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romerona · 3 months ago

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Ethera Operation!!

You're the government’s best hacker, but that doesn’t mean you were prepared to be thrown into a fighter jet.

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Awkward!Hacker! FemReader

Part II

You knew today was going to suck the second your alarm went off and you briefly, genuinely, considered faking your own death.

Not in a dramatic, movie-worthy kind of way. No, more like… vanish-into-a-data-breach, throw-your-phone-in-the-ocean, start-a-new-life-in-Finland sort of way.

But instead, you got up.

Because apparently, national security outranks your crippling fear of flight—not that it makes the simulator any less hellish, with its cold metal, stale coffee, and that faint chemical tang of fear.

You were strapped into the rear seat of a flight simulation pod, hands locked in your lap like they might betray you at any moment and start mashing random buttons. You exhaled slowly as your eyes flicked across the control panel. So many switches. So many lights. Half of them blinked like they were mocking you. The other half were labeled with words like “altitude” and “engine throttle” and “eject.”

Great.

You adjusted your headset as the technician’s voice crackled through. “Sim will start in thirty seconds, Doctor. We’ll be monitoring vitals and control input from the tower."

You forced a nod, even though your stomach was already trying to escape through your spine. Your breath fogged the inside of the visor. You clutched the tablet tethered to your vest like it was a stuffed animal and you were six years old again.

“Try not to scream this time,” came Cyclone’s voice through the comms, calm and flat like he was asking you to pass the salt.

You offered a shaky thumbs-up that somehow felt more like a surrender flag.

The sim operator spoke next, voice crackling through your headset once again. “Doctor, your objective is to remain conscious, keep your hands away from the panel, and activate the Ethera interface when prompted. We’ll simulate turbulence, evasive maneuvers, and mild G-force changes. Ready?”

No. Never.

“...Sure.”

The sim lurched forward with a roar, and your whole body snapped back into the seat. You let out a startled “whuff!”, eyes wide, heart in your throat. The room around you—walls disguised as sky—blurred as the machine banked hard to the left.

“OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGOD—”

There was no gentle start. No soft acceleration to get your bearings. Just a violent jolt forward, and then you were climbing—straight up, like gravity had been turned into a weapon and pointed directly at your lungs.

Pressure slammed into your chest. The world outside the cockpit blurred. You couldn’t hear anything except your own heartbeat.

“WHY ARE WE TILTING—”

“Initiating evasive pattern,” came the tech’s voice, calm as ever.

The sim jerked again, this time into a sharp roll. The world flipped sideways. Your ears popped. Something primal in your brain screamed: This is how you die.

Your ears were ringing. Your pulse thundered against your ribs. Somewhere beneath the pressure and panic, you could hear the tech’s voice cutting in again—calm, detached, and utterly unhelpful.

“Doctor, you need to deploy the program,” he said. “Fifty seconds. Starting now.”

Oh, shit, you couldn’t even see straight.

Your breath came in short, shallow gasps as the simulated jet banked hard to the right, pressing your spine into the seat like it wanted to keep it. The G-forces made your vision tunnel, your stomach lurching somewhere around your throat.

Your hand fumbled toward the tablet mount, fingers shaking so hard they were basically useless. You tapped the corner of the screen. Missed. Tapped again. The jet jolted. The tablet shifted. Your palm slammed into the side instead of the input.

Forty seconds.

The Ethera prompt blinked up at you—green, glowing, go—but it may as well have been a mirage. You squinted through the dizziness, swore under your breath in three languages, and tried again.

Thirty-five.

The turbulence kicked again, harder. Your chest seized. The tablet slipped slightly in its latch. You tapped the input.

Too late.

“Simulation failed,” the system announced flatly. “Target missed.”

Everything halted—the motion, the noise—everything except your pulse, which pounded on like it hadn't gotten the memo.

The sim pod cracked open with a sharp hiss, releasing a rush of cool air that hit your sweat-slicked skin like a slap to the face. You didn’t move. For a second too long, you just sat there, fingers clenched around the armrests like they were the only things keeping you from unraveling completely. The silence pressed in, thick with the weight of your own embarrassment, humiliation settling low and heavy in your gut like a stone.

Your fingers fumbled at the release on your helmet, hands still trembling from the G-forces and adrenaline. The inside of your mouth tasted like copper and failure. You tugged off the headset next, wires dragging like they were reluctant to let go. Everything felt too loud and too quiet at the same time.

Your boots scraped against the cold floor as you shakily swung your legs out, and there he was, Vice Admiral Beau Simpson, standing with arms crossed, expression carved from steel.

You wanted to disappear into the floor.

He didn’t speak right away. He just looked at you. Not angry. Not even disappointed. Just… calculating. Like he was already assessing the cost of putting you on a real jet.

“I missed the mark,” you said first, because silence felt worse. “I know.”

Cyclone gave a short nod, like that much at least didn’t need explaining. “You froze.”

You exhaled slowly, willing your heart to stop trying to beat its way out of your ribs. “Yeah.”

His eyes didn’t waver. “You had a job. Not to fly. Not to fight. Just to stay calm. Deploy your program.”

“I know.”

“And you failed.”

You stood on legs that didn’t feel like they belonged to you, one hand gripping the edge of the simulator for balance, the other still clutching the edge of the tablet even though the prompt had long since vanished.

“If this had been real,” he continued, “that satellite would still be feeding your government false intelligence. That jet would’ve been intercepted. And you, Doctor, would’ve been dead, and so would've your pilot.”

You flinched. Not visibly—hopefully—but the words hit harder than they should have. You stared at the scuffed metal floor, heart thudding against your ribs.

“You’re not a soldier,” he said. “And you’re not trained for this. That’s clear.”

You opened your mouth—maybe to apologize, maybe to defend yourself—but he raised a hand, cutting you off with one sharp motion.

“That’s not an excuse,” he added, voice sharp. “It’s a reality. One you’ll have to overcome, and fast. I don’t expect perfection but I do expect progress. And I expect you to walk into that sim tomorrow knowing what you did wrong—and ready to fix it.”

You blinked hard, your pulse pounding in your ears. “Yes, sir.”

Cyclone gave you one last look—disappointed, but not hopeless—and then turned, then paused, glancing back.

“And see medical,” he added, almost as an afterthought. “You’re pale as hell.”

Then he walked away, boots echoing down the corridor, leaving you standing there with a spinning head, a shattered ego and the feeling of wanting to curl up and cry.

As you moved to make your way toward medical—because yes, apparently nausea, disorientation, and a near-death experience weren’t enough on their own— you skidded to a stop just short of slamming into a very broad chest.

Of course. Of course, it was him.

The handsome, mustached pilot. The one who’d handed you your tablet like it was a glass slipper, back in the briefing room. The one who hadn’t laughed when you dropped it, but definitely thought about it.

His hair was slightly mussed, curls pushed back from his forehead like he’d run a hand through them one too many times. He held two water bottles, one in each hand, like he wasn’t sure if he meant to stay—or if he’d just pretend this was a casual “what a surprise” moment if anyone asked.

You froze. He straightened.

“Hey,” he said, voice softer than you expected. A lot softer than earlier. Less smirk, more... sincerity.

“Uh… hi,” you said finally. Nailed it. Pure elegance.

His expression didn’t change much, maybe just a flicker of amusement at the corners of his mouth. He held out one of the bottles. “You looked like you could use this.”

You hesitated—more from surprise than anything else—then took it. You took it, fingers brushing his as you did. His skin was warm—too warm for how cold you felt. You tried not to notice.

“Thanks,” you said quietly, unscrewing the cap with hands that still trembled, ever so slightly. The water was blissfully cold against your throat, but it did nothing for the embarrassment still curdling in your stomach.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice gentler than you expected.

You hesitated, then tilted your head in a noncommittal shrug. “Define okay.”

A ghost of a smile touched his face. “Not crying, not puking, not passed out? That’s the general baseline.”

You cracked a reluctant laugh. “Oh, sure, I’m totally thriving.”

He nodded once, and the silence settled again—less awkward now, more… charged. The kind of quiet that hummed between words. The kind that made your skin feel too tight.

He looked like he might leave, but then he didn’t.

Instead, he shifted his weight, adjusting his grip on the second water bottle like it was some kind of anchor or maybe just something to do with his hands while he said, “You weren’t terrible in there.”

Your stomach jolted—sharp, unexpected. Like missing a step on the stairs. Heat bloomed beneath your collar, crawling up your throat as your fingers tightened around the plastic water bottle.

“You…” Your voice cracked a little, and you cleared your throat. “You were watching?”

God. No.

Why did you ask that? Why would you ever want confirmation?

His expression shifted—just slightly. Not quite sheepish, not quite smug. Just something in the middle.

“I was passing by,” he said, entirely too casual.

You groaned softly, dragging a hand over your face. “Fantastic. I didn’t just humiliate myself in front of the brass. I also had an audience.”

“Don’t take it personally,” he said, his voice laced with something between amusement and sincerity. “We’ve all been there.”

You raised an eyebrow. “In a classified sim seat with national security riding on your ability to not pass out?”

He grinned wider. “Well. Maybe not exactly there.”

You scoff, shaking your head as you take another sip of the water.

“You’re not supposed to get it right the first time." He said, "No one does. You think the rest of us were born knowing how to pull 7 Gs without losing our lunch?”

You didn’t answer. Not because you didn’t believe him—maybe part of you even did—but because if you opened your mouth, you weren’t sure if it would come out as a laugh or a cry.

He noticed.

“You know, most people don’t get in the backseat of a fighter jet without years of prep. You? You've got a couple of days, a tech background, and a pulse. That’s it and you still got in. That counts for something.”

You stared at him. “Why do you even care if I mess this up?”

He looked at you then, long and quiet.

“You built something that could change the world,” he said with an easy shrug. “That kind of genius doesn’t come with an eject handle. So yeah. I care.”

You looked away fast, suddenly too aware of how warm your cheeks were.

He leaned back again, casual as ever. “Besides, if I'm the one you are gonna fly into enemy territory, I’d rather know you’re not gonna scream the whole time.”

You snorted. “I’ll scream quietly. Into my elbow. Like an adult.”

He chuckles and you looked at him. Really looked at him. Still in partial uniform, flight suit unzipped to the waist, sleeves tied and hanging loose around his hips. His shirt clung to his chest, slightly sweat-damp at the collar, and that damn mustache made him look both out-of-place and weirdly grounded at the same time.

He wasn’t just handsome. He was kind of infuriatingly steady.

“Can I—” You paused, surprised by your own voice. “Can I ask your name?”

His brows lifted, just slightly, like the question had caught him off guard. But then he shifted forward and extended a hand—open, easy, completely steady in a way that you most definitely weren’t.

“Bradley Bradshaw,” he said. “But most people around here call me Rooster.”

You blinked. “Rooster?”

A grin tugged at his mouth, soft and lopsided. “My call sign. It’s a long story.”

You hesitated for a beat, then reached out and slid your hand into his.

His palm was warm—really warm—and calloused in a way that made you feel every inch of the difference between your worlds. His grip was firm but not overwhelming, grounding. Like he knew exactly how much pressure to apply without overdoing it. His fingers curled around yours with quiet confidence, like this was nothing, like it didn’t send an unexpected little jolt of awareness all the way up your arm.

Your hand was smaller than his, your skin cooler, trembling just enough that you hoped he didn’t notice—but something in the way his thumb shifted, just the tiniest bit, made you think maybe he did.

You weren’t sure how long you held on. Long enough to register the strength in his hand, the steadiness, the solidness of someone who lived in the sky but was somehow more grounded than anyone you knew.

“Y/N L/N,” you said finally, your voice softer now. "But I guess you already knew that.”

He gave a small nod, his eyes not leaving yours. "You're hard to forget,"

You didn’t let go right away.

Neither did he.

Then, as if realizing the moment was hanging just a second too long, you both released at the same time—too quickly. Like a secret exchanged and immediately tucked away.

You took a half step back, pulse thrumming in your throat, fingers still tingling from the contact.

Bradley, however, didn’t step away immediately instead, he lingered for just a second longer, watching you with a look that wasn’t teasing or cocky or smug. Just something quiet and steady, then he smiled—small, crooked, the kind that didn’t feel all that teasing but still carried that glint of mischief behind it. The kind of smile that said he saw more than he let on.

“You’ll get it,” he said, voice softer now. “Not today. Maybe not tomorrow.”

His eyes flicked to yours, and something about the way he looked at you—like he meant it, like he believed it, made your chest tighten.

“But you will.”

You opened your mouth, unsure what you were about to say—maybe thank you, maybe don’t say that unless you mean it—but the words never quite made it past your lips.

Because Bradley gave you one last look, a flick of something unreadable in his eyes, then turned down the corridor, water bottle still swinging lazily from his fingers while you stood there for a moment, then finally exhaled. “Okay,”

Days went faster than you were ready for.

You hadn’t slept much. Not from fear exactly, though there was plenty of that still hanging around like a ghost in your chest—but more from the afterglow of adrenaline. The kind that leaves your body tired but your mind racing.

You’d replayed Bradley's words a dozen times. You’ll get it. You weren’t sure if they’d stuck because you believed them… or because you wanted to.

But when you arrived at the simulator bay, you were expecting to meet with Cyclone, just like every other day, but he wasn't there waiting for you.

It was a new pilot.

She stood near the simulator controls, arms crossed loosely over her chest, already in her flight suit, her expression somewhere between mildly unimpressed and genuinely curious.

“You’re my new project, huh?” she said as you approached.

You blinked. “Um. I—guess so?”

“I’m your point of contact now,” Phoenix said, nodding toward the simulator. “Cyclone thought a different approach might help. And I volunteered.”

You tried not to look too relieved. But you were. God, you were. Cyclone, well, he was rough, for lack of better words, Rooster had been kind, yes, but his presence was a lot. Intense. Distracting.

Phoenix, on the other hand, had that kind of practical, no-nonsense confidence you could actually lean on. She didn’t feel like a storm waiting to happen. She felt like structure.

“I’m Lieutenant Natasha Trace,” she said, extending her hand. “Call sign’s Phoenix.”

You shook her hand, your grip steadier than yesterday—though your palm was still a little clammy, and you were pretty sure she noticed.

“Y/N,” you said, then added with a tired smile, “Doctor. Uh, the nervous one.”

Phoenix huffed out a short laugh, a glint of something sharp but not unkind in her eyes. “I read your file.”

She stepped back, folding her arms as she leaned one hip against the edge of the sim console. Her stance was relaxed, confident, comfortable in her own skin in the way only someone who’d already proven themselves a hundred times could be.

“I also watched your sims,” she added, voice casual.

You winced, your smile turning into a grimace. “Oof. That bad?”

She tilted her head, as if considering how honest she wanted to be. Then gave a light shrug, eyes steady on yours. “I’ve seen worse. A lot worse.”

You let out a low hum, arms crossing loosely over your chest in mock thought. “That’s… reassuring.”

“Isn’t it?” she said, with just enough of a smirk to make you feel like she was on your side. “You hadn't passed out nor puked. You followed instructions until your brain short-circuited. Classic first-timer move.”

You laughed under your breath, surprised at how easily it came.

She finally looked at you then—steady, knowing. “We’re not here to make you into a pilot, Doc. We just need you ready for the mission. The rest? We’ll cover you.”

Something in your chest loosened at that.

Support. No condescension. No sharp edges. Just a quiet kind of strength you could lean against.

“Thanks,” you said. “Really.”

Phoenix nodded once. “Let’s get you in the seat.”

Inside the simulator, everything felt smaller than you remembered.

Not physically—just heavier. Like the air had thickened, like the walls had learned your fears from yesterday and decided to lean in a little closer.

You sat in the back seat again, the tablet already secured to its mount beside your right leg. Your fingers hovered near it, not quite touching, like it might bite. You could already feel your heartbeat in your palms.

“Straps secured?” Phoenix’s voice crackled through the headset. Her tone was crisp, even, the kind that didn’t rise to meet panic—it smothered it before it started.

You exhaled and gave a tight nod, forgetting she couldn’t see it. “Y-Yeah. Good to go.”

“All right,” she said. “We’re starting slow. Just basic turbulence patterns. No evasive maneuvers, no tricks. You’re not here to impress anyone. You’re here to breathe, and press a single button when I tell you.”

You nodded again, this time speaking aloud. “Sure.”

The sim hummed to life around you, and your body tensed automatically—like it remembered what came next, even if you swore it wouldn’t be that bad.

“Relax your shoulders,” Phoenix said, as if she felt the stiffness from her end. “You’re holding tension like you’re about to punch the air.”

The screen in front of you blinked to life. The sim took you airborne, but the motion was slow this time—steady, like a calm climb on a commercial flight.

You forced yourself to breathe out slowly and unclenched your jaw, trying to follow her lead. The shaking wasn’t nearly as bad as the previous day's simulated madness. No rolls. No sharp drops. Just steady pressure. Unnerving, but survivable.

Your eyes flicked to the screen.

The prompt glowed softly. Ethera. Standing by. Timer: 02:00

“This is just a systems check,” Phoenix said. “You don’t have to engage. Just keep your eyes on it. Notice the screen, your pulse, your breath. You’ve got time."

The pod dipped gently into a banking curve. You swayed, stomach flipping. "Keep breathing, Doc."

You gripped the edge of the seat, fingers twitching. “This still counts as breathing, right?”

“As long as you’re not blue in the face, yeah.”

You smiled—barely—but it helped.

The Ethera interface activated on the mounted tablet in front of you. The same prompt, The countdown. You glanced at it and your heart gave one uneasy thud.

“Don’t rush,” Phoenix reminded you, voice even. “One thing at a time. Don’t try to win. Just try to finish.”

You nodded again, reaching out slowly—deliberately—and tapped the screen to begin the simulated deployment sequence. The code began to unfold, and the sim didn’t break into loops or chaos. It kept going. And you were still breathing.

Your hand trembled slightly, but you stayed focused, eyes on the sequence as it loaded in steady green waves. The turbulence passed. The sim steadied.

“Ten seconds,” Phoenix said. “You’ve got it. Keep it locked.”

You kept your hand on the panel. You didn’t blink. The screen counted down.

3… 2… 1…

Deployment successful.

The soft chime of success echoed in your headset.

“Target received,” the system confirmed.

You blinked, then blinked again. “I… I got it?”

“You got it,” Phoenix said, the faintest edge of pride in her voice. “Nice and clean.”

You slumped back in the seat, suddenly aware of just how hard your heart had been working. Your eyes stung—not from panic this time, but from sheer relief.

“Doctor,” Phoenix said after a beat. “That was not bad.”

You couldn’t help the grin that broke across your face, exhausted but real.

And when the pod finally powered down with a gentle thunk, and the hatch hissed open, you realized you’d done the whole thing without white-knuckling the seat.

You’d finally made it through.

Phoenix was waiting for you, arms crossed, leaning one hip against the console like she’d known all along you’d handle it.

You stepped out, legs a still stiff, but your head was clear.

“Not bad,” she said, and this time her smile wasn’t just professional. It was small, but real. “No ejections. No nausea. No hysterics.”

You let out a dry laugh, breath catching on the edge of it. “Just mild existential dread.”

She shrugged, cool as ever. “That’s standard issue.”

Then smiled—really smiled—for the first time since this whole classified, terrifying, completely-out-of-your-depth mission had begun. The kind of smile that pulled dimples you hadn’t felt in days.

“Thanks,” you said again, quieter this time. Not just for the training, but for not making you feel like a burden.

Phoenix nodded once, like she already understood all of that.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” she said. “We need to move faster. Real evasive sequences. Simulated pressure. Maybe even some yelling.”

“Yours or mine?”

She smirked. “We’ll see who breaks first.”

You laughed again—easier this time—and for the first time, it didn’t feel like you were pretending.

By the time the week came to an end, you and Phoenix had become friends.

Not in the polite, nod-in-the-hallway kind of way—but the real kind. The kind built through shared silence in the simulator bay, through low chuckles after a successful run, through Phoenix’s calm voice in your headset, cutting through the static and the fear. She never coddled you. Never sugarcoated anything but she never made you feel less, either.

There were moments where fear absolutely took over—where your breath hitched too high in your chest or your fingers trembled too much to find the prompt in time and there were other moments, rarer but growing, where you managed. Where you pressed the button, where you kept your head above water.

