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samkerrworshipper · 7 months

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playgirl | Leah Williamson x Reader

warnings: smut, fingering, cunnilingus, fluffy soft smut 18 + minors dni

lots of angst, smut, hurt, fluff it’s a mixed bag lol

lots of people who are wanting to see some sammy k smut so lmk if you want to see anything specific xoxo and enjoy my lovely’s!

It was no secret that Leah Williamson got her way around. No secret to her teammates, no secret to the soccer community, no secret to all of the women in North London, no secret to you. Somehow though, for some reason it had drawn her to you, you were teammates for fucks sakes, you being on loan from San Diego and her being a accommodating captain who had offered a spare room in her house to you, whilst you figured out your bearings and in what world were you in the place to say no. From day one you had been infatuated with the woman, something that Alex Morgan had warned you of, having gotten word from Tobin that Leah liked to have fun, sometimes too much fun. Your first impression of Leah was that she was lovely, accompanying the Arsenal team to pick you up from the airport and everything. Her eyes were what truly had you enamoured with her, the way that the greyish-blue pierced through anything that she looked at.

Once you’d gotten back to her house she’d showed you around, informed you that whilst she tried her hardest to cook she wasn’t very good at it, and that she went to a teammates house most nights to eat. You’d told her that cooking was no issue, that because of your italian heritage you’d grown up in the kitchen, learning your Nona’s tricks from when you could walk. Leah was elated by that news, insisting that once you’d settled in you’d have to cook for her and you’d smiled at her and agreed. Leah had been nothing but accommodating and for a little while you’d found doubt in Alex’s words, that was until a few weeks into your stay with Leah you went out on a Saturday night with the team. It had started tame, a dinner out together as team bonding, which had ended in Katie deciding on which night club for the team to hit and from then it had gotten rowdy.

The London girls were very clearly decorated partiers, you however weren’t. You hardly drank to begin with, so whilst your teammates were busy with getting wasted on their weekend off, you were not, leaving you to observe the actions of your new teammates. Leah lasted a total of fifteen minutes in the club, something that most of the girls didn’t seem to be surprised by. Fifteen minutes in she was pulling a girl from the bar out of the club with her, both of their hands roaming in places that were not acceptable for a public space. It hadn’t taken you long to realise that the night was going to end similarly for most of the girls you were with, either them picking up somebody or heading home with their partner. Alessia was hellbent on getting you drunk, something you were not a fan of, but her being one of the only girls not on the dance floor or throwing themselves all over someone meant that you’d quickly paired up, also being the newer pair to the crowd. Eventually, you got sick of Alessia’s persistent begging for you to take a shot with her, pawning her off to Katie and then calling an uber for yourself back to Leah’s apartment.

When you made it through the door of the house you were unsurprised to hear the sound of moans filling the noise barrier, coming from upstairs. Just from the sound of the illicit moans you figured out that whoever Leah had brought home with her, was very drunk and that she wouldn’t last very long. With that thought you went about my normal nighttime routine that you’d fallen into during your time in England, by the time you’d gotten through it and fallen into bed the incessant sound coming from the room next to yours seemed to have ceased.

You got up at your normal time the following morning, ignoring the small headache you had from the combination of the glass of whiskey you’d had at dinner the night before and the lack of sleep you’d gotten. Climbing down the stairs in your pyjamas and with a mess of curls that you couldn’t really be bothered with taming this early in the morning and making a beeline straight to the coffee machine. It was when you were about halfway through your first cup of coffee for the day and second slice of toast that you heard the ruckus from upstairs, that you’d patiently been waiting for. You kept your eyes on the papers that youd had been trying to read, yesterdays copy that Leah had gotten from the shops on her way home from training. As much as Leah had tried to interest you in her beloved news, you had no interest. You waited about another minute before you were rewarded with the sound of two sets of pattering feet coming down the staircase.

“Was I seriously such a bad lay you can’t remember my name?”

Ten seconds later you were blessed with the sight of the girl that Leah had brought home from the night before, making her way down the stairs, half dressed and trying to tug her dress that left hardly anything to the imagination and struggling to pull her shoes on whilst Leah tried to grab for her.

“Lina, fuck, Lila, I’m sorry, you were great.”

The girl stopped at the foot of the stairs, glaring up at Leah. It was like watching a sitcom, except this was real life and it was all unravelling horrifically in front of your eyes.

“My fucking name is Lisa, if you gave to shits you’d know that. Fucking athletes.”

The girl turned back around, batting away at Leah’s hands that were trying to grab for her wrists. The girl made it to the front door, bringing her middle finger up towards Leah and slamming the front door behind her.

Leah stayed paused in front of the door for a few seconds before muttering,

“Good morning and good fucking riddance.”

She trudged her way into the kitchen, walking straight to the kettle and starting it, one of the things you’d learnt about Leah whilst staying with her was that the woman was hardly functional without her morning coffee and you couldn’t expect her to get anything done without her having consumed her beloved caffeine.

“Is that how all of your one night stands end?”

There was cheek in your voice, something you weren’t apologetic for but a little bit scared of, this was uncharted territory for you and Leah. You had heard her have girls over, she kept it fairly quiet though, sneaking them in well after you were supposed to be asleep and sneaking them out in the middle of the night or waiting for you to go on your morning run before disposing of them.

“Not normally, no.”

Leah’s voice held a little bit of humour, but mainly shock, her body language still reflecting her complete disbelief over what had just happened.

“Who would have thought, the mighty Leah Williamson being humbled so early in the morning. Forgetting her name? That’s amateur shit.”

Leah looked up at you, her eyes hooded with disapproval of your words but also not outright denying your words.

“We were both so drunk, I’m not even certain she gave me her name. She was a good lay but god was she whiny, glad she’s gone.”

Leah finished preparing her coffee and sat down in the seat beside you at the kitchen table. Tugging the paper she knew you had no interest in reading over to her side of the table so she could actually read it.

“How do you know that she wasn’t just whiny because you were a shit lay.”

You didn’t even know where that cockiness had come from, you bit your lip as your far older, and scarier teammate looked up from her paper at you, a little bit of a smirk playing across her face.

“Trust me honey, I’m not the problem and half of London could confirm that.”

You rolled your eyes at Leah, taking another bite of your toast and watching her very quickly become infatuated with whatever she’d stumbled upon in the papers. You took a sip of your coffee before saying anything, letting her words sit in the room and mellow out.

“Doesn’t count if you are fucking them all when their drunk, intoxication increases the amount of endorphins your brain is producing Williamson, so science says that even if you are a good lay, half of what those girls are feeling is the alcohol.”

Leah didn’t look up from her paper, but smirked as soon as the words left your mouth, giving you enough of an indication that she’d heard your words. She finished her page, taking her time reading over the words whilst you sipped dutifully from your mug. When she finished her page she flipped over to the next one, but looked up at you, her head cocked just a little bit.

“Baby, trust me, alcohol or not I’m the best lay any of those girls have had, there’s a reason why my phone is always buzzing.”

It was something that you’d noticed in your weeks at Leah’s house, whether you were sitting on the couch watching a movie together or eating dinner, her phone was always vibrating and she was always staring down at it, typing furiously like a six year old and any time you tried to ask her about it she always brushed you off.

“Is that not just because you go for the straight ones though?”

Leah choked on the sip of her coffee that she’d taken during the brief break of time between her previous words and your rebuttal. She swallowed her coffee before letting out a chesty laugh, there was condescension in it though, something unknown hidden behind it.

“Straight or not they’re all screaming my name honey.”

Leah’s voice held so much confidence, it was entertaining. Listening to her talk herself up so much, you couldn’t help but try and take her down a peg or two.

“Yeah screaming your name on the way out the door when you forget their name.”

You finished your breakfast, standing up and taking your dishes to the sink and washing them off, not taking your eyes off of Leah for a second, even whilst you stacked your dishes in the dishwasher.

“Sweetheart, I’m telling you right now, that if you got lucky enough to have me, then you’d be screaming my name all the same.”

You rolled your eyes at Leah, staying composed in front of the woman.

“So cocky Williamson, the self obsession really must be getting to your head.”

You sat yourself on the kitchen counter, watching as Leah washed her own dishes and loaded them up next to yours before turning to look at you. Normally Leah had a significant height advantage over you, but with the height of the counter you were sitting on you were set face-to-face with her.

