to make any function interesting. Like come on, proposing the 200 push-up punishment during TOPGUN training? If he's going to do anything, it better entertain him.

He's much less strict about his karaoke songs, and probably has the most diverse repertoire out of everyone. House of Pain's Jump Around, TOTO's Africa, Marvin Gaye's Ain't No Mountain High Enough, Lou Bega's Mambo No. 5, Outcast's Hey Ya!, Blackstreet's No Diggity, Gnarls Barkley's Crazy.

Everyone knows his taste is impeccable and it's always exciting when he walks up to the mic. You never know what you get, other than the guarantee that the party will turn up to eleven.

author's note: well how'd I do? did I miss any songs? also, there is a severe lack of variety in the GIFs out there for Coyote, Fanboy, and Payback. someone pls helppppp.

main masterlist || send requests

#top gun maverick #top gun second gen #top gun headcanon #bradley rooster bradshaw #jake hangman seresin #natasha phoenix trace #robert bob floyd #javy coyote machado #mickey fanboy garcia #reuben payback fitch #top gun x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #jake seresin x reader #natasha trace x reader #robert floyd x reader #Javy machado x reader #mickey garcia x reader #Reuben fitch x reader

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klaineccfanficlibrary · 4 years ago

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Hi! Can you please recommend me your favorites sappy as hell fics? Like I’ll probably have cavities after reading sweet? 💕

That’s my fave trope, anon - cavity inducing sap! Here ya go, make a dentist appointment ASAP. ~Lynne

Definition by villiageidiot

Kurt and Blaine are pretty much the definition of soulmates.

~~~~~

You'd Tear This Canvas Skin Apart by SirenVoice11

Blaine is at last embracing his second love - art. What he doesn't expect is for the living statue of David to walk into his art class in nothing but a silk robe...

~~~~~

Lost With You by Stuckontheground

When Kurt Hummel goes to Paris over the summer as a graduation gift, he’s afraid that he’s going to be all alone in the City of Love. Little does he know, a chance meeting in a cafe will change his life forever.

~~~~~

Crema verse by @twobirdsonesong

Kurt’s just landed a job at Vogue as Carrie Bradshaw’s assistant. One of his tasks is to bring her coffee in the morning. Enter Blaine, the barista. This is the story of how they change each other’s lives.

~~~~~

Somewhere in the World by Water_Nix

Somewhere in the World is the world’s most popular children’s show, and its star, Blaine Anderson, has been touted as the handsome second coming of Mr. Rogers. Even Kurt watches the show religiously, and his list of Blaine’s best attributes is even longer than that of TV’s most gushing reviewer. Yes, okay, so Kurt has a little crush. Maybe. Possibly. Shut up. So when he’s given the chance to meet the man in the flesh, he can’t really say no, can he?

~~~~~

While We Two Keep Together by @the-cimmerians

Fluff and sugar. Early boyfriends at Thanksgiving.

~~~~~

Where There’s Smoke by stoney [also on LJ]

Fireman AU, set 7 years after graduation. Kurt is Kurt, except that he never met Blaine Anderson. Blaine grew up in Brooklyn with his mother and firefighter father. Rachel and Kurt have graduated NYADA, Kurt gained a Masters from Tisch, and now they’re in their first post-college apartment together ready to tackle their dreams. Unfortunately, Rachel never learned how to properly cook and almost sets their new house on fire. Enter Dreamy McFirepants.

~~~~~

Domus Civita by JayhawkWrites

While on vacation to a city he's never been to, Kurt Hummel finds himself in a place that he recognized from his dreams. The person he always sees in those dreams is there, too, and they spot him and ask, “Is it really you?”

~~~~~~

I can’t resist, so I’m going to add some more :-)

The schmoopier the better, right?

Warning: give your teeth an extra brushing after consuming all the cotton candy fluff below.

Hugs,

Marjan

~~~~~~

After the Prom by PaellaIsComplicated

Takes place after episode 2:20 "Prom Queen." Blaine is dropping Kurt off at home. Total fluff. Canon compliant.

~~~~~~

Béchamel by @hazelandglasz

Blaine and/or Kurt using cheesy pickup lines on the other. For example, could be to seduce or being funny but can be whatever you’d like, wherever you like, whenever you like.

~~~~~~

Bus verse by @antarcticbird

Their love story begins in the morning, on the bus to work.

~~~~~~

Have a Sappy Happy New Year by @wowbright

It’s a little late for the Jewish New Year and a little early for the Roman one, but maybe it’s New Year’s for some culture somewhere? In any case, have a little New Year’s Eve-themed Klaine fluff!

~~~~~~

How I Met My Soulmate by @spaceorphan18

Over drinks one night, Kurt tells Elliott the story of how he met his soul mate. Soul Mate AU! Also - Kitties! Superheroes! Drunken Shenanigans! Sappy love stories!

~~~~~~

Of Love and Staircases by water-nix

Blaine has mysterious plans. Kurt? He's just along for the ride. Sappy romantic mush with a touch of sassy!Kurt and the misuse of a Dalton tie that isn't nearly as fun as it sounds.

~~~~~~

Partners by @whatstheproblembaby

anon prompted: “kurt and blaine are partnered together for a school project where you have to take care of a fake baby,” and then I added the nerd/badboy trope for good measure. Probably more fluff than actual development, PG-13, ~1700 words.