Phoenix never made a spectacle of either.

When you panicked, she talked you down, when you succeeded, she just clapped you on the shoulder, tossed you a bottle of water, and said, “Told you. You’re getting it.”

And somehow, that meant more than any standing ovation ever could.

By Friday evening, you had survived four more simulations, logged two successful Ethera deployments, and stopped referring to the ejection lever as “that red death stick.”

Progress.

“You coming to the Hard Deck tonight?” Phoenix said casually, already slinging her duffel over one shoulder as you both headed toward the lockers.

You blinked at her, caught off guard. “What?”

She paused mid-step, turning just enough to glance back at you with that crooked grin she reserved for moments like this—half dare, half invitation.

“The Hard Deck,” she repeated, now walking backward toward the hangar doors. “Bar. Pool tables. Bad decisions. You in?”

You stared for a beat too long, processing.

The Hard Deck.

You opened your mouth. Closed it. You’d heard about the place in passing—mostly through muttered comments and laughing threats. It had sounded like a local haunt. Loud. Messy. Full of people who knew exactly what they were doing and didn’t care that you didn’t.

“Wait, is that—like, is that a thing?” you asked, trailing after her. “Do people… actually go?”

Phoenix raised an eyebrow like she wasn’t sure if you were messing with her. “Only the ones worth talking to.”

You hesitated.

She paused at the doorway and tossed the final hook. “You’ve survived a week of sims, didn’t puke on anyone, and haven’t cried once. That makes you officially less pathetic than half the new guys. You’ve earned a drink... So?

Your brain, naturally, tried to stall. A bar? With actual people? And more pilots? But your mouth moved faster.

“Uh—yeah, sure,” you said quickly, the words tumbling out before your usual social panic could hit. “I could go for a drink.”

Phoenix gave a little nod, like she’d already known your answer. Like this was the inevitable next step in whatever strange, reluctant journey you’d found yourself on.

Then she jerked her chin toward the exit, already on the move.

You hesitated. “What now?”

She didn’t stop walking.

“You go back to wherever you’ve been hiding, put on something that doesn’t scream ‘high-stress lab goblin,’ and I’ll swing by in an hour.”

You blinked. “That specific, huh?”

Phoenix half-turned, walking backward again like she had a personal vendetta against stationary conversations. “It’s a bar, not a Senate hearing. No briefing, no simulations, no threat of fiery death. Just drinks. Loud music. Maybe pool. Probably bad flirting.”

And with that, she was gone—leaving you standing in the middle of the hangar, sweaty, slightly stunned, and suddenly very aware that you owned exactly one outfit that wasn’t issued or work-adjacent.

Oh no. Now you actually had to get ready.

A/N:

Heyyyyy, OMG the support for this story is wild, thank you all so so muchhh!! I honestly did not think it would get this much attention, my first draft was actually a Charlie's Angel reader lol, but I'm so happy you all enjoy this version. I did try to make it as realistic as possible, after all reader does not like to fly I can only imagine being put in her position, so she being frozen out of fear and not completing the mission feels real, at least to me.

And my apologies it took me so long to put it out. Part III is already in the works, so I think it will be out soon.

Thank you all so so much for the support and the comments and reblogs, really.

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callsign-mayhem · 1 year ago

Text

heartbreak feels so good (part 1)

Pairing: Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader Word count: 8081 CW: Shitty boyfriends, angst, fluff, slow burn.

Your boyfriend's callsign is Viper, which is fitting. Bradley doesn't know how much longer he can watch this man destroy you, but luckily for him, he doesn't have to wait too long.

Use of Y/N, but no description of reader. THIS IS A MULTI-PART FIC.

Part Two Part Three

After another day of having your feelings totally ignored by your boyfriend, you were looking forward to some alone time. Elijah was so hot and cold that you felt as though you were in a constant state of fight or flight, just waiting for him to either make your day or ruin it completely. Most of the time, it was the latter, and although good days with him were few and far between, they were enough to make you stay. See, you didn’t half-ass anything—least of all relationships—so when you were in something, you were in it. You told Elijah that much after your first date. You’d been sitting in the front of his beemer eating ice cream, having the first of many deep talks. Between sweet, sticky kisses, you’d told him that you were dating to marry. He told you he was, too.

He said, ‘I’m yours if you’ll have me, Y/N.’ And that was that.

And it was almost a year ago. You’d survived a somewhat tumultuous winter with him, desperately trying to cling on to the version of him he’d been during the summer. As time went on, he stopped putting his mask on, secure enough in your relationship that he no longer felt the need to pretend to be caring and considerate. The days were starting to get longer, and the weather was warming up again, but Elijah was so far from the man he was at the start that you might as well have been in a relationship with a different person. Every morning, you woke up with no idea what personality to expect that day, whether or not he was going to take all his personal drama out on you, even though you only ever loved and supported him.

Today had been one of those days, and as you finished up with the F-18 engine currently in pieces in front of you, you silently prayed that he wouldn’t text you asking to come over. He was also a naval aviator, but you were working on different parts of the base today. Thank God. Elijah’s callsign was Viper, fitting since vipers prey on small animals by envenomating them and watching them die slowly.

Coyote appeared behind you, helmet tucked underneath his arm.

‘Hey, we’re all heading to The Hard Deck for beers,’ he told you. ‘You comin’?’ You grabbed a rag and made an attempt to wipe some of the oil off. ‘I don’t know,’ you sighed. ‘I want to, but then I’ll have to bring Elijah, and I don’t really wanna see him tonight.’ ‘Why do you have to bring him?’ Coyote frowned. ‘He’s a lousy drunk and never lets you have any fun.’ ‘If he finds out I went out with all you guys, he’ll think I’m up to something.’ ‘Like gettin’ with me?’ He joked, wiggling his eyebrows. ‘Probably,’ you laughed. ‘You or one of the others. Or maybe he’ll accuse me of getting with all of you if he’s in a particularly bad mood.’ ‘Listen, if you wanna come, you’re welcome. We’ll just make sure nobody posts about it, and we’ll get you a fake moustache or somethin’.’

It broke your heart to think about all your closest friends having a fun night without you. Over the past year, you’d lost count of the amount of experiences you’d missed out on because you didn’t want to make Elijah upset or angry with you. The worst part was it was a double standard. He went out without you all the time, didn’t tell you where he’d gone or who he was with, and expected you to be okay with it. If you weren’t, you could kiss your peace goodbye; he’d spend the next week making your life a living hell, ignoring you entirely until you apologised to him for being hurt by his actions.

‘You know what Javy? Count me in.’ He grinned. ‘Thatta girl.’

It was hard to regret coming out when you felt this good. It had been months since you’d gone on a night out without Elijah, which was to say it had been months since you last enjoyed yourself. As you sipped your second sex on the beach, you mused that some kind of higher power must have been looking out for you because you’d yet to receive a single text from your boyfriend. Most of the time, when you spent the night apart, he’d call you incessantly. It was annoying, sometimes bordering on obsessive, and you didn’t need him to tell you he was checking on you, or rather, checking that you were alone in your apartment. That much was obvious.

Dating an insecure man was not for the weak.

You were sat at one of the high tables next to the window watching Jake, Mickey, Javy, and Reuben play pool. Nat was opposite nursing a beer, glowing in the golden light of the evening. Her phone buzzed, and she picked it up, smiling at the notification.

‘Rooster’s on his way,’ she told you. ‘He wasn’t gonna come out tonight, but I told him he didn’t have a choice. It’s not every day Y/N Y/L/N leaves the comfort of her apartment.’ You scoffed. ‘That’s not exactly how I’d put it.’ ‘No?’ Nat raised a brow.

You hadn’t drunk in months, and despite only being on your second drink, the booze had loosened your lips significantly.

‘No. It’s not that I’d rather stay home, it’s that staying home makes my life easier because then I don’t have Elijah breathing down my fucking neck.’

Little did you know, Javy had told everyone about your conversation earlier. Not because he was a gossip but because he was worried about you. It was rare for you to open up to the squad about your relationship, but it wasn’t hard to guess what happened behind closed doors. They all worked with Viper, for one, and they were familiar with his temperament. Not only that, but you dropped off the face of the Earth a few months after you started dating him, and it didn’t take a genius to put two and two together.

‘I don’t know why you’re still with him, Y/N. He’s an ass.’ ‘I know,’ you sighed, frowning into your drink. ‘It’s just not as straightforward as just leaving. I still love him. If I can make this work, I don’t have to start all over again with someone else.’ Nat nodded in understanding. ‘I get wanting to make it work, but at what cost? You don’t see your friends, and he uses you as an emotional punching bag. You can’t even come to the beach with us without him checking on you every five minutes,’ she reached over the table and took your hand. ‘He’s killing you.’

This was the first time someone had spoken their mind to you about the situation. While you already knew all of it, hearing it from one of your best friends hit home. Vodka made you emotional, and if not for Bradley, you would have broken down there and then.

He walked up to the table and engulfed you in a hug, practically pulling you off your stool. You pressed your face into his shirt, inhaling the scent of clean cotton and sandalwood. Half expecting Elijah to spring out and catch you in the act, you reluctantly pulled away.

‘Hey, Bradley.’ ‘Hey yourself, stranger. Can’t believe you’re gracing us with your presence.’ ‘I know, it’s been a while.’ ‘A while? Try six months,’ he glanced at your almost empty glass and Nat’s empty bottle of Heineken. ‘Can I buy you lovely ladies a drink?’ ‘Do you even have to ask?’ Nat retorted. ‘What’re you drinking, darlin’?’ He asked you. You smiled sheepishly. ‘Sex on the beach.’ ‘I can make that happen.’ He smirked.

Luckily, you didn’t have to come up with a response to that remark because he turned around and headed to the bar. You locked eyes with Nat, and both of you burst out laughing.

Just like that, all the negativity you’d been feeling dissipated like rain against hot tarmac.

Bradley came back with the drinks, and the three of you took the opportunity to catch up while the others finished their pool game. You shouldn’t have been as surprised as you were to find out that you’d missed a lot. Bradley had started dating one of the medics, but the relationship had crashed and burned almost immediately. He hadn’t bothered trying to meet anyone else since. Nat, after watching all her friends have such bad experiences in the dating world, had decided she was better off alone.

‘Honestly, I don’t blame you.’ You told her. ‘You should dump Viper,’ she said with a devilish grin. ‘And we can have a hot girl summer.’ Bradley laughed. ‘Can’t say I ever imagined you saying that, Nix.’ ‘Isn’t that what it’s called now? We can’t be that out of touch, surely.’ ‘I don’t wanna think about how old I am.’ You said, picking up your phone to see if you’d missed any texts from Elijah. You hated to think what kind of argument missing one of his calls would start. Nat and Rooster shared a knowing look. ‘It rings, you know? Out loud.’

Being this transparent was embarrassing.

‘I think I’m going to confiscate this for now.’ Ignoring your protests, Bradley swiped your phone and tucked it into his pocket. ‘If he calls or texts, I’ll let you know.’

You were tipsy enough not to try and take your phone back but not tipsy enough to be unbothered by the idea of Elijah calling and you not picking up.

‘If he calls, I need it back straight away,’ you told him sternly. ‘If I don’t pick up, I’ll never hear the end of it.’

Bradley rolled his eyes, but you knew it wasn’t aimed at you. He hated Elijah the most of all your friends. Perhaps sensing some tension, Nat slid off her stool and grabbed your arm, practically yanking you off yours.

‘Let’s go pick a song,’ she suggested. ‘We can get more drinks on the way back.’

Since it had been so long since you last visited The Hard Deck, she let you choose. You picked Rebel Yell by Billy Idol, your mum’s favourite. Admittedly, you’d been missing your home town a lot more than usual lately, perhaps because you were in such a weird place mentally. Things must be worse than you thought if you were considering running home with your tail between your legs.

As the night went on, you got drunker and drunker. Bradley watched with a bemused grin as you dragged Bob off to the jukebox again, since he was the easiest person to coerce into doing things. How Bradley wished it was him you were clinging to. Not that he was jealous of Bob—because that would be like being jealous of a puppy—he just desperately wanted to be the object of your affection.

While you and Bob went to change the music, Bradley struck up a conversation with Natasha and Reuben, who erupted into laughter when you pulled Bob’s arm so hard he almost toppled over.

‘It’s nice to have Y/N out, huh?’ He observed. Nat looked at him like he was the biggest dickhead in the world. ‘Come on, Bradshaw. He might be an ass, but she’s got a boyfriend.’

Bradley sipped his beer, desperately trying to come up with a believable response. Reuben smirked knowingly, which only made Bradley more annoyed.

‘I don’t have a thing for Y/N.’ ‘Whatever helps you sleep at night, man.’ ‘Come on, Payback. You too?’ Reuben shrugged. ‘Doesn’t take a genius to work it out. You look at her like she’s God’s gift.’

The reason Bradley looked at you like you were God’s gift is because you were, but nobody was supposed to know that.

‘Why do women stay with guys that treat them like shit?’ Bradley asked. ‘Depends on the woman,’ Natasha started. ‘But if you mean Y/N, it’s because she can’t do anything halfway. She told me earlier that it’s because she doesn’t want to start over with someone new, but I don’t think that’s it. She just loves so hard, and it takes a lot out of her. Why would she wanna start the process all over again if she already has someone?’ Bradley was incredulous. ‘Erm, I don’t know, maybe because he’s emotionally abusing her.’

You and Nat were close. In a way, she knew you better than you knew yourself, so she was the best person for Bradley to ask about things. Now, however, he was kind of regretting opening his mouth. Knowing why you were staying with a guy who treated you so badly didn’t make it easier to accept like Bradley thought it would; it only filled him with white-hot rage.

‘It’s not as easy as just leaving. She has to come to it on her own.’ ‘Yeah,’ Reuben chimed in. ‘You can’t convince Y/N of shit.’ Natasha scoffed. ‘Yup, and believe me, I’ve tried.’ ‘So what, we just sit around and watch him ruin her?’ ‘Y/N’s a smart cookie and one of the strongest people I know. She’ll come to her senses, and when she does, we’ll be here.’ ‘You know, I read somewhere once that you can’t save anyone. You can only hold their hand while they save themselves.’ Nat raised a brow. ‘Damn, Payback. That might be the wisest thing you’ve ever said.’ ‘Hey, why do you sound so surprised?’ ‘You really want me to answer that?’

Bradley had a lot to think about. Realistically, he knew there was nothing he could do. His only option was to let things unfold naturally and have faith that things would work out exactly the way they were supposed to. The only problem was, that sounded too much like ‘sit back and do nothing,’ which didn’t feel right either.

Bradley needed another drink.

In fact, he was just about to head to the bar when you came bounding over, dragging poor Bob behind you.

‘Roooooooooster.’ You cooed.

His heart just about melted when you started batting your eyelashes at him.

‘What’s up, Y/CS?’

Everyone else was watching the interaction expectantly, waiting to hear what you were going to say next.

‘You’re really pretty.’ Bradley laughed, hoping you were too drunk to notice the blush he could feel creeping across his cheeks. ‘Thank you. You’re really pretty, too.’ Nat, sensing the need to intervene, came around and gently grabbed your arm. ‘Hey, let’s get you a glass of water, huh?’ ‘But I need to tell Roo how pretty he looks.’

Bradley’s heart fluttered at your use of the pet name. He really didn’t want you to leave, but Nat was right. You needed some water and probably your bed.

‘You told him already, Y/N. And when you get back, you can tell him again.’

She started leading you away, and Bradley immediately missed your presence.

A very flushed-looking Bob took Nat’s empty stool. ‘That girl is somethin’ else.’ He murmured, pushing his glasses back up his nose. ‘I don’t think you should let her drink anymore.’ ‘I’m not her keeper,’ Bradley responded. ‘Can’t stop her from doing anything.’ Bob shrugged. ‘Maybe so, but you’re all she talked about. You and the fact that there’s no Fall Out Boy in the jukebox. Pretty sure she called it a ‘fucking tragedy.’’ Bradley leaned forward. ‘What did she say about me?’ ‘You know,’ Bob waved a hand dismissively. ‘You’re pretty. Her boyfriend is gonna kill her if he finds out she’s here with you because he thinks you have a thing for her.’ Bradley was at a loss for words. Reuben, however, was grinning like a fool. ‘What was that about not having a thing for her? Even her boyfriend’s caught on, man.’ ‘How many times do I have to say I do not have a thing for-’

An annoyingly loud ringing sound interrupted Bradley’s sentence. It didn’t sound like his ringtone, but the noise was coming from his pocket. It took him too long to remember that he had your phone in his pocket, and that it was probably Viper calling. Sure enough, when he took out your phone, he was greeted by a sickeningly sweet photo of you and your boyfriend on the beach. You and Nat were still at the bar, and he knew he should just let it ring so you could call him back later.

But something had a hold of Bradley, and he answered the call and pressed the phone to his ear before he could really process what he was doing.

‘Y/N’s phone.’

A beat of silence, then some of the most colourful language Bradley had ever heard in his life.

‘Who the fuck is this, and why the fuck have you got my girlfriend’s phone?’ ‘Y/N can’t come to the phone right now. She’s at the bar with her friend, gettin’ another round of drinks, and I just know hearing your voice would ruin her night. It’s ruined mine, that’s for sure. If you want, I can take a message, and she’ll get back to you in the morning.’

Reuben was nearly on the floor, trying desperately not to laugh in case Viper heard him. Bob had paled significantly, like he’d seen a ghost—or worse.

‘That you, Bradshaw? I just knew something was going on-’

Bradley hung up. The severity of the situation was beginning to hit, and despite the sick satisfaction he’d felt when he picked up the phone, he was regretting his decision already.

‘Y/N is gonna kill you, Rooster.’ Bob told him.

Nat made the sensible decision to cut you off, but she said you could stay out with them until closing if you promised to keep drinking water and stop fucking around with the jukebox. That was how you ended up in the corner of a booth with Bradley next to you to stop you from escaping.

Not that you’d want to escape.

Mickey had joined, and the guys were playing cards while you and Nat talked. She was catching you up on her life, and it made a change to think about someone other than Elijah for once.

That’s when it hit you.

You hadn’t checked your phone in hours, and you dreaded to think how many texts and calls you’d missed.

‘Bradley, can I have my phone?’

He set his hand of cards down on the table and reached into his pocket. When you reached out to take it, he pulled away.

‘Before I give this to you, I need to tell you something.’

A wave of nausea hit you.

‘What? What’s going on?’ ‘Viper called about an hour ago. You were at the bar, and I didn’t know what to do, so I answered it.’ Reuben leaned forward in his seat. ‘Oh, this is about to be good.’

You thought you knew what panic felt like, but up until this very moment, you had no idea. Bradley was lucky you didn’t throw up in his lap from the nerves.

‘What?’ ‘I’m sorry, Y/N. I wasn’t thinking-’

You snatched your phone from him, ignoring the kicked-puppy expression he was sporting. A slew of angry text messages that were borderline abusive greeted you. You skimmed them quickly, not wanting to read too many in case you started crying in front of the entire squad.

What started out as the best night you’d had in a while quickly turned into the worst. Your boyfriend's hateful messages reminded you why you never went out and why this was the biggest mistake you could have made.

The worst part was you saw it coming.

‘Move,’ you said, grabbing your bag. ‘Bradley, let me out now.’ ‘You can’t drive like this, Y/N. Let one of us take you home.’

Bradley sounded destroyed. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him.

‘Move.’

He nudged Bob, who stood up so Bradley could climb out of the booth. You were close behind him, and when your feet touched the floor, you nearly keeled over. Bradley reached out to steady you, but you shook him off.

‘Y/N. You can’t leave like this. How are you gonna get home?’

Ignoring his pleas, you made a beeline for the exit. Nat shoved Reuben into Mickey, trying to hurry them out of the booth so she could follow you, but you were surprisingly fast for a drunk person. Bradley was right about one thing: there was no way you could drive in this state. You ducked around the corner so Nat couldn’t see you and sank to the floor. Hot tears prickled behind your eyes as you did the one thing you didn’t want to do, but the only thing you could do.

You called Elijah.

He didn’t answer the first, second, third, or fourth time.

Half an hour passed, and you didn’t move. At one point, you heard Bradley, Nat, and Reuben talking around the corner, coming up with a plan for where to look for you. They knew you were on foot because your car was still in the lot, and since you’d disappeared so quickly, you couldn’t have gotten far. If the situation weren’t so tragic, it would’ve been funny that you were hiding ten paces away, and none of them could find you.