“It’s not cockiness sweetheart, it’s self awareness. I’m a good lay, I’ve been told it many times by many different women, sober and not sober. You don’t have to hide behind the jealousy, you wanna go don’t you? Can’t really blame ya, everyone wants a bite.”

You rolled your eyes effortlessly at Leah, trying your very hardest to obtain all of the composure you’d held. You shoved her playfully on the shoulder, more as a warning than anything, because if she stayed in your personal space bubble much longe4 then you weren’t sure if you’d be able to uphold your facade anymore.

“It’s cute that you think I’m into you, considering you don’t even know who or what I’m into.”

Leah smirked at you, licking her lips as she reentered your personal space bubble, practically confining you to your spot on the counter, her hands placed on either side of your body, gripping onto the counter and looking at you with a little sparkle in her eyes.

“Tobs told me that you dated Sonnett, so I know that you aren’t straight and she told me that you're single, so that ticks those boxes. You dated Sonny, which means you have a thing for attractive blondes with a personality, I think I tick those boxes.”

You rolled your lips between your teeth before biting down on the bottom one, mainly for show more than anything.

“Bold of you to assume that you have a personality and you're attractive. It’s cute that you think you’ve got a shot.”

Leah smirked, toying her tongue between her teeth and rolling it between her lips.

“Don’t I?”

You knew where this was going, and it wasn’t that you weren’t interested, because you definitely were. But you also knew Leah’s reputation. She didn’t do relationships, she was a casual sex person and there was nothing wrong with that, but you weren’t interested in that. You also knew she was riding on her own endorphin high now, a mixture of post sex haze and hangover that you couldn’t trust.

“Baby, I’m not interested in casual sex, something Tobin should have told you. I liked Sonny, but she was a casual sex girl and I’m not doing that again, so you can have your fun with your walk of shame girls and I’ll have my fun, okay?”

You were mocking her a little bit, giving her a fake pout that she was clearly offended by. You hoisted yourself off of the bench before she could say much more, bounding towards the stairs and running back to your room to throw on my training gear.

The topic wasn’t brought up for a few more weeks, you let Leah bring her girls into the house at whatever time she pleased and Leah did her best to ignore the yearning that had developed in her gut for you.

It was all fine, all going well until you’d managed to get yourself injured. You’d had a really good run, becoming a starter on the team and scoring a few goals in some important games. Until a Chelsea player had taken your ankles out from under you and done some ligament damage, it wasn’t anything major, a few weeks at most, but you’d been recommended to wear a boot for the first few weeks, just to make sure you weren’t putting any unnecessary pressure on your foot. You hadn’t minded to begin with, but in a very short amount of time you became very frustrated, with the boot, with not playing soccer, with being sidelined without a definitive time to when you’d be back. You very quickly went from being the bubbly, happy teammate to being someone that the girls had to walk on eggshells around. Everyone took notice of your sudden mood change, but it was clear none of them knew exactly how to tackle it, none of them knew you all that well considering you were new to the club, besides Leah.

She’d tried approaching you a few times, at training, in the rehab centre, at home. Yet every single time you’d shut her down with some kind of false sarcasm, a laugh and the insistence you were fine. She was getting sick of it, getting sick of having to watch you repetitively deny help from anyone. Your attitude towards yourself and other people was shit and she could tell it was really affecting you.

She’d just gotten back from training one night, you’d opted out considering that you had done your rehab in the morning, using the excuse that you wanted to talk to some of your US teammates on a organised skype call. When Leah had gotten home the house was silent, something that she’d come to find abnormal since you’d moved in. There was always some background noise, the sound of the tv, or your music filling the house. Yet, when she walked through the door, slinging her bag onto one of the hooks near the door, she heard absolutely nothing.

She tiptoed through into the kitchen, her eyes searching the communal space before locating you. You were sitting on the sofa, looking down at your laptop, completely and utterly absorbed by whatever you were looking at and either purposely ignoring Leah or too enraptured by whatever was on your scream to have noticed her.

“Y/n.”

Leah’s words were enough to break you from your daze and when you turned to look at her Leah recognised the red rims that were painted along your waterline and the semi dried tear tracks on your face.

“Sorry, fuck, I was supposed to sort out dinner, give me a second and I’ll get it started.”

You were reaching for your crutches almost immediately, time having slipped away from you in Leah’s absence, Leah’s words stopped you though.

“No, don’t worry about it, we’ll order in, just stay sitting.”

Leah smiled at you, walking over towards the couch and picking up your crutches from your hands and placing them down on the floor, before sitting down on the couch beside you. She left enough space that you weren’t physically touching but stayed close enough that you could feel her presence.

“Is everything alright, Y/n?”

It was uncharted territory between the two of you, Leah had seen you upset, she’d been the one who’d had to drive the two of you home after doing your ankle and it hadn’t been pretty. But you’d never allowed her in, never allowed her to see you emotionally vulnerable besides that, and even when you’d done your ankle you’d tried your hardest to keep your composure, until you were lying in your bed that night by yourself and you let it all out. Leah could hear your sobs from the other side of the wall, just as you could hear the sound of the moans of whatever woman she’d booty called that night to help her deal with the itch in her body that came every time she had to watch her team take the pitch without her.

“Alex called, San Diego is trading me, so when my loan is over I’m going straight to Angel City. They said that they weren’t prepared to deal with ankle problems, that it’s for the best and that when the official trade period comes I’ll be gone. Angel City is going to honour my loan, until the season ends and then I have to go back home but I won’t even be going back home.”

Leah did her best to remember the basic American geography she’d learnt in highschool, trying to map out the two points on a map.

“Angel City’s based in Los Angeles isn’t it? You won’t be that far away, it’ll be a two hour drive.”

Leah’s voice fell on deaf ears, you were too busy biting down on your lip to even think about what she was saying. Because yes, technically she was right, it wasn’t like you were being traded to the other side of the country, but you’d been playing for San Diego for the whole of your senior career, it was your home, and they were just pawning you off like any other player.

“Plus, aren’t Christen, Ali and Alyssa at Angel City?”

You could feel more tears stemming in your eyes, you looked up in an attempt to conceal them, not wanting to embarrass yourself any further in front of your captain.

“Leah, you don’t get it. How would you feel if Arsenal had traded you when you’d done your ACL? San Diego has had me since I was 16. If I am going home I don’t want to go home to anywhere but there, I don’t want to have to play anywhere other than San Diego, the wave is my home, Alex is my fucking home and they are just turning me away because I’ve had some ankle problems. So what’s the point in me even putting the effort into fucking doing this recovery if even when I do it I’m going home to nothing.”

You’d left Leah a little bit speechless. She thought about it, thought deeply about putting herself in your shoes, something she’d never really done and she got what you were saying.

“So don’t go home, stay here.”

Your eyes looked at Leah, filled with something she couldn’t even try to pin down.

“Because Arsenal is really interested in having to deal with bidding for me and taking my contract. They probably want me even less than fucking San Diego does right now.”

Leah was a little bit shocked by the amount of aggression behind your words, never having seen this side of you, it hurt her heart a little bit.

“Turn around.”

Your eyebrows furrowed at Leah’s random request.

“Excuse me?”

“Turn around, back facing my chest.”

It took you a few seconds to realise she was completely serious, and hell, what did you have to lose at this stage? You did as she’d asked and jolted slightly as her hands found their way to your shoulders, starting to very gently massage into the tense skin across your back. Leah was shocked to feel the sheer amount of tension that must have built up over the past few weeks across your shoulders, clearly you’d been pushing down your feelings for a little bit too long.

“Arsenal loves you, the whole team loves you, if you wanted to stay you’d be very welcome. Ankle injury or not, if the Wave valued you, they wouldn’t have traded you, so I know it sucks but if they really valued you as a player they would keep you, they clearly don’t and you deserve better than that.”

It was unnerving to you how good Leah’s hands felt, rubbing gently across your back, slowly diffusing the mounds of knots that had developed across the surface of your back and shoulders.

“Do they teach you how to massage in adultery school?”

It was a weak joke that had Leah snickering just a little bit.

“Y’know that I’m not the heartless playgirl that everyone paints me out to be. I like sex, sure. But that doesn’t mean I’m not a human with functioning feelings, I still care for people, I care for you.”

Her words made you feel a little bit guilty, because you had kind of pictured her that way in your head, the woman had a girl in her bed almost every night. You couldn’t help but hear the vulnerability and honesty in her words though and you wanted to believe her words, or you wanted her to explain her words to you.

