#thanks Brady!

[fbfh]

leo valdez with a breeding kink… i’d literally give that man anything he wants 😫

OHHHHHH FUCK ME. I WANNA KISS YOU ON BOTH CHEEKS FOR THIS ONE. Leo does not realize he has a breeding kink until it hits him like a fucking semitruck. you're with some family and friends at a little get together, and you end up looking after a baby cousin to give their parents a break. you have the kiddo on your lap while you chat with your friend, and when Leo gets back with drinks he nearly drops them. Boom. Light switch on, breeding kink in full force. He doesn't even realize what's happening, not quite yet, but all he knows is that it's going to take every ounce of self control he has to wait until the party's over. after a physically painful eternity that he suspects is his eternal punishment from the gods worse than pushing a boulder or being strapped to a boulder or holding up a planet sized boulder (it's maybe an hour and a half max) you're finally on your way home. He nearly pulls an irish goodbye just to get his beautiful beautiful hands on you sooner, and Leo is NOT the type to leave without at least a dozen hugs and cheek kisses and leftovers and plans to meet up next time, so you know something must be going on with him. the only reason he doesn't fuck you in the car (and he is this fucking close) is because he knows that he wants to take his time with you. Also, he can get pretty vocal. Also so can you. (anyone would with him jfc) so he keeps his hand on your thigh while he drives. He rubs it, inches it up higher and higher, higher than he ever has outside the bedroom until he's practically fingering you in the passenger seat. Honestly you wouldn't complain if he did. The sound of your flustered, surprised giggle when he pick you up and carries you into your house over his shoulder, all unga bunga like something primal has woken up inside him. And it has. When he lays you down on your bed which is still descheveled from the fun you'd had that morning, when he kisses you like he's hungry and strips you down like he's unwrapping a christmas present, neither of you know what's gotten into him yet. But he knows one thing for damn sure.

There's no way in hell he's pulling out tonight. Or ever again, if he's being honest.

So really, you'll both find out what's gotten into him (and you) in about nine months

[aemondstark]

— Ewan Mitchell for the HOTD S2 premiere in Paris | Styled by Davey Sutton & hair/ skin by Brady Lea

[ratatatastic]

https://youtu.be/RbgDHyeQNdE?si=WXnghZZuAyvgumVL

Keith saying him and Matthews fiancé do the cooking for him and he just sits there and heckles them. So on brand.

"And how about your barbecuing skills? It looked like you knew what you were doing behind that grill!" "Well, Matthew is pretty useless so! Unlike Brady—Brady can, you know, does things on his own but Matthew likes when I'm down there so I do cook and his fiancée, Ellie, does a great job so. He just sits back and critiques us but forgets that we're the ones doing all the work for him. Which—hey! It was playoffs! I'll do anything for my children."

NHL Tonight: First Shift | 10.16.24 (x)

unfortunately tracks for him and im still crying into my hands its always the one who cant cook for shit thats the mouthiest about it

and considering this clip from faceoff it really does track

[katemartinismywife]

☺︎ masterlist ☺︎

☺︎ started: 3/28/24 ☺︎ ☺︎ updated: 4/21/24 ☺︎

☺︎ senior night ☺︎ ☺︎ you're the one: mini-series ☺︎ ↳ part one ↳ part two ↳ part three ↳ final part

☺︎ for you ☺︎ ☺︎ found each other ☺︎

☺︎ baby mama: mini series ☺︎ ↳ part one ↳ part two ☺︎ big ten champs ☺︎

☺︎ just friends? ☺︎ ☺︎ communication ☺︎ ☺︎ all mine ☺︎

☺︎ falling for you...again ☺︎

☺︎ surprise - paige x azzi ☺︎ ☺︎ me and you - kk arnold ☺︎ ☺︎ just wanna be yours - kamilla cardoso ☺︎ ☺︎ i'm here - georgia amoore ☺︎ ☺︎ beach kisses - haley van lith ☺︎ ☺︎ comfort zone - juju watkins ☺︎

☺︎ ☺︎ ☺︎ ☺︎ ☺︎ ☺︎ ☺︎ ☺︎ more people coming soon!