It was getting very late. People were getting in their cars and leaving or jumping into Ubers. Soon, your Jeep would be the only car left. You couldn’t face the daggers, and you couldn’t drive home, so you picked yourself up and took a slow walk down the beach to where the water met the sand.

What a beautiful night to have your heart broken.

There was no way Elijah would ever forgive you for this, no way you’d ever be able to convince him that nothing had happened between you and Bradley. The sane part of you knew that it was crazy to feel guilty for simply enjoying a night out with your friends, but the sane part of you rarely won these days. The part of you that loved Elijah was always loudest and knew this could never have gone any other way.

You were just about to resign yourself to calling a cab when you heard someone yelling your name from the top of the beach.

You either had the best or worst luck in the world because it was Bradley.

He made short work of the distance, giving you no time to come up with something to say. He looked otherworldly in the pale moonlight. His hair was slightly mused, and the same insane part of you that loved what it loved was whispering at you to run your fingers through it.

‘We’ve been looking all over for you, Y/N.’ He sounded very concerned as he pulled out his phone and texted the others to let them know you were safe. ‘I’m sorry, I just needed to be alone.’

You hadn’t even realised you were shivering until Bradley draped his Levi jacket over your shoulders.

‘You needed to be alone, or you needed to call Viper back?’ The tears threatened to make another appearance. ‘It’s none of your business.’ ‘What makes you think it’s not my business? I care about you and don’t want to keep watching you get hurt.’ ‘Then stop watching!’

Bradley recoiled, and you immediately felt awful. How Elijah spoke to you like that day in and day out without feeling guilty was a mystery to you.

‘I’m sorry, Bradley,’ you sighed, pulling his jacket tighter around you. ‘I didn’t mean to snap. I’m just very drunk and very emotional right now.’

He softened immediately and seemed torn about whether he should let you stand there freezing or pull you close. You hoped he wouldn’t try to pull you close because you didn’t think you’d have the guts to tell him no. Good feelings had been so incredibly hard to come by as of late.

‘Why are you still with him, Y/N?’ Bradley asked almost pleadingly.

Wow. He didn’t waste any time getting right to the point.

‘That’s a loaded question.’ ‘I need you to explain it to me because it’s killing me.’

You thought about it for a moment, and Bradley waited with bated breath to hear what you had to say.

In the end, it was this: ‘I guess we accept the love we think we deserve.’

Until you said it out loud, this phrase held little meaning to you. Now that it was out in the open, it was very heavy. In the last few months you’d tried coming up with a decent explanation as to why you were staying with Elijah, and you fell short every time. Turns out all you needed to do was get drunk and have an honest conversation to figure it out.

Coming to the realisation that what you’d just said was true felt like being in freefall. Everything in your life was changing shape to fit around this ugly truth. The good things in your heart shied away in the face of this monstrous fact.

You didn’t think you deserved a healthy love.

Somehow, Bradley was more hurt by this than when you’d snapped at him earlier. He was staring at the ground, unable to meet your eye like you’d just told him he wasn’t worthy of love.

‘You don’t think you deserve to be happy?’

Hearing him say it was somehow even worse.

‘Apparently not.’

You were both quiet for a moment, and then, for whatever reason, you laughed.

‘This is news to me too.’

The waves crashed loudly, water lapping at your feet as the tide came in. You couldn’t stand out here having epiphanies all night.

‘Listen, Rooster, I need to go home. I’m sorry for snapping.’ ‘I’ll take you home,’ he said quietly. ‘But we should talk tomorrow when you’re sober. Maybe we could get coffee.’ You shook your head. ‘After tonight, I don’t think that’s a smart idea. I’ll probably be spending tomorrow trying to salvage what’s left of my relationship.’ ‘You’re not serious.’ ‘I am.’

He opened his mouth to protest but then appeared to change his mind. You watched as all the fight he had left in him dissolved. There was nothing left for him to say, and he knew it.

The irritating birds that constantly chirped right outside your bedroom window woke you up. It was too damn early, and your head felt as though it was splitting open. When you sat up, you were hit by a wave of nausea so strong that you had no other choice but to sprint to the bathroom, smashing into the corner of your chest of drawers on the way.

Which was to say, it was a bad morning.

After you had puked up the entire contents of your stomach, you jumped straight in the shower, brushed your teeth, and did your skincare. At least if Elijah showed up at your front door, you wouldn’t look like you got super drunk last night, even though he’d probably already guessed.

When you checked your phone, there were still no notifications from him, and when you called, there was no answer. This wasn’t unlike him, but it had been almost twelve hours since Bradley picked up your phone, and you would have thought he’d have something to say by now.

To distract yourself from your impending doom, you threw open all the windows in your apartment, made your bed, unloaded and reloaded the dishwasher—all the usual morning tasks. It seemed a shame to waste such a beautiful Saturday, but you doubted you’d enjoy any of your hobbies when you were this anxious and hungover.

With nothing else left to do, you set about making some breakfast.

Just as you put your bagel in the toaster, somebody knocked on the door.

Your stomach twisted itself into an impossibly tight knot. You were rooted to the spot, unable to move until whoever it was knocked a second time.

You looked through the peephole, expecting to see Elijah standing there with his dark eyebrows knitted together in frustration. It was the only scenario that had crossed your mind, so when you saw Bradley standing there, you were very surprised.

You took a deep breath and opened the door, greeted by the warm scent of sandalwood once again.

‘Bradley?’

He was holding two iced lattes, which you were betting were vanilla—your favourite. Elijah hadn’t done that for you since the first week of your relationship.

‘Hey, Y/N. Thought you could use this.’

He wasn’t wrong. You ushered him inside, and he headed to the kitchen, where he

perched himself on one of the stools at your kitchen island. This morning, he was sporting one of his more toned-down Hawaiian shirts and dark jeans. His eyelids drooped, and you wondered if he’d slept at all.

‘I was just about to make bagels. Want one?’ ‘Sure, thank you.’

You busied yourself, putting bacon and eggs into a pan while he sipped his coffee. He eyed you with the curiosity of someone who had come over to check that you were all in one piece. Once he was satisfied that you were, he relaxed slightly.

‘Thank you for bringing me home last night. I really appreciate it.’ You told him earnestly. ‘You don’t need to thank me. You’d have done the same thing.’ ‘True, but still. And I’m sorry for snapping at you.’

Last night was gradually coming back to you in flashes, like a supercut. Each time you remembered a new detail, you cringed internally.

‘You also don’t need to apologise. Has he called you?’

While the eggs and bacon were cooking, you toasted another bagel for Bradley and buttered yours. Even though you’d known him for years and been quite close until you got into a relationship, you were struggling to admit that you were pretty much being ghosted. It was already hard to walk around on base knowing that everybody was aware of how Elijah treated you. When you didn’t respond, Bradley took that as a no.

‘Well, that’s his problem,’ he spat. ‘You did absolutely nothing wrong. Maybe if he were less of a control freak, you would have felt like you could tell him you were out with us rather than hiding it, and then he wouldn’t have found out the way he did.’

The toaster popped, and you jumped. It felt like somebody had run a cheese grater over your nerves. Bradley ran his fingers through his hair and took a deep breath, clearly trying to reign in his anger.

‘I should apologise too,’ he continued. ‘I shouldn’t have answered your phone. It was a dick move, and I regretted it the instant I did it.’

You buttered the second bagel, put one egg on each of the bottom halves, and stacked two pieces of bacon on top before adding the top part. You didn’t say a word the entire time, and Bradley was starting to get antsy.

‘Y/N. Please talk to me.’ ‘I don’t know what to say, Roo. I’m struggling even to think straight right now. He knows it drives me fucking crazy when he’s having a go at me and doesn’t respond. I don’t understand why he does it, knowing how it makes me feel.’ Bradley sighed. ‘Because he doesn’t give a shit how you feel. He doesn’t give a shit about anything other than himself and how he feels.’

This wasn’t news to you, but again, it was more impactful to hear someone else say it out loud. Really, how long could you keep this up? Whether you thought you deserved it or not, you were starting to wonder if you might be better off alone than with someone who made living feel like walking next to a cliff with your eyes closed.

You pushed Bradley’s plate across the counter and picked up your bagel. Eating felt impossible, but getting through the day with this headache would be excruciating if you didn’t at least try.

‘Come and sit down,’ Bradley said. ‘It’s not good to eat standing up.’ Despite everything, you managed to laugh. And this time, it was a real laugh. ‘Why?’ A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. ‘I don’t know. My mum used to say it all the time.’

You did as you were told, and you walked around the island, taking the seat next to him. The two of you ate in companionable silence, periodically taking sips of your coffees. This was how easy it should have been with Elijah.

When you were both finished, Bradley put your plates, pan, and utensils into the dishwasher. You were too tired to tell him to stop.

‘Thanks for breakfast.’ You smiled. ‘Thanks for being you.’

Bradley’s smile mirrored your own. Unsaid words hung in the air, but you didn’t know what to say. His leaving didn’t feel right, but if he stayed and Elijah made an appearance, he’d most definitely break up with you.

But wasn’t this radio silence all the confirmation you needed that things were pretty much over, anyway? You were starting to wonder if this weekend had all happened exactly the way it was supposed to. Your eyes were indeed open, that was for sure. Of course, you’d known that the relationship wasn’t healthy, but this weekend had really driven the point home.

‘Do you wanna go for a walk along the beach?’ You asked, hopefully. ‘We could grab some ice cream at that little place next to the arcade.’

Bradley didn’t just look happy. He also looked relieved that you weren’t asking him to leave.

‘I’d love to.’

It was a beautiful Spring day, perfect walking weather. Honestly, it was the last thing Bradley expected you to suggest, so he jumped on the idea before you could change your mind and send him home.

Because he really didn’t want to go home.

He’d sensed that you didn’t want to talk about Viper, and you’d yet to bring up your conversation on the beach last night. Bradley was beginning to doubt that you even remembered everything you said—all that nonsense about not deserving a healthy love. Bradley didn’t take you as a liar, which meant you believed that you weren’t deserving of happiness. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt quite so sad and also angry at the same time. So many emotions were warring for the top spot in his heart, and as a result, his brain was incredibly foggy.

A walk along the beach with you was perhaps the only cure.

‘Did you hear about Hangman?’ Bradley assumed you hadn’t. ‘No?’ ‘He’s getting deployed. He’s leaving next month.’ ‘How long is he going for?’ ‘Six months.’ You whistled lowly. ‘Damn.’ ‘I know. I think he’s looking forward to it, though. I sure am.’ ‘You know, I don’t think you hate him half as much as you say.’ Bradley chuckled. ‘Maybe not, but being nice to him wouldn’t feel right. Even after everything that happened on the mission.’

The two of you walked down the beach, chit-chatting about anything that came to mind. You were about halfway to the ice cream place when your phone pinged. Bradley guessed it would be Viper, but he never could have guessed what the message said.

It was a photo of you and Bradley walking down the beach, taken from behind. The picture had been forwarded to you from someone else.

E<3: always knew you were a slut.

You inhaled sharply, obviously hurt by the words on the screen. Not two seconds later, he sent another text.

E<3: PS: we’re fucking over.

The two of you had stopped walking. Bradley watched over your shoulder as you furiously typed a reply and deleted it again. You turned to face him, and his heart just about broke when he saw the tears streaming down your cheeks. You didn’t need to say a word. He pulled you close to him, wrapping you tightly in his arms. You stayed that way for a while, sobbing into his Hawaiian shirt as he rubbed your back soothingly. When you eventually pulled away, the first thing you did was apologise.

‘There’s nothing for you to be sorry for, sweet girl. He’s the one who should be sorry.’ You sniffled. ‘I don’t know what to reply.’ ‘Leave it for now,’ he said. ‘We can go get ice cream, take a slow walk back to yours. Then I’ll help you think of something.’ ‘I don’t know if I feel like ice cream anymore.’ ‘Well, that’s too bad because I do. Ice cream is the best remedy for heartbreak.’ ‘Did your mum tell you that too?’ ‘She sure did.’

It turns out Bradley was right about ice cream being the best remedy for heartbreak. The two of you sat on the wall, watching the waves while he munched on a mint chocolate chip cone and you butterscotch. It was hard to tell whether it was the best ice cream you’d ever had or if it was because you were with Bradley. If you remembered correctly, you’d had ice cream from this same place with Elijah before, and it hadn’t been this nice.

Thinking back on your memories with him only made you want to cry, so you did your best to shove them to the back of your mind. Despite the fact that he was actually a very shitty person, he’d been a dream at the beginning, and that didn’t just go away. The happy moments didn’t just suddenly turn to ash, as much as you wished they would.

‘What are your plans for the rest of the night?’ Bradley asked around his ice cream cone. ‘I don’t know, Roo. I’m kinda working on a minute-to-minute basis right now.’ Bradley nodded. ‘Okay, well, what would you say to junk food run and a movie night?’ ‘With you? ‘If you want to. I just don’t think it’s good for you to be alone.’ ‘I don’t want you to feel like you have to babysit me.’ ‘Is that what you think this is?’ ‘No, but I don’t want to be a burden. Or a charity case.’ ‘Y/N, you’re none of those things. I always want to spend time with you. Just so happens I have a good excuse today.’ You frowned into your ice cream. ‘Okay. As long as you’re sure.’

The two of you finished your ice cream and took a slow walk back to your apartment. When you got in, the first thing you noticed was a framed photograph of you and your now ex-boyfriend on the side table in the hallway. When your bottom lip started trembling, Bradley picked up the photo, put it face down, and then proceeded to run around your apartment and take down any others. It didn’t feel like the same place you’d left a few hours ago. It was haunted by memories that would never look right in the light of day. Even the happiest ones from the start were tainted with the ugliness of his cruel words and actions.

‘This place is so depressing.’ You grumbled.

Bradley stood in front of you with a stack of photos and one of Elijah’s t-shirts.

‘It’s not. It’s your home, Y/N. We just have to pack away his stuff and put it all in a box.’ ‘An ex-boyfriend box.’ Bradley smiled sadly. ‘Yeah, exactly. It might be over, and he might be a dick, but it was still a big part of your life, and it’s important to keep the memories safe in case you wanna look back on them someday.’ ‘Or in case I wanna burn them.’ ‘That too.’ Bradley chuckled

So you helped him gather all the mementoes from your relationship and put them in an old Dr Martens box. It all looked pretty pathetic, packed away in a shoebox.

‘I found one of his hoodies and a few other things.’ You called from your bedroom. ‘Can you grab me a bin bag from the top of the fridge?’

You heard shuffling, and then Bradley was standing in the doorway holding out the bag you requested.

‘Damn, he doesn’t even get one of the nice Trader Joe's bags?’ ‘No,’ you giggled. ‘He gets a trash bag because his stuff is trash, and he’s trash.’

You weren’t really at the stage where you believed that just yet, but saying it was really satisfying, and it felt good to laugh. Fake it till you make it or whatever.

‘Want me to give it to him tomorrow?’ ‘Thanks, but I should really be the one to do it. I haven’t even texted him back.’ You thought about it for a moment and then continued. ‘Would it be cheeky of me to ask if you’ll come with me? Maybe Nat, too? I could use some moral support, and he’s less likely to make a scene if the two of you are there.’ ‘Of course I’ll be there. I won’t say anything unless you need me to or unless he starts. I can’t make that same promise for Nix, though.’ ‘I haven’t even told Nat yet,’ you sighed. ‘I don’t think I wanna talk about it right this second.’ ‘I’ll text her. Don’t worry about it.’

From your spot on the floor, you looked up at Bradley. The evening sunlight was streaming in through the windows, casting an ethereal glow around him.

‘You should change your callsign to angel.’ A look of pleasant surprise flickered across his handsome features. ‘Why?’ ‘Because you’re literally my angel, Roo. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.’

Half an hour later, Bradley convinced you to go on a junk food run with him in the Bronco. He said tonight was a mandatory, post-breakup wallowing sesh because if you bottled up your feelings now, you’d explode later at a much more inconvenient time.

The two of you had been screaming along to all the classic breakup songs: All Too Well by Taylor Swift (yes, he knew all the words), Who Knew by Pink, What About Now by Daughtry… He’d driven the long way to the store because you got so into it.

Now, as you scanned the shelves in Target, you asked: ‘What is it about screaming sad songs that makes you feel better?’ ‘It’s cathartic,’ Bradley explained. ‘Helps you relieve the strong feelings.’ ‘You know a lot about heartbreak.’ ‘Well, I’ve had my fair share of sadness.’ You froze. ‘That was insensitive of me, I’m sorry.’ Bradley took the packed of Reeses Pieces from your hands so he could hold them. ‘Can you make me a promise?’ ‘What?’ You asked sceptically. ‘Promise you’re gonna stop apologising to me all the time. You have nothing to be sorry for.’ ‘Sorry.’ You smiled sheepishly. He shook his head. ‘That’s not what you’re supposed to say.’ ‘Okay, fine,’ you huffed. ‘I promise to stop apologising all the time.’ ‘Thank you,’ Bradley said, releasing your hands reluctantly. ‘Now, pick out five more things.’ ‘Five? There’s already five things in the basket.’ ‘Did I ask?’ ‘I’m gonna get fat.’ ‘Don’t be so ridiculous. Wallowing means junk food, and I don’t know if you’re looking at the same basket I am, but that’s not enough junk food.’ ‘Christ Almighty, okay.’

He helped you pick out five more things, and then you headed to check out.

‘What movies are good for wallowing?’ You asked. ‘Well, we have to start with a couple of sad ones and then finish with a happy one.’

The cashier told you your total, and Bradley tapped his card before you could even get yours out. You gave him a withering look.

‘I would’ve paid for that. You paid for the ice cream.’ ‘So?’ ‘So we should take it in turns.’

Obviously, he carried the bags as well, and as you walked back to the Bronco, he couldn’t help but wonder if Viper made you take it in turns. If you were his girl, you’d never have to tap your card.

‘What’s your favourite sad movie?’ He inquired. You opened the trunk for him so he could put the bags in. ‘Technically, it’s not a sad movie. But there’s this part in Inside Out…Wait, have you watched it before? I don’t wanna spoil it for you.’ ‘The part where Bing Bong gets forgotten?’ You gasped. ‘How did you know?’ ‘Because it gets me every single time.’

The way you looked at him in that moment, like he had hung the moon in the sky—God, it was too much.

‘We’ll start with Inside Out,’ he told you, opening the passenger door so you could climb in. ‘And then we’ll think of something else.’

Without giving much thought to what he was doing, Bradley found himself buckling your seatbelt for you. You were holding your breath, and it dawned on him how easy it would be to kiss you if he were that sort of guy.

And as much as he wanted to kiss you, he was not that sort of guy. He wasn’t about to take advantage of the fact that some asshole had just taken a sledgehammer to your very beautiful heart.

‘Can we watch Bridge To Terabithia?’ You whispered.

Bradley hadn’t moved, and you were so close that he could feel your warm breath on his cheek.

‘Are you trying to break my heart, Y/N?’ ‘Yes. I want you to feel my pain.’

He was grinning the whole way around the car to the driver’s side and still grinning when he got in the car. You already had his phone in your hand, searching for more sad songs so you could continue your car concert on the way back to your apartment. He drove the long way again so the two of you could finish your rendition of ‘I Don’t Love You’ by My Chemical Romance, which Bradley didn’t know the words to. He tried his best, though, because you seemed to love it, and he couldn’t deny you anything.

By the time you got home, the sun had almost entirely set. While he set the snacks out on the coffee table, you went around lighting candles and switching on fairy lights. He’d never seen your apartment in the dark, and it was incredibly cosy. Even though it was relatively warm, you dragged all your blankets and pillows from your bed and made a little nest on the sofa. You were so adorable, it was hard to believe that someone could treat you badly.

If you were his girl, every night would look like this—except you’d be a lot happier, and there would be no tears.

Halfway through Bridge To Terebitha, you fell asleep. Bradley had been trying to keep his distance despite wanting to wrap you up in his arms, yet somehow—in your sleep—you’d ended up with your legs in his lap. He’d frozen at first, but once he realised you were dead to the world, he allowed himself to rest his hands on your knees. Really, it was that or sit with his arms crossed, and that would be silly.