“Your hands feel good, really good.”

You could feel Leah smirking from her spot behind you on the couch.

“They’re good for more than massages.”

Her words were murmured, meant for you, not that there was anyone else in the room to hear them. At her words you were turning yourself on the couch, so you were face to face with the blonde. She was staring back at you with hooded eyes and a faint smirk on her eyes. Maybe if you hadn't been so emotional you wouldn’t have felt your breath catch in your chest as you took her in. Maybe if she hadn't been smirking at you in the ‘I dare you’ way, you wouldn’t have leant in. Maybe if she’d never gotten the opportunity to put her hands on you in the first place she never would have gotten so greedy as to have them back on you. Maybe if none of it had happened you both wouldn’t have leant in to kiss, or maybe it still would have happened.

The kiss was sweet, soft and tender. Leah pulled me gently into her lap, pulling me up and over so you were straddling her hips, giving you a little bit of leverage in the kiss.

“We can’t turn back once we do this, are you sure you want to?”

Leah’s words were murmured against your lips, as she took a little break to get her point across.

“We’ll figure it out afterwards, I just need to feel something, I need to feel loved.”

Leah’s forehead nodded against your own.

“Hold on.”

You didn’t have enough time to comprehend her words before she was hoisting you both up off the couch and towards the stairs.

“Leah, your knee.”

You murmured the words into her neck as you approached the steps, you didn’t want her to put you down but you also didn’t want her to hurt herself.

“It’s fine, I’m back in a few weeks anyways, it’s back to normal now.”

You were surprised when, with much ease Leah managed to get the both of you up the stairs without much struggle, her beelining directly towards her room. She very quickly sat the two of you down on her bed, resuming the kiss you had both previously been occupied with. Her lips were soft, everything about how she was treating you was so uncharacteristically gentle for you and you loved it, loved how she was accommodating you.

“Lee.”

Your words had Leah’s eyes cracking open quickly, a little bit of fear painted across her clear blue eyes.

“Yes, sweet?”

Her voice was so kind, practically dripping with tenderness.

“Need you to touch me, please.”

Leah smiled against my lips.

“Mm, where do you need me?”

Normally, you probably would have felt self conscious having to admit something like that, but with Leah everything felt different, you just didn’t feel the normal insecurity that came from sex.

“Fuck, pussy, please.”

Leah smirked again against your lips.

“Because you asked so nicely.”

Leah’s hands travelled down to the waistband of your sweatpants, tugging down under your ass, and once you’d hoisted yourself up, down and your right foot with ease. The left one was a little bit harder, with the moon boot and just as she’d been about to undo the velcro to remove the boot completely you stopped her.

“Just leave it, please, I just need you.”

Leah was smirking wildly at request, forgetting your sweatpant leg and letting her hand trail back up to the edge of your panties, a black lace thong that was one of your favourites. Your arms find their way over Leah’s shoulders, tangling at the back of her neck as her lips attach to your neck in synchronised harmony with her fingers finally making contact with your heat. You moan shamelessly as Leah brushed your panties to the side and works her fingers in and out of your wetness, her thumb finding its way to your clit and one of her fingers making its way down to the source of your wetness.

“So wet baby, all for me?”

Leah’s words vibrated against the skin of your neck, a place that she had busied herself with littering little marks along, trying to figure out which spot got the most sinful noises to leave your mouth.

“Fuck, yes.”

Leah smirked a little bit more, absolutely drunk off of the feeling that she had you in her arms, not some random girl that she didn’t care about.

“Mm, you feel so good sweet, can I finger your precious hole, is that something you want?”

She was hiding the question of consent in her words, something that was a major requirement for Leah, she might have been a bit of a nymphomaniac but that didn’t mean she didn’t have rules for herself, one of them was to always ask for consent.

“Fuck, please Leah, please.”

Your moans and pleads were enough consent for Leah, allowing her to very gently work one of her fingers into your pussy, slowly working in each knuckle. You were desperate though, pushing yourself down against her finger, aching for more.

“Leah.”

The word was murmured out between moans as Leah found your pulse point and bit down on it, soothing the bite with her saliva and gentle licks.

“Yes, pretty girl?”

Leah had quickly realised that you liked praise, and whatever little nicknames that she could form off the top of her head.

“More, please, harder.”

Leah bit her lip at your words, it took every bit of self control she had not to cum right there on the spot.

“So desperate baby girl, you're doing so well for me aren’t you, I think I can give you some more.”

Leah, slid another one of her fingers into your hole, when she felt no resistance she started to very gently move her fingers in and out of you, searching for that certain spot and when she had located it, gently curling her fingers against it. The sounds that left your mouth were hellish enough for even the devil to find them sinful. Leah resonated in it, bathed in the sound of your pleasure as she continued her assault of your neck.

When she could feel you beginning to clench against her fingers she placed the pad of her thumb against your clit, pushing the hood of it back to give her full access to the sensitive nub.

“Le-Leah, fuck, fuck, I’m so close.”

Leah nodded into your neck, gently brushing her finger against your spot and pumping her fingers just a little bit harder into you, elated at the way your hips met her fingers on every single thrust, your juices dripping all over Leah’s sweatpants.

“Cum whenever you're ready sweetheart, go ahead.”

It didn’t take you long, a few more swipes from Leah’s finger against your clit before you were catapulting over the edge of pleasure. Leah felt you clench tightly around her fingers and when she did he gently laid your body down against her pillows, withdrawing her fingers but replacing them with her mouth, pressing her tongue gently to your hole and coaxing you through the shakes and spasms. When you finally did come down you tried pushing Leah’s head away, frightfully aware of how sensitive you had become, but Leah continued her ministrations.

“Lee, fuck.”

You could feel your body arching up against the sheets once again, your arousal already building up again as Leah very gently laid her tongue out against your pussy. She pushed her hand up to your mouth.

“Suck.”

You obeyed her, letting her push the two fingers into your mouth and being blessed with the taste of your own pleasure against your tongue. You sucked Leah’s fingers dry as she continued to suck and lick her way across your pussy, like she was a starved woman.

“One more pretty girl, give me one more.”

Her wish was your command. You relaxed against the pillows, allowing yourself to feel every single little detail of what she was doing. You were a goner as soon as she started to suck on your clit, it was over sensitive from the previous orgasm and it didn’t take you very long to build back up to the edge again.

“Leah, fuck, Leah.”

Leah seemed to understand what you were saying, without you saying it.

“Come pretty girl, I’m here, I’ve got you, I’m here, you're safe.”

Another suck to your clit and you were done. Leah very gently lapped up your juices whilst you came down shakily from your high. Once she’d lapped it all up she clawed her way up to you, meeting you in another soft kiss, her tongue invading your mouth and giving you another taste of yourself. She collapsed down on the pillows beside you, one of her arms coming to rest around your torso as she tugged her own sweatpants off, which were now soaked in your juices.

You were spent, splayed across her pillows and Leah was certain she’d never seen a more perfect sight.

When she got up to go and fetch some supplies you groaned.

“Don’t leave me.”

Leah smiled sadly at your response, it was clear that you had been feeling alone for a while now, and now that she knew it she wasn’t going to let you feel that way, ever again.

“I’m not leaving sweet, I’m just going to fetch a few things, I’ll be back in a minute, I promise.”

She finished her statement by pressing a gentle kiss to your hairline, before getting up from the bed and making her way down her stairs, as fast as she could whilst staying at a safe pace.

When she returned to her bedroom you were in the exact same position, orgasm drunk, splayed across her sheets. She’d managed to retrieve your crutches, two glasses of water, a granola bar and a warm face cloth. You groaned as she got you to sit up against the pillows, she didn’t want to disturb you but she also knew there were some things that had to do, just to make sure that you felt better.

“C’mon sweet girl, take some sips of the water for me.”

You rolled your eyes at Leah, her fussing over you was something you hadn’t expected. She has tasked herself with the job of undoing your boot, removing your sweatpants and replacing them with a pair of her sleep shorts.

“More than that, the whole glass, please, and the granola bar.”

You rolled your eyes at her, you’d very discreetly tried to put the glass back down on your bedside table after taking two measly sips but Leah didn’t seem to be having a bar of it.

“Who would’ve known Leah Williamson would be such a mother hen.”

Leah looked at you, completely dead pan.