[alienoresimagines]

*After Bucky comes out as bisexual to Curt and Brady* Curt: I thought you were straight! Bucky: *points at Buck* I thought I was too until he went and did that! Brady: ...You just gestured to all of him.

[fannyyann]

[cryinginthedeep]

matthew tkachuk - all your life, did you know, you'd be picked like a rose?

something..something...tying your skates like your dad used to but also, outgrowing the shoes you're expected to fill

[meet-the-courier]

are they twins? with different traumas?

Brodie: "I look nothing like this jackass" Brady: "He looks nothing like me." ________ // They're doppelgängers ! All the couriers are. :3

[hogans-heroes]

Branded

Crossposted on AO3

Brady POV. Inspired by discussion on this post about Gale's neck bruises.

_____________________________________________________________

There must have been something Brady could have done to stop it.

But there were some new guards now, ones that were harsher and fresher from training, who hadn’t been softened by familiarity with the prisoners, yet one was particularly brutal, with a temper quick with blows and other punishments. He had everyone on edge, and it was really only a matter of time, but why did it have to be Buck? Of course it was, though, he was always somehow in front of the other prisoners, the one to speak up or negotiate on their behalf, toeing that fragile line of mediation with his chin held high and starved-scrawny fists clenched behind his back.

They presented their requests weekly at the little deck at the entrance to the mess hall, clustering loosely as the prisoners and guard leaders talked out their needs and issues. Buck was commonly the representative speaker—certainly the most level headed choice—yet this time things had gone different. That new brutal guard towered over them, yelling and ranting and generally escalating the situation. Brady had been hanging back, eyeing the group fringes, when without warning the guard hauled off and struck Buck hard enough to make him stumble back. Before he could catch his footing, the guard seized his neck and bent him backward over the deck railing.

The small group of prisoners shouted in alarm, jostling forward on instinct, but Brady could only stand rooted to the ground, breath snatched right out of his lungs. Crank had lunged forward, nearly reaching Buck before the other guards leveled their rifles at all of them, screaming commands and forcing them to freeze in their steps, to stare in horror as the big guard growled, red in the face as he dug his fingers into Buck’s neck and pressed him farther down. Buck made a choked sound as the railing dug into his back, hands scrabbing on the man’s arm and feet slipping from under him. 

The guard shouted something else, then grabbed his pistol from its holster and jammed the barrel against the side of Gale’s head. A cold horror choked Brady and his vision tunneled, world narrowing to the hatred and rage on the man’s face as he forced his prey down and squeezed . Buck’s grip faltered. His body began to go slack, arms falling from his attacker's arm, and a scream lodged itself in Brady’s throat, limbs trembling with the need to run, to fight.

Suddenly the prisoners’s senior officer and the kommandant’s aide burst onto the scene, and rapid-fire arguing followed. One by one, the guards lowered their rifles, and after more arguing the big guard finally hauled Buck back up by the neck, and threw him off the deck. It wasn’t a big drop, only one step, but Buck still went down like a ton of bricks. His head hit the dirt and Brady flew the few yards over to him, knees skidding on the ground as he dropped beside him. Buck was coughing and wheezing—pale as a sheet—and Brady nearly vomited, but the adrenaline and newly-bubbling anger swamped all his senses as he and Crank hauled their leader to his feet.

“It’s alright,” Buck rasped, patting their frantically hovering arms even as he swayed a little. His voice was absolutely wrecked, and on either side of his neck were rapidly-darkening bruises in the shape of a thumb and fingers. 

“Fuck,” Crank hissed. “Bucky’s gonna lose his shit.”

.....

Bucky did, indeed, lose his shit.