~~~~~~

So They Did by blaqkheaven

Kurt's first week (after Sectionals) as seen by David.

~~~~~~

Three times Kurt finds a sticker on his butt after having sex… by @sir-pyllero

…and that one time he gets an explanation.

#klaine #klaine fanfic #klaine fanfiction #fic finder #fluff #sappy #super fluffy #Anonymous

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bobasheebaby · 4 years ago

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Hard For Me- Cordonian Ruby chapter ten

Pairing: Olivia x Bastien; Ruby Rys x Beau Larkin

Word count: 1,330

Warnings: none really, it’s a tad angsty with anxiety mixed in

Summary: The group leaves Texas.

A/N: Okay, I think we can be back for at least a few weeks. I started chapter eleven and am still working like crazy on the fluffy ABC’s so hopefully I can get back to Thursday postings. Thanks for bearing with me!

A/N2: A major thanks @sirbeepsalot for all your graping, prereading, editing, and telling me when to let go. I love you boo! Thank you to my snippet reader @loveellamae who screamed appropriately.

Series warnings: character death, blood, surgical procedures done by non medical personnel, may go NSFW in the future. May contain gun violence, knife violence, threats, not sure how dark this will go. By requesting to be tagged you acknowledge you are at least 18 years of age.

Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist.

Disclaimer: I own Ruby, Galen, Lovett, and Beau, I’m borrowing Bastien and Olivia from PB.

Leaving Texas would be the easy part. Even with the tearful goodbyes and the knot that formed in Ruby’s chest as she said goodbye to Beau’s family, she knew there was a much harder battle looming ahead.

Everything in Cordonia was unknown.

They were headed across the ocean as prepared as they could possibly be; they tried to remain hopeful, but Ruby couldn’t help the worry that grew in her gut the further from Texas they flew.

She’d questioned herself unmercifully if she was being selfish by dragging Beau away and into an uncertain future.

Ruby shifted uncomfortably in her seat, careful not to disturb her husband. Her thumb grazed her rings -- that was one new title she didn’t question for a moment.

She was born a queen but was that the role she was meant to fill? Would her title of queen be long-lived, or would a vendetta she inherited cause her to lose all that she held close?

She let out a frustrated breath. The uncomfortable cramped seats only compounded her frustration. All the moves across the country didn’t prepare her for the journey across the ocean in a plane. Normally she’d fall asleep with her head leaning against the window, today sleep evaded her. Her mind was far too busy as she went over every worry and fear she had.

She attempted to stretch out her long legs. Even sitting in the backseat with both her brothers she had more space than she did in the moment. What she would give to simply be heading to a new state instead of across the sea.

She hated the uncertainty that gnawed at her stomach. She was used to planning and feeling confident in her skills bringing her victory. All she felt was unavoidable fear. Fear that she would lose the only family she’d ever known. Fear that she would be met with an impossible question that led to a more impossible choice.

She was still so young, her life just starting. Was she simply rushing towards the end? Could she come out the other side of this no worse for the wear and triumphant or was she doomed to become barely more than a footnote?

“Everything okay RuRu?” Beau’s voice was low and laced with sleep.

Ruby internally sighed, she was trying to not disturb anyone. Her eyes scanned over the darkened cabin, everyone else had managed to drift off into a peaceful slumber, even her parents were asleep.

If only her mind would silence and allow her a few hours of reprieve.

She turned, her faint smile barely visible in the low light. “I’m fine,” she forced her voice to stay sure and even. If Beau thought something was bothering her he wouldn’t allow himself to slip back asleep. He’s lost enough today, he should be allowed to sleep.

Guilt once more clouded her heart and mind. She could only hold onto the tiny glimmer of hope that she and Beau would soon return to his family and Texas.

“Everything will be fine, I believe in you.” He slipped his hand into hers.

Five years later and she could still be caught completely by surprise at the way he could easily read her. She wanted to believe him so badly, for the first time in her life she lacked trust in herself.

So many lives were counting on her to conquer Bradshaw and return Cordonia to its former glory. Her own family’s lives hung in the balance. Never before had any opponent made her question her own ability.

She only hoped Bradshaw wouldn’t also be the one to make her face eternal defeat ...

- - -

Ruby regarded the street lined with Parisian boutiques. The quaint shops selling anything from pastries, elaborate gowns, to antiques. She couldn’t contain her surprise at how ordinary the street appeared.

Her mind had always conjured images of cobblestone paths, with colorful awnings and tables overlooking the street.

Instead of cobblestones, she was met with paved street, nothing as magical as she had once imagined. The tables were still nestled in front of eateries, and the awnings were colorful enough, though if she hadn’t known she was in Paris she could have almost imagined she was in any other city.

“Mama, are you sure we have time?” Ruby was thankful for the prolonged layover, the ten and a half hour flight preferable to the nearly thirteen-hour it could have been, but wasn’t shopping a frivolous use of their time?

She yearned to be carefree and experience the city of lights at a leisurely pace. To be walking hand in hand with Beau down the streets, nothing more than a couple in love. The memories they could create while exploring the beautiful city.

She could wish on a thousand shooting stars and it wouldn’t change the facts.

This wasn’t a vacation. This was merely a pit stop on the way to Cordonia. A layover used to reconnect with more allies and gather intel that would hopefully aid her in freeing her country from a tyrant.

Perhaps Beau and I can return.

While her future remained uncertain it was essential she held tightly to any shred of hope. While all her plans could vanish in a puff of smoke in an instant they were necessary for her to believe she would succeed in vanquishing her enemies.

“This shopping trip is a necessity I assure you,” Olivia replied as she led Ruby into a lavish boutique.

Ruby instantly felt overwhelmed and out of place as she caught sight of gorgeous gowns. The knot in her stomach grew as she scanned the gowns, the lush fabrics, beading, and lace were so far from her usual tastes. Is this what will be expected of me?

“Ruby, breathe. I know this is new for you, I assure you we will be able to find you a suitable gown that you will feel comfortable in.”

She wanted to believe her mother, but surrounded by gowns of silk and tulle she felt like she was drowning in a world she didn’t know.

“What exactly am I looking for?” Ruby asked as she straightened her back and pushed her doubt down. She needed to act strong and sure, the feeling would soon follow.

“I’m sure you remember Papa and I telling you about the social season,” Ruby nodded for Olivia to continue. “Bradshaw has been carrying on his own version of the tradition, instead of celebrating our country, he means to break us.

The start of the social season is next week. All of the court is expected so it will be easy enough for us to slip in.” Olivia turned towards the dresses, “now let’s find you something that tells Bradshaw you are the wrong royal to fuck with.”

- - -

Ruby hung the garment bag in the closet, her fingers grazing the thick dark fabric.

Her mama had been correct that they would find a gown that made her feel like the queen she was.

She had been surprised to find something that was so perfectly her amidst all the silk and yards of tulle.

She gently placed the bag containing her new shoes and the ornate masks for both her and Beau on the ground.

She turned as she heard an unfamiliar voice mingling with those of her parents and Drake in from the main room of their suite. Ignore their stares, I may look like them but I’m me. They just don’t know how to react.

She steeled herself for the gaping looks and stuttering that would surely come as she stepped into the room.

“Ruby,” Olivia greeted, “this is Maxwell Beaumont, and … where is Hana?”

Maxwell rocked on his feet, “Uh, Hana sends her regards. She wanted to join me, but wasn’t able to leave the country.”

“Why not?” Olivia’s sharp voice rang through the still room.

Maxwell shot Drake a questioning look, “didn’t you tell them?”

“Tell us what?”

Olivia's stern tone nearly gave Maxwell pause. “Hana’s Bradshaw’s mistress.”

Feedback fuels me, please like, comment reblog or send an ask. Feel free to scream, I promise I can take it.

Masterlist can be found in my bio.

@speedyoperarascalparty @liamxs-world @annekebbphotography @itsstillnotwhatyouthink @ao719 @stopforamoment @akrenich @gardeningourmet @daniv2278 @bella-ca @gibbles82 @choiceslife @blackcoffee85 @sirbeepsalot @cheeto-choices @dcbbw @alicars @desireepow-1986 @mfackenthal @bhavf @indiacater @drakesensworld @kingliam2019 @walkerswhiskeygirl @ladyangel70 @jovialyouthmusic @edgiestwinter @rainbowsinthestorm @janezillow @sleepwalkingelite @texaskitten30 @traeumerinwitzhelden @bbrandy2002 @jared2612 @blackcatkita @darley1101 @innerpostmentality @lolablackwrites @fullbeaumonty @hhiggs @itsalliepg @smalltalk88 @littlegreenmoo @mynameiskaylabella @bobbersb @imma-winchester-addict @cordonianroyalty @loveellamae @marshmallowsaremyfavorite @katedrakeohd @forthebrokenheartedthings @super-secret-fandom-blog @burnsoslow @queenjilian @bebepac @datynasuha @malvolari-take-my-soul @hopefulmoonobject @queen-arabella-of-cordonia

#olivia nevrakis #ruby rys #beau larkin #ruby x beau #trh au #the royal heir au #the royal heir #choices the royal heir #hard for me #hard for me: cordonian ruby #cordonian ruby #chapter ten #CoRu #angst #maleficent writes #long post #read more #tw anxiety

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blckthvrns · 4 years ago

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Have you seen ATHENA BLACKTHORN? THEA is in SOPHOMORE year. The ACTING MAJOR is/are 20 years old & is a ARIES. People say SHE is/are OUTGOING, TENACIOUS, QUICK TEMPERED and CALCULATING. Rumors say they’re a member of CALLOWAY. I heard from the gossip blog that SHE CONVINCED HER HISTORY PROFESSOR TO LEAVE HIS WIFE FOR HER, AND THEN LEFT HIM.

(repost for the new acct, she hasn’t changed she’s still awful)

❣ . STATISTICS

name : Athena Rosaline Blackthorn

nicknames: Thea, T, Thena

age : twenty

school year : sophomore

major : acting / film studies

date of birth : 2nd april

zodiac sign : aries

sexuality : pansexual

+ traits : outgoing, tenacious

- traits : quick tempered, calculating

❣. PERSONALITY :

Thea is outgoing to a fault, the first to raise her hand in a lecture and one of the last lingering at the end of class, chatting to her classmates.

thrives being in calloway, loves the elitism of it all, the romanticism of secret letters and iron clad gates of society secrets.

a mix between cher horowitz, blair waldorf, veronica sawyer & a hint of eve polastri

likes who she likes and hates who she doesn’t, always one to veer sharply one way or the other. Indifference isn’t something she often feels towards people, though it’s usually due to the fact that to her, it means they’re just plain forgettable.

can be incredibly easy to get along with when she wants to be, insufferable the next.

probably considered more often than not a drama queen by most, one of those out there acting majors who craves a spotlight and a table to dance on.

❣. BACKGROUND :

Athena is one of quite a few blackthorn children, all born to leander and apollonia blackthorn. She and her brother were born together on a cloudy night in early April, Thea born first, desperate to make her way into the world with a wail of strong lungs and tenacity.

the blackthorns themselves have a bit of a tumultuous history, scarcely heard of before their rise into the ranks of the wealthy in 1921. Very Kennedy-esque, prominence now runs in their blood. But power and wealth always come at a cost.

Some call their family cursed, whether it be the will of a scorned witch or karmic justice balancing the world once more, living and loving as a blackthorn was never intended to be easy.

& while Thea doesn’t want to believe in the curse, it’s hard to ignore. Blackthorns die, or their loved ones die, it’s all one big circle of death and heartbreak and she can’t exactly deny it. If anything she points it out when it’s convenient to her, an excuse, a reason, a justification for behaviors she indulges in.

In her own mind, her version of the curse upon them is unforgivable. Is it a worse curse to lose the ones you love, or to never feel that grip of love to begin with? To never truly be lovable keeps her alive and well sure, but that chasm in her chest remains unfilled.

Growing up in a family where competition was as common as breathing made her stronger, if not smarter. Named after the goddess of war, to her it was a blood right. She learned to outwit to get what she wanted, what she lacked in stature or strength she had tenfold in wit and charm. Innocent eyes and a conniving little need to have her way. Her brother, while her other half, was all the heart, where she remained the head. It worked for her, in most ways.

went to a boarding school in europe for most of her early education, spending winter breaks and summers back in romania when she could.

Thea thrived on attention, and tried out a few hobbies and extracurriculars before acting became her passion. It was fun to her, to become other people with emotions and dreams so different from her own. It was fun seeing what those characters brought out in other people. If she didn’t like what she was given, she could shift, change, become someone better. Maybe just maybe, you never knew her at all. try again, look at the surface once more.

convinced her parents to allow her to attend of all things, a public school in manhattan. LaGuardia School of Music & Art to be exact, too many gossip girl fantasies interwoven with the knowledge of the stars its campus produced, she begged and pleaded and argued until she got her way. truly her biggest con to date.

Thea spent those years diving into becoming unending versions of herself. Took in the world around her, a city that never slept full of millions of souls to bare. She went out, partied, discovered, lived the life free of chains of her own making for once

The fact that she HERSELF was never discovered and whisked away to stardom she chalks up to another result of her curse. To be adored, but never truly loved. To be wanted, but never feel that love within herself for someone else. Was she unlovable, or just incapable of feeling it? She could scratch up every emotion under the moon in a second for performance. Anger, grief, passion. But love? Thea wasn’t sure she’d ever feel it.

She dated of course, various boys and girls at school or those whirlwind affairs on her summers home. But nothing ever lingered, ever stuck. She was always meant to be a little too much, yet never quite enough to hold on to. But the rush of feeling like someone’s entire universe was quickly an addiction.

Lust, was something else entirely. Lust was primal, immediate, and something she could cling to. She slept around and had her fun, but never let it linger, never stayed after to see whatever would soon cloud her partner’s gaze,

Coming to Yates was in part for the theatre department, but mostly for the whispers of the existence of the societies mentioned by her brothers. Call it a terrible fantasy, but visions of dark academia aesthetics and elite college life pulled her in. In her eyes her big break is still on the horizon, just a little further than anticipated.