“I take aftercare very seriously, if you don’t feel safe or well then I would want you to tell me, I know what we just did wasn’t exactly intense but sex should always feel good, and if it didn’t I’d want to know.”

There was so much care in Leah’s words, and even if she was only a few years older than you, you suddenly felt like the age gap was so much bigger than that.

“Leah, I feel safe and good, you were perfect.”

She nodded, seemingly happy with your answer and returning to her task. She was so gentle with your ankle when she finally did undo the velcro, gently lifting it up and the sweatpants off of it before strapping it back into the boot and gently lifting a pair of her shorts over your ass. It was perfect and nothing that you’d imagined with Leah, you’d imagined her being cocky and showy, everything about her. But in this moment she was so vulnerable, so tender and warm and it made you feel so guilty for ever thinking anything else of her.

After she’d watched you consume the water and granola she’d seemed to become a little bit more at ease, changing quickly into a pair of sleep shorts and taking off her hoodie, substituting it for just a sports bra, so she was matching with me. After she was done getting dressed she slipped into the sheets beside you, one of her arms finding its way around your bare torso immediately, the skin on skin contact sending shivers up your spine.

“You are so loved y/n/n, here or back at home, there are so many people around that would do anything for you.”

Leah’s words were murmured into your ear as she threaded her fingers into your hair, tugging lightly on the hairs at the nape of your neck.

“M’ sorry that you didn’t get anything in return.”

Leah shushed you as soon as the words left your mouth.

“Hush, I don’t need anything, knowing that you felt good is all I need.”

There was so much sincerity in her words that it made you crumble just a little bit.

“You're not a heartless playgirl bitch and I’m sorry if I ever made you think that I thought of you that way. You are fucking perfect and just as good as you had said.”

Leah laughed a little bit from her spot behind you, the warmth of her breath against your neck making the hairs along your body stand up.

“I’m not too bad, huh?”

You flipped over in the bed, so you were face to face with her.

“I don’t want to be one of your one night stands who’s name you forget.”

Leah rolled her eyes, but when she realised the genuinity behind your words her eyes softened.

“Good, because I don’t want that either, y/n Williamson sounds pretty good, if you ask me.”

You snorted effortlessly at her.

“Wow a proposal on night one, do you do that to all of your bedmates to charm them, Williamson?”

Leah smirked, pressing her lips to your own.

“No, I think you’d have to be the first, what did you say about endorphins again, they must be getting to my head or something.”

You leaned in to stop her stupid babbling, pressing your lips to hers to silence her.

“I’ll never forget your name and I’m never letting you feel alone again, I promise.”

You smiled against her lips, so tied up in the serenity you were feeling, the peace away from everything that was going on in your life.

“I could never feel alone when I’m with you Leah Williamson.”

#woso #woso community #leah williamson #marry me rn #arsenal wfc #leah williamson is mom #leah williamson is mother #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson is boyf #leah williamson imagine

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ereardon · 3 months

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Before I Knew [Jake Seresin x Reader] Chapter Four

A Jake Seresin unexpected pregnancy fic

Overview: On your first night after moving to San Diego to spend more time with your brother Bob, you unknowingly have a one night stand with his teammate Jake Seresin. For the first time in his whole life, Bob has a closely knit friend group and you’re desperate not to rock the boat. But an unexpected and unplanned pregnancy upends your world, forcing you and Jake closer together, against Bob’s wishes. What will happen when you find yourself actually falling for the father of your unborn child?

Pairing: Jake Seresin x Reader; Bob Floyd x Sister!Reader

Warnings: Pregnancy, cursing, eventual smut, alcohol, gyno visit

Chapter summary: Bob finds out the pregnancy; Y/N gives Jake and Bob an ultimatum

Masterlist here; previous chapter here

The Barbie movie said it right. It was always baby dolls.

You were one of the girls who religiously carried around a baby doll. Buckled it into the seat next to you on car rides. Made sure to change its faux diaper. Prepared empty bottles of “formula” for feedings. So you had been sure you wanted to be a parent.

But when reality hit you like a ton of bricks, the fear overrode that sense of longing.

What if you weren’t enough to be a mom?

***

Bob didn’t come home that night. So he didn’t hear you crying on the floor of the shower after Jake ran out. By the time he arrived back at the house in the late morning, hair ruffled and nowhere near his normal slicked back military neatness, you had pulled yourself together. Or at least, as together as was possible.

“Hi Ducky,” he said, slipping through the front door, hanging his jacket on the hanger to his left. “How was your night?”

You shrugged. “Fine. Went to bed early.”

Bob paused. Then, “Did Jake stop by? I think I remember him saying he would.”

“Yeah, he did.”

“And?” There was an inflection of expectation in his voice. Leading.

“He stopped by, saw I was alive, and left. That was it.”

Bob frowned. “He just left?”

“Ran away, to be specific.”

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen Hangman run.” Bob cocked an eyebrow. “You must have scared him.”

“You have no idea.”

***

Every time Bob went out with the team you made an excuse to stay home. You had a headache. There was a new episode of The Bachelor on. You wanted to spend some time filling out job applications.

Each time, Bob would hesitate. You saw the wheels turning in his head. Part of him wanted to stay, keep you company, make sure you were alright. The other part of him was desperate to be part of the group. To see his friends. You wanted that part of him to win.

You took Bob’s truck to the doctor. She squeezed jelly onto an ultrasound wand and you held your breath as the machine beeped to life. “There,” she said, pointing to a tiny fleck in an otherwise empty uterus. “That is your baby.”

You let out a sigh. Not one of relief. Nor one of fear. Just a sigh. A part of you had been waiting to see it to know that it was real. Five positive pregnancy tests felt like unconfirmed trash until you could see it with your own two eyes.

“The baby is measuring at eight weeks,” the doctor said. “Have you started on prenatals?”

You looked down toward the end of the exam table. “I’m not sure if I’m having the baby.”

“Oh.” Silence filled the room. She rolled back on her stool. “Well, let’s discuss your options.”

***

When you were five, you had a tiny stuffed penguin that your mom bought you at the grocery store near the flower section. The penguin went everywhere with you: to kindergarten in your backpack, to the park, it got buckled into the car seat next to you, it sat on its own chair at the dinner table.

And then one day, it was gone. You were inconsolable. Your mother, trying her hardest to put her foot down, said that you lost too many toys so she wouldn’t buy a replacement. You spent three days crying into your pillow at night, inconsolable about the penguin.

On the fourth day, you were lying down to go to bed when the door to your room squeaked open. Light poured in, Bob pushing up his large glasses on his slim nose. “Ducky?” he whispered.

You sat up, wiping at the tears on your cheeks. “What?”

“Surprise.” He pulled an identical stuffed penguin out from behind his back. Your eyes went wide, a smile plastered over your face. You held out your hands and Bob stepped forward, placing the stuffed penguin into your arms. You held it tightly, vowing to never let it go.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

Bob smiled. “You’re welcome.”

You fell asleep cradling the penguin. In the morning, your mom asked where you found it.

Bob shrugged. “Must have been under her bed.”

Your mother looked at the two of you. You were oblivious, happily eating your cereal. Bob was quiet, reserved. But when Friday rolled around and she offered to take him to the comic book store that he had been begging to go to, he declined. “Why?” she asked.

“I can’t afford a new comic.”

“You had ten dollars not two days ago,” your mother countered. “What did you do with all of that allowance?”

Bob looked over at you, playing in the corner. “She was sad.”

Your mother’s eyes softened. She pulled Bob into a hug. “You’re a good brother,” she said softly. “Come on, I’ll buy you two comic books.”

***

You had hid the evidence well enough. All of the pregnancy tests were in the trash wrapped in toilet paper. The clinic didn’t have Bob’s address listed in their file.

It was the fish tacos that did it.

Bob had stopped by a food truck on his way home from North Island, and your stomach growled as you tore into the white paper container of tacos, snapping them up greedily. But intense hunger was followed by a wave of unmistakable nausea and in a second you were out of your chair, running to the kitchen sink, throwing up the remains of the tacos with a loud gag. Bob came running into the kitchen, eyes wide. “Y/N?” he asked softly. “Are you alright?”

You ran the water, rinsing out your mouth, pushing everything down the disposal before straightening up and wiping at your lips with a paper towel. “Yeah, sorry. Think I got a bad batch of tilapia.”

He frowned. “Food poisoning doesn’t usually come on that fast. Are you feeling alright?”

“Yeah I’m fine. Maybe I’ll just finish dinner later.”