When they entered the barracks it took barely a second for Bucky to spot them and take in the scene, eyes lasering on Gale’s bruises like a cat on the hunt. Sequences of shock, panic, then thunderous anger crossed his face and he lunged with his full height towards them, so much like an avenging angel Brady half-expected mighty, soot-covered wings to swoop out from his back. With fiery eyes he snatched Buck from them and sat him on the edge of the table.

“What happened?” he spat, the Major voice taking over. “Who did it?”

“Usual negotiations went bad,” said Crank. “New guard hit him and choked him.”

Bucky cursed viciously under his breath, which for some reason made the corner of Buck’s lips quirk into a grin. This seemed to make Bucky angrier. He could have levelled the room with it, and Brady resisted the urge to step back. 

“Was he unconscious at all?” Bucky asked.

“I don’t think fully, but he went limp for a bit.”

Brady could have sworn Bucky’s eyes went black, hands gripping the lapels of Buck’s coat. Buck swayed a little, lifting a hand to rub his neck, and Bucky’s gaze darted back to him. One side of Buck’s hair was messed up a little from where the gun had been shoved, and Brady had to lean on the nearest bunk to stop the room from spinning.

“He had him at gunpoint,” he said, voice dazed to his own ears.

“What do you mean he had him at gunpoint?” Bucky snapped.

“He had a pistol against his head alright?” Brady burst out, vision blurring. He vaguely heard Buck muttering it’s alright before DeMarco appeared from nowhere, grabbing Brady’s arm and pulling him out the door into the barrack hallway. He closed the door behind them and firmly but gently pushed Brady against the wall, stepping close with his hands gripping his shoulders. 

“Breathe, Johnny.”

Brady choked, then sucked in a breath, trying to keep the rolling panic at bay. He had seen other men shot in the camp, gunned down as an afterthought by guards who hardly needed a reason, but it could have been Buck, it could have been Buck , it very nearly was, and the image of his gentle friend going limp as the guard crushed his neck had seared painfully into his mind. 

“ Johnny ,” DeMarco begged, hands now gripping either side of Brady’s head. “It’s ok, just breathe.”

“Sorry,” Brady forced out, scrubbing his face roughly, but DeMarco shook his head.

“Don’t be. It was horrible, no one will get over it,” he said, and it made Brady pause.

They wouldn’t, would they? Of course Bucky wouldn’t—if he wasn’t unhinged before he certainly would be now, and Brady felt a spike of sick terror at the thought—and Buck would act like he was alright, but the glassy sheen on his eyes would get thicker and he would become even quieter, walking like his own body was too heavy to bear. 

DeMarco swallowed, eyes understanding, but before he could say anything a panicked shout came from the other room. They bolted back in to find Bucky’s face painted with raw fear and Buck draped limp against him.

“He’s…he’s not…” Bucky panted. “Get the doc!”

DeMarco ran out, and without being conscious of moving Brady found himself at Bucky’s side, helping him lift Buck into the nearest bunk. Buck was unresponsive, eyes half closed and head rolling a little as they laid him down, and Bucky’s hands shook where they gripped his body. His expression shuttered, jaw clenched and lips pressed together as his chest heaved with breaths he struggled to control. 

With aching lungs Brady grasped him by the collar and gently pulled him down, tucking Bucky's head under his chin, and Bucky made a keening sound that stabbed Brady’s gut. He held him like that for a while—let him gasp brokenly into Brady’s chest with his hands still fisted in Buck’s coat—until Brady was more or less sure he wouldn’t shatter into irreparable pieces on the dirty floor.

When Bucky finally, hesitantly, pulled back, his eyes were wet and he released one hand from Buck to scrub at them, schooling his face back into composure with disarrayed curls falling over his forehead. He looked like such a lost little boy that Brady’s heart cracked again. 

“He’s gonna be alright,” Brady murmured. 

Bucky nodded, inhaling a deep breath and unable to meet Brady’s gaze.

......