For the duration of the movie, his attention flickered between you and the TV. Every time he tried paying attention to what was happening, his eyes wandered back to your peaceful face. He marvelled at your astounding beauty, the delicate way your eyelashes rested against the tops of your rosy cheeks. Bradley had always admired you, and you’d been good friends for years, but what he felt in that moment was something else entirely. By the time the end credits started rolling, he knew without a doubt that he’d set whole cities ablaze to keep you warm. Feelings as rapidly growing as his should have been terrifying, but Bradley wasn’t scared. Falling in love with you seemed to be as easy as wading out into a calm ocean on a warm summer’s day.

He knew you’d yet to learn that falling in love and staying in love should always be this easy. He knew it was going to take some time to convince you that you deserved healthy love, that the right person would never run away from you and keep turning around to make sure you were chasing them.

But Bradley was a patient man, and he would wait as long as he had to.

End of part one.

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yuikira · 1 year ago

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Needy.

Currently imagining fucking our needy boys. Poor babies would rut sooo deep inside of you, snuggling their head deeper into your neck whining 'bout how good your pussy takes him in. Moans and intoxicated whines bouncing off the walls while you're scratching your nails on his back, eyes rolling to the back of your head. Fucking so deep it practically pains him to pull out at this point. Furiously rubbing your cute little puffy clit while biting down your neck. Breeding you full of his seed, not stopping until the only name rolling off your tongue is his.

-Megumi, Satoru, Suguru, Toge, Yuuta, Choso, Cyno, Albedo, Kazuha, Diluc, Dan Heng, Blade, Dr. Ratio, Phoenix, Yoru + your favs!

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moon-fics · 2 months ago

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Hi hi! Just read your Bob Floyd x young girlfriend/wife! Reader, and I’m gagging for more! It was so perfect and suited to him, your characterisation skills are 💋 👌 (chef’s kiss)!!!! Could I please maybe request the first time all the topgun pilots meet reader, maybe like at the Hard deck? Thank you sooo much!! - LT xx

OMG, thank you so much, you're so sweet!! Ok, I can try to write for the other characters, but I cannot promise it won't be OOC bc Jake, Rooster, and Bob were my main men. I cannot do all the pilots because that would genuinely take me ages, but I can do three!

Jake Seresin

You meet Jake at the Hard Deck while out with friends.

He spots you immediately and makes you his target for the night.

However, Phoenix and Fanboy notice this just as quick. Since Jake left them hanging during training, they decided to sabotage his entire night.

When Jake goes to approach you with a drink in hand, Phoenix 'accidentally' leaves a pool stick lying around.

Jake had to spend a few minutes apologizing about his drink getting on your purse and offering to pay you back.

Thankfully, you don't yell at him, and instead help him clean your bag.

When he tries to smooth-talk you, Fanboy decides it's a perfect time to bring up when he threw up one time during training.

After an entire night of consistently foiling Jake's plan to sweep you off your feet, he decides to drop the cool guy act.

That's how you find yourself sitting at a table with him having the most wonderful conversation.

He talks about his family, his home, and how much he enjoys his job.

This actually works, and he can't help but smile at the fact that you enjoy his company. Not his job or how he looks, but who he is and what he wants in life.

This is when the tricks stop from Phoenix and Fanboy. Even they know not to ruin something like this.

By the time the bar closes, you're still chatting with him. The conversation flows perfectly, and it ends up being you who asks him out for coffee.

"Ok, so you didn't forget?" You ask Natasha for the fifty-first time. She rolls her eyes playfully and fixes your hair. There's a large smile on both your faces as she examines you.

"I think if I forgot, Jake would actually kill me." She laughs. You flatten out your outfit and check for wrinkles. The white fabric is just as you imagined it would be. "You look beautiful."

"You're just saying that because you still feel guilty for ruining my purse years ago," You giggle. Then, it hits you quickly. You're more than thankful for her and how she decided to get back at Jake that night. "I wouldn't be here without you."

"Hey, what about me?" Jake's voice comes from around the corner. Natasha is already stepping in his way to stop him from seeing you. "I'm not gonna. I just wanted to talk to my soon-to-be wife one last time before we're married." He remains on the other side of the wall. "I cannot believe I still paid for that purse."

Bob Floyd

Bob did not meet you at the Hard Deck. He met you while running on a trail.

He might not seem like it, but cardio is important to him and he finds nature relaxing.

You, however, were completely lost. This was a new trail for you and you knew you should have started out easy.

So, when Bob hears someone yelling from the woods, he immediately goes to help.

He finds you only a few feet from the trail, and yet you look so terrified. He can't blame you. There are so many stories of people getting lost in the woods and dying there.

He helps you back to the trail and decides to run with you. He says it's to make sure you stay safe, but it's also because you're pretty.

You don't say much because it exerts too much energy, but there's a connection there.

He visits this trail often and can point out animals he's seen before. It makes the experience much better, and you honestly enjoy having small things pointed out.

You two decide to take a break by a brook. The conversation is awkward at first, and there are a few moments of silence. That doesn't stop you from laughing at his bad jokes or asking about other animals he's seen.

By the end of the run, he asks for your number but stumbles over his words. You gladly give it to him, and thus begins a friendship that slowly grows.

After a few months of running together and spending time outside of the trails, he asks you out.

He makes a whole day of it, too. He sets up a picnic on the trail you two met at.

---

The sun is pounding on your back as you run down the trail. You decided to go alone today because Bob had errands to run. It was beautiful out and you weren't about to waste the day.

But your eyes land on a trail of flowers that were never there before. They lead up a hill that you can't see the top of. Against your better judgment, you follow them. Who knows, maybe you'll find fairies.

Once you reach the top, you notice a large sign with the question 'Will you marry me?'. You immediately assume that you've just spoiled someone else's proposal, until Bob appears next to you.

"What kind of person has a proposal in the middle of the woods?" He asks with a chuckle. You don't know why he's here or how he knew you'd be here. It catches you off guard, and you're stuck trying to think. You're stopped when he gets on one knee. "Probably some guy who is madly in love," He cracks his sweet smile.

Natasha Trace

You meet her because you steal the pool ball to her game.

You genuinely thought it was one from your table and picked it off the ground. Natasha tried to tell you, but you were adamant it was yours.

She's great at playing the long game. So, she lets you have it and watches as the game goes on. She does it with a smirk that tells all.

When you realize you have two of the same balls, your heart drops. This is humiliating because you did this to yourself.

Nervously, you turn to her and hand her the ball back. She isn't mad about it, and she accepts your apology with a laugh.

She invites you to play with her, Bob, and Hangman. You agree and find that they are great company.

Even when Hangman makes cocky comments that pisses everyone off. You can't help but connect with Natasha and almost cling to her. She's vibrant and snarky. She makes the conversation stand out.

When you return the next day to see her there again, you don't hesitate to join her. She introduces you to a few more people, but spends most of her time with you.

She brings up the pool ball story to everyone she can and revels in the way you have to explain yourself. It isn't malicious because she then talks about how she's glad it happened. Otherwise, she'd never have met you.

When you decide to ask her out, it takes a lot of courage. She's such a strong person, and her friendship means the world to you.

When you do ask her out, she acts completely surprised. She pretends she pretends as if this came out of the blue, right before saying yes excitedly.

You two moved in together rather quickly, but it slowed from there. She's not the type to rush everything and instead lets the flow take you towards the future.

You enter the house with groceries in hand. They're heavy and there are a lot of them, but you can manage. Your dog greets you happily and follows you into the kitchen.

"Oh, babe, you could have asked for help!" Natasha says while getting up from the couch. She instantly helps you unload the bags and put the food away. As she's reaching for the last item in the paper bag her hand grazes over a small box.

"I didn't want you to do anything on your day off," You explain.

She can feel the velvet texture and is confused as to what you could have bought. When she pulls it out, she's met with something that makes her heart race. She opens it and sees a gorgeous ring that resembles the one she joked about buying.

"Is this-?" She covers her mouth with her hand. She's never been one to cry, but right now she can feel the tears forming in her eyes. "Yes!" She laughs.

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celestiamour · 8 months ago

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ft. logan howlett, ororo munroe, laura kinney, wanda wilson, wade wilson, kurt wagner, jean grey, scott summers (separate) x f! reader — xmen, marvel

╰₊✧ how they are when you are on your time of the month┊1k words

contains: some smutty topics for logan & jean, periods and all the complimentary side effects obviously because it’s so generous ahahahahaaaaaaaaa

➤ author's note: oh how i hate being a woman at times, if only some strong mutants could come to life and help ease the suffering…

let’s get this out of the way— yes, logan howlett can smell it and is able to tell when you’re on our period. in fact, he’s even able to sniff out the difference between the blood from menstruation and the blood from injuries. he’s been… “around the block” to put it lightly, he knows what you are going through, will be nice about it, and will use his experience to help care for you. he won’t be as sassy as he usually is even if you are a bit snappy, he’ll get extra food and put aside snacks for you, and he’ll give you as much or as little space as you want. also very willing to eat you out or cuddle-fuck you during it, being a little messy doesn’t faze him and he’s probably done nastier. 8/10, he’ll help you get through it without any complaint.

ororo munroe knows when your cycle is coming before you do, she keeps track of it and is on duty to take care of you the second you wake up with that uncomfortable feeling in your panties. she’s already inside the bathroom attached to your room running a warm bath completely with bath bombs and flower petals, ready to carry you into the water, and to strip your bedsheets for a wash if they get stained. there’s even a cute little wicker basket full of candies and drinks on your bedside with a stuffed animal she brought from target sitting on your bedside. it may seem excessive to some for something that happens every month, but she believes the effort is worth it if it means easing your pains. 10/10, she’s an angel descended from heaven in your eyes.

both of your dads are pretty useless (worst! logan is less knowledgeable than his original counterpart) on the topic and althea gives you a piece of chocolate at most, so you and laura kinney need to take care of each other when shark weeks come around. so many cuddles, kisses, and movie nights while snacking because cravings are a bitch. she’ll pat you on the back and rub your shoulders, muttering little “i know, princess, i know” as you whine. don’t even think of moving if you’re in a position like that, she’ll run around the house to get you pain relievers and a hot water bottle. 9/10, she’s such a wonderful girlfriend.

not sure why, but i feel like you and wanda wilson’s periods would sync a lot? anyhow, it’s a nightmare dealing with mood swings, cramps, and cravings all while taking care of babypool, so there’s a general rule not to take anything seriously during those days because you’re both sensitive and irritable. once it’s all over though, you’re back in each other’s arms and apologizing for anything that might have been said or done (nothing serious happened, it’s just something like “i’m sorry for saying that in an off tone and making you think i was mad at you”). 5/10, could be a lot better but the days afterward are kinda like honeymoon bliss again.

wade wilson is the biggest shit of them all, he definitely says “and that’s on period” every time he finds out, calls you his little ketchup bottle, sends you period cramp moodboards which are just poorly cropped photos of him in the deadpool suit doubled over in pain from a fight— however, he will make you laugh so hard you’ll cry and forget about the ache in your body. 2/10 in terms of helpfulness but 10/10 in terms of funny jokes and conversations.

you’ll give poor kurt wagner a heart attack every time you whine out in pain and curl up on the couch, clutching onto your stomach and contorting about to find a comfortable position. despite the promises from yourself and everyone else that you will be fine as the aching feeling is temporary, he can’t help but bite his nails from worry. the suffering of people with a uterus will never cease to shock him, they really have to bleed freely like that for a few days every month? he will not leave you alone and is going to treat your every request like an order from royalty. anything you want, you get, and no amount of assurance is going to convince him he doesn’t have to do all that, so you might as well enjoy it while you’re moody and suffering.

jean grey is one of those people who just don’t have period cramps and still glows despite it all which you are so fucking jealous of. that being said, she’s the best person to be around when it hits. since she’s basically the mansion’s school nurse, she always has snacks, water, pads/tampons of every variety, and pain relievers on hand with so much bounty that she never seems to run out. as your girlfriend, she’s also willing to be a bit sneaky and write you a doctor’s note to get you out of classes regardless of if you are a teacher or a student. she’s also down to fuck even if you’re on your period since she knows orgasms are proven to lessen the pain and she’ll also massage your tits if they are feeling tender (and because she likes your chest no matter the size). 9/10, she can be a bit busy at times but is perfect aside from that.

please hold hands with scott summers and go with him when picking out pads/tampons, he will get overwhelmed by the amount of options and panic buy one of everything. what are wings? liners? what’s the difference between yellow and green, is it lemon or lime? he might forget that you’re more sensitive during these times and slip a comment into a conversation that would make you cry when it usually makes you laugh, but he’ll remind you to stay hydrated, will go out of his way to buy you brownies from your favorite bakery, and will smother you in cuddles.

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writer-freak · 10 months ago

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Asking you out | Valo men x Gn reader

Characters: Gekko, Chamber, Sova, Yoru, Phoenix, Cypher, Omen, Brimstone, Kay/o and Habor

Warning: Gn reader, fluff, maybe ooc, english isn't my first language

A/n: I decided to go back to my roots and write some headcanons for Valorant. Haven't written for them in some time and I'm not up to date with the current lore so sorry for inaccuracies

Thank you for reading and Comments, likes and reblogs are always appreciated and really motivate me to write more <3

Gekko

Gekko is usually chill, so he’d be more low-key when asking you out.

One day you’re hanging out, Wingman chilling on your lap, and he just casually drops it

“Yo, maybe we should, like, go out on an official date?”

He’s trying to seem nonchalant, but the way he scratches the back of his head gives his nervousness away

When you agree, he lights up, his eyes wide with excitement and a big smile on his face

“Sick! Let’s grab something to eat!”

He’d definitely text his mom right after and would update her on how everything went

Chamber

Chamber has always been smooth, always flirting like it’s second nature

But when he asks you out, it’s a bit different

You’re used to his flirty remarks, but this time, after a successful mission, he walks up and asks

“If we succeed today, how about we celebrate together? Maybe dinner, just the two of us?”

His usual cockiness is a bit toned down, and there’s a vulnerability showing in his voice making it obvious he actually cares about your answer.

When you say yes, he recovers quickly with a grin, “I’ll consider that a victory, then.”

Sova

Sova is more straightforward and doesn’t really beat around the bush

After a long mission, he’d find you alone, pulling you aside. “You know I value you more than just a teammate, right?”

He’s nervous, but he says it calmly, watching for your reaction

If you tease him about being a softy, he’d chuckle, cheeks flushing slightly, before responding

“Perhaps I am soft… but only for you.” He’ll suggest something outdoorsy as a first date, like a quiet night under the stars, just something close to nature

Yoru

Yoru’s got a reputation for being cocky, and he’d play into that even while asking you out

“I heard you’ve been into me for a while now?” he’d say, smirking, trying to act cool

He’s testing the waters, but there’s a slight hesitation as if he’s waiting to see if you’ll reject him or call out his bluff

When you agree, he’ll act like it was no big deal, “Yeah, thought so,”

But then, his smirk softens slightly, and he looks at you more seriously. “So, how about we make it official? I’m asking you out—me and you, a proper date.”

If you agree, he’ll play it off cool, but you’d still catch the pink on his cheeks before he quickly changes the subject

Phoenix

Phoenix doesn’t like wasting time, so he’d ask you out while you’re the two of you were joking around together.

“Hey, let’s stop messing around and go out for real,” he’d say, flashing that bright grin.

“I’m serious though. Gonna be the best date of your life, I promise.”

His usual confidence is there, but you can tell he’s nervous from the way he messes with his jacket collar

When you say yes, he practically lights up—“Aight, bet! You won’t regret it.”

Cypher

Cypher’s approach is more subtle

He waits for a moment when it’s just the two of you, maybe working on something together

He’ll lean in slightly and say in a low voice, “I’ve come to enjoy our time together... Perhaps you’d also like something more?”

His tone is cautious watching for your reaction, but you can sense the warmth behind his words

When you agree, he smiles behind his mask

“I had a feeling you’d say that,” he’d say, his voice softer. “How about dinner—just us?”

Omen

Omen is less direct when it comes to asking you out

One evening, after sitting together in silence, he'd hand you something small that he knitted himself

“This is for you.” he’d say in his usual low voice

If you ask him why he was gifting you this, he’d simply reply, “I want to be together with you.”

When you agree, there’s no visible smile, but you’ll feel the shift in his energy, warmth that shows that he is happy you accepted

Brimstone

Brimstone is all about professionalism, so he’d be more cautious about showing public affection.

If you’re already close, he might approach you after a mission, saying, “I’ve been thinking… maybe we should spend more time together outside of work.”

He’s straightforward, and his voice is calm, ready to accept your rejection

If you agree, he will give you a small smile.

“Glad to hear it. Let’s keep it between us for now, though.” He’s the type to plan something simple but meaningful—dinner at his place, maybe

KAY/O

KAY/O is logical, and while he’s sentient, human emotions can be tricky for him

He’d approach you one day, saying, “I have observed our interactions. I believe it would be beneficial to further explore this connection.”

It’s a bit robotic, but you can tell he’s trying

If you agree, he’d probably show a small heart symbol on his display, acknowledging the sentiment behind it

“Thank you. I will strive to meet your expectations,” he’d add, with a surprising amount of sincerity

Harbor

Harbor’s positive energy is contagious, and he’d be warm and positive when asking you out.

“You know, we always have a good time together,” he’d say with that bright smile of his.

“How about we make it official? Let me take you out properly.”

He’s all about showing affection, and if you agree, he’ll be beaming.

“You won’t regret it. I’ve got some amazing plans for us.”

He would make sure your first date is filled with fun and laughter

Divider by: @saradika-graphics

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theclassifiedfan · 29 days ago

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HI TOP GUN FIC WRITERS!

So I’ve got some inside knowledge on the workings of Top Gun or more so the military in general (specifically SD military) as I’ve been lucky to work at both Miramar and North Island as well as been deployed on a ship. So thought I’d share for anyone writing their stories and wanting to use it when thinking of ideas or even getting into the writing phase:

DISCLAIMER - I am a civilian and I mostly worked with the marine corps, but I’ve got 13 years with the USMC and 1.5 with USN along with a lifetime of San Diego Navy Brat in me. While I would love to think I’m an expert always feel free to fact check some things.

I’ve made sure all information shared below is public information to not allow for any CUI to be mistakenly released in accordance with OPSEC.

Use what you want & ignore what you don’t want, love reading your stories either way you creative people!

MIRAMAR INFO

Quick History:

Formerly NAS Miramar (est. 1952) and now MCAS Miramar (est. 1997), this is the main hub for Fighter Jet aviation in the San Diego area but strictly Marine Corps Aviation now. Of course some branches touchdown and fly through but there are no active navy squads. This base is relatively close to the water cause it’s San Diego but it’s 4 miles inland so it is land locked and depending on traffic about 30-45 minutes from NASNI (not 4 hours like I read somewhere once). This is the OG Top Gun base, a lot of the places in that original movie are still there but VERY different because it’s been updated quite a bit and the marines own it now.

Their aircraft on base are:

F/A 18 Super Hornet - Very cool, TGM jets

F-35 B&C Lightning - EXTREMELY COOL JETS, these babies are very top secret but are publicly known for their vertical landing capability. Can technically takeoff vertical (but limited in that aspect)

KC-130 Hercules - big support planes used for aerial refueling and other support missions

CH-53E Super Stallion - Awesome Cargo helicopters that move large loads and equipment

MV-22 Osprey - If a plane and a helicopter had a baby! These incredible fixed wings use tilt rotors to vertically take off/land and then tilt those propellers forward for flight (If you haven’t seen one transform check it out they’re amazing). Used for troop transport, special operations, and humanitarian aid.

NAS NORTH ISLAND INFO

Quick History:

Commissioned in 1917 and recognized as the birthplace of Naval Aviation in 1963 it’s a beacon of navy pride. Now, time to mess with some Top Gun Movie canon: this base has never had USN Strike Fighter Tactics Instructor Program (aka Top Gun). Maverick was filmed here, but the program lived on Miramar when it was founded in 1969 and then was relocated to NAS Fallon in 1996 (shoutout Fallon, and they filmed out there BUT Nevada is boring why base their story out there when it could be based here). NASNI is now a master helicopter base, there are no active fighter jet squadrons on north island - but I believe they host them across branches here and there!