Which brings us to last fall, her first year on campus. Met her history professor, noticed the way he couldn’t take his eyes off her. It was a new kind of thrill, having a weird sort of power over a grown man. He called her his ‘little goddess’ a term she found a bit condescending but whatever, the attention was devoted, almost reverent. It was easy to see how far she could stretch it, gifts he would give her, sweet nothings of their could be future if he just did something about it.

& After a while of doing nothing more than exchanging messages, having secret coffee dates out of town, he mentioned leaving his wife so they could start over, be the love story he envisioned them as.

That was when Thea realized what it would entail, how the rest of the little fairy tale would play out once the fun little scandal of it all faded. Doting housewife to a history professor, step mom to two teens who sounded already annoyingly perfect on paper. All mapped out. Gross, in summary. So he made his plans, and she made hers. Her plans left him in the dust, even as his divorce papers were signed sealed, delivered.

So she’s newly single-adjacent, though not sure where it’ll take her next. Her focus is back where it belongs on her and her alone, where she hopes it stays.

❣. HEADCANONS :

she loves being loved. It is a part of the reason she’s so quick to fall into another ‘role’ for others, tweak her words, expressions, make herself the most lovable version in their eyes. There has never been a moment where she’s felt it in return but to receive

Moments of adoration and appreciation fuel her like nothing else. She’s an actress, she needs applause and validation to live.

While her relationships with her siblings have always been incredibly complex in her eyes, her relationship with her twin brother is the one that’s faced the most hardship. Connected at the hip for their early years, incredibly distant in locations the rest, she wonders if he truly loves the person she’s turned into. If any of them are capable of loving who she is now.

she’s smart, genuinely very bright and just uses that fact for her own devices. Playing dumb might get her where she needs to be in some occasions, but she plays the long game. being named after a god of war is something that sticks with you after all.

watching terrible reality tv is her comfort, often spends half the show critiquing the wardrobe and the other half exclaiming how much better an option she’d be if it were her in their place.

loves to party, loves to drink, though drugs scare her. Something about the possibility of a complete loss of senses or control is something she’s never been able to repeat after a really bad trip back in new york.

drink of choice is fucking cosmo bc, carrie bradshaw.

❣. POSSIBLE CONNECTIONS :

a best friend! whether they met in new york or when she got to yates, someone who’s her ride or die friend who sees all of her shit and loves her despite it.

someone who is very much just not that into her. girl can bat her eyes and smile that smile and still?? nothing. probably drives her insane.

one night stands, ex hookups, current hookups. sometimes she gets around, we been knew. maybe even an ex bf or gf? maybe once things got serious, she killed the relationship before they inevitably realized they didn’t want her.

a fwb solely for when they just need a little fun? Can be very little feeling involved beyond thinking the other is attractive. Probably don’t even see the light of day in each other’s presence.

straight up enemies, hate each other on sight, probably drag each other to pieces

a verbal sparring partner?? girl is full of opinions whether it be in classes or life in general. someone to knock her down a peg or three and enjoy it. Could also be weird intellectual foreplay?? who’s to say.

literally anything else! come at me, let’s do some shit.

#thea — abt.#repost she hasnt changed #still terrible #moving along #just needed her bio on the new acct

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cxhnow · 5 years ago

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R&B duo (and real-life sisters) Chloe and Halle Bailey have unparalleled talent and an unbreakable bond. With a “sexy, darker” new sound and exciting solo projects on the way, the multihyphenates are all grown up and ready for their second act — both together and on their own. "You. Look. Stunning!" Halle Bailey watches as her older sister Chloe poses in a faux-leather Nanushka trench coat against a vibrant background of red and pink, Kelis's album Tasty blaring through the studio. Halle's eyes dart between the shots popping up on the monitor and the real-life vision that is 21-year-old Chloe, who smirks at her sister's instructions to "slay" and "work" as they echo in the cavernous studio. Chloe returns the favor when it's 19-year-old Halle's moment in front of the lens; being photographed separately is a rare occurrence for the pair. Chloe cheers Halle on as the latter poses in a houndstooth Area dress, nipped at the waist with a patent leather belt, and matching knee-high boots: "That's gorgeous! You're beautiful." When Chloe and Halle arrive at Milk Studios in Hollywood for our cover shoot on Oct. 29, the energy is celebratory; they are fresh from the set of the Freeform series Grown-ish. Chloe and Halle graduated from recurring roles on the Black-ish spinoff to series regulars for season two, playing college students and track star twins Jazz and Sky Forster. They — along with cast members Yara Shahidi, Trevor Jackson, Francia Raisa, and Luka Sabbat — just wrapped filming on the third season, which premieres Jan. 16. The next installment of the show promises an unplanned pregnancy, an acting debut from Kylie Jenner's former BFF Jordyn Woods, and a much-appreciated homage to Beyoncé's 2018 Homecoming performance. It's also a busy time for Chloe x Halle's music: in 2019 they dropped two singles, "Who Knew" and "Thinkin Bout Me," and are putting the finishing touches on their highly anticipated second studio album, Ungodly Hour, which drops this year. They are buzzing while talking about their new, more mature sound. "It's more grown; it's sexy, it's darker," Halle tells me. She and her sister showed up in laid-back looks before undergoing superhero-style transformations in a curtained-off section of the studio, where they snacked on chips and guacamole and drank green juice while trying on dozens of potential designer outfits. They are sweet and petite, and during a break from the photo shoot, they sit side by side on a velvet ottoman across from me. Both are wearing curve-hugging dresses by Dion Lee and have traded their matching Alevì Milano heels for slippers and slides. Chloe and Halle are defining themselves individually even more than before, and their style is part of that. Throughout the day, Halle will rock playfully sexy ensembles (my personal favorite is a Carrie Bradshaw-esque Maison Margiela button-down shirt cinched with a Zana Bayne belt). Chloe's outfits are equally grown-up and sexy, but with an edgy sophistication — she will channel Olivia Pope, smizing in a camel-colored Fendi trench coat and graphic Sophia Webster heels. Their looks will always complement each other but still reflect the woman wearing them. Their eyes are wide, their mocha skin glistening, braids cascading down their backs. The mood feels highly melanated and highly favored. Chloe and Halle's connection goes beyond the typical sibling bond — they are collaborators, costars, and best friends. It's what makes the stakes of this next stage of their career, as they explore a more adult sound and divergent career opportunities of their own, so high. To see them posing together is like watching a delicately choreographed dance. It's as if they each instinctively know which way the other is about to lean her arm or turn her head and will shift congruously. Between shots, Chloe and Halle smooth each other's braids, bump shoulders to the bass of "Milkshake," or talk in hushed tones. Chloe is the textbook older sister and ultimate hype girl ("The angel that's always in my ear," Halle tells me). "We'll always squeeze each other's hands or look in each other's eyes and crack a joke," Chloe says, admitting that they both sometimes feel anxious while posing on the red carpet or for photo shoots like this one. I recognize their subtle movements, exchanged glances, and seemingly secret language; it reminds me of the way that my sister and I — and sisters everywhere, really — exist in our own universe. Chloe and Halle spent their childhood in Atlanta before moving to LA, where they reside today with their parents Courtney and Doug and their 14-year-old brother, Branson ("We're the Three Musketeers," Chloe says). In 2011, they launched their YouTube channel with an impressive cover of Beyoncé's "Best Thing I Never Had." Wearing matching red tank tops and bouncy braided bobs, they showed off melodies reminiscent of vocalists well beyond their years (Chloe was 13, Halle just 11). They would go on to cover hits from John Legend, Alicia Keys, Lorde, and Rihanna. In 2015, their rendition of Beyoncé's "Pretty Hurts" got the attention of Bey herself, and she signed the duo to her Parkwood Entertainment management company. And, as they tell me, being the protégés of a megastar like Beyoncé is a masterclass in ambition. "She's a boss and she takes care of her own," Chloe says. "She's independent and knows what she wants, and she's not afraid to articulate that." They employ their mentor's take-charge attitude by trusting their instincts when making tough career choices. "That's what we truly admire about Beyoncé . . . she's allowed us to grow in our own right, and as much as she is vocal, she lets us fly on our own." Up until now, Chloe x Halle's sound has been bright, ethereal R&B soul; they released their debut EP Sugar Symphony in 2016, followed by a critically praised mixtape, The Two of Us. Their 2018 album The Kids Are Alright — with jazz-inflected trap-pop songs like "Happy Without Me," "Everywhere," and the Grown-ish theme song "Grown" — showcased their angelic harmonies, earning them Grammy nominations for best new artist and best urban contemporary album. They solidified their place in history with a chill-inducing performance of "America the Beautiful" at the 2019 Super Bowl. But with age comes experience and, yes, growth. The new Chloe x Halle era will reflect their sisterhood and the kind of women they aspire to be: powerful, strong, and effortlessly sexy. "We're not little kids anymore," Chloe tells me. Their sound has evolved from light and airy soul-pop into "edgier, grittier" R&B, like something you'd want to hear during an episode of Euphoria. They teased new music during an "electric, intense, and fun" performance at The Forum in LA late last year. "We played two new songs; 'Do It' — that's one of our favorites — and 'Rest of Your Life,'" Halle tells me during a phone conversation after the shoot. She describes both tracks as being high energy with party vibes. While Ungodly Hour will be a clear departure, the sisters seem to be more musically aligned than ever. Chloe and Halle say there's no formula to their music-making process. "We feel like that takes away any creativity," Chloe explains. They went delightfully old school for brainstorming sessions, filling two or three poster boards with magazine cutouts representing what the new project should feel like. Before creating music, they keep things breezy by having "tea time and girl chat" and narrowing down the themes they want to write about. "I'll make a beat and Halle will hear some really sick melodies and go on the mic and record them," Chloe says. "I'll lay some melodies down and splice [them] together, and then we do lyrics, but we never force it." Halle nods. "It's much like throwing paint on a wall and seeing what happens, and that's the beauty of it." When I ask how they landed on the album title Ungodly Hour, Halle tells me that it came from a single studio session with English electro artists Disclosure. "They are two brothers, and they're literally like mirrors of us," Halle says of duo Howard and Guy Lawrence, who they worked with on the up-tempo title track. "[Ungodly hour] was a phrase for that riff. We kind of spoke it into existence, you could say," Chloe continues. She reveals that one of their early mood boards included the phrase "The Trouble With Angels" (possibly a nod to the 1966 religious comedy starring Hayley Mills?), and notes how exciting it's been to tie those themes together. I spent hours holed up in my childhood bedroom plastering editorial images on any available surface, so it's nice to hear that some methods will never go out of style. But let's not get it twisted: Chloe and Halle aren't two girls making cute collages — they're artists with a precise vision and the talent to execute it. Their technique is free-flowing, but there's a keen attention to detail that influences those working with them. Singer-songwriter Victoria Monét, who helped pen chart-toppers for Fifth Harmony and Ariana Grande, collaborated with Chloe and Halle on Ungodly Hour. She confirmed my theory that they are Black girl magic personified. "I really admire their spirit," Monét said over email. "They feel amazing to be around, and their voices represent that." "They're so hands-on with everything, from melodies to lyrics and production," Nija Charles said over email. The 22-year-old songwriting phenom produced hits for Cardi B and Summer Walker and worked on the sisters' sensual kiss-off "Forgive Me." "Watching them work always makes me go back home and want to perfect my craft." Hands-on is certainly one way to describe the sisters, who play a role in writing, arranging, producing, and playing instruments on nearly all of their own music. What does it mean to two young, gifted, and Black businesswomen to have so much creative control of their work? "Since we were young, our parents instilled in us the power to do things on our own, and not rely on people if [we're] just as capable," Halle says. This encouragement is what motivated them to learn instruments and produce their own music as preteens. Although extraordinary on their own, Chloe and Halle are quick to praise those who have inspired them along the way. I can tell they harbor a deep sense of sisterhood within their own circle, a tight-knit group of family and close friends with the occasional superstar thrown in. It's galvanizing for them to see other young stars doing equally amazing things. "I stan over Zendaya. I love her, and Normani," Chloe says, beaming. "There are so many amazing women right now, and I'm just happy to be a part of this generation with them." Halle agrees, shouting out Grown-ish castmates Yara Shahidi, Francia Raisa, and Emily Arlook as women who uplift them when they're low. The feeling is mutual for 19-year-old Shahidi, who told me being part of Chloe and Halle's atmosphere is "truly a gift." "We share successes, challenges, frustrations, everything!" Shahidi said in an email. "I define sisterhood as an eternal bond with your best friend," Halle tells me. "I'm so fortunate that I get to do this with my sister every day." She looks up to Chloe more than anyone else; after all, as an older sibling, there's a responsibility (and sometimes pressure) to protect, guide, and set a good example. But Chloe is just as heart-eyed about Halle and lights up when talking about her. "Forget all the business stuff and the music and acting; this is my best friend," she says. "Whenever we're apart for 15 minutes, we're like, 'I miss you!' We're texting each other, FaceTiming. I love this one." I make a mental note to respond to unread texts from my sister. "You'll need each other one day" is something I heard a lot growing up, especially when being reprimanded for terrorizing my younger sister. And it occurs to me that Halle and Chloe might need each other even more this year. In 2020, they are each embarking on big solo projects: Chloe in the supernatural thriller The Georgetown Project, her first major movie role as an adult, and Halle as Ariel in the upcoming live-action adaptation of The Little Mermaid. For Chloe, a self-professed scaredy cat, working on the "sophisticated horror film" with the likes of Russell Crowe, Ryan Simpkins, Samantha Mathis, and David Hyde Pierce has been a real game changer. "When I got the script, I fell in love with it. I was like, 'I have to do this,'" Chloe tells me. The movie follows a troubled actor (Crowe) who unravels