The “doc” gave Gale more or less a clean bill of health. The bruising wasn’t too bad, probably no damage to the trachea, but in Buck’s weak state even a small time deprived of oxygen would take a toll. He just had to rest. He regained coherence fairly quickly and was fussed over by everyone in the barrack until nightfall. By lights out the tension and panic hadn’t quite faded, but eventually they all settled, dropping off to sleep one by one. 

All except the two majors, and Brady, who couldn’t quite tear his eyes from the bunk where their leaders lay intertwined, Bucky cradling Gale in his arms without a trace of shyness. Vaguely Brady found it strange he had been thinking of Buck as Gale now, but Bucky had said it softly so many times that day that it had begun to cement itself in Brady’s mind. It felt too intimate, somehow, and opened another small wound in Brady’s chest.

He pulled the blanket to his chin and curled up a little more, watching Bucky smooth Gale’s hair and push it back from his face, stroking Gale’s cheek with his thumb. After a moment he ran a hand down Gale’s arm and wrapped it around his back, leaning in to tuck his face under Gale’s jaw. Gale’s hand shifted a little against Bucky’s waist but he stayed otherwise still as Bucky pressed a lingering, open-mouthed kiss to the worst mark. He then moved his face under the other side of Gale’s head, nuzzling to lift Gale’s chin just enough to reach that side of his neck, and Brady realized he was kissing both bruises. The simple tenderness was so uncharacteristic of the brash major that it drowned Brady’s chest in a swell of affection and tightened his throat. Bucky’s hand flexed against Gale’s back. His jaw worked where it was hidden in the crook of Gale’s neck, drawing a soft inhale from him, and Brady quietly rolled over to face the wall. 

The next morning, the tense lines on Buck’s face had faded. And if the marks on his neck were slightly different shapes and a little deeper shade, Brady didn’t mention it.

[sweetl4cy]

oh how i love them 🫂

[hellofanidea]

Prompt: “Hey, hey, shhhh. Shhhh. You’re okay.”

Pairing: CrozBrady

TW: disordered eating, vomiting, recovery from starvation

The doctors tell them it's going to take a while for them to tolerate food like they used to.

It’s almost a given, especially after watching Hambone choke down more canned meat than he’d had in two years and then puke it up into the snow whilst they marched, but it’s still more difficult than Brady anticipated to adjust to eating regularly when they get back to England. He manages to not make himself sick, but it’s a near thing a few times, and his stomach protests at the unfairness of food finally being available but being denied. Then comes the other side of the coin, the fact that he doesn’t actually even realize when he’s hungry anymore, or when he’s full. Eating becomes something between a gamble and a science. 

He weathers it well, though, because that’s what they’re all doing, slowly readjusting with the idea that they’re fine, they’re not hurting, that the Stalag was just a bad dream or a big adventure. They cling to the idea that they’re returning heroes, and not suffering, broken, shells of the men they were.

Which all leads to John Brady staring at the bag of oranges on his bed like they’re a mirage.

He had breakfast this morning, toast and juice and even a little bit of bacon, but that was hours ago. He might be hungry now. He should be hungry now. He can manage an orange. He wants to manage an orange, and can feel his mouth salivating despite the lack of hunger signals just at the sight of the fresh fruit. The first orange he’s seen since leaving the states. As a child he had loved oranges, would bite through the thick skin with his teeth before ripping them open with his thumbs. He’d spit the pips out as he went, competing with himself for how far he could get them.

The need to be that child again, just for a moment, makes the decision for him, and he takes one of the oranges.

It’s sweet and tart and perfect. The flesh tastes like summer and home and joy, and Brady’s pretty sure he moans a little as he swallows. There are barely any pips to stop and spit out, the ones he does collecting by his thigh, and soon the whole orange is devoured.