Their aircraft on base are:

MH-60 Seahawks - Incredible helicopters that are used in so many missions such as anti-submarine warfare, anti-surface warfare, vertical replenishment, passenger and cargo transfer, and search and rescue capability

V-22 Osprey - the same the Marines use but now being adapted into North Island. Again very cool aircraft with the best (and worst) of both worlds as a fixed wing and a rotary.

Learjet 35 - comfortable transportation aircraft

C-40A Clipper - basically a military 737

NAS LEMOORE

I won’t put too much info in here because I know it’s not the “cool canon movie base” but I will note this is the navy’s west coast Master Jet base since its commission in 1961! It’s in Kings County/Fresno County.

OK NOW LET’S ‘FACT CHECK’

Again take what you want from my ramblings these are just some things I notice in fics that contradict actual military policy and life. But even the movies don’t follow that, so just take these as tools for writing ideas!

Navy = Sailors (Pilots = Naval Aviator)

Marines = Marines

Army = Soldier

Air Force = Airman

Mix these up and someone could get annoyed with you and they’ll often correct you on the spot. Think of the branches like fraternities or sports teams - yes they’re playing the same game but they love to compete against each other. Plus they’re high key frenemies.

There’s a strict dress code on base including in the Gyms

Attire should be conservative and modest, with no revealing clothing, undergarments visible, or items designed for undergarments at all times. For the girls it’s even more rules because of course it is so no mini skirts, no cleavage, no crop tops. Some bases take this more seriously than others and you can get in trouble for it.

In the gym you have to have shirts on at all times, no booty shorts, absolutely no wearing only sports bras, no stringer tank tops and all that jazz.

Beach is fine though cause it’s the beach, and don’t worry I get it people wanna like good in their fics so slay away lol

Fightertown is not an actual town

It’s also not north island, it’s still Miramar. That was the nickname for the base itself so it stayed there with the marines that took it on in 1996. Plus a good way to keep the history of Fightertown united and in its OG place.

You cannot be permanently stationed anywhere in the US Navy.

You go where they want and need you. Some fics talk about the daggers becoming a full time squadron which honestly could happen, as squadrons come and go all the time however from my experience pilots have to move every 2-3 years and the daggers would be changed out. There’s some cases where they can request to “fleet up” to stay in that squadron or even bounce to another squadron and stay in the same spot but that’s a wish that cannot always be granted.

Dating in your squadron has consequences

In the U.S. Navy, while dating another sailor in your unit is generally not prohibited, it could potentially lead to a transfer or other issues if certain conditions are met. There’s a very strict fraternization policy which prohibits relationships that compromise the chain of command, good order, and discipline.

One aviator dating another aviator sounds fine because they’re two officers who tf cares, but there’s a very high chance one of you will be sent away if they feel it risks the unit/squad. Note how I say if they feel, you might be fine with it and it might be you two get along great but if a higher up says no - someone’s gotta go.

Also no officer enlisted, there’s technically ways around this like if they were married before or dating before but in the same command? Forget about it. BIG no. Could be a cute Romeo and Juliet thing forbidden love - this is just talking on the reality of it.

Civilians are not allowed on base

Unless they are directly being escorted on base by a service member or they are a dependent/civilian employee with their own credentials they are not coming on base. Even if they ask nicely and say you know so and so, this has been even tighter since 9/11 but in the past few years it’s gotten much more strict. There are Air Shows on bases which open them to the public but without that there’s pretty much no chance you’re getting on base. If you did then someone is getting their ass beat.

The Hard Deck is based on the I Bar

While the Hard Deck is fictional (although the set they made which is very real and somewhere locked away on north island) the I Bar is very real! Amazing place and they have someone who’s their version of Penny and has been working there for a very long time that the aviators love along with their other awesome bartenders.

Those rules in the bar are pretty close to the real ones which are:

“He who enters covered here buys the bar a round of cheer” (you aren’t supposed to wear a uniform cover or hat anywhere inside although some places let hats slide not here though they will ring you)

No phones on the bar

No hats/covers on the bar

Don’t touch the planes! It’s in the movie as well but the real bar has authentic donated model planes that they added this rule to make sure they live a long life without being broken.

There’s no official “disrespect a lady or the navy..” but it’s unspoken - the guys in there will call you out and there’s some very high ranking people who go frequently and you don’t want them catching you pulling that in their bar.

Now another new thing is that they can’t “make you pay” anymore so if you violate a rule they’ll ask if you’d like to. That being said they added this rule because of the influx of people wanting to see the bar because of Top Gun but the pilots HATED THIS and you will piss off a lot of aviators for not following their traditions. But if you do pay up? So many new friends lmao

Used to be an officers/aviators only bar, but it’s open for everyone who has access to the base.

North Island is not its own Island

NAS North island is a base located on the island Coronado. It’s a navy heavy island mixed with a lot of very rich people. Houses are not cheap and neither are apartments, so there’s not a high chance you’ll see anyone O4 and below living on the island unless they have roommates or they’re a chief that’s been in the navy for a long time. They’d probably live downtown or off island if they wanted to live alone or TRY to buy a home. (Houses here sell for at least around a milly in most places)

There’s some bars on the island as well including one bar called “Danny’s” which is a well known Navy Seal bar because there’s a Seal Base also located on the island more toward the long strip that connects the island to Imperial Beach.

The Naval Academy is not where pilots are made

I’ve found a few fics where they talk about Bradley going to UVA and then the Naval Academy but the USNA is a college in itself. It’s not typically transfer in type of school because if you go that route you start from the bottom as a freshman.

But to be an aviator you do not need the academy. There’s two other routes to becoming an officer which is ROTC and OCS:

The way I suspect Rooster went is to go to a normal university that has an ROTC program and complete it which leads straight to commissioning right-after graduation.

OR graduate any school like normal and then apply to officer candidacy school (OCS) where if accepted you’ll do an officer version of basic training. Which to be fair if that’s the route he took I’d be pissed at Maverick too because that means completing school in 4 years plus whatever amount of time it takes to apply to OCS with the preference of aviator (which is super compact) and can take anywhere from about a year to multiple vs into the academy and good to go.

Once they complete one of the three and are qualified via testing to be an aviator they’re off to flight schools, of which there are many to come.

(Also you could make it to flight school and get dumped out because of maybe not hitting the mark, or even medical stuff that they missed/skipped before - then get transferred to a different type of officer job)

Gold Star kids - AKA Rooster

Gold star kids are those like Bradley who lost a parent due to death during their service, and they do not get to stay on base once their loved one passes. They’ll have a certain amount of time to find a home then move off to make space for another active duty family. BUT the surviving spouse if they’re civilian usually (I believe) retain their benefits for the rest of their life. Not the kids though they get kicked off healthcare at 21 unless they’re still in school enrolled full time and their parents are more than 50% financially taking care of them. It’s all kind of intense and very sad but it’s true.

Dependants are not all nice

NOTE HOW I SAID NOT ALL. There’s some fantastic people but it’s not all sunny and perfect. I’ve worked in the recreational, support, and retail aspect of military bases and the horror stories I could tell you about certain military dependents. Crazy, some of them are literally insane. But could be used for some interesting dramatic aspects of your stories. I’d put examples but I have too many to name.

Pilots don’t fix their planes

Yes they have to learn the ins and outs of their planes and they’re absolutely tech savvy as well as extremely smart. BUT you will not see a naval aviator working on a plane, they have enlisted sailors who work hard and go through a lot of training/school to do that and they deserve their roses. They’d probably kick their officers ass if they saw them taking a wrench or tool of any type to those planes. Pre flight inspections are different to maintenance. That reminds me…

ENLISTED SAILORS EXIST IN AVIATION

I feel sad that fics/stories leave them out in the workplace. They have really great bonds with pilots because pilots can’t fly without them and put all of their trust into them. The sailors and chiefs are the best in their fields and often are credited for being the ones who teach officers because it’s true - think like this:

An officer commissions to O1 (ensign) after earning a bachelors degree which is on average around 21/22. Depending on how they commissioned they may not have worked any college jobs (some have never worked a job at all) so this is their first job and they are in charge of people plus millions of dollars worth of equipment. That’s not including the 2-3 years it takes to pass flight schools.

Enlisted sailors can start service at 17. They’ve been in their jobs going to schools and mastering their trade for a hot minute. They’d often can be the same age of their officer (let’s say 23 for an aviator who went through flight schools) and have 6 years of service in their belts, they know the game.

The best leaders I’ve met in the military know how to be that leader while also learning from their sailors. That bond of trust both ways is crucial for success.

Some ships have WiFi

But it can be limited, it also can get turned off for any reason at any time if it means keeping the ship safe. So could they text and call/FaceTime? On a carrier for sure UNLESS they’re in need of turning it off for a while. Super great for sailors to stay connected honestly wish they’d had that when my dad was in.

Call signs often are not a cool brag

Usually it’s from a time you fucked up and now it’s stuck with you so everyone can have a laugh. You can’t change it and you can’t pick one yourself. That’s not to say that can’t be from cool moments but the ones I’ve met it’s been from funny moments with their squad.

I think the only way it could get changed is if it was really bad like one you couldn’t say in front of an admiral without getting in trouble. I think they usually change those to ‘redacted’ or try to make it an abbreviation so it’s not immediately obvious it’s a fucked up nick name. The ones from back in the day were super messed up. Or maybe you ranked up high enough to change it cause who’s going to tell a Captain what they can or can’t do.

ADDED FACT CHECKS:

It’s Naval Air Station (NAS) North Island NOT Navy Air Force Base/Station North Island/North Island Air Force Base/Air Force Naval Base

Two different branches completely. I do understand why people would put this and this is not me attacking people but I would very much suggest not combing the two because a naval aviator is capable of something Air Force pilots aren’t:

Landing a plane/helicopter on a ship in the middle of the ocean.

They train like crazy to have this skill and let me tell you landing on that thing is no easy feat. Naval Aviators (and Marines they get qualified in this too!) deserve that hype because the risk that takes comes from so many people in a plane and on deck to succeed in? INSANE. I’ve been in Tower (primary flight control or ‘pri-fly’ for short) and there’s so much that goes into this process including collaborating with the people driving the ship. I wasn’t even in an active combat zone so idk how this legends do it with people shooting at them.

All love Air Force Pilots, they could probably be trained to do it - however they aren’t soooo… FLY NAVY 😈

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

Oh man that was A LOT of info. If you’re reading this? How’d you make it this far? Also hope it helped in someway or another to spark some ideas. I’ve debated writing some kind of story haven’t gotten the courage up but YOU ALL ARE AND YOU ARE AMAZING AT IT!

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illubean · 8 months ago

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"What do you do when you and your girl argue?"

"We don't argue. Like 'Whatever you say beautiful.'"

Gojo Satoru, Ino Takuma, Tanaka Ryuunosuke, Nishinoya Yuu, Pheonix, Sokka, Zenitsu Agatsuma maybe, Josuke Higashkita, Jean Pierre Polnareff, Guido Mista, Denki Kaminari, ur favs

lil blurby cus i needed to share

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hollowbutcanlove · 9 months ago

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Correspondence with Valorant agents Pt.5

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kittenfrostt · 9 months ago

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valorant smau pt.1

not saying 'i love you' back to your valorant sweethearts

∘₊✟ ────────────────────── ✟₊∘

pt.2?? put suggestions if you'd like to see a specific agent <33

#valorant x reader #x reader #valorant #yoru x reader #gekko x reader #brimstone x reader #omen x reader #phoenix x reader #iso x reader

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romerona · 5 months ago

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Ethera Operation!!

You're the government’s best hacker, but that doesn’t mean you were prepared to be thrown into a fighter jet.

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Awkward!Hacker! FemReader

Part I

This was never supposed to happen. Your role in this operation was simple—deliver the program, ensure it reached the right hands, and let the professionals handle the breaching.

And then, of course, reality decided to light that plan on fire.

The program—codenamed Ethera—was yours. You built it from scratch with encryption so advanced that even the most elite cyber operatives couldn’t crack it without your input. A next-generation adaptive, self-learning decryption software, an intrusion system designed to override and manipulate high-security military networks, Ethera was intended to be both a weapon and a shield, capable of infiltrating enemy systems while protecting your own from counterattacks in real-time. A ghost in the machine. A digital predator. A weapon in the form of pure code. If it fell into the wrong hands, it could disable fleets, and ground aircraft, and turn classified intelligence into an open book. Governments would kill for it. Nations could fall because of it.

Not that you ever meant to, of course. It started as a little experimental security measure program, something to protect high-level data from cyberattacks, not become the ultimate hacking tool. But innovation has a funny way of attracting the wrong kind of attention, and before you knew it, Ethera had become one, if not the most classified, high-risk program in modern times. Tier One asset or so the Secret Service called it.

It was too powerful, too dangerous—so secret that only a select few even knew of its existence, and even fewer could comprehend how it worked.

And therein lay the problem. You were the only person who could properly operate it.

Which was so unfair.

Because it wasn’t supposed to be your problem. You were just the creator, the brain behind the code, the one who spent way too many sleepless nights debugging this monstrosity. Your job was supposed to end at development. But no. Now, because of some bureaucratic nonsense and the fact that no one else could run it without accidentally bricking an entire system, you had been promoted—scratch that, forcibly conscripted—into field duty.

And your mission? To install it in an enemy satellite.

A literal, orbiting, high-security, military-grade satellite, may you add.

God. Why? Why was your country always at war with others? Why couldn’t world leaders just, you know, go to therapy like normal people? Why did everything have to escalate to international cyber warfare?

Which is how you ended up here.

At Top Gun. The last place in the world you wanted to be.

You weren’t built for this. You thrive in sipping coffee in a cosy little office and handling cyber threats from a safe, grounded location. You weren’t meant to be standing in the halls of an elite fighter pilot training program, surrounded by the best aviators in the world—people who thought breaking the sound barrier was a casual Wednesday.

It wasn’t the high-tech cyberwarfare department of the Pentagon, nor some dimly lit black ops facility where hackers in hoodies clacked away at keyboards. No. It was Top Gun. A place where pilots use G-forces like a personal amusement park ride.

You weren’t a soldier, you weren’t a spy, you got queasy in elevators, you got dizzy when you stood too fast, hell, you weren’t even good at keeping your phone screen from cracking.

... And now you were sweating.

You swallowed hard as Admiral Solomon "Warlock" Bates led you through the halls of the naval base, your heels clacking on the polished floors as you wiped your forehead. You're nervous, too damn nervous and this damned weather did not help.

"Relax, Miss," Warlock muttered in that calm, authoritative way of his. "They're just pilots."

Just pilots.

Right. And a nuclear warhead was just a firework.

And now, somehow, you were supposed to explain—loosely explain, because God help you, the full details were above even their clearance level—how Ethera, your elegant, lethal, unstoppable digital masterpiece, was about to be injected into an enemy satellite as part of a classified mission.

This was going to be a disaster.

You had barely made it through the doors of the briefing room when you felt it—every single eye in the room locking onto you.

It wasn’t just the number of them that got you, it was the intensity. These were Top Gun pilots, the best of the best, and they radiated the kind of confidence you could only dream of having. Meanwhile, you felt like a stray kitten wandering into a lion’s den.

Your hands tightened around the tablet clutched to your chest. It was your lifeline, holding every critical detail of Ethera, the program that had dragged you into this utterly ridiculous situation. If you could’ve melted into the walls, you absolutely would have. But there was no escaping this.

You just had to keep it together long enough to survive this briefing.

So, you inhaled deeply, squared your shoulders, and forced your heels forward, trying to project confidence—chin up, back straight, eyes locked onto Vice Admiral Beau "Cyclone" Simpson, who you’d been introduced to earlier that day.

And then, of course, you dropped the damn tablet.

Not a graceful drop. Not the kind of gentle slip where you could scoop it back up and act like nothing happened. No, this was a full-on, physics-defying fumble. The tablet flipped out of your arms, ricocheted off your knee, and skidded across the floor to the feet of one of the pilots.

Silence.

Pure, excruciating silence.

You didn’t even have the nerve to look up right away, too busy contemplating whether it was physically possible to disintegrate on command. But when you finally did glance up—because, you know, social convention demanded it—you were met with a sight that somehow made this entire disaster worse.

Because the person crouching down to pick up your poor, abused tablet was freaking hot.

Tall, broad-shouldered, with a head of golden curls that practically begged to be tousled by the wind, and, oh, yeah—a moustache that somehow worked way too well on him.

He turned the tablet over in his hands, inspecting it with an amused little smirk before handing it over to you. "You, uh… need this?"

Oh, great. His voice is hot too.

You grabbed it back, praying he couldn't see how your hands were shaking. “Nope. Just thought I’d test gravity real quick.”

A few chuckles rippled through the room, and his smirk deepened like he was enjoying this way too much. You, on the other hand, wanted to launch yourself into the sun.

With what little dignity you had left, you forced a quick, tight-lipped smile at him before turning on your heel and continuing forward, clutching your tablet like it was a life raft in the middle of the worst social shipwreck imaginable.

At the front of the room, Vice Admiral Beau Cyclone Simpson stood with the kind of posture that said he had zero time for nonsense, waiting for the room to settle. You barely had time to take a deep breath before his voice cut through the air.

“Alright, listen up.” His tone was crisp, commanding, and impossible to ignore. “This is Dr Y/N L/N. Everything she is about to tell you is highly classified. What you hear in this briefing does not leave this room. Understood?”

A chorus of nods. "Yes, sir."

You barely resisted the urge to physically cringe as every pilot in the room turned to stare at you—some with confusion, others with barely concealed amusement, and a few with the sharp assessing glances of people who had no clue what they were supposed to do with you.

You cleared your throat, squared your shoulders, and did your best to channel even an ounce of the confidence you usually had when you were coding at 3 AM in a secure, pilot-free lab—where the only judgment you faced was from coffee cups and the occasional system error.

As you reached the podium, you forced what you hoped was a composed smile. “Uh… hi, nice to meet you all.”

Solid. Real professional.

You glanced up just long enough to take in the mix of expressions in the room—some mildly interested, some unreadable, and one particular moustached pilot who still had the faintest trace of amusement on his face.

Nope. Not looking at him.

You exhaled slowly, centering yourself. Stay focused. Stay professional. You weren’t just here because of Ethera—you were Ethera. The only one who truly understood it. The only one who could execute this mission.

With another tap on your tablet, the slide shifted to a blacked-out, redacted briefing—only the necessary information was visible. A sleek 3D-rendered model of the enemy satellite appeared on the screen, rotating slowly. Most of its details were blurred or omitted entirely.

“This is Blackstar, a highly classified enemy satellite that has been operating in a low-Earth orbit over restricted airspace.” Your voice remained even, and steady, but the weight of what you were revealing sent a shiver down your spine. “Its existence has remained off the radar—literally and figuratively—until recently, when intelligence confirmed that it has been intercepting our encrypted communications, rerouting information, altering intelligence, and in some cases—fabricating entire communications.”

Someone exhaled sharply. Another shifted in their seat.

“So they’re feeding us bad intel?” one of them with big glasses and blonde hair asked, voice sceptical but sharp.

“That’s the theory,” you confirmed. “And given how quickly our ops have been compromised recently, it’s working.”

You tapped again, shifting to the next slide. The silent infiltration diagram appeared—an intricate web of glowing red lines showing Etherea’s integration process, slowly wrapping around the satellite’s systems like a virus embedding itself into a host.

“This is where Ethera comes in,” you said, shifting to a slide that displayed a cascading string of code, flickering across the screen. “Unlike traditional cyberweapons, Ethera doesn’t just break into a system. It integrates—restructuring security protocols as if it was always meant to be there. It’s undetectable, untraceable, and once inside, it grants us complete control of the Blackstar and won’t even register it as a breach.”

“So we’re not just hacking it," The only female pilot of the team said, arms crossed as she studied the data. “We’re hijacking it.”

“Exactly,” You nodded with a grin.

You switched to the next slide—a detailed radar map displaying the satellite’s location over international waters.

“This is the target area,” you continued after a deep breath. “It’s flying low-altitude reconnaissance patterns, which means it’s using ground relays for some of its communication. That gives us a small window to infiltrate and shut it down.”

The next slide appeared—a pair of unidentified fighter aircraft, patrolling the vicinity.