“OK, sure.”

“I’m going to go lay down.”

The nausea passed, as it usually did. By the time the sun was setting, you felt fine enough to wander into the kitchen, head stuck inside the fridge, frowning at the different layers of scents emanating. Bob’s voice startled you. “Something’s wrong.”

You jumped before shutting the fridge, hand on your heart. “Bobby, you scared the shit out of me!”

“No secrets, Y/N,” he said. “We’ve always been honest with each other. Since we were kids. You and me, against the world. You can tell me anything.”

“I’m scared,” you murmured.

“What is it?” In the moonlight streaming diagonally through the windows, he looked worried. Bob worried was a sight you knew well. He wore an air of concern in most situations. Since he was a child he had been nervous, worried, cautious. An old man in a young boy’s body. You loved him for that.

“I’m pregnant,” you whispered. The truth felt like releasing every gas bubble in your stomach all at once. You felt weightless.

And then gravity hit, and practically splattered you to the ground. Bob’s voice was no longer shaky. It was lower. Practically a growl. But perfectly crisp and decisive. “Whose is it?”

You should have known that was his next question. You should have been prepared. But instead, you said, “Jake’s.”

All of the air was sucked up by Bob in that instant. As if he were heaving it all in, preparing to breathe fire. You watched embers burn in his eyes. “I’m going to kill him.”

“It’s not his fault.”

“Then whose fault is it?” he roared and you staggered back, afraid of him for perhaps the first time in your life. “Fucking Christ, Y/N. You’ve really done it this time. Everything else, I could have handled for you. No job? I’ll help you find a job. No money? You can live with me. You need someone to proofread an essay? I’m happy to. But this?” He tossed his arms into the air. “What the fuck are you going to do?”

“Be a mom,” you whispered.

“You’re not prepared to be a parent,” he spat and you felt a flood of tears rush to your eyes. “You’re still a child.”

“No I'm not!” you countered. “So stop treating me like one.”

“Then stop acting like one!” Bob yelled and the sound reverberated along the empty walls. “You’re not ready for this,” Bob said, his voice lower now but still as fierce and hard.

“It doesn’t matter if I’m ready or not,” you whispered. “I have to be. That’s the end of the story.”

“You’re going to ruin this child’s life,” Bob said. His words cut. Never in twenty-three years had Bob said or done anything as painful as those words felt.

You let the tears fall from where they had started to well up on your eyelid. “No, Bobby, I’m not,” you whispered. “And if that’s what you think, then maybe I really am on my own.”

You were out the door before you realized you didn’t have a car of your own. You had no one to call.

Just one address that was seared in your memory.

By the time your Uber pulled up to Jake’s house, the rain had turned from a drizzle into practically a hurricane. You scampered out of the backseat and down the driveway, taking shelter under the porch as you hesitated before ringing the bell, lips practically blue from the cold.

Jake tugged open the door wearing a pair of gray sweatpants and no shirt. His green eyes widened as he took you in: drenched to the bone in a pair of pajamas, eyes ringed red from crying, no purse or bag, just a pair of flip flops on your feet.

“Y/N,” he murmured. “What—”

“I told Bob.” Your voice cracked.

Jake gulped. “Come inside.”

He held open the door. You were as sober as they came this time. Last time everything had been a blur: your legs pressed against the back of the door as Jake’s lips suctioned onto your neck. Your bra flung on the couch, Jake’s jeans pooled in a puddle in the hallway. This time, you stood shivering in the foyer as Jake’s eyes roamed over you. Finally, after a moment, you said, “I’m freezing.”

“Oh, shit.” That sparked a mission for him. “Here.” Jake gestured down the hall toward the bedroom. You stepped inside, trailing water along the hardwood floor. In the bathroom, he leaned in, turning on the shower, feeling the temperature with an upturned palm. “I’ll leave some clothes on the bed,” he said. “There’s, uh, towels in the closet.”

“Thanks.”

Jake hesitated for a moment. Finally, he turned to go and you heard the door to the bedroom shut softly. The clothes Jake left on the bed were a pair of women’s pajama pants and an obvious men’s sweatshirt. You pulled them both on and wandered out into the hallway. Jake was pacing up and down the living room, bare feet slapping against the wood. He had pulled on a t-shirt that was tight across his chest. When you entered the room he looked up, startled. “Hey.”

“Hi.” You looked around. “Can I sit there?”

“Yeah, of course.” Jake couldn’t sit still. You perched on the edge of the couch and watched as he crossed the room incessantly, shaking his head, the thoughts rolling around in his brain.

“Seresin,” you snapped and he looked over. “Sit down, you’re making me nauseous.”

“Fuck,” he whispered, sitting on the ottoman, one leg tapping. He looked up. “Are you OK?”

You shook your head. “I don’t know.” “But, um, the baby?”

“The baby is fine,” you replied quietly. “It’s me that’s not doing so great.”

“Is it Bob?”

Tears welled in your eyes. Jake’s face went ashen. You realized that Jake may have been just as scared of Bob’s reaction as you were. “He still thinks of me as a child.”

Jake sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “He’s just being a brother,” he said quietly. “I understand.”

“He’s going to murder you,” you said, only half joking.

“Not the first time Floyd has hated me,” Jake replied. “And it won’t be the last.”

“What’s the beef between the two of you?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does.” You stood up. Now you were the one pacing, the legs of the borrowed pajama bottoms dragging around the floor. “He’s going to be the uncle of this child.” You paused. “And you’re the father. I need the two of you to get along.”

“I need a second to digest this all,” Jake whispered.

“It’s been two weeks. I think your decision is pretty clear,” you replied. Jake opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. You glanced at him, eyes dry from all the crying. “Can I stay here tonight?”

“Yeah, of course,” he said, standing up. “You can take my bed, I’ll stay out here.”

“Thanks.” You paused in the doorway. “Goodnight, Jake.”

“Goodnight, Y/N,” Jake said softly.

***

A pounding noise woke you from an uncomfortable sleep. You sat up in terror, sheets tangled up at your ankles as the pounding continued.

Then, “Hangman!” Bob’s voice was clear as day.

You staggered out of bed, throwing open the door from the bedroom just as Jake opened the front door and Bob stepped in, reaching for Jake’s shirt near his chest. You gasped and his eyes flitted over Jake’s shoulder, widening when he spotted you wearing Jake’s oversized sweatshirt.

“Keep your fucking hands off my sister,” Bob growled, his fist balled up in Jake’s collar as he stepped forward until the two men were nose to nose.

“Let go of him!” you cried and your voice rang out, thin, in the large living room. Bob’s grip on Jake remained. “Bobby! Please.”

His gaze turned to you, threatening to liquify your entire body with its intensity. “Go to the bedroom, Y/N. This is between me and Jake.”

“Except it isn’t,” you said. “I’m not going to pretend to know what the fuck is going on between you two, but it ends here. You’re either both in or you’re out.”

Bob’s hand dropped from Jake. “What do you mean out?”

“Out,” you repeated, tears springing to your eyes. “Out of my life.”

“Ducky.”

“Don’t Ducky me. This isn’t a game and I’m not a child. If anyone is being childish here, Bob, it’s you. Fighting to prove a point? What is punching Jake going to solve? It’s not going to undo the fact that we slept together.”

Bob’s fists tightened at his sides. “Don’t remind me.”

“I can do this without you,” you said quietly. “I don’t know how, all I know is that I can because I have to.” You turned to Jake. “I can do it without both of you. I just want to know – are you in or are you out?”

Please follow my library page @ereardonlibrary as that will largely serve as my tag list. Anyone I previous promised to tag is here:

@bobfloydsbabe @blue-aconite @wkndwlff @mamachasesmayhem @mandylove1000 @djs8891 @clancycucumber230 @rosiahills22 @buckysteveloki-me @kmc1989 @gigisimsonmars @eloquentdreamer @mjisbby @shanimallina87 @seresinslady @seresinhangmanjake @blackwidownat2814 @yanna-banana @bbyvanessaa @mrsjobarnes @midnightmagpiemama @ingoaliesitrust @rockbottomphilosophies-blog @iangiemae @joaquinwhorres @boiolay @sometimesanalice @spinning-away @mycobrakai1972 @xomrsalliej4787xo

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captainkirkk · 2 months

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✩ WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

All the fics I’ve read and really enjoyed in the past week-ish. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes. Please look at tags and warnings on ao3 before reading.