This is where he should stop, pause like the doctors told him to try and read his body, but his mouth is still stinging with juice and desire, so he snatches another like the bag is about to be ripped from him. It disappears just as fast, and so does the third. He’s on his way through his fourth when his throat seizes, his stomach cramps, and he forces himself very, very still. He’s panting, he realizes, has been between bites like some kind of feral animal. There are dark spots dancing in his vision.

His stomach cramps again, tight and warning, and the saliva gathering at the back of his mouth is definitely no longer a sign of hunger. 

He makes it to the waste bin just in time.

Brady heaves into it on his knees until there’s just bile coming up. It burns the back of his throat, leaves him feeling shaky as a newborn kitten, and he slumps on the floor with his forehead on the rim of the trashcan. The door to the barracks opens, and Brady cringes at being found like this by anyone, even the guys who had been in the Stalag and had seen much worse.

“Shit, John, is that you?”

Fuck.

Brady doesn’t have the strength to look up as Croz rushes over to kneel beside him. A gentle hand lands on his back.

“Are you okay? What happened? Should I get the doc?”

The questions all come out in a rush, and Brady feels himself get so overwhelmed he retches again. More bile. More shaking. When it passes he realizes he’s not only trembling, but crying, tears rolling down his face as he thinks about the fact that he’ll probably never be able to eat another orange without thinking about this, about being folded over in the barracks with the sour smell of vomit in his nose because he can’t eat a few pieces of fruit without consequences anymore. 

It’s stupid, it’s so stupid, he tells himself, but it feels so deeply unfair to have another thing stolen from him, and he just can’t seem to stop crying-

“I gotcha, I gotcha,” Croz says, gently tucking an arm around him and maneuvering him upright to rest against his chest. He’s rubbing soothing little circles along his spine that just seem to make Brady cry harder. His chin tucks over Croz’s shoulder, and he turns his face into his neck like he can hide there. “Hey, hey, shhhh. Shhhh. You’re okay. It’s alright. You’re gonna be alright, John.”

“Fucking oranges,” Brady manages to hiss, his sobbing losing force as it saps the last of his energy.

Croz makes a soothing noise, then an upset one. He keeps rubbing Brady’s back.

“Shit, I’m sorry. Was meant to be a present, I didn’t know you’d get sick.”

How sad Croz sounds, how guilty, breaks his heart. Sniffling, he pushes himself back, wiping his face with the back of his hand until Croz passes him a handkerchief.

“Not your fault,” Brady mutters. “Was me not having any goddamn self-control-”

Laughter from Croz cuts him off, and he scrapes together enough energy to glare at the navigator. There’s a wet patch on his shoulder that Brady quickly looks away from.

“I don’t think anybody’s expecting you to have self-control right now, John.”

Brady’s pride prickles at that, but Croz is watching him so softly, so warmly, that the fight goes out of him instantly.

“Thanks for the oranges,” he says instead, so he doesn’t have to hear Croz talk more about how he should cut himself some slack. “I’m sorry I threw most of them up.”

Croz laughs him off again and gets to his feet, holding out a hand to help Brady off of the floor. His knees wobble treacherously, but Croz steadies him with an arm around his waist. It brings them hip to hip, nose to nose, and Croz presses a kiss to Brady’s cheek even though he knows he has to reek of vomit.

“Don’t sweat it. Christ knows you’ve dealt with me throwing up more than enough.”

[whatever-dude]

no because i am so obsessed with the brothers tkachuk being a bigger narrative than mattdrai. like. if i think about it too long im going to go crazy

[mercyedes]

-> from jordan coulson's insta story

[smashorpass50plus]

orla brady

[wexhappyxfew]

hey!! could i request "enjoying the sun that's warming their face" for whichever character/ship you're feeling? thank youuu 💕

hello anon! thank you so much for stopping by the askbox! and thank you even more so for sending in a prompt - i really loved getting to work with this prompt so so much and it honestly led me to a (1) new OC for MoTA and (2) writing with a new character from MoTA that I wanted to try some writing for! :) SO, i hope you enjoy the first introduction to WAC, Lieutenant Annie Chattaway from Mankato, Minnesota!