“And this is the problem,” you said grimly. “This satellite isn’t unguarded.”

A murmur rippled through the room as the pilots took in the fifth-generation stealth fighters displayed on the screen.

“We don’t know who they belong to,” you admitted. “What we do know is that they’re operating with highly classified tech—possibly experimental—and have been seen running defence patterns around the satellite’s flight path.”

Cyclone stepped forward then, arms crossed, his voice sharp and authoritative. “Which means your job is twofold. You will escort Dr L/N’s aircraft to the infiltration zone, ensuring Ethera is successfully deployed. If we are engaged, your priority remains protecting the package and ensuring a safe return.”

Oh, fantastic, you could not only feel your heartbeat in your toes, you were now officially the package.

You cleared your throat, tapping the screen again. Ethera’s interface expanded, displaying a cascade of sleek code.

“Once I’m in range,” you continued, “Ethera will lock onto the satellite’s frequency and begin infiltration. From that point, it’ll take approximately fifty-eight seconds to bypass security and assume control."

Silence settled over the room like a thick cloud, the weight of their stares pressing down on you. You could feel them analyzing, calculating, probably questioning who in their right mind thought putting you—a hacker, a tech specialist, someone whose idea of adrenaline was passing cars on the highway—into a fighter jet was a good idea.

Finally, one of the pilots—tall, broad-shouldered, blonde, and very clearly one of the cocky ones—tilted his head, arms crossed over his chest in a way that screamed too much confidence.

“So, let me get this straight.” His voice was smooth, and confident, with just the right amount of teasing. “You, Doctor—our very classified, very important tech specialist—have to be in the air, in a plane, during a mission that has a high probability of turning into a dogfight… just so you can press a button?”

Your stomach twisted at the mention of being airborne.

“Well…” You gulped, very much aware of how absolutely insane this sounded when put like that. “It’s… more than just that, but, yeah, essentially.”

A slow grin spread across his face, far too entertained by your predicament.

“Oh,” he drawled, “this is gonna be fun.”

Before you could fully process how much you already hated this, Cyclone—who had been watching the exchange with his signature unamused glare—stepped forward, cutting through the tension with his sharp, no-nonsense voice.

“This is a classified operation,” he stated, sharp and authoritative. “Not a joyride.”

The blonde’s smirk faded slightly as he straightened, and the rest of the pilots quickly fell in line.

Silence lingered for a moment longer before Vice Admiral Beau Cyclone Simpson let out a slow breath and straightened. His sharp gaze swept over the room before he nodded once.

“All right. That’s enough.” His tone was firm, the kind that left no room for argument. “We’ve got work to do. The mission will take place in a few weeks' time, once we’ve run full assessments, completed necessary preparations, and designated a lead for this operation.”

There was a slight shift in the room. Some of the pilots exchanged glances, the weight of the upcoming mission finally settling in. Others, mainly the cocky ones, looked as though they were already imagining themselves in the cockpit.

“Dismissed,” Cyclone finished.

The pilots stood, murmuring amongst themselves as they filed out of the room, the blonde one still wearing a smug grin as he passed you making you frown and turn away, your gaze then briefly met the eyes of the moustached pilot.

You hadn’t meant to look, but the moment your eyes connected, something flickered in his expression. Amusement? Curiosity? You weren’t sure, and frankly, you didn’t want to know.

So you did the only logical thing and immediately looked away and turned to gather your things. You needed to get out of here, to find some space to breathe before your brain short-circuited from stress—

“Doctor, Stay for a moment.”

You tightened your grip on your tablet and turned back to Cyclone, who was watching you with that unreadable, vaguely disapproving expression that all high-ranking officers seemed to have perfected. “Uh… yes, sir?”

Once the last pilot was out the door, Cyclone exhaled sharply and crossed his arms.

“You realize,” he said, “that you’re going to have to actually fly, correct?”

You swallowed. “I—well, technically, I’ll just be a passenger.”

His stare didn’t waver.

“Doctor,” he said, tone flat, “I’ve read your file. I know you requested to be driven here instead of taking a military transport plane. You also took a ferry across the bay instead of a helicopter. And I know that you chose to work remotely for three years to avoid getting on a plane.”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks. “That… could mean anything.”

“It means you do not like flying, am I correct?”

Your fingers tightened around the tablet as you tried to find a way—any way—out of this. “Sir, with all due respect, I don’t need to fly the plane. I just need to be in it long enough to deploy Ethera—”

Cyclone cut you off with a sharp look. “And what happens if something goes wrong, Doctor? If the aircraft takes damage? If you have to eject mid-flight? If you lose comms and have to rely on emergency protocols?”

You swallowed hard, your stomach twisting at the very thought of ejecting from a jet.

Cyclone sighed, rubbing his temple as if this entire conversation was giving him a migraine. “We cannot afford to have you panicking mid-mission. If this is going to work, you need to be prepared. That’s why, starting next week you will train with the pilots on aerial procedures and undergoing mandatory training in our flight simulation program.”

Your stomach dropped. “I—wait, what? That’s not necessary—”

“It’s absolutely necessary,” Cyclone cut in, his tone sharp. “If you can’t handle a simulated flight, you become a liability—not just to yourself, but to the pilots escorting you. And in case I need to remind you, Doctor, this mission is classified at the highest level. If you panic mid-air, it won’t just be your life at risk. It’ll be theirs. And it’ll be national security at stake.”

You inhaled sharply. No pressure. None at all.

Cyclone watched you for a moment before speaking again, his tone slightly softer but still firm. “You’re the only one who can do this, Doctor. That means you need to be ready.”

You exhaled slowly, pressing your lips together before nodding stiffly. “Understood, sir.”

Cyclone gave a small nod of approval. “Good. Dismissed.”

You turned and walked out, shoulders tense, fully aware that in three days' time, you were going to be strapped into a high-speed, fighter jet. And knowing your luck?

You were definitely going to puke.

Part 2???

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sebsxphia · 10 months ago

Text

reunion kisses.

natasha ‘phoenix’ trace x reader.

￫ summary: natasha comes home after a long deployment and you’re going to show how much you missed her.

￫ word count: 3.5K.

￫ warnings: sex, oral, fingering, scissoring, kissing and fluff, fluff, fluff.

￫ authors notes: i had the deep desire to write a simply smutty and sweet fic with nat, therefore this was born! this hasn’t been proof read. my main masterlist can be found here! 💌

Natasha was as quiet as she could be as she clicked your front door locked and shut it behind her. She slung her duffel bag off her shoulder and gently placed it on the floor of your hallway. Her heavy boots paced along the floorboards before she sat at the bottom of your stairs and un-laced them. She momentarily craned her neck upwards to gaze longingly at your hallway, catching a glimpse of your bedroom door hidden behind the stair railings.

An excitable smile broke out on her face and she could feel her heart pounding faster against her rib cage, the prospect of seeing you after three months apart dawning every second closer as both of her boots were placed at the bottom of the stairs. Her socked feet padded, yet still in a hurry up your stairs, purposefully missing the creaks in the woodwork to not wake you any sooner than she had planned.

She reached the door of your shared bedroom and gingerly inched it open. She had to control her erratic breathing, her heart now feeling like it would burst through her chest. She bit down so hard on her bottom lip it threatened to draw blood, biting back an excitable giggle bubbling up her chest. Her eyes fell to the sight of your frame for the first time in three months and for all her years of training, they went out the window. Her knees could’ve buckled then and there, at that very moment.

Your en-suite bathroom door was cracked open to allow for the dim light resting overhead your mirror to shine through. Natasha knew that when you slept alone in the house you needed this tiny source of light to comfort you. Even if she was away for one night, you needed the light to feel not so alone in your shared bed. It wrapped you up alongside your blankets and kept you warm when Natasha’s warmth wasn’t there.

She raked her gaze over your covered frame and sucked in a harsh breath. You were partly lying on your side, partly on your stomach, with the print of Natasha’s old Navy Academy stretched across the tattered t-shirt you were wearing. On your second date, she got you a Build-a-Bear dressed head to toe in pilot gear. He was tucked under your arm and hugged tightly to your chest. By the third date, it was sprayed in Natasha’s perfume and her familiar scent had never faded. Your lips were parted and soft snores were leaving your nose alongside you.

Natasha recognized your incredibly peaceful form and a tiny part of her didn’t want to disturb you, but the rest of her wanted to taste your lips on hers again. She padded over and as she was two steps away, you finally shifted from your content slumber. Your eyes slowly blinked open, bleary and worn out with tiredness. Alongside that, your limbs jumped an inch as you took in the frame close to you, but the light flowing from your en-suite bathroom illuminated Natasha.

A breathless and stunned gasp jumped from your throat and your upper body bounced upwards. You felt your whole body come alive. Every nerve ending was set alight. You felt like a live wire.

“Natasha?! Oh my fucking, God! Natasha! Baby!” Your squeal of pure joy could be heard for miles around as your arms wrapped around her neck and drew her to you, finally feeling that contact from your lover.

Natasha let out a stuttered laugh as bright as the sun as she fell into your familiar embrace, bouncing slightly as she landed on the mattress with you.

“My dove. My sweet, sweet dove. Fuck, I missed you, so much.” Natasha gasped into your neck.

You fell back against the pillows with her over you. Her nimble fingers immediately found your warm and rosy cheeks and brought her plush lips to yours. Her lips were cold against yours since coming in from the night outside, but they quickly warmed up against yours. She wasted not a second more before letting her tongue dip just inside your bottom lip and run along it, savouring the familiar taste of you. She pulled back and let her teeth tug on your lip and you let out a wanton moan, quiet but full of need.

“You weren’t meant to be back for a week! What the fuck happened?” You gasped out, as you quickly found the air she had knocked out of your lungs.

A prideful smile tugged at the corners of her lips and she purred.

“Bradshaw spoke to Admiral Simpson. He got me bumped up a week. He felt kinda bad taking me away on deployment for three months, just as I proposed to my girl a week before I left.” Natasha chuckled.

“Damn. We gotta get him a fruit basket or somethin’, as a thank you.”

Natasha tutted playfully. “Not before I taste your fruit basket.”

“Jesus, Natasha.” You burst into a fit of bubbling giggles in response, Natasha joining you as she registered what she just said. She was a concoction of lack of sleep from three days of traveling and pure excitement at the prospect of seeing you again. She might as well have been slurring her words by this point.

“God, I’ve missed your corny one-liners. C’ere, baby.” You purred against her lips and cradled her firm jaw in your hands. You felt it soften as she leaned into your plush lips again. You could feel the months of tense nights and early mornings melt away each time she moved her lips against yours. Small and pitiful moans from her were vibrated against your own. You felt her hips press down and push against your bare cunt. The rougher material from her jeans created delicious friction which you hadn’t felt in months and left you careening for more. Need, want and desire to taste your pretty baby’s cunt again.

“Pretty baby…” You breathed out as you broke from her lips. By now, the bedside lamp had been switched on and it illuminated a warm glowing light over your bedroom. From this, you could see how Natasha’s cheeks turned a rosy pink at your sweet name for her. “I need to taste you, Nat. C’ere, let me make love to my pretty fiancée.”

You began to maneuver Natasha off your warm frame and lie her down. She let out a groan in sequence and she was squirming to be pinned on top of you again.

“Fuck, dove. Let me have you, please.” Her whines and pleas had never sounded so sweet.

You cocked her chin upwards with your knuckle and grinned.

“Pretty baby, you’ve just travelled for God knows how many hours to come home, you’ve probably been wearing the same clothes for three days. Just, let me fuck, my, fiancée.” You punctuated every word. “Lemme take good care of you, baby. You can have me any way you want after.”

Natasha let out a pleasured groan and released the tension from her chest, caused by all the travelling she’d done, in combination with the prospect of her fiancée making her come. It was beautiful, domestic, peaceful, simplicity.

She had never fallen so hard for someone.

Her goal of becoming a Navy Pilot and potentially flying with Top Gun became her priority, rightfully so, but any sort of dating or relationships were in limbo and were always put on the line.

Until you.

She made it work with you because she wanted to make it work. More than anything she had ever wanted. Sure, she worked fucking hard for her place in Top Gun, but for you, she would fetch the moon and the stars if you so asked. She thought you looked like an angel in reincarnation as the soft, golden, glowing light in your bedroom framed your face between her now bare thighs.

As she was lost in the giddy waves of love and excitement due to being back with you, you had shed her Navy Academy t-shirt from yourself, her cargo, white t-shirt and her underwear. You were both lying bare naked with each other and you wasted no time in pressing your nose against her plush cunt and inhaling her familiar scent deeply into your airways.

As your nose nudged against her clit, she let out a choked moan and a curse of your name. Your hands wrapped around her thighs with your fingertips pressing firmly into her flesh. You kept her thighs held open as she bared her naked pussy to you. You couldn’t help the small smirk that twitched at the corners of your lips, as you noticed an already slick shine of her arousal seeping through her folds.

You loved teasing Natasha. You would take long, agonizing strokes around her lips and gently prod at her clit slowly over time. But right now, you couldn’t care less. It had been far too long since you had had her taste dancing on your tastebuds, and you therefore wasted no time in burying your face against the soft curls of her pubic hair and attaching your lips to hers.

An almost vulgar slurping sound bubbled against her pussy and in tow, a wail of a cry left Natasha’s mouth, followed by her cursing your name and, “Fuck!”

Her hands immediately shot out to tug at your hair, pulling you impossibly closer to her cunt. Your tongue started to bury itself deep within her, and already you could feel and taste her cum dribbling onto your tongue. A muffled moan left your lips as you tasted her again. You wanted her to be embedded into your tastebuds forever. You wanted her in your veins. She tasted so sweet.

Croaked moans and gasps left Natasha, with one of your hands leaving her thighs momentarily to snake upwards to her pebbled nipples where you gently tugged and pinched at them. Her moans became louder and her gasps were stuttered. With your hand resting over her chest, you could feel how rapidly she was breathing and how heavy her heart was hammering against her rib cage.

Your tongue moved from inside her to begin swirling around her clit. In sequence, Natasha whimpered and her hips bucked. The sensation had been long forgotten by herself, with her fingers only during half the deployment job. The sudden jolt of direct stimulation to the point where she needed it most, gave her the most pleasure and all she could do was continually whimper uncontrollably.

You began switching between pressing your tongue as deep as it could go and swirling around her clit. If you had the time (maybe tomorrow), you’d insert two fingers, but you couldn’t wait a moment longer. The desperation from yourself caused you to sloppily eat Natasha out, yet still pinpointing all of those spots that made her cry your name. By any means, Natasha felt much the same. Your mouth was enough for her and you could tell she was becoming close. You began to lock your lips around her clit and suck harshly, occasionally tugging at it gently with your teeth. When your lips kissed her clit, your tongue could work at lapping it feverishly.

This was the point where Natasha came crumbling down and fell apart in your mouth.

“Dove, baby, o—oh, fuck!” Her fingertips were pressing against your skull as she held you tightly against herself. “Right there, right there, oh, fuck, baby! Y’ feel s’ good, s’ fuckin’ good.” Her hips were bucking uncontrollably and her erratic breathing was matching that. “I'm gonna come, Dove…”

For a moment no longer than a second, not wanting to take away from her sensation, you mumbled against her, “Come, my pretty baby. Come f’ me. Come on my tongue, please.” You begged her just as much as she was begging you.

Her moans grew louder and heavier with each breath and then, one long cry which crackled into pleading whimpers escaped her throat. Her hips stopped bucking, but instead, she ground her pussy impossibly closer to your mouth in an attempt to soak up each twitch and throb of pleasure. You moaned deeply against her as you tasted her practically pour out onto your tongue. Her sweet release was like cotton candy. You lapped away at her, with your tongue going through every fold and soaking up every last drop that came from her cunt.

You hadn’t even noticed from being too lost in your fiancée’s pussy, but you had started grinding down on the bedsheets in an attempt to gain some friction and alleviate your throbbing clit. Still, you continued to lap at her cunt and over time you gently slowed down your ministrations to gentle sucks and kisses, letting Natasha come down softly.

In combination, you let out muffled praises against her. “Doing s’ good for me, pretty baby. Y’ taste s’ good, feel s’ good. God, I’ve missed you and your perfect, pretty, cunt.”

She let out wobbled whimpers and strained moans at your words, and due to the sensitivity of her orgasm still rolling through her, her clit still twitched when you lapped at it for longer periods. She let herself roll her hips against your cum stained mouth through her orgasm and she heightened sensitivity. She was savouring every long-awaited feeling caused by you, her sweet Dove.

Her heavy panting soon slowed down to rhythmic breaths. You came off her clit with a last satisfying suck and pushed yourself up Natasha’s warm and damp torso. A thin veil of sweat had already begun to coat around her tanned skin. You kissed her light freckles, that had been brought on by the sun during deployment, and finally placed your lips on hers. She moaned into your mouth as she tasted herself. Sweet and warm. Her hands came up to ring around the base of your neck and pull you in tighter. She kissed you sloppily, her muscles still feeling limp from the moments prior.

Eventually, she pulled away and gazed up at you with half-hooded, pleasure-induced eyes. Her tongue dipped to wet her bottom lip and soak up the remnants of your kiss.

“I wanna feel you, my sweet girl.” Natasha purred. She was already moving to sit up and guiding you to lie down.

You knew what she meant by this and you hummed in pleasured agreement.

Although she had just been pulled apart by your mouth, she remained steady as she got on her knees above you and gently parted your thighs with her firm hands. Your pussy twitched as you were reminded that those very hands controlled a Navy fighter jet.

She grinned and dragged her teeth slowly over her bottom lip as she saw the sight before her. Her fiancée’s pussy was slick with their arousal. Natasha’s slender index finger moved up through your folds and pressed delicately on your clit. Your wetness gathered on the pad of her finger. You couldn’t hold back the wanton moan that left your lips. She pressed her palm against your pussy and slid her two middle fingers inside of you with such ease, it made her chuckle. The tips of her fingers curved up inside of you and brushed your entrance. You’d only felt the friction from the duvet prior and this sudden heated touch from Natasha caused your hips to buck forward and chase her.

“Please, Nat! Need you. Need to feel you.” You babbled out.

She hesitantly removed her fingers and still with a grin on her lips, she sucked on her digits and groaned at the taste of you.

“Taste so sweet for me, my sweet girl.”

You whined again below her. Months of longing for her came crashing down on you with a heavy weight and you couldn’t bear waiting a second longer.

Natasha heard your pleading whines and cooed. “I’m comin’, I’m comin’, baby.” She parted her thighs and slotted herself over you. Your pussy pressed against each other and you let out a whimper when you felt her warm clit move against yours. She too stuttered. “Fuck… I missed you. I missed you so much, my sweet dove.”

You gazed up at her with pleading eyes. “I missed you so much too, pretty baby. Feels s’ nice feelin’ your pussy on me.” She moved an inch and you whined again. “P—Please move, Nat.”

Her hands squeezed onto your thighs and she began to slowly move against you. The slick between your pussy coated you both and allowed her to grind against you with ease, with an obscene noise. Your clit slid against hers and pushed through her folds. You were throbbing with sensitivity and every movement against her caused your nerve endings to be electrified like a live wire. She picked up her pace and your hips moved against her to match her rhythm. Your breathing elevated to the point where you were practically panting. A constant string of pleasurable moans left your lips, as you begged her for more.

Normally, Natasha would enjoy teasing you further and testing how long you could beg for, but you were both desperate after all this time.

With her heightened pace grew a firm pressure on both of your clit’s, as they continuously slicked against each other. Natasha threw her head back as she was grinding down hard against your cunt. Her soft, inky black hair fell past her shoulders. Some of the finer strands of hair had gathered around her temple and forehead, sticking to her hot skin with sweat. She cursed your name and cried out about how sweet you felt. Your entire body was responsive to her touch and the firm feel of her cunt grinding down onto yours. She gripped so hard onto your thighs, that her pressing fingertips could bruise.

“Oh, baby, oh fuck! I— I don’t think… I— I can last m—much longer, baby.” You cried out from below her.

Her head came back down and her eyes met yours. Your clit throbbed against hers as you saw the desperate and pleading look in Natasha’s eyes.

“Please come for me, dove. Please, please, please. I need t’ feel you squirming against me. I’m right behind you.”