while filming a thriller, and Chloe plays an actress cast alongside him in the project. She learned a lot about herself during the production process, but more importantly, she conquered her fear of scary movies. "I know how it works behind the scenes, so now when a scary movie trailer comes on, I don't close my eyes." When the topic turns to The Little Mermaid, Halle's enthusiasm is palpable. "It's so overwhelming, and beautiful, and breathtaking. I'm like, 'Wow, am I really doing this?'" she tells me. When I ask what she hopes to bring to such an iconic character, Halle takes a beat. "Freshness," she says. "Just being authentically me. It's amazing that the directors have been so forward in asking me to show my true self . . . that's been a really fun growing experience." Halle also tells me that she's most looking forward to the music ("Of course!"), and reveals that the movie will feature classics like "Part of Your World" and new songs written by composer Alan Menken, who scored the 1989 animated film. "I've been a fan of The Little Mermaid since I was 5, so those new songs are very exciting to me, as well as the old," Halle says. "That's probably like, ding, ding, ding! My number one." Halle's history-making casting news was announced in July 2019 and marked a major win for diversified representation, but drew criticism from those who don't think a Black woman should play a fictional sea creature. The defense came swiftly: Little Mermaid director Rob Marshall and Jodi Benson, the original voice of Ariel, showed support, as did Beyhive members worldwide. After spending a day in her presence, I can corroborate that Halle — with her doe eyes, dulcet-tone voice, and winsome charm — was born to play the role. I ask how she approaches the downsides that can come with celebrity. "It's beautiful that people are tuning in to our lives and that they love what we're doing, and I just think of them as friends," she says, unfazed. Chloe's older-sister senses are tingling. She sits up a little straighter. "You know when certain apps crash?" I do; a Twitter blackout is secretly one of my favorite things. "Who are you without these things, without your followers? You realize that you can't rely on outside validation for who you are as a human being. If I think I'm amazing, then I'm amazing." The sisters have flourished in the industry as Chloe x Halle the duo, two halves of a preternaturally talented whole. They appear at events together, maintain joint social media accounts, and don’t have separate Wikipedia pages (though that’s certainly going to change). They’re a dream team, navigating fame by leaning on each other. Working separately allows them to stretch as individuals, but as their careers evolve, it’s inevitable that their relationship will, too. Chloe seems genuinely joyful watching Halle grow into her own. “I see it happening right before my eyes and it makes me really happy,” she says. But those feelings of pride haven't come without a bit of loneliness, too — especially as Chloe films her first solo project. "In the beginning I was really, really sad," she tells me. There have been plenty of tears and, according to Chloe, plenty of text messages, too. "[Halle] texts all the time; daytime, all the time," Chloe laughs. "To have someone who's always in your corner encouraging you, and making you feel better when you're down . . . it's just such a good feeling. I'm just happy to have her as my partner in crime in life." Naturally, it’s also been “a little scary” for Halle, who admits that she’s been clinging to her sister over the years. Just as Chloe is the consummate firstborn, Halle fits snugly into her role as little sis, always looking to her “safety blanket.” She tells me that visiting Chloe on the set of The Georgetown Project gave her a new perspective. "I was just so proud of her, because you always want to see your beautiful sister succeed," Halle says. "We always do those monumental things together, so when I was able to be on the outside and look in, it was really cool." Ultimately Halle realized that — like gluing magazine cutouts to poster boards — some things don’t have to change: “Regardless of if I'm branching out, she's always going to be there. That bond and our sisterhood will never go away.” Though some things may be mapped out — production schedules, release dates, fishtail fittings — so much more lies ahead for Chloe and Halle. I ask where they see each other in five years. Halle springs up; she sees Chloe with every award in the book. “She’s going to flourish. What do you call it? EGOTs?” Chloe’s five-year vision includes even more plastered photos, but this time they’re of Halle, and they’re on giant billboards across the world. “I’ll be hearing her voice [singing] while walking down the street like, ‘Who is that? Oh yeah, that's my sister. I know her. You don't,’” she says. The three of us laugh, but their predictions aren’t out of the realm of possibility. Their Grown-ish costars agree: actor Trevor Jackson tells me he hopes to see them collecting armfuls of trophies and “truly dominating the world.” Shahidi insists Chloe and Halle’s hard work knows no bounds and remembers them simultaneously filming season one of Grown-ish and mixing their debut album, The Kids Are Alright. “The sky is not even the limit,” she cosigned. Chloe and Halle have more to shoot before the sun sets in smoky LA. It's been a long day, but their energy is still straight-up sparkly. We wrap up our conversation, exchanging thank yous before they disappear to the wardrobe area. They'll model more effortlessly sexy pieces from Nina Ricci and Fendi, cheerleading each other during lighting changes and eye shadow touch-ups, before the day gives way to night. As the sky changes, so does the vibe. Chloe is jetting off to North Carolina to film tomorrow morning without her sister, and they seem to be soaking up this moment in time. Things are coming to a close both on set and in their lives, chapters ending and new ones beginning. But no matter what comes next — together or separately, making music or making moves — Chloe and Halle will keep throwing paint at the wall and seeing what beautiful things come out of it. There's no magic formula. It's just what we sisters do. ★

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#chloe x halle #chloexhalle #chloeandhalle #chloe and halle #ungodly hour #ungodly hour news #2020 #oct 2019 #jan 2020 #popsugar #news #articles #ungodly hour articles #interviews #ungodly hour interviews #chloe bailey #halle bailey #the georgetown project #tkaa

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salty-apples · 5 years ago

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My first memory of a wedding dress is a little vague but I can still remember the feelings of awe and wonder it inspired. It was my cousin’s wedding and I was her flower girl. I was decked in a frothy, flowery pink dress and my cousin who seemed to fill the room with her height (I was tiny then and everything looked huge from my perspective) was in the biggest ballgown I had ever seen. Struck by the beauty and sheer mass of the dress, I began to look forward to the day I too, would get my ballgown moment (opinions have since changed- I am no longer a ballgown aficionado).

Since then, I have been on a quest to find the most beautiful wedding dresses in the world- and from my rather hyperbolic title, you can tell that today’s post is going to be a doozy.

Hello and welcome to another post where I fangirl over a topic.

Today, I’m going to be pulling together all the wedding dresses I’ve ever loved, from cinema to real life, you name it! This particular post is in two parts and I’ll be discussing why I love the dresses and why I think they make the top ten all-time list.

First up, wedding dresses from film.

Carrie Bradshaw’s Vivienne Westwood dress from Sex and the City

The Sex and the City universe was a fashion trip. Although I never actually watched the series, I was glued to the products of Carrie Bradshaw’s wardrobe in the movies. The photoshoot for the magazine after her engagement was announced was amazing, giving us shot after shot of what happens when you get the all-star treatment. The dresses from the designers were works of art but none embodied the fashion forward spirit of our heroine than her Vivienne Westwood dress. To even begin to understand why the dress is so special, you’ve got to first look at its creator. Vivienne Westwood is known as the godmother of punk fashion, and to dip her nib in the wedding ink, you know that such a designer is going to do something extraordinary.

And extraordinary it was. Carrie’s dress is a ballgown, holding true to her princess-like status. But it is also sleek and modern, capturing the very essence of a woman who sees herself as the heart and soul of New York. It is beautiful and paired with the feather, it was stunning. This dress is an all-star entry, deserving of its own spot in an exhibition and I’m sure there a few people who would agree.

Mia Thermopolis-Renaldi’s dress in The Princess Diaries 2: A Royal Engagement

I don’t know how many people know this but I am not the biggest fan of lace, mostly because lace in all its forms disagrees with me.

However, I am willing to forget all that when I watch The Princess Diaries, especially the second movie. I love all the fashion moments, from Queen Clarisse’s dress to Mia’s 21st birthday party to their parade outfits. But the zenith of all moments was Mia, gliding down the aisle in the most regal wedding dress a fictional character has ever worn.

And you know what it had?

Lace, and a good amount of it.

Mia’s A-line beauty was built for a queen-in-waiting, the lace being a sign of that girlish, somewhat careless nature of hers and the smooth silk providing structure to the lace, strong support for a girl transitioning into a woman; a princess into a queen. For anyone who is looking for some sweet royal inspiration, look no further than Her Royal Majesty, Queen Amelia Mignonette Thermopolis Renaldi, Queen of Genovia.

Lisa McDowell’s wedding dress in Coming to America

You know what’s wild about Coming to America?

It’s how they managed to pull off all that Euro-African headgear! It cracks me up every time.

Anyway, Coming to America doesn’t disappoint when it comes to delivering iconic lines and equally iconic fashion. I’m sure by now we’re familiar with the various interpretations of Imani’s court presentation dress during prom season but least talked about is the dress that ends it all- Lisa’s bubblegum pink delight of a wedding dress.

If you’ve read my colors post, my total abhorrence for the color pink is no surprise. That hatred melts away when I see Lisa’s dress. In form, it is the typical choice for an African bride- massive ballgown with a bustier and a towering tiara (the only thing it’s missing is the typical jacket- you know the one). But in color, it sets her apart. That’s not to say that there aren’t members of court who are donning the pink for the wedding. No, this is different. They are clad in soft gauzy pastels but she is the American woman who stole the heart of their prince and she is in a quintessentially American color. She is representing.

And in this thesis, I will discuss why everybody needs to vote Lisa McDowell for president…

Just kidding. Tl; dr: Lisa got the best dress a princess-to-be could ask for.

Toula Portcullis’ dress in My Big Fat Greek Wedding

For anyone who hasn’t heard of Toula Portcullis, she is the much-harangued heroine of My Big Fat Greek Wedding. Honestly, her pains are many especially after she gets engaged and has to balance the cares of planning an intercultural wedding while still managing to stay sane. She’s stressed and if not for her fiancé, she would have lost it completely.

That aside, the reason her dress is here is not because it is a great beauty (it’s not quite to my liking, really) but for the sentiment attached to it. Toula, as the last female to wed in her family, is gifted with the poufiest dress in history, a dress steeped in a mix of love, culture and good wishes. It is her family’s wish that she lives and lives well and with the way they handle they dress, the ball of fabric passing from happy hand to happy hand before it gets to the bride, their coos and prayers are following her. Even though she declares, “I am a snow beast” as she sees herself in the mirror, she’s still as her family wanted her to be- the most beautiful bride they had ever seen. Later on- after some reverse tailoring by the new couple- excessively frilly, silly and poufy becomes pretty and sweet.

And that is the end of my story.

Tiana’s wedding dress from The Princess and the Frog

Tiana’s wedding dress is as a few of my friends from school used to say, special spesh. Besides being the first and only black princess in the Disney Princess franchise, she’s also the only one whose dress can boast of what it’s made of.

First, it is straight up juju- a feat I am yet to see any Nollywood movie accomplished. Tiana had the best dressmaker in the world and I know this because from what I know, any woman who is called ‘The Voodoo Queen of the Bayou’ has got to outrank another who goes by ‘Fairy Godmother’ (I’m sorry, Ms. Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Bo but it’s a fact).

Second, her dress is 100% natural- everything swamp material. Tiana marries (pun intended) fashion, function and today’s buzzword, ‘sustainability’ in what is perhaps, the grandest statement a new princess can make. It is green, regal and eco-friendly and who better to wear a dress that striking than a woman who understands how to live a no-waste life.

And next, wedding dresses from real life!

Grace Kelly’s wedding dress

No list about the best weeding dresses is complete without mentioning Grace Kelly.

Before there was Meghan Markle, there was the original American superstar to marry into royalty and her dress… Constructed by her studio’s seamstress, Helen Rose, Grace Kelly’s dress was built in such a way that it did not overwhelm her in the way that many wedding dresses can. The lampshade silhouette of the dress, though uncommon now, is quite unique, especially with the way it stands- with unnoticed support structure, of course. The lace is delicate, sculpted into style that is both modern and old. It fits its wearer perfectly and makes her quite the standout bride. The dress is timeless, an opinion I’m sure most bridal enthusiasts would agree with.

Beyoncé’s vow renewal gown by Galia Lahav

There’s something about Galia Lahav creations that just transport the viewer or wearer into another world. Dresses from the brilliant folks who make them are elegant, stylish and beautiful, and this particular dress – worn by none other than Beyoncé – takes the cake.

I’ve always loved seeing Galia Lahav dresses and this particular dress has been my favorite for a long time. When I saw that Beyoncé had nabbed it for vow renewal, I was practically jumping for joy. It is an elegantly crafted piece, with a structured bodice, statement sleeves, sections of skirt that stylishly expose the thigh, and both delicate lace and rococo-style detailing juxtaposed beside each other. It’s beautiful dress for a beautiful lady who makes beautiful music.

Was that too many beautifuls?

Angelina Jolie’s wedding dress

Just like Toula Portcullis’ dress, Angelina Jolie’s dress was steeped in sentiment. A simple enough dress, pleated at the bodice and attached to an A-line skirt, the main draw of the skirt was what was it’s back. Made by Versace, it was as simple as it was sweet.

Giving her children license to express themselves, the back of the wedding dress was transformed into a canvas for them. Each of her children contributed drawings, doodles and sketches which were then transferred from paper to fabric and transformed into high art. It was, in short, a beautiful tribute from loving children to their loving mother. I bet Maleficent would have loved it.

Kate Middleton’s Alexander McQueen wedding dress

Whenever a royal wedding rolls around, regular folk and royal watchers get buzzing. All royal families are well, royal and there is none more royal than the most famous one of all: The British Royal Family. So, when a future queen gets her wedding day, the best designers are entrusted with the task of making the royal bride look the part.