It was a wonder to Annie what a Lieutenant bar did to a man.

Not only did she watch men seem to hastily salute in her direction, or shove each other quickly to their feet, but they watched her with a shaky gaze before she kept on moving past.

The bright sunlight above seemed fit for arrival, her transport having dropped her by the entrance to Thorpe Abbotts, with Colonel Harding taking her in for introductions, hand-shaking and flattery. Now, with her belongings sorted out and her bearings gathered, she was in search of a few select names that Harding had graciously offered up.

"Looking for something special?"

The rumble of a military-grade jeep, fumes and all, pulled up beside her in a hurry, screeching to a halt, the breaks in need of a good oiling, and a smiley Major in the front seat. Annie halted for a moment there on the tarmac and offered a sweet smile, from behind the Raybands and her cap and stepped to the edge of the jeep.

"Depends on who's asking." she told him with a smile and a nod, before saluting.

"John Egan, uh, Major Egan," he said, another smile spreading on his lips, tilting his head to the side, "Bucky if you like." More widening of the grin.

"Pleasure to meet you, Major Egan," she said, dismissing his grinny self and stuck out a hand forward, "Lieutenant Chattaway, just in from Fort Des Moines. I've been assigned here, as a translator."

Major Egan made a show of raising his brow from behind his own pair of Raybands and leaned forward, arm up over the passenger's side of the jeep, hand on the steering wheel and smirked.

"Sounds like you got yourself into a nice gig," he said, "….translator, huh?" Annie stared at him from behind her Raybands. Right.

"Can I ask where your mess hall is, sir?" she asked him, side-stepping the translator question, "Colonel Harding mentioned it after introductions."

"Wanna hop in? I could give you a ride over, chat over coffee, hey, I'll even show you where the officers' club is." he said and then scooched back to his side and nodded to the seat, smiling, "Take it or leave it." Annie watched him for a moment and debated her options - ride with Major Egan, possibly get some coffee that he definitely knew the location of, or continue to wander around base looking like a sorry excuse for a bull in a china shop.

"Major."

Annie turned to behind her, following Major Egan's line of sight, and found a Captain walking towards them, his eyes squinting in the bright sunlight, saluting Major Egan and then turning his eyes to her. He watched her for a moment, before she quickly saluted him, watching him quietly from behind her Raybands - tall, large stature, soft eyes.

To think he was a pilot by the way his peak cap covered his head, seeing all the war the planes brought to the air and the sky around.

"Brady, just in time," cooed Egan, jumping up from his seat in the jeep and coming towards the Captain - Brady - wrapping an arm around his shoulder and nodding, Brady slowly looking towards Egan with a tired look.

"This is Lieutenant Chattaway," Egan said with a nod to her, "didn't find the time for a first name, but I know it's there. She's gonna be translating." Brady eyed her for a moment.

"Pleasure to have you here, Lieutenant Chattaway." Brady said, nodding firmly, a quick itch of a smile on his face before disappearing and looking over to Egan, "Major Egan, I've been meaning to discuss with you-"

"Later." Egan said, clapping Brady on the shoulder, "right now, we gotta show Lieutenant 'No Name' Chattaway to the mess hall. Get her some grub." Brady glanced her way again - she stared right back at him through her Raybands and cleared her throat.

"It's fine really, sir," she said quickly, "I can find my way." She smiled slightly.

"Nah! Nah, c'mon, Lieutenant," Egan said, "look, here, Brady and I, consider us your personal tour guides-"

"Major-"

"C'mon, let's roll." Egan said and then gave Brady a clap on the shoulder and a wink and then moved back towards the jeep. The two watched him go before standing in silence.

Annie looked back towards Brady and found him already watching her; when he caught her eyes on him, he offered a small smile.