She ground down onto you impossibly harder and as her clit swiped past yours, it was the final touch to push you over the edge. Your body squirmed and a cry of gratification tore from your dry throat. Your jaw went slack as strings of curses and moans fumbled over your lips. Your pussy throbbed against hers and you could hear your heart pounding in your ears.

“Good girl, my dove. Such a good girl for me… Fuck! M— Makin’ a mess all over me…” She praised you from above, but Natasha’s panting grew heavier with even heavier moans. Her eyes were locked onto yours but her long eyelashes were fluttering.

Your clit thrummed with overstimulation, as she continued to chase her high. Your hips still angled against hers and allowed her to pulverize for the next few strokes, pushing her to crash over the same edge you just fell. Her body began to stutter over you, but she remained as steady as she could. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut as she babbled out moans of your name.

Natasha looked radiant above you. A sheen of sweat coated her tanned skin. The soft light of your bedside table lamb reflected and flexed against her toned muscles, as she rode out the final strokes of her high. Her silken black hair fell with perfect waves over her neck and shoulders. Her teeth grazed over her plush bottom lip as she sucked in the last gasp of air from her high.

Her orgasm had caused her to go limp and she let herself fall to your chest. You held onto her and gently guided her down to rest her warm cheek against your breasts. You felt her soft breaths of warm air fan against your skin. Both of your heartbeats slowed down in sync. Natasha hummed to herself with a smile as she finally heard the comforting and rhythmic thud of your heart under her pink-tipped ear.

She turned her head slightly and pressed a kiss in between your breasts, lifting herself to give you a lopsided grin.

She hummed again. “Let me clean you up, my dove.”

You let out a blissful sigh and combed your fingers through the finer hairs on her temple. You nodded in agreement and cupped her cheek to bring her lips closer to yours. You both let out a content groan as you tasted one another on each other’s lips.

You pulled apart and watched as Natasha’s eyelashes were fanning over her cheeks, her eyes growing heavier with each passing second. You knew that she was beyond exhausted from her travels and the prior activity, therefore you let her rest against you for a couple more moments.

You would clean her up with a warm washcloth in a minute.

For now, your only desire was to feel your future wife resting contently against your chest.

You pressed a kiss to the top of her head and purred with sweet delight.

“I promise I’ll take care of you in a bit, baby. I’m just so fucking happy you’re home, my pretty baby.”

Two days later and a fruit basket arrived on Bradley’s doorstop.

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toudan · 4 months ago

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calling them by their real name instead of their pet name

FEATURING Cypher, Phoenix, Sova, Yoru (separate) | gender-neutral reader; fluff, established relationship; pet names used: babe, baby, honey, my love; no beta we die like Cypher in cinematics | wc: 300-500 each

AO3. masterlist. request rules. | reblogs and comments are always appreciated!!

“My love, can you get me a drink, please?”

“I don’t know, Amir, can I?”

The way he slowly turns around to look at you is comical. The fact that his mask already looks like a surprised expression didn’t help you, either. You quickly drop the amusement on your features, raising an eyebrow and staring blankly at him instead. Without looking at the remote, he pauses the programme on the television as he stares at you, flabbergasted.

“Did I forget something?”

You purse your lips. “What do you mean?”

“You called me Amir.”

“That’s your name.” You feign confusion. “What’s wrong with it?”

He gets up from the couch and makes his way toward you with urgency. You’re holding back a laugh as he holds your hands in his, trying to read your expression and figure you out. You didn’t think it would actually work on him. Calling him babe had been a slip of the tongue, but ever since it happened, he’s been adamant you call him that instead of Cypher. Considering you’re both often at work, that nickname is reserved for behind closed doors, within the walls of your own home.

“Are you angry at me?”

You can’t hold it in anymore—you burst into giggles, the sound filling the otherwise quiet room. Realising what you’re playing, he lets out a relieved sigh and warily takes a seat. Your little stunt had made him weak in the knees. You didn’t think it would actually work.

“I’m sorry. It was a joke,” you manage to say through your laughter. “I just wanted to see how you’d react.”

He slouches over. “You could have killed me.”

“It’s okay, Cypher.”

“No,” he retorts. “Not Amir. Not Cypher.”

“But that’s your name.” You can practically see the frown on his face when he looks up at you. “Why can’t I call you that?”

“It’s not good for my heart.”

“Okay, okay,” you sigh, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pulling him closer. His arms come to loop around your waist as he buries his face in your chest. “Is this better, honey?”

“Much better.”

Pet names had come naturally for you and Phoenix. He can’t go a sentence or two without saying love or babe. He’s affectionate with you, physically and verbally, and after watching a clip of it online, you wanted to know what he’d do if you said his name instead.

You’re relaxing on the bed as he lays his head on your lap, sinking into the softness of your thighs. You’re still engrossed in the article you’re reading on your tablet. It’s far more interesting than you’d initially given it credit for. It’s not related to the upcoming deadlines by any means, but you’re so close to going insane after nagging your group mates several times the past week. Phoenix staying over for the weekend is the perfect opportunity for you to ease your worries.

You’ve decided to test out the theory today, feeling particularly mischievous this afternoon. He fiddles with your fingers, staring up at the ceiling in complete boredom. You initially planned for it to be a lazy day today, having had an exhausting week, but as always, your beloved Jamie can never sit still.

“I’m just sayin’, we should go do something,” he complains and takes the tablet off your hands, tossing it to a random corner of the mattress. “You’ve been studying all week. You’re neglecting me, your boyfriend. Let’s go out and do something. Anything.”

“Sure, Jamie,” you reply offhandedly. “I’m done here anyway.”

“Great, I—Jamie?” he says incredulously, shooting you an offended look. “That’s not my name.”

“But it is your name.”

“No, I’m babe or baby. I don’t know who Jamie is.”

You glance down at him, lips curling into an amused smile. “That would be you, Jamie.”

“See? You’re doing it again!” He huffs, his brows furrowed together as he stares at you in disbelief. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing! I’m just talking to you like I always do,” you say, holding in a laugh. “You’re the one who’s acting weird.”

“Call me properly.”

“Jamie.”

“No!” he groans. “It’s babe!”

You finally let the laughter free, your shoulders shaking with mirth as you throw your head back. After calming down, you look back at him, beyond entertained by the pure displeasure on his face.

“God, fine, you big baby.”

“That’s still not it.”

You let out an exaggerated sigh and pretend to be annoyed, playfully rolling your eyes. “Okay, babe, let’s go out.”

“That’s more like it,” he grumbles. “Calling me Jamie. You’re so rude. I thought you loved me.”

Needless to say, you got exactly what you wanted.

Drowsiness still lingers in your system as you drag your slipper-clad feet across the wooden floor. There’s something about winter that just leaves you so fatigued all the time. You’re more used to the summer heat, feeling the sun’s rays warming your skin and sipping cold drinks. Here, there’s nothing but snow, and as much as you love Sasha, how he can willingly stay in this kind of weather is beyond you.

As if he could sense your plight, he wraps a hand around your waist and slides a warm drink your way. An idea goes off in your head. Sleepiness be damned—you need to tease this man now. Composing yourself, you take the mug and offer him a warm, appreciative smile.

“Thank you, Alexander.”

He freezes, a frown overtaking his features. “Have I done something wrong?”

The genuine confusion and distress in his tone makes it increasingly difficult to keep up your charade. He’s no stranger to your mischief; you tease him more times than he can count. Someone has to keep him on his toes, after all. Who else is perfect for the job, if not you? Still on a kick, you pretend nothing occurred, taking a sip of the drink and looking at him curiously.

“What?”

“You called me Alexander.” He stands in front of you, lips pursed in concern. His voice is soft, guilty over something that he didn’t do. “You never do that.”

You shrug casually. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Talk to me,” he says pleadingly, reaching out to cradle the side of your face. “What did I do?”

What was meant to be a silly joke winds up making you feel guilty. You only wanted to see how he’d react. The thought of actually upsetting him weighs heavy on your shoulders so you decide to give up the act, wanting to spare his feelings. Toying with someone as earnest as him was a terrible idea.

“I was just kidding,” you chuckle awkwardly. “I’m not mad at you. I’m sorry.”

He breathes a sigh of relief. “Really?”

“Really.” You gently clasp your hand on top of his and nod, giving him a reassuring smile. “I owe you some good loving now, don’t I?”

He returns the gesture, although there’s a hint of exasperation in his. “Yes. You do.”

You spend the rest of the morning glued to his side. He stays closer to you, talks to you more carefully. It takes several kisses for him to finally relax and be able to put his mind at rest. You’ll play around in a less worrying way next time.

You love getting on Yoru’s nerves.

You know it. He knows it. Everyone knows it. Even before you got together, you teased him a lot, revelling in his irritation. It’s all in good fun. You don’t always mess with him—contrary to popular belief, Ryo Kiritani is indeed capable of sulking—but the impulse to be a brat with him is constantly there. Your penchant for getting a rise out of him is just hard to ignore.

The market is as vibrant as ever, full of locals and tourists alike as people happily chatter in the cheery atmosphere. Bags of snacks and souvenirs hang from your wrists as you take another sip of your drink, satisfying your earlier craving for something sweet.

A mischievous smile crawls to your lips. You turn to him with enthusiasm, eyes practically twinkling in joy as you lean in closer, holding in the chuckles threatening to leave you.

“Ryo, let’s go to the photo booth.”

He stops scrolling on his phone, meeting your gaze with a look of annoyance and disbelief. “What did you call me?”

“Ryo,” you say, acting confused as to why he was asking something so obvious. “You know, your name.”

He sighs heavily and brings his hand up to your face before squishing your cheeks together, making you squeak. He clicks his tongue, frowning at the way you found a way to push his buttons so easily. You lightly swat his hand in response, unable to stop the way your laughter just pours out of your lips. Whatever he’d been looking at on his phone is long forgotten—you have his full attention now.

“Let go!”

“No.”

You’re wholly delighted.

“Ryo, let go.”

He scowls. “Don’t call me that.”

“Don’t call you what?” you giggle. “What else am I supposed to say?”

“Brat,” he hisses. There’s no actual vitriol in his words, just the typical affectionate exasperation. “You know.”

“No, I don’t.” Your smile grows even wider as his fingers dig into your cheeks, his frustration growing more evident with each passing second. Though very humoured by the situation, you finally relent. You’ve tested him enough. “Babe, I’m just kidding.”

Yoru narrows his eyes at you before letting go. He mutters something under his breath, presumably a complaint, and flicks you on the forehead, ignoring the show of pain you put on. It didn’t hurt. He never makes it hurt. You just like getting a reaction out of him. He’s endlessly so endearing and entertaining—it’s not your fault you want to see more of it!

“I’m breaking up with you.”

“You love me.”

He huffs. “Unfortunately.”

“Unfortunately? You take that back right now!”

“It’s payback. You called me by the wrong name.”

“Babe!”

#all #scenarios #valorant x reader #cypher x reader #phoenix x reader #sova x reader #yoru x reader

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callsign-mayhem · 1 year ago

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heartbreak feels so good (part 2)

Pairing: Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader Word count: 3861 CW: Shitty ex-boyfriends, slow burn, angst, fluff

Part One Part Three

Your boyfriend's callsign is Viper, which is fitting. Bradley doesn't know how much longer he can watch this man destroy you, but luckily for him, he doesn't have to wait too long.

Use of Y/N, but no description of reader. THIS IS A MULTI-PART FIC.

The eerie silence of your apartment woke you that morning. Either it was never usually this quiet, or you just hadn’t noticed it when Elijah stayed over. There had been a few occasions over the weekend where you’d noticed differences like this, and you wondered when and if it got any easier to deal with.

You had awoken with your childhood teddy bear tucked beneath your chin. Somewhat disoriented, you sat up and glanced around the room. Your phone was charging on your nightstand with a glass of water and a Post-It next to it. That’s when it hit you that Bradley had been here the night before. You must have fallen asleep on the sofa during your wallowing sesh, which meant he’d carried you to bed. Ted was staring at you accusingly as though he’d noticed how your heartbeat stuttered once, twice, and then righted itself.

Burning with curiosity, you reached over and grabbed the orange Post-It, reading what you could only assume were Bradley’s words hungrily. His handwriting was atrocious, as wonky as his voice was raspy.

Getting Starbs. Be back soon x

Well, that explained that one. For the second morning in a row, you’d woken up feeling rough, although you didn’t feel as bad as yesterday. Yesterday, crawling out of bed had felt more like crawling out of the pits of hell. Today, you knew that Bradley was coming back with coffee—after having slept over—and while this was confusing, it gave you something to think about aside from Elijah.

You took a cold shower to reset your central nervous system, using all your fancy products in an attempt to make yourself feel better. It only partially worked, so you decided to put on one of your favourite outfits, which had the tendency to make you appear more confident than you actually felt. Now seemed as good a time as any to buy into the fake it till you make it movement.

When you ventured into the living room, you noticed that the nest you had built on the sofa was still intact, although it had been moved around slightly to serve as a makeshift bed. This must have been where Bradley spent the night after he’d tucked you in. Something about this was hard to accept, and as you stood there staring at the pillows and duvet, you tried to come up with an explanation as to why he’d stayed. As you cycled through the possibilities, the same part of your brain that believed you weren’t worthy of anyone better than Elijah started trying to convince you that Bradley was going to do the same thing he had. Or worse, he was just pitying you.

These were the kinds of tricks your brain liked to play on you, and usually, it was successful, but this time you were interrupted. Someone was knocking on your front door, presumably Bradley, who didn’t have a key. It dawned on you too late that you’d given Bradley your spare yesterday evening when he’d told you he might go out and grab coffee in the morning, and you were turning the handle before you could really register what this meant.

It had only been a few days, but you’d forgotten just how disarming Elijah was. He was standing in the hallway with a bunch of beautiful red roses, dressed in your favourite outfit of his: black cargos, one of his band tees and his beat-up Docs. You could smell his aftershave from where you stood, and he’d obviously had a haircut and beard trim before coming to see you.

Both relief and dread flooded you simultaneously, and you were torn between slamming the door in his face or collapsing into his arms, flowers be damned.

‘El,’ you croaked. ‘What’re you doing here?’

He smiled sheepishly, holding out the flowers so you could take them. They smelled like second chances and summer romance. ‘Went to that market we used to go to this morning and saw these. They made me think of you, so I thought you should have them.’

‘T-thanks?’

‘I know it’s out of the blue, but I thought we should talk.’ He said all of this so calmly— cool as a cucumber—as if this were the most natural thing in the world. As if you were going to discuss the weather and not his narcissistic tendencies. ‘I might have overreacted.’

You scoffed. ‘What was your first clue?’

Elijah rolled his eyes. ‘I didn’t come here to fight. I came to apologise, Y/N. Maybe there’s something here worth salvaging.’

And didn’t this happen every single time? He fucked up on a monumental scale, only realised because of your reaction, and apologised because he knew that’s what he was supposed to do, not because he saw any issues with his behaviour. He’d promise to work on it, you’d believe him, and then the cycle would start all over again. After dealing with it for a year, you were only just becoming aware of the ways he manipulated you, ways that would probably still work if you gave him enough time.

The scary part is that you were considering letting him despite the newly reawakened, sane part of your brain screaming at you not to.

‘Y/N?’

Oh God. No, no, no, no.

Bradley Bradshaw had materialised behind Elijah in all his golden glory, two coffees in hand, aviators perched on the tip of his perfect nose. He was wearing shorts and a black tank top, so clearly, he’d popped home to change clothes. To top it off, he was doused in a light sheen of sweat that glistened underneath the lights in the hallway.

The sane part of your brain was relieved to see him, but the part that Elijah controlled was about to implode. Your hands felt clammy, and your throat was thick with nerves, making it incredibly difficult to talk.

Elijah spun around. Even though he now had his back to you, you had a pretty good idea of what his face looked like. His shoulders tensed up and you watched him squeeze both of his hands into fists.

‘What the fuck?’

‘El, it’s not what it looks like, he-’

Elijah spun around. His anger was an almost tangible thing. He’d always struggled with it, what with having undiagnosed and unmedicated ADHD, and it could be terrifying. He also liked using it as an excuse when he acted out, claiming he couldn’t help it.

Bradley seemed relatively calm. You knew it was a front, that he wanted to rip Elijah’s head off, but that would end up hurting you, so he was reigning it in for your benefit.

Elijah was glancing between you and Bradley, nostrils flaring and jaw set with anger. Briefly, you locked eyes with Bradley but couldn’t determine what emotions were hidden there.

‘Not that it’s any of your business, Viper,’ Bradley started. ‘But I’m here helping Y/N through a tough time. We’re friends, and that’s what friends do.’

‘Not sure why she’s having a tough time.’ Elijah spat. ‘I’m the one getting sent pictures of his girlfriend walking down the beach with another guy. Do you have any idea how that made me look?’

‘Maybe it should’ve been you, then. Oh, wait,’ Bradley smiled sarcastically. ‘You were too busy ghosting her because she went out with her friends.’

‘I don’t need to stand here and listen to this. Who the fuck do you think you are, man? This has nothing to do with you.’

‘Elijah.’ You warned.

‘And you’re defending this guy now, Y/N? What the fuck is wrong with you?’

‘That’s enough.’

‘No, I’m not done. Because I wanna know what you think gives you the right-’

Bradley sidestepped Elijah and handed you the two iced coffees. You stood there dumbly, unable to do anything.

‘I’m her friend, that’s what gives me the right. I’m the one who’s gonna pick up all the fucking pieces.’

Elijah was trying to square up to Bradley, but he was a fair bit shorter, so it just looked pathetic.

‘Pick up all the pieces of what? Her broken heart?’ Elijah laughed bitterly. ‘Boo fucking hoo. If she weren’t such a slut, we’d still be together. It’s her own fault.’

Bradley Bradshaw wasn’t a violent person. It was a last resort for him, so when he slammed Elijah into the wall, you knew it was because he’d been pushed way beyond his limit by that last comment.

Elijah shoved Bradley off him and swung, clipping the side of his face and causing him to stagger back. Bradley took a second to right himself and, with a great heaving breath, swung back hard. You squeezed your eyes shut, but the sound of Bradley’s fist meeting Elijah’s nose was loud enough that you could still picture it vividly. It reminded you of the sound of gravel getting crushed underneath the tyres of the Bronco or the eggshells you’d spent the last year walking over to spare Elijah’s feelings.

The sound seemed to snap you out of your helpless daze.

‘That’s enough!’ You yelled.

The bin bag containing Elijah’s belongings was next to the front door so you’d remember to take it to work the next day. You grabbed it and threw it at Elijah, who just about managed to catch it before it hit him in the face.

‘I don’t wanna see your face around here again.’ You said bitterly. ‘And I don’t want any rumours going around base about Bradley and me because this breakup is all your fault. You’re the one who couldn’t get his act together.’

‘And if you ever call her a slut—or anything else—again, I’ll make sure you never fly for the navy again.’

You meant every word of it, but it was still difficult to look Elijah in the eye one last time before he walked out of your life for good. It was hard because you’d still loved a version of this man, laughed, cried, and talked for hours with him. And if he’d managed to admit to a few of his shortcomings, work on them and maybe go to therapy for his unhealed trauma, you’d probably still be laughing, crying and talking with him.

You would have probably married him.

But he would never admit to having shortcomings, never take the time to work on things, and therapy was out of the question. Love is only a small part of what makes a relationship work, and when it came to your relationship with Elijah, your love for him was the only thing keeping it going. Most days, this wasn’t even enough.

You half expected him to say something else, but he seemed to know better. Clutching the bin bag full of his belongings, Elijah skulked off down the hallway, and you watched uneasily until he disappeared around the corner, finally leaving you and Bradley alone.

You released a shaky breath, and Bradley pulled you into a hug so comforting that you just about melted. He smelled of sunshine, clean cotton, and Bleu De Chanel, and you had to refrain from inhaling.

‘I leave you for half hour, and that dick shows up.’ Bradley murmured.

You could hear the smile in his voice, which was also a comfort. After a scene like that, the last thing on Elijah’s mind would have been comforting you. Even though Bradley was the one physically hurt, his priority was still taking care of you and keeping the mood light so you didn’t start spiralling.

Reluctantly you pulled away from Bradley, not because you wanted to, but because you thought he deserved some breakfast after his morning heroics.

‘Did he get your eye?’ You asked, concerned.