Shadowhunters

Enthrallment by smilebackwards

It does look a little bad, Parmela thinks, looking at it from outside. As more specialists had been called in for consultation, they’d decamped to one of the larger conference rooms—eschewing attendance at A, B, AB, & O: The Impact of Blood Type on Non Subject Specific Blood Magic, because this was vastly more interesting and potentially important—and there are a round dozen high-level warlocks clustered around Alec, poking at him with magic.

Or: Alec attends the Magical Inventions and Advances convention in hopes of recruiting warlocks for another Downworld Cabinet. The warlocks, however, are more interested—and concerned—by the blue magical aura following Alec around.

temporal fraternity by envysparkler

Damian clears his throat. “I require your assistance.”

The words come out easier with the benefit of practice and the knowledge that no one will remember them tomorrow. Today. Tomorrow-today.

The Umbrella Academy

cut me open and i still bleed red by aletterinthenameofsanity

Part 1 of the odds were never in our favor

Ben knows his fellow mentors pretty well, for how long he's spent here, behind the screens of the Games, watching as his tributes die.

Allison, from District One, has a way with the sponsors. Just a word placed here or there, stealthily dropped into conversation, and she can get her tributes the shit they need.

In his time as a Mentor, Klaus has developed a habit of drinking to get through the Games, and through the rest of his life, really- anything to avoid the truth of what's happening, the ghosts of the children he and Ben have sent to their deaths.

Very few people remember what Five’s name was before the Games. Caesar Flickerman and the Gamemakers nicknamed him that when he took out the entire Career Pack on his second day in the Arena.

Vanya’s the newest Mentor, the victor of the Seventy-Third Hunger Games.

Diego’s one of Ben’s oldest not-quite friends. A Victor from District Ten, he’d gone into the Games knowing how to kill an animal.

All the other Mentors Ben knows try never to get attached. Luther, on the other hand, doesn't forget a single name.

(A story of seven victors of the Hunger Games and the lives they live as Mentors.)

Danny Phantom

The Promised Land by redrobin1989

Danny Fenton has been running for years, from his abusive parents, from Vlad's experiments, from his freakish powers. He expected to be running his whole life until he found his way to a small town that felt like the home he'd never had.

M!ik

Study Dates Are Not Real Dates by StormySteady

A very important exam is coming up, and Asmodeus is trying his hardest to get Iruma and Clara to study for it. But his soulmates have other ideas.

Star Wars

Starlight, In All Its Forms by Soap_And_Lye

When Luke was eight, he was taken from his home on Tatooine and delivered into the hands of the emperor and his right hand.

When Luke was sixteen, he overheard the emperor's plans to steal a tiny Force sensitive child and saves him first, before being caught and dragged back to his masters' keeping.

When Luke was eighteen, he finds that same child on Gideon's cruiser, and spares both him and his family, including a silver clad Mandalorian.

And when Luke was twenty-four, he is captured by the Rebellion (captured or did he just let it happen? Really up for debate) and secretly sent as a prisoner to Mandalore, where Mand'alor Din Djarin rebuilds his planet and raises his son.

And the rest was history. Or the beginning.

Clone Wars

will you be an anarchist with me? by a_alene

Once the Kenobi floodgates are opened, they cannot be closed. Cody has apparently been keeping an itemized list of disagreements, and he is determined to tell Rex each and every one of them.

Kenobi refuses to listen to Cody’s input. Kenobi throws himself into battle with no regard for previously established battle plans. Kenobi uses the Force so recklessly and obviously that every undercover assignment is blown within the first few minutes. Kenobi is a hypocrite who berates Cody for sidestepping protocol, but flouts it himself at every opportunity.

CT-7567: bet you wish you had skywalker now

CC-2224: I wish for nothing but the cold embrace of space

Right. And he says Kenobi’s dramatic.

(Marshal Commander Cody and High General Obi-Wan Kenobi of the 212th cannot stand each other. Rex doesn't know why this is his problem.)

poetry is what you find (in the dirt in the corner) by fivecenturiesverse

(In which Cody becomes an anonymous poet after the war and his brothers find out.)

Rex launches forwards immediately and so does Bly, because he can admit to himself that he likes gifts. He likes gifts a whole lot more than Cody and Wolffe, anyway, who both act like martyrs who don’t need any material love. “Poetry, vod?” Bly asks, incredulous. “Cody’s right, you are going soft.”

“It’s by a clone,” Fox says, defensively, “it’s quite good, actually. For poetry. It made Sergeant Hound cry at the service.

#happy monday everyone xx #weekly fic round up #fic recs #my posts #sw recs #shadowhunters recs #m!ik recs #dp recs #tua recs #dc recs #misc recs #7 different fandoms on this round up and it doesn't even capture all the different fandoms i've been reading #just the ones containing fics i want to rec #goddamn

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sunlightmurdock · 2 months

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Ceasefire | 1.2 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader (18+)

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

Synopsis: Bradley Bradshaw is in San Diego, summoned to Top Gun for the first time. Commander “Hyde” Simpson is his flight instructor, and she doesn’t have time for schoolboy crushes.

Warnings: ex-husband!beausimpson, divorce, age gap (rooster is somewhere between 26-28, reader is 38), power imbalance between instructor and student aviator, swearing, slight angst at the end, smut, handjobs, teasing, riding and creampies that are never addressed again, sub!rooster, bondage, probably very inaccurate flight info

…

Eleven weeks have never felt quite so long. At the same time, the memory of seeing Bradley Bradshaw staring at you with that dopey smile still feels so fresh. In one week, classes will officially be over. Rooster will no longer be your student. It’s almost pathetic, the way you’re already miserable at the thought of not seeing his face when you walk in every morning.

Still, in this moment, he’s still here and frowning down at his flight manual. It’s a storming afternoon and the air stuff got canceled, but with Beau’s mood swings lately, class remains to be in session. You’re perched on the edge of your desk, waiting patiently for whichever one of your star pupils can answer your question first.

“Minimum total hydroplaning speed of the main landing gear tires inflated to 250 pounds per square inch is 140 knots groundspeed and, for nose gear tires inflated to 150 per square inch, is 110 knots. Ma’am.” Flipping his toothpick in his mouth and offering you a dimpled grin that proves he knows he’s correct before you tell him, Jake Seresin is a fraction faster than Natasha Trace, who sits directly behind him. It’s not the hardest question. They all should know it. It’s just the rain outside that even made you think of it.

Offering Jake a small smile and a curt nod, you open your mouth to confirm that he is once again correct. To his left, you can’t help but glance across at your favourite thing to look at in this bleak little teaching room. Only, he isn’t smiling at you.

He’s staring down at his NATOPs, brows drawn together in something between frustration and confusion. Maybe embarrassment. You can’t pretend that it isn’t your initial impulse to discredit Jake to save Bradley’s feelings — but you don’t. That’s not your job, and it’s not what you’ve worked so hard to do.

“Good work, Hangman.” You tell him calmly. Bradley doesn’t dare look up from the page. Not once. Rain pours on outside and he spends the entire afternoon glaring at the manual like he wants to rip it to shreds.

As you dismiss the class, the thought looms of this all being over soon. With just one more week to go, there are lots of decisions hanging heavy. Maybe that’s what is getting to him.

“Rooster, hang back. I need to speak to you.”

Instantly, you can tell that this was not the right move. He turns towards you, his face sullen and his eyes dark. Your brows draw together, closing the door behind the last of your students and shutting him in there with you. Alone, he remains just as closed off.

“Are you okay? — You seem kind of—“ One step forwards, you reach out for him with a gentle touch, in a way that could still be mistaken for professionalism if someone were to walk in on the two of you. But, the second your hand grazes his bicep, he shrugs it off.

“I’m fine,” He mutters, gaze turned towards the floor. His usual sunny disposition seems to have gone away with the weather. Your eyes draw into a stern squint. “Am I dismissed?”

“Dis— Okay. No, Bradshaw,” You pretend that one didn’t sting, squaring your shoulders and inhaling slowly, stepping closer so that he has no choice but to see you finally standing in front of him. “No, you’re not dismissed. If you want to start acting like this is about rank, then that’s fine by me. I want you to talk to me either way.”

A muscle in his jaw ticks. His eyes dart towards the door, and then back to you. Finally, you watch him soften. His fingertips graze the inside of your palm, choosing to look down at that exchange rather than at you.