To execute this task, the Duchess of Cambridge turned to the house of Alexander McQueen. Head of house, Sarah Burton delivered in a big way, turning the volume on the phrase, ‘English Rose’ all the way up. Incorporating motifs of the English Commonwealth into a traditional princess look, lace and silk and delicate detailing were the order of the day. Her Royal Highness’ wedding dress beat all on her wedding and it has continued to be one of the top contenders on the list of the most defining wedding dresses of the last twenty years.

And this absolutely fantastic creation!

This dress looks like Christmas morning, with a side of ‘It’s my birthday!’ You can be sure that though my preferences aren’t with ball gowns, this is one dress I would not hesitate to put on if it were given to me!

And that folks, is the end of today’s post. I know everybody’s got their favorites and I can’t wait to hear yours.

This post marks the end of the ‘clearing out my drafts’ spree and I, for one, am glad that now, I can really begin to work on new stuff. A few pieces are currently cooking in my head and who knows, maybe a certain suspended series might get some new life! It’s the season of second chances and I am just brimming with joy as Christmas Day approaches.

Until next time, ciao!

Top 10 wedding dresses of all time My first memory of a wedding dress is a little vague but I can still remember the feelings of awe and wonder it inspired.

#art #cinema #December #design #Fashion #film #History #Life #literature #Past events #Princess #Royalty #Wedding #White

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hangmanssunnies · 2 years ago

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Every single thing May writes is absolutely amazing. However, this work really takes the cake. I am leaving some in-depth thoughts on this work below. If you are one of my followers and are interested in my thoughts they are under the cut. I do not recommend reading them until you have read this fucking amazing breathtaking fic first.

I had to take the last two days and give it a second reread before I felt emotionally prepared to share my thoughts. I'll start off simply I sobbed. I sobbed so so hard, like a baby. I started crying 4 paragraphs in, and I did not stop crying until about half an hour after I finished reading this. I almost hyperventilated reading when I got to the part that said:

"He knows the pain of it too well, too intimately, still feels it every time he catches sight of his reflection in a mirror, the golden streaks of sun in his hair, the mustache, the split second of pure, blank horror, of oh god I look like him, I look so much like him, and feels it slice right through him like a knife through butter. He’s been carrying his father’s ghost for so long, sometimes it feels like his spine will crack under the weight."

HOW COULD YOU PHRASE THAT SO PERFECTLY? HOW HE HAS TRIED SO HARD TO BE LIKE GOOSE, BUT ALSO, OH MY GOD, HE IS LIKE GOOSE, A DEAD MAN, A GHOST THAT HAS HAUNTED HIS LIFE.

This is probably my favorite characterization of Bradley Bradshaw I have ever read. I loved how he was open and honest about not wanting kids or getting married. The concept that it would break him to be alone again, but what right did he have to take anyone else's dreams? Let alone the woman he loves. Stunning, mature, and also so so SO in character for this man who has lost so much in his life, and with the life path he decided to take.

I'm not going to lie, I am reading through this for a third time to pull quotes and reference specific moments for this review, and I am literally crying again. It is a sign of honest to god, fantastic writing to be able to get me to cry on the second read of something, let alone a third.

Other lines and moments that punched me through the chest so severely I had to stop reading to try and take deep breaths and calm down because I was crying so hard.

" It used to be a relief. Nobody to mourn me after I’m gone. Now it feels like a punishment."

( I have felt that same sort of feeling in my soul, and then just seeing it written down like this , it was lot.)

---

"And it’s not a conscious thought. It’s not a decision he makes. It’s just something that spills from him, something that has been there unnoticed all along ... Something that demands to be felt instead of thought."

( I can't actually fully write down how these two paragraphs made me feel. I can't find the right words. But it was a lot. this realization he goes through was so so good. )

" Suddenly, he feels a sob building in his throat. To realize how much he’s hurt you, not just today by springing this on you, but by how selfish he was, again and again. By letting his past stand in the way of your future."

(Brad bestie I'm sobbing too. )

" so gently it breaks something open inside of him, “Bradley. You’re not your father.” "

( FUCK ME. WHEN YOU LIVE YOUR WHOLE LIFE, BEING SOMOne CONSCIOUSLY, UNCNCIOULY THEIR GHOST HAUNTING YOU. only to have the person you love, validate you ground you. It's too much. way way too much. )

" He’s been preparing for an early exit since he entered... He wants to haunt someone."

(These paragraghs. Wow, yet another thing I felt with my whole chest. When you are always prepared to die, yeah, you can't live a real whole life. Here once again, feelings I've felt for so long put so perfectly on the page.)

WHEN HE ASKS CAROLE IF SHE HAS REGRETS. as a Carole stan, someone who loves that woman with my whole chest, I will never recover actually. maybe ever. I want to say more about that moment, but I don't think I can. hurts too much trying to find the words.

Keeping happy memories a secret under the bed......... that's all I'm going to say about that. Can't say more at this time, just like with Carole, but know. that HIT

There were so many other amazing heart-wrenching beautiful lines and moments. I'm am being legitimate in saying those are just a handful of the many that resonated with me, and made me cry, and hurt, and smile all in one.

The smut was also hot. And fucking oh so tender just like it needed to be. It really did fit the tone of the whole rest of the fic so well. Breeding kink done in literally the best possible way.

May, if you read this random jumbled crazy review, I just have to say thank you. Thank you so much for writing this. It was so so amazing. You deserve all the possible praise I could give. I want to leave you a million likes, reblogs, and a million reviews for this. If there is some better way to compensate you tell me.

10/10 🥐

TBH this is a million/ 10 🥐 but the scale technically only has 10 roles.

ocean in a seashell . ( rooster )

pairing ; bradley bradshaw x female!reader

synopsis ; bradley has lived with his father’s ghost for long enough to know he’ll never make the same mistakes he did. and then he meets you.

wc ; 10.5k i'm sorry

warnings ; 18+ only, minors do NOT interact; bradley bradshaw's sad, sad life; angst, literally SO much angst; mentions of canon past character death; near-death experience; alcohol abuse; explicit language; explicit sexual content (breeding kink, cumplay, p in v, dirty talk, fingering, idk?)

note: ... yeah i don't fucking know either goodbye. stole the title from "sidelines" by phoebe bridgers aka god.

sol. sunderlust... none of this would be possible without you, thank you forever.

Bradley doesn’t remember much about his father.

These days, he recalls him only in fractions: Hawaiian shirts, mustache, hair that stood up spikey like grass covered in the first tentative November frost. He had big hands, Bradley remembers that, and he used to swing him up on his shoulders and let him ride around living rooms in Army commissioned houses they never stayed in longer than a few months. He always smelled of engine oil, and he played pianos like he didn’t even know the meaning of the word embarrassment.

Bradley based his whole life on the fading glimpses of that man he carries locked in the chambers of his heart. The older he gets, the more gaps he finds.

Suddenly he’s taller than Goose ever was, older, ranked higher. He wants to say, wait, hold on, go back. Wants to rewind to a time when he felt closer to his father, when he could remember what his voice sounded like, what it felt like when he tucked him into bed. When he thought if he just sat by the front door long enough, his father would inevitably walk through it again, hoist him into the air, and press tickling kisses to his cheeks.

Sometimes, Bradley wishes he could go back to when he thought bad things happened only in movies. When he had a father and a mother and an uncle and the bone-deep, unconscious conviction that things would always stay this way.

He can’t remember the day Goose died. Can’t remember Mav coming to the house, can’t remember the dog tags pressed into his mother’s hands. Strange how the most significant day of his little life remains in his memory as just another day - morning cartoons and PB&J sandwiches and his mom reading him a bedtime story. Part of Bradley thinks it’s unfair, his whole world crashing down and him not even remembering it. Like he’s arriving late for a movie and can’t make sense of the plot.

Not once did he see his mother cry over his father. He’s sure she must have shed tears, remembers now the empty tissue boxes and the eyes rimmed in red, understands now what he was too young to see then. But Carol carried her grief like a secret. She locked it behind the mahogany of her bedroom door, she hid it behind the veneer of her smile.

Bradley is nineteen, standing at his mother’s open grave, when he decides he’s never going to do to someone what Goose did to her. What he did to him.

For a while, he wants nothing to do with the memory of that man. Wraps himself in his mother, toys with the idea of taking her maiden name. Goes to college and gets drunk, gets high, gets himself into trouble. Thinks sometimes, in his very darkest moments, that maybe the best thing he could do for the world is to stop existing.

One night lands him at the police station. And it’s not like he got arrested or anything, they just take him in to sober up and tell him to call somebody to come get him. Mav is in town, thank God, and he comes in wearing his old aviator jacket and a wistful expression. Bradley’s call probably pulled him out of some bar or some girl or both.

Mav doesn’t say much, just drives him back to his college dorm and pulls over to the curb, doesn’t even turn off the car. They sit there in silence, with the blinker going and the engine purring.

Finally, Mav says, “Sometimes, you remind me so much of your father, it scares me.”

Bradley doesn’t know what to say to that, so he says nothing. Sits there for a little longer and watches as frat bros and law students and cheerleaders cross the street on their way to hook-ups, to parties, to midnight fast food runs. Envies them just for a moment. Then, without saying goodbye, gets out of the car, goes to his room, and buries himself beneath the weight of his blankets.

So it’s like Bradley always suspected. It really is a futile thing, trying to escape the memory of his father. His ghost lives inside Bradley’s chest. Rattles against his bones.

And he loves him, even if he doesn’t remember him. Thinks that love is some intrinsic, primordial thing. Something that was there before he was born and will be there after he dies. Something he can’t fight. Unstoppable like the tide.

So he embraces it instead. Tries growing a mustache he’ll only be able to pull off much later in life, gets those old Hawaiian shirts out of storage. Decides to give into the underlying current of longing he’s felt every time he tipped his head back and looked at the sky.

Accepting that he loves his father is much easier than he thought it would be. Much easier than hating him.

It’s good for a while because it feels like he has a purpose, a goal. For so long, Bradley has been drifting at sea, unmoored, unbound, with no sense of direction. Now he’s swimming toward something, broad strokes, every move deliberate.

Then Mav pulls his papers.

The worst part of it all, worse than the betrayal, worse than the anger, is the confusion. He thought Mav would understand. Mav of all people.

(It’s his mother, setting a casserole on the table, smiling at Bradley and saying Pete over here, he’s the craziest pilot the Navy’s ever seen. It’s his sixth Christmas, the second one without his dad, and Mav gives him a model of a plane they’ll build together. It’s Mav staring at him with eyes gleaming with moisture the time he stole the Navy hat from his uncle’s head. It’s Mav in every memory of his life, laced so tightly to him he thought they were inseparable, woven together. Now the seams are coming apart.)

Mav, who keeps flying, who seems only to be a real, complete person for those few, short, fleeting moments just after he steps off a plane. Who’s never happy unless he’s going break-neck speed miles and miles above the ground, jumping off death’s shovel, laughing, flipping the bird, and saying look, I can fly!

If Maverick doesn’t understand why Bradley wants to fly, why he needs to fly, then who ever could?

Mav wants to explain it, calls him, shows up at his apartment. Bradley declines the calls, turns off all the lights, and sits on his couch in perfect silence, pretending he isn’t in.

He doesn’t want to hear explanations, doesn’t want to listen to excuses. He wants to fly.

Back when his mother was alive, she wouldn’t even let him get on an airplane. His whole childhood, they only left their state once to go to a funeral of some distant aunt or cousin or uncle, Bradley can’t remember, and his mother drove the whole ten hours there and back. It didn’t even register as anything weird to him - it was all juice boxes and gas station ice cream and goldies on the radio. It was his mom’s laughter and her smile and her fingers carding strands of hair warmed by the sun out of his eyes.

So Bradley remembers his mother every time he gets into a car. But his dad? Him, he can only get above the clouds.

He doesn’t give up. He finishes college, works odd jobs for some money, drifts further and further from the orbit he used to inhabit. And then he applies to the academy again, and then he goes to Top Gun, and he graduates top of his class and wonders what it would feel like if there were somebody to be proud of him. If somebody were congratulating him, taking him out for a celebratory dinner, or just somebody to hug him. What it would feel like if he weren’t so alone.

It’s what he dreams about sometimes, in the very darkest pockets of the night. A house with a swing set and a big, smiling, dumb dog and a pretty wife and a whole gaggle of children running through the garden. Bradley would teach them how to throw a football, and he’d carry them to bed at night, and his wife would smile at him, and there would always be food in the fridge and brownies on the table, and every room would be filled with love, and there would be no ghosts to haunt him.

It’s a dangerous fantasy. It’s a trap door, a slippery slope, it’s a snare, it’s a cliff’s edge. If he stays in it too long, he’ll be lost.

His mother always used to say he was a functional dreamer. He had his head stuck in the clouds, sure, but he knew exactly when to pull it out of there too. Maybe that’s why he’s such a good pilot.

So Bradley still is a functional dreamer. He knows that this is something he can never have, can never allow himself to have. He knows the pain of it too well, too intimately, still feels it every time he catches sight of his reflection in a mirror, the golden streaks of sun in his hair, the mustache, the split second of pure, blank horror, of oh god I look like him, I look so much like him, and feels it slice right through him like a knife through butter. He’s been carrying his father’s ghost for so long, sometimes it feels like his spine will crack under the weight.

Maybe people that live life like he does, like Mav does, like his father did - up in the sky, heads in the clouds - aren’t meant to have anything on the ground. Inevitably, they always end up leaving it.