"You doing alright?" he asked her, the smile on his face soft, the sunlight bathing his face in a golden light; looking up towards him she put on her best smile and nodded.

"Yes, sir." she said firmly.

"He can be…." Brady trailed off and looked over her shoulder and nodded, "….yeah."

"It's fine, really, sir," she said, "seems like a fun guy." Brady grinned at her comment and nodded, before looking down.

"Probably best if we get in the jeep, before he starts well…." Brady smirked, "….you can probably guess." Brady imitated a little circle beside his head - before he starts going crazy, she seemed to finish it off in her mind. Annie smiled.

"Captain John Brady," he said, holding out his hand, "I know Major Egan introduced you as Lieutenant 'No Name' Chattaway, but that's-"

"Annie." she said, meeting his hand - warm as anything, encasing her own, firm, "Annie Chattaway." A loud beep-beep and a rumble of an engine appeared beside them with a slightly, pathetically disgruntled Major Egan in the front seat.

"C'monnn, let's goooo," he said, clapping his hands in front of him, "days changing to night, I think the first leaves of fall have come down." Annie looked back over to Brady and watched the small smile dart onto his face.

"What? Are you going to turn into a pumpkin, sir?" Annie questioned turning to him and moving towards the passenger side, before climbing right in the back, looking over to Egan who was smirking at her - she glanced then at Brady, "Will you be joining us, Captain?" Brady looked to her and then offered her a smile and climbed in the passengers' side.

"What would happen if I turn into a pumpkin, huh?" Egan called over his shoulder, "You hear that, Brady, she thinks I'll turn into a pumpkin!" He started up the jeep.

"I think a pumpkin is being generous, sir!" Brady called back over the roar of the jeep as they moved towards the barracks. Annie smirked to herself and admired the life around base - the Land Army women, the townsfolk, the pilots, the airmen, the ground crews, the sky, the sun, the trees. The world as they knew it.

"So, Chattaway, where you from? Wisconsin? Harding mentioned something or other..." Egan called over his shoulder, "They make cheese right?"

"Minnesota, sir!" Annie called back, "Mankato!"

"Never been!" Egan called over his shoulder, "Should show me how to make The Bootleg - you know….. they said F. Scott Fitzgerald would sip on some of those."

"Really." muttered Brady unenthusiastically from beside him.

"Oh, cheer up, Brady, you could be getting The Bootleg tonight - you'd be thanking me for it, too." Egan called as they pulled up to the front of mess, "Right, we're here." Egan turned to look over his shoulder at her and grinned.

"Liking the view?" Annie offered a smile.

"Thorpe Abbotts is beautiful, sir," she said glancing to the sky, "I'll be excited to see the mess hall." Egan grinned and gave Brady another shoulder slap.

"You'll be pleased as peaches to see coffee," Egan said hoping out and turning to her, laughing to himself, "I mean, I know I always am." Brady moved out and straightened out his pants before glancing over his shoulder and turning towards her.

"It's nothing more than watered down G.I. coffee, but it's something," he said as Annie slowly shifted forward, "Major Egan just gets excited when there's still extra by midday."

"Don't be telling my secrets now, Brady," Egan said pointing to him, "it's a precious commodity, we don't go saying that around here." Annie smiled to herself and then slowly stood, placing her hands on the edge of the jeep before noticing a hand appear.

Looking up, Brady was stood there, watching her with the sun warming his softened face. She smiled at him, gratefully taking his hand, letting him help her step down onto the ground. It was only a few seconds more before the two were dropping their hands and Major Egan was making a show of pointing up to the mess hall and going on about something or other about a beer bottle being thrown at the wall - but as Annie followed quietly behind both Egan and Brady, she noticed the clench of Brady's hand there.

The one that had touched her own.

[trashbag-baby666]

😉

🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️ I luv men…

Honestly it’s giving Brady getting ready for the Met Gala. Although, he probably would go all out and according to theme. Ham would be his date and do the classic men of the met gala and wear a black suit.