“Could you come over tonight?”

“On official Navy business?” You tease, poking softly at his ribs through the fabric of his flight suit. All you’re offered in return is a weak smile.

He links his fingers gently through yours. Slightly more incriminating, if you were to be walked in on. Still, it tugs at your heart strings as he sighs in resignation. “Please, Hyde?”

“Of course,” You tell him, giving his palm a quick squeeze. “I’ll be over just after seven.”

He has to wait for you to finish up your work before you’re able to leave. By the time you find him, he has already worked out and showered, and he has been sitting in his room wallowing for about forty minutes.

“Talk to me,” Even with his mood, there’s nothing he can do but drape his arms around your waist and tuck his head into the soft curve of your neck as you straddle his hips. “That’s what couples do.”

There’s a moment of silence, but not the same as earlier. His hands find the small of your back, tugging you closer as he sighs against your shoulder. You know that this time he’s just finding his words. It’s almost enough, having you here in his bedroom, draped around him, ready to listen.

In the meantime, you inhale the fresh scent of his cologne and turn your face towards his temple, pressing your lips to his damp curls.

“I’m just in my head about graduation,” He settles finally, curling his fingers around your hips, pulling back to look at you. “I knew I wasn’t going to graduate at the top of the class, but — I’m starting to wonder if I even deserve to be up there with all of them. You know?”

Your fingers are soft as they card through his hair, your expression much softer than it should be as his instructor. His fingers can’t sit still, pulling you closer, fiddling with the hem of your shirt.

“Of course you do,” The answer comes instantly, without hesitation. It’s followed by a chaste kiss. He turns his head and sighs again, readying to protest. “You knew the answer today. Doesn’t matter if you can find it in the book before Hangman or not, you knew it.”

“How’re you so sure that I did?” He challenges, frowning back at you. As much as he wants to believe you’re telling him this because you really believe in him, there’s still a voice in the back of his head telling him that you’re just trying to pacify him by giving him what he wants to hear.

You squint back at him, smoothing your fingers through his freshly washed curls.

“Because I know you better than I know anyone in that class, I’ve flown with you,” You tell him softly. He hums as you kiss his cheek. “I know your instincts up there are better than anyone else. Even if the answer isn’t in your head right away, I know that when you’re up there, you would know what to do.”

With that, he sighs and leans his head back. His fingers flex nervously around your hips. With his eyes closed, you used the moment to catch him by surprise. He sucks in a sharp breath as your palm dips between the two of you and grinds against his cock through his shorts.

“I trust you. Up there, and down here.”

His mouth twitches slightly, his eyes softening as he tries to pull back from you. “Hyde… come on, I don’t need you to baby me.”

You smile back at him, giving a curt nod of your head as you brush your palm more firmly against him. The way his throat contracts when he’s trying not to give in to you prickles along your skin, a rush of excitement.

He closes his eyes as you lean in and suck softly at the freckle on the left side of his neck. Your lips trail tantalizingly slowly along his throat until finally he shivers at the feeling of your breath against his earlobe, “Okay. You want me to make you prove it?”

“Make me?” He breathes out, fingers balling into the fabric of your T-shirt, brows knitting together. Already, his cock is standing to attention through the fabric of his shorts.

“That’s right,” It’s a gentle coo, so soft and sweet that Bradley really isn’t expecting it at all when you tug hard at his hair with your other hand. He inhales sharply, catching your hips and pulling you against him. His cheeks flush red, his eyes blown wide and desperate. You’ve never seen a man beg without even opening his mouth before. “Close your eyes for me.”

Another thick swallow, his throat squeezing around nothing as he closes his eyes, his dark lashes brushing against his cheek.

He’s so pliant, giving himself up to your more than capable touch. Lulling him into calmness that he’s powerless to fight against as your mouth kisses at his chest, pushing at the hem of his t-shirt and helping him out of it.

“Contrary to what you might have heard from Hangman, or from Pete Mitchell,” Bradley bites at the inside of his cheek as you lick at his freshly exposed chest, nipping at his pectoral. Even with his eyes closed, he’s red and embarrassed by how hard his nipples are in the chilled room. “Being a good aviator isn’t about confidence.”

If you’re going to keep talking as you head further south, he’s going to struggle to keep listening. His hands follow you as you slip out of his lap and settle between his knees, your tongue trailing along his middle.

“Instinct is everything.”

Bradley balls his hands into his bedsheets, lips parting just slightly as you suck firm kisses into his taut abdomen.

“Lay down.” You order, and without question, he obeys by scooting back and laying down flat with his legs still over the edge and bracketing you.

“Lay back for me.” You say sweetly, he obeys. To your right, you find the brown leather belt that you’ve been eyeing. Still looped through his jeans, discarded onto the chair in the corner of the room. Rooster fidgets in front of you, waiting to feel your touch again. “You trust me, right, Rooster?”

“Of course.” He exhales, his answer instant.

You push yourself up and he peeks an eye open, watching you free the belt and turn back towards him. Your smile grows as you find him even more red-faced than before, staring right at you.

“Lift your hands and hold your wrists together for me.”

“Really?” He whispers, his voice thick. You nod sweetly, nodding for him to shift further up the bed. He complies wordlessly, pushing himself to the top of the bed and presenting his wrists for you. His eyes darken and his brows raise, watching you climb up the bed with his belt in your hands.

“Don’t pull too hard, you’ll be sore.” You warn him, looping the belt around his wrists and through the wooden slats in his headboard. He gasps softly as you pull the leather tight and guide it through the buckle.

“Fucking hell…” He breathes out, his voice an excited whisper.

After the soft leather is secured, his wrists fastened to his headboard, you take a minute to sit back and observe. He’s watching you with such abject trust, desperation and excitement all at once. His stomach is quivering with each breath, stretched tight by the way his arms are raised.

Your tongue dips out to wet your bottom lip as your fingers reach for him, walking along the length of his thigh. Leaning over him again, you dip forwards and press a soft kiss to his lips.

“What do you want?”

“I want you to be naked.” Rooster rushes out, shifting uncomfortably and glancing towards his tied hands. When his eyes flicker back to you, he breaks into a bashful smile. Your lips twitch, looking back at him.

“Okay,” You agree sweetly, reaching for the bottom of your t-shirt. He watches the way your eyes darken, filling with mischief as you pull it up just enough to expose the soft skin of your stomach, then hold it there. “You’re at a cruise altitude of 35,000 feet, how do you know how to calculate your descent?”

Three miles per distance per thousand feet in altitude. Your mouth twitches watching him do the math in his head while staring at the sliver of exposed skin under your shirt.

“35,000 minus the last three zeroes — uh, thirty-five. Thirty-five multiplied by three… a hundred and five.” You narrow your eyes quizzically as he stumbles through the math, knowing that it comes more easily to him than he’s able to tell you. You’ve not seen him personally land on a carrier, but you know he can. You know that he’s done it a hundred times over. “You’d start the descent 105 nautical miles from the destination, maintaining a speed of 300 Knots-Indicated air speed… and a descent rate of 1,500 to 2,000 feet per minute, with thrust set at idle.”

You smile back at him, peeling your shirt up and over your head. He exhales, eyes falling down to the black bra covering your tits. Forgetting himself for a moment, he moves to sit, the buckle of his belt knocking into the woods and reminding him of his predicament.

“Feet per minute,” You continue, reaching for your own belt, slipping the leather from the buckle and pausing. “If you land on the carrier right, how does the hornet hit the deck?”

“800 feet per minute.” He exhales. Your mouth twists into a grin as you pop open your belt buckle.

By the time that he has rid you of your clothes, his answers are especially fast and you’ve noticed that his wrists are growing red under the hold of the leather.

Standing on your knees, you crawl your way up your, now completely naked, boyfriend and turn. Straddling his abdomen, your naked core sits just out of his reach. His mouth falls open and a dismayed, needy sound slips out.

Having freed him of his own shorts and boxers just moment before, his cock is red and swollen, angry from the lack of attention. Settling yourself with a sly wiggle of your hips, you take his cock in both of your hands and cover as much as you can with your mouth.

Soaking his length with a generous amount of saliva, you hear his head fall back and hit the headboard as your hands start to stroke him. Long strides coat his shaft in spit, your hands twisting loosely left from right. From this way, the way you’re straddling him, you’ve got a front-row view to the way his thighs have started to tremble.