He decided the day of his mother’s funeral, before the long procession of I’m sorrys and If you need anythings, before he let real estate agents into a house overflowing with cards and flowers - flowers in every room, flowers blooming and wilting and dying like a garden watered by his grief, like a garden watered by his ghosts - that he would never have a family. Not a wife to mourn him, not a child to miss him.

So there’ll be nobody to carry the burden of him.

And then he meets you.

It’s not momentous - it’s easy. Natural. Quicker than he thought possible. It’s stolen glances across a room and a smile that brands him like a mark, that cuts right through to the bone. A smile that settles in his heart. A smile that’ll never leave again.

In the beginning, he tries to fight it. Tells himself not to engage, not to get involved, to stay out of the mess he knows he’ll make here inevitably. To shield him, but to shield you too, to protect you from whatever hurt he’s going to inflict sooner or later.

But then it goes like this:

“Are you never going to ask me out, Bradshaw?” you ask him, smiling as you pluck his Ray Bans from him, as you place them on your own nose, and blink at him from over the rims.

The sun is casting you in gold. Bradley wants to catch the moment in a mason jar and put it on his bedside table. Let the glow illuminate his nights.

“I don’t think….” He trails off, wonders why it’s so easy for him to talk to you, why he can’t stop spilling truths like leaking water taps. “I don’t think I’ll be good for you.”

You don’t miss a beat. One eyebrow raising, you say, “And don’t you think that should be my decision?”

That’s when he knows that for him, you will always be it. That it’ll never be this way again with someone else. It’s not even a question. It’s just the truth.

When he’s with you, for the first time since he sat shotgun in a car with his mother, head nodding along to Elvis on the radio, Bradley feels like he belongs somewhere. Like he’s reached a shore, maybe. Like he can breathe.

For the first time, it feels like he knows peace, even with his feet on the ground.

His mother would have loved you.

You have a long conversation about it. About how he knows you want it - the diapers and the first days of school and the family Christmases. The pitter-patter of children’s feet, the cribs, the tiny fingers curling around your thumb. He knows you’ve dreamed of it all your life. And Bradley also knows, as much as it hurts, as much as it aches, that he can never give it to you.

He needs to be honest. He needs to put all the cards on the table so you know your options, see the truth about him. So you can walk away before you get any deeper into this.

Part of him is sure you will. Thinks it might be better, the safest option for both of you. Hopes you will, fears you will.

It doesn’t matter that he loves you. It doesn’t matter that he only feels at peace when he’s with you. It doesn’t matter that for the first time since he was four years old, the ghosts have gone quiet.

What matters is that he wants you to be happy. What matters is that if that happiness lies somewhere else, with someone else, with someone who’ll give you everything you dream of, give you a life, give you a child… Bradley will let you go. It’ll be the hardest thing he’s ever done, but he will.

Only you don’t leave.

You think about it for a very, very long time. Sit at his kitchen table with your hands folded on the tablecloth like you’re praying, with your head turned down, without looking at him, and then finally you say, “Alright. Fine with me.”

And Bradley’s protesting, pushing, saying, “Honey, you want this, I know you do, you want a family, you….”

“I want you more,” you say, and that’s that.

There’s no lie to it. It’s the truth, naked and beautiful and awful.

And Bradley - selfish as he is - accepts it. Because he doesn’t want to lose you. Because as much as he tries to convince himself of the opposite, deep down, he knows he’s not a good man. Just like his father wasn’t. They’re both just men willing to leave the people they love behind. Brave enough to fight for the “greater good”, but never brave enough to stay.

Regardless of it all, it’s the happiest Bradley has been in years. With you, he doesn’t feel like something is missing from him. He actually feels whole.

Your job as a freelancer allows you to travel with him, and he’s unspeakably grateful for it. He tries to show you, tries to be good about bringing flowers and cooking dinner, thinks if he can make you even a fraction as happy as you make him, he’ll have succeeded. When he gets deployed, he spends days memorizing your face, the shape of your throat where your pulse point jumps, the pattern of your heartbeat, the feeling of you beneath his arm.

And sometimes, when you’re asleep, Bradley puts his hand on your stomach and imagines a bump there, imagines a baby growing beneath it, and that’s when the ache gets so strong he thinks he can’t breathe.

That’s when he hates himself for not being something else: a doctor, an accountant, a real estate agent. Anything other than what he is. Could he have it then, this thing you both want so much? Could he let himself have it?

But eventually, when the fantasies fade, he always circles back to the truth: Bradley isn’t a doctor or an accountant or a real estate agent. He’s a pilot. Always has been, always will be.

He’s just too much like his father. That’s the whole point.

When he gets called back to Top Gun, three years after he met you, something shifts. He doesn’t know to explain it, but from the very first moment he sets foot on North Island again, something about it tastes like the beginning of an end. At night, he can’t settle, roams through the little house you rent off base like a sleepwalker. Checks in on you like he’s afraid you’re going to disappear. Can’t concentrate up in the air, can’t shut his brain off.

It’s like his father’s ghost travels with him in his suitcases, tucked between his neatly folded shirts, climbs out when no one’s looking. No matter where he goes, that ghost goes too. He can’t shake him.

You love California. You like the sunshine and the ocean. Like the Hard Deck and Penny and Phoenix. Turn your face into the warmth like a sunflower, and then you bloom, go brighter and brighter as Bradley goes the opposite direction. As something in him dims.

“Is it because of Mav?” you ask him softly, in the quiet of your bedroom. You’re carding hair from his forehead, fingers gentle, voice gentler.

Bradley can’t look at you. Shame coils low in his stomach.

“Yes,” he says, even if it feels like a lie in his mouth.

You sigh, no annoyance, only affection. Your head is heavy on his shoulder as you press the shape of a yawn into his skin.

“I know he hurt you, Bradley,” you whisper. “It’s okay to be hurt. But I think you need to talk to him.”

He nods into the darkness. You’re right. You’re always right.

“I know,” he agrees, even though he knows he won’t.

When you’re asleep, Bradley slips out of bed. Pats into the living room and sits on the floor, back leaning against the couch. Pulls his knees up to his chest, closes his eyes, and then he dreams.

He dreams he’s four riding on his father’s shoulders through the living room. He dreams he’s ten, in a car with his mother, turning up the radio. He dreams he’s twenty, and he lets Mav explain. He dreams he’s thirty-five, and he marries you. He dreams he’s thirty-six and holding his baby. He dreams it’s a little girl with your smile and his eyes, and he loves her more than he thought he was capable of, so much it almost breaks him apart, so much it puts him back together. So much it’s worth it all.

Bradley’s earliest memory is of the giant, bone-white seashell on his grandmother’s mantlepiece. He remembers how heavy it was, remembers how cold it felt against the side of his face when he pressed it to his ear. He remembers hearing the distant, muffled hum of the waves, the song of the sea, remembers imagining what it might look like.

It’s no comparison to the real thing, years and years and years later, he knows this, but it’s something. It’s better than nothing.

It’s all he can allow himself—an ocean in a seashell.

The mission is a disaster, even if it is successful. Later, Bradley won’t remember what he was thinking up in the air, when he hit the target, when Mav went down, when he decided to go after him. He won’t even be able to tell if that is because he’s in shock or because he really wasn’t thinking anything. Maybe for the first time in his life.

If he had been thinking, Bradley likes to believe he would have kept his plane on course. Would have flown back to the carrier and then back to you, home, home, home. Wouldn’t have gone back for a man he still hasn’t spoken to, not properly, someone he loved once and now barely knows.

But all the ghosts of the people he’s loved and lost crowd up on him in that cockpit - his father and his mother and even Admiral Kazansky and their sad, sad eyes. There’s no room for Mav to be up there, too, he thinks.

So at first, you don’t cross his mind at all. He just follows his instincts like he’s never done before, could never bring himself to do. So much of Bradley’s life has been about dissecting just those urges, dismantling them, disabling them. Making himself into a creature of logic and second-guessing. Now, for the first time, he gives in to the currents and lets himself be rushed away.

And then his plane goes down, and he drifts into the white white white of snow he hasn’t felt in so long - and still, he doesn’t think. But every instinct from the moment of impact on, the moment his feet hit the ground, every instinct centers on you.

Home, he thinks. I need to get home to her.

Up in that F-14, that’s when he realizes. The brink of death is a bleak place. It’s a place of memories, a place of despair. It’s a place of hope.

All he can think of is you. How he’s leaving you with nothing. How he’s going to die here, miles above the ocean, and what will happen then? Who’s going to bring you his dog tags, the way Mav had brought his father’s to Carole all those years ago? Phoenix? Hangman? How are they even going to retrieve them if he goes down in enemy territory? Will anybody even remember the girl in that house, the one he didn’t even marry? And why didn’t he anyway? Why didn’t he put a ring on your finger, buy you a house, get you a dog, give you a baby?

What will remain of him now, in this world after he’s gone?

Nothing, he thinks, and his lungs fill with water, high up in the sky. You made damn sure of that, Bradley.

There will be nobody to haunt. He will disappear, and he will take his mother with him, will take his father with him, will take Mav with him. Nobody to remember him. Nobody to mourn him except you, all alone, carrying the terrible burden of his ghost.

It used to be a relief. Nobody to mourn me after I’m gone. Now it feels like a punishment.

Home, he thinks, remembering the content of your smile and your eyes gleaming in the darkness and your face turning, always turning, toward the sun. Like a child, as he closes his eyes, as he tries to accept the inevitable, he thinks, I want to go home. I just want to go home.

And then that’s what he does—he and Mav. Incredibly, inexplicably, illogically, they go home.

From far away, as he walks up the driveway, the little house with the gardenias you planted blooming pink and red in front of the windows looks like an oasis at first. Then it seems to grow longer, taller, goes from beckoning to daunting. He almost doesn’t make it inside. Almost doesn’t dare to get out his keys, unlock the front door, push through and toe off his shoes. Feels like he’s doing something forbidden, like he’s an unwanted guest in his own home.

You’re in the kitchen, elbows deep in sudsy dishwater, and when he walks through the doorway, when you hear the pat of his socked feet against the tiled floors, you look up at him with an open face full of love, full of relief. It almost bowls him over.

“Bradley,” you whisper, voice soft, and then you’re crossing the room, bubbles and foam and water dripping from your wrists across the tile, and he blinks at the trail you leave for a moment. Then you’re there, arms wrapping around his neck, face pressing against his shoulder, saying his name again and again, like a benediction, like a prayer of thanks.

Automatically, he pulls you against him with both arms crossed over your hips. Inhales deep, lets the familiar scent of you envelop him. Listens to your breath echoing against the dip of his collarbone, to the steady rhythm of your heart.

Your hands leave wet prints against the fabric of his shirt, like something primeval pressed to cave walls, like something that’s been happening for centuries, something that is happening right now, something that will happen again tomorrow and next year and the year after that, and distantly, dumbly, Bradley thinks, Oh. I’m alive. I’m here.

He feels packed in cotton. He feels submerged. He feels not-real, not-present, not-normal. He feels like he’s going to fall apart, and no one will notice.

When you draw back, it takes you only a split second to realize something’s wrong. You frown, the furrow Bradley likes to smooth out with his thumb appearing between your eyebrows, eyes swimming with a concern he doesn’t deserve.

“What happened?”

It’s classified, all of it. There’s so much of his life Bradley isn’t allowed to share with you, even if he wants to. There’s so much he doesn’t want to share but knows he should.

From far away, he hears himself say, “My plane went down.”

He can feel the panic in your body, feels it go through you like a spasm. You try to draw back, but he holds you where you are, afraid he’s going to shatter all across the kitchen floor the moment you’re gone.

It’s not fair, he thinks, how he keeps looking to you to hold him together. It’s just that at the end of the day, you’ve always been so much stronger than him.

“Bradley…” you begin to say, but he can’t hear it. He doesn’t want to hear it. He doesn’t want to hear how scared you are every time he leaves, he doesn’t want to hear how it made you feel to know that he almost died because he already knows. He knows.

“I want…” he says into your hair, a fragment of a sentence, a statement that trails off halfway, that goes nowhere. He doesn’t even know what he’s trying to say.

In some ways, he feels stuck in that F-14. Like time kept moving, but he didn’t, remained static and crystallized like somebody dipped the moment in amber and preserved it on a bookshelf. Nothing makes sense to him. Rationally, he knows he’s standing here in his kitchen with you in his arms, knows he isn’t dead, knows he survived, but it doesn’t feel like it.

So Bradley tries to remember grounding exercises, focuses on little things, mundane things, things that shouldn’t exist on the verge of death. The bubbles popping in the sink. The specks of dust dancing through the room. The curve of your spine beneath the worn fabric of his Navy shirt.

Suddenly, the thought of you alone in this house is unbearable. Waiting for a man that never comes back. History repeating itself in the worst of ways.

“I want to have a baby,” he says, out of nowhere, out of some madness that took hold of him up in the air, or maybe when he touched the ground, or maybe at some other point he can’t name, can’t even think.

And it’s not a conscious thought. It’s not a decision he makes. It’s just something that spills from him, something that has been there unnoticed all along, words taking shape on his tongue before he can overthink their meaning, but then they’re out, and they drop between you like an anvil, and it’s like a relief, it’s like a breath he’s been holding for years, it’s like a sigh, something inside of him finally unlatching, finally escaping the shackles he put on it himself.

Oh, he thinks. He’s known this about himself, always, but it’s the first time he says it out loud. It’s always been a want, an ache, a yearning, but now it goes from all that to a need, a thrumming inside of him, something that cannot be ignored. Something that demands to be felt instead of thought.

In his arms, you stiffen.

With your palms on his chest, you push him away from you, take a step back, take the warmth and the scent and the anchor with you. Bradley is surprised he doesn’t float right up to the ceiling.

The openness of your face has shuttered now. You look at him with something unreadable crossing your features, something unfamiliar, and say, “What did you just say?”