‘No,’ Bradley smiled reassuringly. ‘Almost, but no.’

Once back inside, you set about making breakfast. Bradley was glancing around, somewhat disorientated, and you briefly worried if he had a concussion.

‘You good, Roo?’

‘Yeah, what happened to the coffees?’

‘Oh, they’re on the side where I keep my car keys. By the door.’

Bradley fetched the coffee and sat in his usual spot at the kitchen island. He was unharmed, but it was evident in the way he wouldn’t meet your eye that something was on his mind. While you cooked the bacon—having deja vu from yesterday—you thought about the best way to approach the situation. Bradley was entitled to feel some type of way about what had just happened, and he was under no obligation to share said feelings with you if he didn’t want to. After all he’d done for you, he was entitled to a few private thoughts. But something about the brooding look on his face made it hard to leave well enough alone, and all of a sudden, you found yourself wanting to know every thought—good and bad—going on inside his pretty little head.

You lowered the heat on the stove and turned around to grab your coffee, making a point of trying to meet Bradley’s eye. The contact lasted about three seconds before he refocused his attention on his coffee cup, which had suddenly become very interesting. This man had tells, and you were going to learn them all.

‘What’s wrong, Bradley? You can talk to me, you know?’

He shook his head slightly. ‘Nothing.’

‘Bullcrap. You can tell when I’m not being honest about how I feel, and guess what? It’s a two-way street. And just like you encourage me to talk about what’s bothering me, I’m encouraging you to do the same.’

‘I’ve created a monster.’ Bradley grinned.

‘You have. It’s your own fault, Bradshaw.’

‘It’s not a big deal,’ he said, sipping his iced latte. ‘I’ve just been trying to imagine what would’ve happened if I didn’t come at that exact moment.’

Your stomach twisted. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You were holding roses. That look on your face, Y/N… I think if I didn’t come back when I did, you would’ve let him in.’

‘That’s…’

He was gazing at you expectantly.

‘...Ridiculous.’ You finished.

‘See, I really wanna believe that,’ he smiled sadly. ‘But I know you well enough to know that you’re lying.’

You turned back around to face the stove, partly because you needed to flip the bacon and get started on the eggs and partly because you couldn’t keep the agony off your face. Because Bradley was right as usual—as much as it pained you to admit it, you would have eventually let Elijah in.

‘It’s not as black and white as that.’

Bradley’s eyes were burning holes in the back of your head. It was extremely off-putting.

‘I know, Y/N. Nothing is.’

This caught your attention. You spun around and pointed the spatula at him accusingly.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ You asked.

Bradley held his hands up. ‘Nothing, doll. I’m just agreeing with you.’

‘Nothing in life is simple,’ you murmured, opening the cupboard above you and taking the packet of bagels out. ‘No matter how much you wish it was.’

‘Just to be clear, I don’t blame you for wanting to let him in. He’s a manipulator, and he’s good at what he does. And you love with everything you have.’

‘Even when I shouldn’t.’

You heard Bradley sigh. ‘Y/N, I’m gonna tell you something, and I want you to really take it in, okay?’

‘Okay?’

‘Loving hard is never a bad thing, and you should never shrink your love to make it easier for people to digest. If you find yourself doing that, then the person you’re doing it for isn’t meant for you. The right people will always take your love as it comes, and you won’t have to change anything.’

You couldn’t help but smile to yourself. ‘Like you. And Nat.’

‘Yes,’ he breathed, seemingly relieved that you were beginning to understand. ‘Just like me and Nat.’

Bradley Bradshaw was not in the business of denying you of anything, which is how he found himself curled up on your sofa for the second afternoon in a row, watching reruns of Gilmore Girls. The two of you had watched so many episodes that he knew the theme song by heart, and as catchy as it was, he only liked it because you sang it each time without fail. This was the happiest and calmest he’d seen you all weekend, which was surprising after Elijah’s surprise visit earlier that day. After quite the internal debate, he’d come to the conclusion that you needed to see him after the breakup, no matter how briefly, in order to start the process of moving on.

Bradley was starting to fancy himself a love and relationship expert despite not having experienced it many times himself. Something about you and your particular situation made him feel he needed to monitor it, as though it were his job to make sure you emerged relatively unscathed.

He glanced at you sideways, wrapped up in a pumpkin-covered throw with a mug of tea keeping your hands warm, and felt this innate need to protect you from the world and everyone in it. Especially Elijah. He couldn’t explain it, but it went further than friendship, possibly even further than love.

Bradley was just about to suggest going for a walk to stretch your legs and get some air, but then the intercom started buzzing, causing the both of you to jump out of your skins.

He reached and took your tea from you so you could get up without ending up wearing it. Whoever was waiting to be let in was pretty persistent, constantly buzzing until you managed to get to the front door and click the intercom.

‘Who is it?’ You asked, panting from the exertion.

‘Natasha Trace, you know, the best friend you’ve been blanking all weekend.’

You cursed under your breath, pressing the release for the door. ‘Sorry, Nat. Come on up.’

It suddenly dawned on Bradley that he hadn’t updated Nat since sometime yesterday and that she was probably worried sick. She knew nothing about Elijah showing up at your apartment or the fact that Bradley had stayed over. The fact that he’d slept on the sofa wouldn’t matter to her when she found out. He’d never hear the end of it.

You were hovering nervously by the door, clearly anticipating the same telling-off as Bradley. ‘I was supposed to call her last night,’ you told him. ‘And then I passed out on the couch.’

‘We’re both done for, Y/CS,’ he grinned. ‘It’s been super nice knowing you.’

Somehow—in the time it took her to get up the three flights of stairs to your front door—he managed to convince himself that she wouldn’t be that mad at the two of you. But when you opened the door, he could almost feel her anger, like heat rolling off her in waves. Before you could get a word out, she was pulling you in for a rough but well-meaning hug.

‘I was worried sick, Y/N.’

You relaxed into the hug and put your arms around her middle, squeezing reassuringly. ‘I’m sorry, Nat. I should have called.’

‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘You should’ve. Last time I saw you, you were half-cut and running away from us at The Hard Deck.’ You stepped aside so she could come in. ‘You’ve got some explaining to-’

When Natasha noticed Bradley reclining comfortably on your couch, she stopped speaking. Bradley had a shit-eating grin plastered across his face, and he wiggled his eyebrows at her teasingly.

‘Hey, Nix.’

Briefly, she glanced at you and then back at Bradley. Then back at you, then back to Bradley.

‘Don’t ‘hey, Nix’ me, mister. You’ve been here all weekend?’

He shrugged apologetically. ‘Pretty much.’

‘No text? No call?’

‘Sorry. We were kinda preoccupied with wallowing and fighting Viper off.’

‘What do you mean fighting him off?’

With a great sigh, you traipsed over to the couch and collapsed back into your spot. ‘He showed up this morning with roses and the usual fake apology.’

Natasha was incredulous. She didn’t sit down, she just started pacing in front of the couch, Gilmore Girls still playing on the flat screen behind her.

‘Are you serious?’

‘Yup, and it’s lucky I came back when I did,’ Bradley chimed in. ‘Y/N was gonna let him in.’

Natasha stopped pacing to glare at you. ‘You were gonna do what?’

You launched a throw pillow at Bradley’s head, which, fortunately for you, he didn’t manage to dodge.

‘Hey!’ He huffed. ‘I’m not blaming you! We talked about this earlier.’

You rolled your eyes. ‘It wasn’t my finest moment, okay? I’ve been drinking his Kool-Aid for so long it’s gonna be a while before it’s all out of my system. So I guess Bradley really did come back at the right time.’

This didn’t seem to satisfy Nat, so you launched into a more detailed account of the past weekend, filling her in on everything except a few details about Bradley. Those you would save for when it was just the two of you. Halfway through, she perched herself on the edge of the coffee table, facing you and listening intently to what you had to say. By the end of it, she was literally seething with rage. This time, directed at your now ex-boyfriend.

‘He ought to watch his back,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘Cause if I see him on base, he’s gonna wish he’d never been born.’

The three of you ended up ordering pizza. At one point, you got up to go to the bathroom, and Natasha took the opportunity to grill Bradley some more. He wasn’t surprised in the slightest. Only surprised that it had taken her this long.

She started the interrogation by smacking the back of his head.

‘What was that for?’ He hissed.

‘That’s for going after your best friend when she’s just had her heart broken.’

‘What makes you think I’m going after her?’

Nat pretended to think about this. ‘Hmmm, let me see… Maybe because you’ve slept here two nights in a row, and I walked into you cuddled up on her couch drinking fucking cocoa!’

‘It was tea, actually. And I slept out here both nights. Just didn’t want her to be alone.’

She relented, but only slightly. ‘Still, you need to cool it. She’s probably feeling all kinds of confused right now, and she doesn’t need you and your big puppy dog eyes making things even more complicated.’

He smiled despite himself. ‘You think I have big puppy dog eyes?’

She glared at him witheringly. ‘Is missing the point a personality trait of yours?’

‘Nix, will you calm down? I’m not going after her, I’m not confusing her, and I’m not making things difficult with my big eyes. I’ve been giving her advice, helping her through the worst of it. That’s all.’

Natasha softened, satisfied that Bradley was telling the truth. The toilet flushed, and the bathroom door opened, so they’d have to finish this conversation some other time. But before you came back, Natasha whispered one last thing…

‘I know you love her, Bradley. I know you always have. But you have to give her some time.’

End of part 2. Final part coming soon!

Taglist: primroseluna eloquentdreamer sgt-barnesveins daybleedsintonightfa11

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rhettrosunsets · 10 days ago

Text

Papers And Pad Thai - Natasha (Phoenix) Trace X Fem! Reader

Pairing: Natasha (Phoenix) Trace X Fem!Teacher Reader

Category: Fluff!! Hurt/Comfort

Summary: You've had the worlds longest day, between grading papers, a spilt lunch, and not having heard from your girlfriend in almost a week while she was deployed? You just wanted to get home and drink some wine so you could cry while wearing an oversized hoodie and watching some bad tv re-runs. But little did you know what would be awaiting you when you got outside, and how much better your day would get.

Based off this ask

Masterlist

Word Count: 2,151

Warnings: Mentions of a child throwing up, reader is having a very shitty day, mentions of deployment, Natasha does pick reader up and reader wears Natasha's hoodie but there are no descriptions of the reader outside of this, no use of Y/N, use of pet names for reader.

Notes: Eeee!! This was my first ever ask, based off this ask here and I was so excited to get to write this, anon that requested this I hope you enjoy it. I had so much fun getting to write this!

Your brightly decorated classroom was silent for the first time since 7am,

Your shoulders slumped forward as you clutched your pen loosely between your tired fingers, your head throbbing as you stared down at the last math test in the pile, taking a deep breath as you closed your eyes.

Somehow, a simple batch of easy subtraction problems that was supposed to be an easy test for the kids had managed to create at least six different new number systems that even Isaac Newton would have to sit down for, three small doodles of frogs, one child just writing sorry next to every answer with a frowny face, and one heartfelt love letter to your class guinea pig.

You let your head fall to the desk and groaned muttering “I love my job. I love my job and I love my kids” you repeated muffled against the wood desk. “I love my- okay, you know what? Maybe not today, and that’s okay.” you sighed out heavily to yourself, your body deflating as you tried not to cry.

You had stayed after school yet again to grade papers because the idea of bringing home another binder full of pure chaos made you want to sob. Fridays were supposed to be for movie day and early dismissal, something you reveled in every Friday, for the fact that you could finally get a small break. But Instead, today, three kids had cried over what pencils they got to use during the test, a kid threw up all over the classroom floor and had to go to the nurse while you tried to console the other kids, and you’d spilled your yogurt all over your lesson planner leaving you without lunch, and without a lesson planner.

And to make it all sting even more? Natasha still hadn’t messaged you. You didn’t blame her though, she was still deployed and you knew better than anyone how spotty their comms were when the squad was off on a deployment. But it’d been a week since her last message “We’re all okay, Miss you, Peach.”

No FaceTime calls, no bright smile and warm eyes, no warm voice whispering “Hey, baby” like she always did when she knew you needed it the most, you hadn’t even realized how badly you were missing her until today, when all of this rained down on you at once.

You tossed the finished paper on top of the pile with a huff before you gathered your bag, did a final check of the room, flipped off the lights and locked up your door, before stepping outside where the sun was just beginning to set, the golden hour hue illuminating the parking lot. The parking lot was mostly empty with all parents and students gone for the day, most of the administration having left hours ago when the bell rang, and just a few tired teachers also shuffling to their cars, waving half hearted goodbyes. You yawned into your elbow and reached into your bag fumbling for your keys, rounding the corner of the building with heavy lidded eyes, already picturing Natasha’s oversized hoodie and a glass of wine waiting for you at home.

Then you stopped dead in your tracks, because someone was leaning against your car. But it wasn't just anyone, it was your girlfriend. Your girlfriend who wasn’t supposed to be back for at least another week. She was still in her flight suit, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, her thick boots planted firmly on the ground with one leg crossed over the other as she leaned against the driver’s side door, her arms crossed wearing that same cocky smirk that had made you fall in love with her in the first place.

She raised her brows, her cocky smirk never leaving her face as she saw you standing there bewildered, like you don’t believe she’s really there. “You gonna stand there all day ogling me? Or are you gonna come kiss me, Peach?”

Your knitted bag fell off your shoulder and the bag hit the pavement with a thud, but none of that mattered right now. The next thing you knew, you were running at full speed, and you crashed into her with so much force that she stumbled as she was forced to take a step back, leaning further into your car, laughing as she caught you in her arms.

“Woah easy there sweetgirl” she teased, pulling you tightly against her, lifting you off your feet, as you wrapped your legs around her middle. “You’re gonna knock us both over.” She said laughing happily at the fact that she got to hold you in her arms again.

You buried your face into her neck, inhaling her scent that smelled like jet fuel, soap, and the San Diego sun. It smelt like home. You tightly wound your arms around her neck like you were afraid she’d disappear if you let go, and maybe you were, because part of you still didn’t believe that she was really here, holding you, and calling you Peach.

“I-I didn’t know you were coming back today’ Tasha” you mumbled your voice thick and wobbly against her skin as she slowly set you down, placing your feet on the parking lot ground still keeping you pulled tightly against her. “That was the point baby” she mumbled gently, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Wanted to surprise my girl.”

A surprised, watery laugh left your lips, as you started to cry, the exhaustion from waking up at five in the morning, the grading of papers that made you want to pull your hair out, the stress from the day, the loneliness you felt earlier, all of it came crashing out of you at once as ugly hiccupping sobs started pouring out of you, making you clutch at her harder.

“Hey, hey" She whispered softly taken aback at your reaction. "Oh, Peach, don’t cry baby. It’s okay, it's okay. M'here.” Natasha said softly, pulling back from you just enough to cup your face in her hands and study your expression.

Her thumbs brushed away your tears as her thumbs rubbed gentle circles on the apples of your cheeks, and she kissed your forehead over and over again, like she could kiss the sadness away, and get her girl to feel better with just that, which to her credit worked as you calmed down enough to say “I missed you so much you choked out, your voice breaking as you did so.

“I know, sweetheart, I missed you more.” Natasha spoke back as she looked at you, trying to calm you down to the best of her ability. You shook your head, sniffling as you tried to speak trying to truly let her know how much this means to you “I-I’ve had such a long day, and then I saw you, and I thought I was dreaming, or I thought maybe it was the two coffees I had on an empty stomach and I was finally losing it. ”

“You’re not dreaming” Natasha promised with such authority that you couldn’t even question it, as she rested her forehead against yours. Her voice was low and steady, grounding you and soothing you in a way you’ve needed since she left. “I’m here, right here Peach. And I’m not going anywhere besides home with you, so we can go rewatch some shitty rom-coms and drink some wine.”

More tears fell from your eyes and she held you through them rubbing your back in slow circles and every few seconds she’d press another kiss to your cheek or your nose or the edge of your jawline.

“I really didn’t think you’d be back for another week” you whispered eventually, voice hoarse from crying. “We finished early, and no one got shot at. I call that a win, Peach.” she joked lightly, grinning widely when you choked out a teary eyed laugh.

“God, I love you’ Tasha” you blurted out, your voice full of emotion. The look on her face softened completely, “Yeah?” she asked, rubbing your cheeks with her thumbs as she smiled at you, staring into your eyes. “I think you should say it again” she whispered out, a small smirk perking up in the corner of her lips.

You smiled through the tears and mummured “I love you, Natasha Trace.”

She leaned in and kissed you slow, gentle, and full of everything she couldn’t say over a radio message or a letter. And when she pulled back, her eyes were warm and glassy. “I love you too, Peach,” she murmured. “So much so that it’s absolutely stupid.”

You burst into small giggles at the nickname, your face flushing as she peppered your cheeks with more kisses. “I’m serious, Peach” she insisted between smooches. “I was halfway across the world on a serious mission, and here I was thinking about you in a pencil-skirt, handing out stickers for good spelling, and smiling at those kids like they’re your own.”

You snorted as your head fell against her collarbone “Sorry to break your fantasy, but that’s not what I wear 'Tasha.” She shrugged, a smirk quirking up at the corners of her lips. “No, but I think that’s what I'll continue thinking about when I'm gone. It gives me good motivation to get back here.” she said, glancing down at you seeing how your eyes brightened when she did. “You’re an idiot” you say your voice full of fondness as you wrap your arms tightly around her again.

“But I'm your idiot, Peach” she corrected. You stayed like that for a while, just swaying slightly in the golden hour sun. Her hand rubbed slow circles over your back, and you could feel her smile against your temple. Finally, she pulled back and looked you over, taking you in fully after the emotions of the last few minutes. “You look exhausted, baby.”

“I am exhausted” you admitted with a yawn, before continuing, “It was a long week, one of my kids tried to eat a glue stick on Tuesday, I had a kid puke all over the floor today, and the math tests I had to grade today had declarations of love to the guinea pig instead of the answers to the questions.”

She winced at your retelling of your long week, “Yikes, Peach. No wonder you're dead on your feet.”

“I didn’t even get to eat lunch today because it got spilled all over my lesson planner” you whined out dramatically. Natasha gasped playfully and took your face in her hands again. “That’s criminal, baby. No lunch?”

“I know, you’re lucky I didn’t wither away before you got here to surprise me.” You reply back, in a dramatic tone, bringing your hand to your forehead as you lean back closing your eyes for the effect.

“Well, lucky for you, Peach, your incredibly hot, sexy, brave, and thoughtful girlfriend bought you takeout.” Natasha said in a teasing voice. Your eyes lit up, and a wide smile graced your face at the mention of something to eat “You brought me food?”

“I brought you Pad Thai, those egg rolls you love, and enough mango rice to last us a week, baby.” she said proudly, before continuing “And wine, lots of it, I also prepped the couch with tons of fuzzy blankets, and extra snacks for after dinner.”

You blinked up at her, absolutely stunned. “Are you trying to marry me ‘Tasha?” She gave you a wide smirk “Is it working?”

“Yes” you said without hesitation, no amusement even present in your tone, “God, yes.” She kissed you again and whispered against your lips, “Then let’s get you home and get some food into you, future Mrs. Trace.”

You grinned widely and kissed her back, your heart beating loud enough in your chest that you thought she could for sure hear it. She did a 'give me' motion with her hand, as you grabbed your bag from where you had dropped it and handed her the keys to your car.

She opened the passenger side car door for you, before tossing your bag into the backseat, and even buckled your seatbelt, giving you one last kiss on the forehead before sliding into the driver’s seat, and starting the car up. On the drive home, you reached for her hand and laced your fingers with hers, relishing in the feeling of her being home again. “I still can’t believe you’re here right now” you said softly, taking in her features, a disbelieved smile still present on your face. She brought your hand to her lips and kissed your knuckles, “I missed you more than words can convey, Baby.”

And when you got home, she wouldn’t let you lift a finger. She carried you up your driveway and through the door just to be dramatic, laughing loudly as she heard your loud fit of giggles. She put you on the couch, and immediately curled up beside you under the mountain of blankets she had prepared before heading to the school to come surprise you. She fed you bites of sticky rice between soft kisses and laughed every time ended up getting sauce on your nose or on the side of your mouth.

And later, when you finally started to drift off against her chest as a cheesy 2000’s rom-com played in the background, you knew everything would start to feel okay again.

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