#tillybee the queen of au’s

[bradshawed]

they’re just so cute and AHHHHHH…i literally cannot stop jumping around in joy omfg like ur mind is just wow especially with the way you come up with these au’s!!!!! eye candy definitely makes everything a lot easier and ouchies for gb team </3 omg imagine a rivals au with someone from the gb team falling for someone on the us team??!!! anyways i’m just gonna reread this for eternity bc it’s so so goood and their characterisation and just the way you describe everything it’s a masterpiece and seriously makes you feel like you’re there and the “not your mouth” quip 🤭

Bubbles

summary: bradley flushes out your eyes when he blinds you with chlorine during swim practice one night.

pairing: bradley bradshaw x female reader.

warnings: no use of y/n. fluff, suggestive jokes. 18+ blog in general.

olympic swimmer au

take your marks masterlist

"I won’t be able to see again,” you sniff, mourning the loss of your eyesight. 

“Sweetheart, it’s just chlorine,” Bradley seals his lips together to hide a smile. With your eyes scrunched shut, he’s ushering you inside the empty locker room, leading you towards the line of open showers. 

While you knew that you’d eventually end up being dunked into the pool during your boyfriend’s late night swim practice—you anticipated that he’d do it while you had on your goggles at least.

But, no. The conniving gold medalist had the nerve to ask for a kiss as a pretense to pull you into the chemically treated water. And of course you were going to come waddling over because honestly, who wouldn’t? 

The lazy smile on his face sparkled under the glow of the underwater led lighting system, and his biceps increased in size because he had been doing backstrokes for the last hour.

If you didn’t have the confirmation that he was human, you would’ve assumed he was some sort of siren—luring your unsuspecting self closer towards him. 

“But, hey. You’re still kinda sexy doggy paddling away from me, blind and all.” He unhelpfully adds on, guiding you by the hips.

Nudging the back of your ankle, he steers you away from the bench you’re about to walk into. “Watch where you’re goin’ baby.”

“I can’t watch! I’m blind!”

“Oh, really? I couldn’t tell when you were screaming that earlier,” he asks, deep voice practically dripping in a thick coat of sarcasm. 

All he gets in response from you is something akin to a growl, as he spins you around to face him, backing you up into the tiny shower that barely fits you both.

As of right now, he has no plans to peel your swimsuit off, so the curtain stays open. 

Now standing under the shower head together, Bradley reaches to twist the knobs behind you. Leaning his head in, he blocks the water from hitting the top of your head. “Open. And I mean your eyes, not your mouth.” 

“I-I know that!” 

In a rush to get the pain over with, your eyes shoot open and you lean back, giving your smirking boyfriend a view of the irritation he caused to your poor eyeballs.

Lifting his head upright, Bradley raises his pruney fingers to gently hold your eyelids open. 

Whispering encouraging praise of Good girl, Bradley helps you get through the uncomfortable feeling of water filtering over the scratchy surface of your pupils.

“I don’t know how your stupid mustache doesn’t burn off from all the chemicals in that pool,” you grumble, rolling your eyes back, chasing relief for yourself.

“Oh shut up, you like it.”

When you don’t give him a snappy response, Bradley chuckles. Because he’s right. You do like it.

After thirty seconds of you silently flushing out your eyes—and Bradley assisting you, the pain subsides.

At that, relief fills you. Because not long ago, you were sure today would be the last day you’d ever get to see your handsome boyfriend’s face. 

Blinking rapidly underneath him, Bradley takes it as a sign to hover his face over yours again—blocking off the stream of cold water from hitting your face. Though, the weak pressure of the shower pangs against his thick neck instead, tracing down his muscled back.

With his hands back on his sides, Bradley cracks his knuckles against his tight custom swim shorts. 

“Thought you liked it, Bubbles,” the curve of his mouth lifts upward, stretching his grin to its limit. If there was one way to get you worked up—besides yanking you into the pool—it was bringing up your nightmarish attempt to ask him out on a date.

Truly, you don’t know what came over you when you blurted out Do you want to come over and watch Bubble Guppies?

But then again, the three brain cells scrambling around in your head at the time couldn’t come with anything better when there was Bradley Bradshaw—your dad’s new olympic recruit standing in front of you—very shirtless and very wet. And very much your age and type. 

It would be a lie to say that you stopped fighting with your father when he dragged you to work with him. Suddenly, it wasn’t all that bad. 

Who knew that towel folding and monitoring equipment would magically become easier when you had some eye candy walking around the two meter pool every single day.

“I wish I never watched Bubble Guppies with you!”

“Hey, at least ‘M not calling you Mr. Grouper,” he offers, scrunching his nose at you. At the remembrance of that round goldfish that led around the school of guppies, you’re glad he’s not calling you that either. 

“Mr. Grouper acts more like my dad.” Fat droplets fall from your water clogged lashes when you start to smile. 

Smoothly, Bradley ducks down to kiss your smiley mouth. “I must really like you, to be kissing you after watchin’ you swim away like a drowning dog.”  

That rush he gets from winning a race pounds him right in the chest when you swat his defined arm, your giggle echoing through the vacant locker room. 

Bradley’s unable to resist pecking your lips again. “You think Mr. Grouper would be happy that his little girl is off hanging with the likes of me?” He quips, cocking his head. 

At this rate, his face is a bit sore from grinning so hard. He could imagine the shit Seresin would give him for smiling like a loser right now.

You shrug, playfulness glinting in your eyes. “Well, do you think he’d rather me swim with members of the U.S team or Great Britain?”

Bradley’s expression immediately drops, not pleased with the mention of that other team.

There were so many other countries you could’ve brought up, and like your dad, you decide to rile him up by bringing up the guys who beat him last season. 

He audibly frowns, large hands extending to finger the band of your swim bottoms. “I’m hopin’ you don’t have plans to hang around them.”

Bradley eyes you up and down.

Again, you shrug, cheeks almost touching your shoulders when you do so. “Nah, I kinda really like this cute guy on the U.S team.”

“Yeah? Good. ‘Cause I was thinking about dunking you back in the pool, Mr. Grouper.”

“Bradley!”

The following day, Bradley calls you Mr. Grouper for the entirety of swim practice, leaving everyone else confused—especially his Coach.

note: anddd another little series blossomed because i’m in a summer mood! as always thank you for reading, and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

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