Bradley swallows around a lump in his throat. “I want to have a baby,” he repeats, his voice smaller now, quieter, but the words more assured.

Because he does. Because it’s true. Because he’s always wanted this and doesn’t know how to explain to you that now he needs it. How now it’s the only thing that makes sense in a world that’s gone off the rails.

Your face falls, something crumbles, and it hits him like a punch to the gut.

“No,” you say, turning away from him. You step right into the trail of water you left earlier, it soaks into your socks, and then you’re leaving footprints too. Everywhere you go, you leave your mark like a brand. Not one part of Bradley has been left untouched.

Confusion zaps through him, but it’s a muted feeling. Muffled by all the chaos.

“I thought you….” It’s a great effort to form words, like pulling teeth. “You want children. Don’t you want this?”

“Not like…” You pause, rake your fingers through your hair, exasperation crackling from you like sparks from a burned-out socket, and Bradley can’t make sense of it.

You want this, he knows you do. So what’s the problem now? What did he do wrong?

“I don’t….”

“Don’t go there.”

There’s a finality to your voice, and he sees you drawing back from him, sees your shoulders come up, your face turning away, something wilting.

The idea of losing you, of pushing you away now that he’s finally decided to let you in, really let you in, the panic of it finally slices through the haze. Lifts the fog.

Bradley crosses the room and says, “It’s your decision too, honey, of course, it is, but I love you, and I want this, and….”

You whirl on him, and it punches the air out of his lungs. There’s real anger on your face now, your eyes sparkling with unshed tears, and Bradley’s heart clenches in answer.

“You don’t get to do this,” you say, voice heaving with the barely contained emotion, a ship on a stormy sea, “not after I compromised, not after I spent so long trying to get used to the idea of not having a baby, not after giving that up for you, Bradley. You don’t… don’t get to just come in here and change your mind just because it suits you, because you had some near-death experience and you’re full of adrenaline and… and….”

Bradley frowns, moves to touch you, but you flinch away from him, one arm going up to hug your own ribcage. As if you have to shield yourself from him.

Suddenly, he feels a sob building in his throat. To realize how much he’s hurt you, not just today by springing this on you, but by how selfish he was, again and again. By letting his past stand in the way of your future.

“It’s not that I changed my mind,” he begins, trying to string together something that will make you see the truth of it, make you understand what he means.

You interrupt, “You said you didn’t want kids.”

Bradley pauses. Did he say that? If he did…

“And it…” You gasp for breath, the tears now streaming freely down your face, and god, it hurts, it hurts worse than thinking he lost Mav, hurts worse than thinking he’d die in that F-14 because all of that he’d been prepared for, had been practicing for his whole life. Losing Maverick, losing himself, all of that had been inevitable. But losing you… Bradley always assumed he was going to be the one to go first.

“It’s fine,” you go on. “I was fine with it, Bradley, I gave that dream up because… because I wanted you more, and I was okay with it. It was my decision, and I don’t regret it, but for you to just… to just….”

“I do want children,” he says because he doesn’t know what to do except explain it, except make you see the truth of it all. “I’ve always… I’ve always wanted children, honey. I just… after what happened to my dad, after what that did to me, what it did to my mother, I didn’t… I didn’t want to do that to you. I couldn’t do that to you.”

For a moment, you say nothing, eyebrows furrowed, lower lip caught between your teeth.

“You…” You look like you’re trying very hard to understand it. “Are you saying you decided not to have children with me because you thought it would hurt me too much if you died?”

When you say it like that, out loud, logically, through your tears, it sounds so incredibly stupid.

Bradley opens and closes his mouth, once, twice. Finally, he nods.

He expects you to start crying harder, to hit him (all valid reactions, really), but instead, you do the one thing he doesn’t expect: You laugh. It’s a watery sound, barely amused, but it is a laugh.

You bury your face in your hands, then reemerge after a moment, eyes rimmed in red, and say, “God, Bradley, you’re so stupid.”

“I…” He doesn’t know what to say to that. Probably, you’re right. “What?”

“You just…” You exhale a long, shuddering breath. “You keep trying to make decisions without me.”

“... I do?”

“Yeah!” Your voice rises a little, then settles, and you say, “This is my decision as much as it’s yours. If I say I want it, if I say I know the risk and I know the danger, then you don’t get to tell me no. Do you think I’m dumb? Do you think I don’t understand what goes on when you get deployed? Do you think I don’t know that you’re risking your life all the time?”

“No, I… I know you know that.”

You shrug, and it’s a gesture of such helplessness that Bradley’s knees almost buckle.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow. I don’t know if… if one day there’s going to be a mission you don’t come back from. I don’t know that, Bradley. I can’t know that. But until then… can’t you just let us be happy?”

Bradley’s shaking. Head to toe, tremors that run through him like the tides. Unstoppable. Unrelenting.

“I…” And he knows he’s the one who brought it up, but suddenly all the doubts come crashing down. Suddenly the ghosts crowd around him. “What if I die? What if I leave you? What if we have a baby and I’m not… there?”

“Oh, Bradley…” Something on your face melts. You step closer, put a hand on his cheek, fingertips still pruned from the water, and say, so gently it breaks something open inside of him, “Bradley. You’re not your father.”

And Bradley can’t help it - he cries. It’s an ugly sort of crying, the sort that leaves you with a headache and snot dripping down your face and eyes that hurt. The one you feel in the morning. But it’s a relief too. A release. Rain after years and years of drought.

For so long, Bradley was trying to let go of a world that didn’t want him to leave. He’s been preparing for an early exit since he entered, has been so caught up in dreaming he forgot to live. So caught up in thinking he forgot to do. He thought he would be content to go out of this world and leave nothing behind, to disappear without a trace, without a word, without a ghost.

But now he sees it clearly. Now he understands.

Bradley doesn’t want to stop existing. He wants to cling to this world like someone clinging to the edge of a cliff, like a leech, like a cancer. He wants to haunt someone.

Only there’s something else, too.

A week before his mother died, when she had gone all quiet, when she had lost the vibrancy she used to carry around like a glow, when she had slept longer and spoke less and Bradley had known, somewhere deep inside of him, that things were ending, that they were truly ending, he’d gathered all his courage and asked a question he’d been rehearsing for weeks, months, years.

“Do you regret it?”

Do you regret loving my father now, knowing all that would come after? Knowing the landslide it really was?

And Carol had just smiled, something of that old light returning for a moment, a tenderness so big it felt like violence, and she’d said, “I could never regret him. Not even the heartbreak or the grief or the pain. After all, he gave me you, didn’t he?”

Maybe, he thinks, it’s time to let the past be in the past. Maybe it’s time to let himself have a future.

Maybe it’s time to let go of the ghost.

And you just hold him as he cries like he hasn’t since he locked himself in a bathroom stall after his mother’s funeral, cries until it feels like he’s going to throw up, cries until the gnashing teeth of grief of pain of hurt of anger finally leave him be.

After half an eternity, you pull away, warm hands cupping his face, tugging him gently away from the crook of your neck, so he has to look at you, can’t look anywhere but at you, and then you say, “Bradley, what happened to your father was a horrible, terrible accident. But he loved you. You know that, don’t you?”

He nods. His father, the hazy shape of him, the ghost he’s carried for so long - frosted tips and Hawaiian shirts and the smell of motor oil. Large hands and a mustache and rides around living rooms. So much of him is shadowed, fractioned, incomplete, but not this. This he knows. When he thinks of his father, there’s nothing now but the hazy, easy warmth of love.

“Do you really think,” you say softly, “that they made a mistake when they had you? Your parents? Do you really think they shouldn’t have done it?”

Bradley has thought about his life in boxes. Big cardboard ones, the kind you get when you move apartments. He tucks the good parts away beneath his bed, stows them, hoards them like a secret. Like his mother kept her grief. But all the bad parts - the pain and the sadness and the sorrow - those he lets pile up everywhere, in hallways, in living rooms, on kitchen tables. He stumbles over them on his way to the bathroom. He stubs his toe halfway to the closet.

He never looks at those good parts, afraid they’ll become tainted somehow if he thinks about them for too long, afraid they’ll lose their appeal or their strength. But there’s so much good there too.

Goose loved him, he knows this without a doubt. Carole loved him. Mav loves him, Phoenix loves him, you love him… At the end of it all, even despite all the terrible things that have happened to him, even with the ghosts that have haunted him for so long, Bradley has been loved, and he has lived, and he has been happy.

Shouldn’t that be worth something, too?

“No,” he says, voice soft, “no, I’m glad they had me.”

His life has been a long, long road. Difficult to walk sometimes, full of potholes, some as big as canyons. But there’s so much happiness there, too - car rides with his mother, Mav telling him stories about his father, the moment when the wheels lift off the tarmac at take-off. This long, terrible, winding road that led him here. That led him to you.

You brush your fingertips across his cheekbone, and Bradley capsizes.

“I love you,” he says, and it’s the truest thing he’s ever said. It’s the truest thing he’s ever known. “I want… I want to have a life with you.”

“You do,” you answer. “You have one.”

Bradley’s tears have dried so the sound he makes isn’t really a sob, but it’s damn close to one.

“Do you…” He clears his throat. “You love me, too?”

It’s a dumb question, unnecessary because he already knows the answer. But he needs to hear you say it anyway.

And when you smile, your whole face lights up. It echoes somewhere inside Bradley, somewhere at his core, goes through him like a current.

“Bradley Bradshaw,” you say, and there’s only a little bit of amusement in your voice, “you’re the love of my life.”

His heart jumps like a jackknife in his chest.

Before he recognizes that he’s made the conscious decision to do so, he’s bridged the space between you and has pulled you into a searing, soaring, slow kiss. He fumbles it a little, teeth knocking against yours, but you just laugh into it, going up on your tiptoes, arms wrapping around his neck, pulling yourself closer to him like you want to meld yourself to his bones. Bradley feels like somebody’s poured liquid sunlight into his chest.

Somewhere it goes heated, goes desperate, goes near frantic, all the adrenaline, all the fear, everything pouring from him in a shower of want. Somehow he’s got you pressed up against the counter, tongue tangled with yours, fingers in your hair, fingers on your back, fingers pulling up the edge of the shirt you’ve stolen from him to find the warm, soft skin beneath.

Breathless, heart stuttering, Bradley pulls away, looks at your lips swollen from the tug of his teeth, your eyes with the heavy lids, the hair mussed by his fingers, and he needs to hear it. Needs to know you want this as much as he does. The ache in him twists like a knife between the ribs.

“Tell me,” he whispers, afraid the moment will shatter if he makes a wrong move, speaks too loudly. It’s so fragile - he wants to protect it so fiercely. Presses the tips of his fingers into the place where your pulse hammers away. “Tell me you want to have a baby with me.”

“I want…” And you sigh, a sound like a spring day, a sound like a rushing mountain stream. “I want it.”

He surges forward, lips against yours again, and you’re so alive beneath him, heart racing, breath heaving, fingers grappling along his neck, his shoulders, his chest, his arms, and Bradley wants to devour you. Wants to sink his teeth into all this life and never let it go again. He wants to exist, right here, in this moment with you forever.

“I love you,” he mumbles into your neck, lets his mouth move over the column of your throat, down to the sharp points of your collarbones beneath the soft skin. Sinks to his knees on the kitchen tiles like he’s kneeling at an altar to pray.

“Bradley,” you whisper, fingers going to tangle in his hair, to smooth along the sides of his face, and the softness in your voice cracks something in him. He swears he could cry again.

He doesn’t even know what he’s doing as he nuzzles his nose against the sloping curve of your upper thigh, as his fingers tighten on your hips. He just wants to be close to you. And you’re so soft, so warm, you smell like home, and it tears through him, blazes everything in its wake, to realize just how close he came to losing it all.

“I’m gonna marry you,” he whispers, babbles, barely coherent, pressing his face against the fabric of your panties, inhaling your scent, opening his mouth to push his tongue where he knows your clit is. “Gonna make you so happy, baby, I promise, it’s all I want. I’m never letting you go again, I’m never….”

Above him, you whimper, hips knocking forward, arching into the movement of his tongue for a moment, and he wonders if you’re wet, thinks about the hot, tight vice of your cunt, and groans against you. His cock jumps.

Then you’re tugging him away from you by the hair, and Bradley goes reluctantly, mouth still open, wishing he could stay where he was forever. Drowning in you.

You’re looking down at him with eyes blown wide.

“Bradley,” you say, and there’s something unsteady to your voice. “Take me to bed.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. It’s a tumble all the way to your bedroom - he kicks off his shoes on the way, you lose your shirt, and he’s somehow, miraculously, gotten down to his boxers by the time he drags you backward with him onto the mattress.

“I love you,” he says as he drags you on top of him, your legs opening around his hips like the petals of a flower. The mattress dips where your knees press against the springs, your weight grounds him. “I love you, you’re so perfect, you’re….”

He has no idea what he’s saying. His brain checked out a while ago, and it’s all just feelings now, just emotions coursing through him, and every once in a while, one will plunge its head through the surface, and then he’ll tell you something nonsensical, something dumb, something important, something he needs you to know, something…

You lean down to kiss him, to shut him up, his brain buzzes, your breasts press to his bare chest, and he’s so hard in his boxers it hurts.

“I love you, too,” you whisper against his lips, smile into the kiss. The curve of it burns against Bradley’s face.

He sits up, grasps you by the thighs to drag you closer, drag your core across his cock, and you both moan against each other. Your fingernails scrape over the back of his neck, where his hair is buzzed so short he knows it feels like prickles, and he shudders, sighs, lets his tongue run across your teeth.

For a while, you just stay like that, rutting against each other like fucking teenagers, tongues lazy, fingers eager, mouths hungry. Even through your panties, he can feel your wetness, wonders if it’s going to leave stains on his underwear, across his thighs. Bradley thinks he’s going to die, but this time it’s nothing like it was up in the F-14.

It’s difficult in your position, awkward, but he gets a finger first on your clit, and then, when he finds you wet and swollen and open, he slides it right inside you. Watches your face as you squeeze your eyes shut, as your mouth falls open on a muffled gasp, as your head tips backward.

You’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

He fucks his finger in and out slowly, adds a second to stretch you, and then he’s saying, “Baby, honey, you’re so tight, you’re so fucking wet, god I….”

You whimper, and then you’re pulling off him, shimmying out of your panties, leaning down to tug his boxers off.

“Gotta have…” Your throat moves when you swallow as you clamber back into his lap. “Want you inside me, please, Bradley. I’m ready.”

He groans, something in his stomach yanking tight, and he’s pretty sure he’s leaking precum steadily by now.

There’s no time to tease, no need for it either, not when you’re both aching for it, not after what you’ve just gone through. The hot slide of him inside you, feeling you all around him, Bradley thinks that might be the only thing that could make him realize he’s actually back here, that it isn’t all just a dream, that he didn’t actually go down in that plane and has been stuck in some kind of cruel limbo for the past few days.

But there’s the other thing too. The need he can’t explain. The selfish, horrible, depraved thing he can share with nobody but you. That nobody but you would ever understand.

Slowly, tentatively, he places his palm on your stomach, fingers splaying wide, and leaves it there. He’s too scared to look at you, too scared of what you’ll think of him, too scared of what you’ll do once you find out how deep his desire runs, how desperately he wants this. Will you hate him? Will you be disgusted? Will you draw back, pull away, leave him alone with all his depravity and all his fears and all his sorrow?

“I need… I want…” He can’t even finish the sentence, brain too foggy. Too scared to meet your eyes, Bradley just blinks at the sight in front of him, his big hand on your skin, and his heart seizes, his insides clench, and he can’t breathe, can’t, he’s going to…

Slowly, your fingers wrap around his wrist.

“Yes,” you breathe above him.

It’s a visceral thing. The words burn through him, wrap around him, curl into him. He surges forward to kiss you, desperate, a choked sound escaping him, and licks into your mouth. Around his wrist, your fingers tighten.

He pushes you back into the sheets, crawls over you and spreads your legs, slides between them where he belongs. When his gaze falls to your face, there’s so much trust there, so much love, and it cleaves him in two, just how much he loves you, just how much he needs you. He doesn’t have the words to express it, can only hope you understand what he means when he plunges into you without preamble, when he whispers your name against the shell of your ear, when he curves around you like he wants to shield you from everything bad in the world.

You moan, fingers coming up to grasp his arm where he’s balancing his weight on the elbows. Your mouth tips open, your eyes not straying from his for a second as he goes slow, as he goes deep, as he goes home. There’s an answer in that too.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, voice choked as he bottoms out, as he holds himself perfectly still. “So tight and beautiful, and you’re all mine, and I’m yours and….”

“Bradley,” you stop him. Wrap your legs around his hips and pull him in. “It’s okay. You can move now.”

So he does.

It’s frantic from the first moment. It’s all the tension that’s been building up for years and years inside of him, all his love and all his longing finally laid open, and he can’t hold back anymore, not when he feels like he’s going to burst out of his own skin at any moment now.

The wet squeeze of your walls around his cock has his eyes rolling into the back of his head.

“Fuck,” he curses, hips pushing forward at an unsteady pace, as he leans down to kiss you again, as you open your mouth for him easily, as he nips at your lower lip.

And it’s so dumb - he’s inside of you, curled around you, his tongue tangled with your own, but Bradley wants you closer, still. Needs to know that you’re there with him, that he’s here with you, that he came home and he is letting himself have this, you’re letting him have it, and he loves you, he loves you, he…

Bradley takes his weight off his elbows, gets his arms around you, plasters himself to you, chest to chest, hip to hip, mouth finding the side of your neck, your collarbones. Like this, with his arms around your shoulders, it feels almost like he’s pulling you down to him with every thrust, like he slides just half an inch deeper into you.

You try to muffle a moan into his hair, but Bradley pulls your face away, keeps his pace as he says, “Wanna hear you. Let me hear you, baby, tell me how much you like it. You love it, don’t you? Love my cock, yeah? Love it when I fuck you?”

Maybe it’s pathetic, but Bradley needs to hear it. Needs to know you’re as desperate for him as he is for you. Needs to know you want it just as much.

On a thrust in, your walls flutter around him, and you whine, back arching a little, head sliding across the pillow as you nod.

“Yes,” you gasp, “I love it, Bradley, I love your cock. Thought about it while you were gone all the time, every night, I….”

Bradley groans, shudders, suddenly so close to the brink he needs to squeeze his eyes shut against the image of you - the glossy eyes, the swollen lips, the absolute ruin he’s reduced you to.

“Can’t say shit like that, baby,” he whispers, leaning to press tender kisses to the column of your throat. “Not when you’re this fucking wet, not when you’re making these sounds… you’re gonna make me cum.”

You giggle, then moan, head lolling to the side to give him better access.

“Good,” you say, legs hiking higher up on his hips, his cock sliding deeper, “that’s the plan, isn’t it?”

If there were any air left in his lungs, Bradley would laugh with you. As it stands, he just ups the ante, going a little harder, watching as your eyelashes flutter, feeling your fingers spasm against the skin of his back.

It’s so hot in the room, both of you sticking to each other with sweat, and maybe that, too, should be disgusting, but Bradley doesn’t care. When he leans down to lick a long, wet stripe along the edge of your jaw, he tastes salt on his tongue.

“I’m gonna….” When he glances down at you, at the eyes wide with that much trust, as he realizes you would let him do just about anything to you, that you’ve both opened yourself to each other completely now, no barriers and no ghosts standing between you, it’s like a dam breaking. He moans, so loud it echoes through the room, leans to plunge his tongue into your mouth, desperate, and then he’s saying into it, “God, I’m gonna fuck you so full, honey, gonna fuck you until it takes, yeah? Gonna keep you right here and fill you up, again and again, gonna make sure to get a baby in you, fuck, you’d be so fucking pretty, honey, so pretty all full of me, I know it, I can….”

And you sob. Full-on. Back arching off the bed, legs sliding off his hips, spreading so wide it must hurt.

“Bradley,” you say, fingernails breaking skin, forehead pressing against his throat to hide your face. “Bradley, fuck, I… the pill….”

He’s shaking his head, cutting you off with his mouth on yours. Conveying what he can’t speak, what he’s too far gone to formulate, here where logic has become a distant, remote concept, here between your legs. Don’t say it. Let me live in this fantasy. Let me dream a little longer.

It’s the thought of it all - a bump beneath your dresses, a baby in your arms, tiny fingers wrapping around his thumb, it’s about the long, long stretch of life ahead of the two of you. It’s about a house filled with love and free of ghosts. It’s about the first glimpse of the ocean after listening to its roar in seashells all his life. It’s about giving himself over to you completely, after years of only dreaming of it.

Do you know? he wonders. Do you know that you’re holding his whole life in your hands?

“I love you,” he mumbles, repeats it as he sinks into you again and again, as he buries himself in you, as he holds onto you like he’ll be back in the cold, cold, cold of all that snow the moment he lets go, like he’ll go back to the cockpit with the ghosts like jailors around him, like he’ll float right off the face off the earth. You have always been his anchor. “I’m gonna give you a baby, honey, I promise, gonna cum inside of you, you want that, right? You want me to come right here in this pretty pussy, fill you up all nice and wet, and….”

Your mouth moves against his clavicle, the feel of it spreading like wildfire through him, and you’re saying, “Yes, yes, Bradley, give it to me, please, I wanna feel it, want you to come inside me, please, please, I need it, I….”

A yell punches from him as he thrusts inside one last time, buries himself to the hilt in your warmth, and then he’s panting, his ears are ringing, his veins are buzzing as he cums, as he paints you with his release. He can’t do anything except hold onto you, bury his face in your hair, inhaling your scent, jerking his hips forward erratically, little sounds escaping him. It’s never felt like this before - like dying and coming back alive. The release of it is so big he feels shattered under its weight.

And you’re saying something to him, whispering words sticky with honey into his ear, pouring them right into his heart, and he can barely hear you over the hammering of his own heart, but it doesn’t matter. You hold him as he trembles, as he shakes, as he tries to collect himself, to control his breathing, hold him and stroke lazy, soft circles up and down his back, trace patterns against his spine, leave soft kisses on any inch of skin you can reach, trapped beneath his weight as you are.

Finally, after an eternity, Bradley pulls away an inch or two, careful not to let his cock slip out. There’s a little embarrassment spreading through his stomach now because he can’t believe he came that fast, can’t believe he didn’t even make sure to take you over the edge with him.

But you barely seem to think about your own lack of an orgasm.

“Are you okay?” you ask, voice gentle, face full of concern.

Bradley’s heart clenches. Maybe, he thinks, his ribcage is going to crack open. It seems impossible for one person to hold so much love inside.

“Are…” He clears his throat, suddenly unsure. “Are you?”

You nod immediately, smile, and the relief floods him. Then you shift, gasp, muscles fluttering around his softening cock.

“Well… I…”

He doesn’t let you finish, shakes his head, says, “You did so good for me, baby. Let me take care of you, yeah?”

He’s already looking at the place where you’re still connected, where his cum is beginning to drip from you in silvery trails. The sight of it is enough to make something like madness descend again, something like that earlier haze, the frenzy of the heat.

Bradley pulls out, sighs at the feeling, and your mouth opens as if in protest, but before you can form any words, he’s replaced his cock with two fingers.

You whimper, eyes closing, a muscle in your stomach jumping.

“I got you,” he says, keeps his eyes on the mess of your swollen cunt, the wet spot soaking into the mattress just beneath, the evidence of his pleasure, smooths his free hand over your chest to settle you. “Relax, honey. I got you.”

Your answer is a moan of his name, fingers twisting into the sheets. He can feel your walls bearing down on the motion of his fingers and knows you’re close, desperately, frantically, torturously close to the brink.

So he speeds up the movement of his digits, swipes his thumb through the sopping wetness, and then across your clit as he fucks his cum back into you. Not letting a single drop go to waste.

“Bradley,” you sob, mouth opening, fingers grappling for something.

Knowing what you need, knowing without you asking for it, he catches your hand with his own and interlaces your fingers. Then he leans down, leans over you, leans in. Finds the seam of your mouth with his own. It’s less of a kiss than both of you panting against each other, finding the same rhythm.

“You can let go now,” he whispers into you. “I’m here. I’ve got you, honey. My perfect girl.”

You come with his name on your lips, cunt clenching around his fingers, arching off the bed and into him, and it’s like a prayer. It’s like a song.

It takes you a while to come down, and he coaxes you through it, brushes kisses against your lips and your jaw and your ear. Hopes he can ground you the same way you ground him.

Finally, softly, voice faint and fragile, you say, “That was… intense.”

Bradley hums in agreement, and then a laugh rips from him. Because it’s all so ridiculous and so monumental, and he doesn’t know where to go with all these emotions.

“I… yeah. It really was.” He pauses, feels shame curling through him. “I’m sorry I sprung that on you.”

You shake your head, lift one hand to run a finger across his mustache the way you like to do sometimes.

“It’s okay,” you say, and he knows you mean it. “You must have carried that for a long time.”

It chokes him up, the way you know him so well. Better than anybody else.

“Yeah,” he agrees, drops his head into the crook of your neck. “It… I want you to know that I really want this. It’s not… it’s not adrenaline, and it’s not just almost dying, it’s… It’s you. I want this with you. Only with you.”

He can feel the curve of your smile against his temple, can hear it in your voice.

“I want it with you too, Bradley. Only with you.”

Bradley’s so afraid he’s going to start crying again that he springs into action instead. Reaches around you for a pillow to push beneath your hips, angle your lower body upwards.

“What are you doing?” you ask, laughing a little.

“I’m trying to keep my cum in you. Maybe we’re like super extra lucky, and it works out on the first try.”

Now you’re laughing in earnest, and he gets the impression it might be at his expanse.

“Still on the pill, Bradley,” you remind him, eyes luminous with your happiness.

Feeling a little sheepish, a little embarrassed, a little elated, he shrugs helplessly.

“Can’t hurt,” he says. Then adds, “Besides… I don’t want all my hard work to go to waste.”

Then you’re laughing together, breathless, loud laughter, the bending-at-the-waist kind. The belly-hurting kind. The kind that doesn’t come often.

And it’s good. It’s beautiful. It’s the kind of peace he’s never known before but has wanted always, always, always.

It’s so much better than anything he could have ever dreamed. Because it’s real. Because it’s true.

All his life, Bradley thinks, he’s been listening to oceans in seashells. It’s good, fun even, for a while, but it’s no replacement for the real thing. It’s no comparison to standing at the shore of the Pacific Ocean, watching waves crest and crash and throw themselves against the beach again and again, like a devotion that never ends. How big and beautiful and terrible the truth of it is.

And he’d thought the whole world was in that seashell.

Once the laughter has died down, once you’ve fallen back into the kind of comfortable silence that can exist only between people that really, truly love each other, Bradley strokes his thumb against your cheekbone, watches your eyes flutter closed.

“I love you,” he says, “more than I thought I could love someone. Thanks for loving me back.”

It’s bumbling, and it’s inadequate, and it doesn’t convey half of what it should.

But you smile at him, eyes opening, face so tender his heart stutters, and you whisper, “It’s an honor, Lieutenant Bradshaw.”

For the first time, Bradley doesn’t think about dying, doesn’t think about leaving. He thinks about living. He thinks about staying.

#One of the best Fics I have ever read #Not just in this fandom in any fandom #I know i said I sobbed but I really did #A blood vessel in my right eye burst #which only happens when i cry super hard #crying screaming foaming at the mouth #I actually cannot give this enough praise #super rec #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader

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