Furthering his dismay, he has a front-row seat to your soaked pussy, inches from his face, but just out of reach. Your hands are steady, just as calm and skilled as they are when you’re in the cockpit. Not too fast, just guiding him steadily closer to his orgasm. Letting your spit soak him, adding more to the mix, squeezing him firmly every now and again. Craning your neck so that you can lick and suck softly at his balls. His moans are strangled, agonizingly desperate from behind you.

When you finally decide to grace him with a firmer, faster touch, his moans are so jagged and eager that you know Hangman and Coyote must be able to hear him. The heels of his feet press into the mattress, his hips bucking eagerly into your hands.

He tugs hard at his restraints and winces behind you. With each delighted sound from your lips as they’re wrapped around him, his own voice is growing more and more strained. For the life of him, he just can’t keep still. He’s putty in your hands. This wouldn’t be the first time he has made a mess all over your hands, but today, that isn’t the plan.

“Hyde, don’t — please don’t — I’m so fucking close…”

You hum, hands already withdrawn. He writhes under you as you turn to face him.

“You can hold on a little longer for me, right baby?”

His voice is getting more strained as you squeeze your hands around his twitching cock and just as he is about to erupt you retract your hands leaving his chest huffing in frustration and near euphoria.

You shift, straddling his hips. His eyes go wide and round, lips parted as you situate yourself right over him and sink down just barely. Your soaked core just grazes him as you rock back and forth softly. His eyes follow the curve of your waist, the slight movement of your tits as you taunt him.

“Can wait a little longer for me, right?”

“Oh, fuck.” Rooster whimpers.

You lower yourself gently onto him, palms braced against his shivering chest as his tip notches into you. He gasps and turns his head towards the pillow, pulling hard at the restraint.

You lean all the way forwards, your naked tits pushing against his chest, your lips mouthing softly at his neck. “It’s okay, I’m gonna take care of you.”

Finally, he’s fully sheathed into you, and he sighs out in relief, dropping his head forwards to rest against the curve of your shoulders.

“I still wanna see you cum,” He pants out, groaning softly as you lift up and sink slowly back down on him, digging his heels into the mattress. “If I can’t do it, I still wanna see it.”

Your mouth twitches at the thought.

“Yeah, you want to watch me get off?” You grin, kissing across his cheek and finally at his mouth. He whines softly, watching you rocking your hips into his gently, grinding yourself into him.

“You have to stop talking or I’m gonna cum.” He mutters with a stiff shake of his head, his eyes flickering up to you as you giggle above him. You purse your lips and lean forwards, pressing a sweet kiss to the tip of his nose and then sit back.

He watches, every muscle in his chest and arms constricting as he watches you sit back on his thighs, all full of him, lifting your fingers and miming a zip across your lips, and then a lock at the corner of your mouth. Finally, even though all of his focus is on trying not to bust, his lips stretch into an amused grin.

You settle back into the rhythm of bouncing on him, bracing one hand back against his thigh as the other dips between your own legs.

The angle is just right, your orgasm ebbs closer but remains just out of reach as he watches helplessly, dazed by the glow of you.

From the first day he saw you, he’d never imagined he would be as lucky as to be at your mercy like this. The thought dawns him and his hips twitch, snapping up to meet yours.

“Christ— wait, slow down, wait— oh, fuck.”

You gasp sharply as he drives himself into you just once more from below before he’s spilling hot and fast into you, groaning and gasping out loud with little regard for who might hear him.

His deep groans are music to your ears as your fingers work feverishly at your clit to keep up. His mouth hangs open, still buried inside of you as he watches you come apart in front of him, your eyes closed and your chest heaving, his name on the tip of your tongue.

Finally, you collapse forwards against his chest, lifting off of him and kissing at his neck.

“Fuck…” He breathes out.

“You feel better?” You whisper, catching your breath as your nails rake along his stomach. He hums in response, kissing softly at your temple.

He sighs in relief as you pull the belt apart and free his wrists, stretching out his arms and rubbing at the reddened skin.

“I can’t stay, Taylor’s getting dropped off home at nine.” You kiss his mouth softly, already starting to push off of his chest. He just groans and rolls onto his front, disgruntled by the idea of not having you in his bed tonight. “I’ll see you tomorrow at six?”

“Right. What should I wear?”

“A little more than you’re wearing now, preferably.”

He chuckles tiredly and considers grabbing his boxers, opting to instead just press his face into his pillow as he listens to you getting dressed again.

“Should I bring them like… a gift or something?”

“It’s a little early for bribery.”

He sighs and sits up swiftly, resting his elbows on his knees, his mouth creasing into a worried frown. “What are we going to do if they don’t like me?”

Really, there’s only one answer; you’d never put him before your kids and he knows that.

Pulling your shirt down over your body, there’s only one thing to do. You lean forwards and kiss his lips tenderly. “They’ll love you.”

Once you convince him to get dressed again, Bradley walks you down to your car. Jake and Coyote say their greetings and goodbyes swiftly and politely, not making you stop for small talk.

Then, as Rooster heads back upstairs with a reddened face and even more reddened wrists, they meet him in the living room, beaming.

”Don’t start.” He groans, trying to dismiss them and head back to his room before the ridicule starts. It’s a little late for that. It’s been a little late for that since they heard Rooster practically crying your name twenty minutes earlier.

As you return home to reunite with your children, you’re greeted with an onslaught of texts about how — to quote — ‘those idiots heard everything’. It should bother you, but the thought of Bradley all red-faced and squirming at their comments just makes you chuckle.

Meeting at a neutral place always seemed like the best option, until you’re sitting in the parking lot, staring at your kids in the backseat — feeling like you’re introducing cats. Well, it has been quite some time since your children got over their interest in scratching and biting, so hopefully this will go smoother than that.

”How are you guys feeling?” You ask them, turning in your seat finally. Dylan can see the worry on your face. Your brows are raised, your eyes are round and fleeting between them each, lips pursed.

”Yeah, fine, mom.” He offers you a polite, sincere smile. It’s the best that he has to give. He knows this means something big to you. He knows that you’ve started singing in the kitchen again, and reading Taylor the stories with the voices, laughing with him until you’re doubled over and crying.

”Do you think he likes cats better or dogs?” Taylor perks up, tucking her feet up onto the seat and quirking her head at you. Your lips twitch as your son rolls his eyes at her.

“You can ask him.” You decide, and she seems to accept this as good enough of an answer. She settles back in her booster seat, crosses her arms across her little knit sweater and smiles back at you. Poor Rooster doesn’t have a clue what he’s in for with this little chatterbox — but you know he’ll be glad to not have to sit in silence.

A beat passes as you look between their faces. They both smile back at you, for different reasons entirely.

“Okay, are we ready to go inside?”

After quick agreement, Taylor watches her shoes cast purple neon shadows across the puddles, flashing bright with each step as your heels clack across the ground ahead of her. A hand lands on her shoulder, guiding her along and making sure that she keeps up.

Swiftly, she looks up at her big brother, frowning curiously at him, ”So, do we have to call him Dad too?”

”Rooster.” You breathe out, lips stretching into a smile as you spot him walking over from his truck. He looks right past you as you wrap your arms around his neck. About five paces back, your kids are trailing you, deep in conversation. About him, no doubt.

Suddenly, his attention snaps back to you, his eyes going wide as you kiss his cheek. He untangles himself from you, aggressively platonic for a man who was begging to hold you yesterday.

“Hi.”

”Don’t be weird, they’re children, not the FBI.” You whisper to him, turning quickly as you hear the two of them approaching this. “Guys, this is Bradley. Bradley, this is my daughter, Taylor, and my son, Dylan.”

”Hello.” Bradley stiffens.

“Hey.” Dylan tries.

“You’re pretty tall. Women like that.” It would seem that you’re all caught off guard by your daughter’s comment. Luckily, it’s just enough of a surprise to make Bradley’s tight-lipped smile break into a wide-stretching grin.

He sits opposite her at the table, Dylan by his side and you opposite Dylan. She spent the afternoon with your mother and it would seem, the two of them spent their time preparing questions.

”So—“ Dylan manages to interrupt, earning himself a stern glare from the little girl who was just about to get into the favourite colours segment of her interview. Bradley turns his head and looks at your son. “What team do you follow?”

Bradley shoots a glance over at you, knowing full well that your son has been raised to be a die hard 49ers fan. He looks back to the thirteen year old and inhales— he can’t pretend to like that team, he just can’t do it—

“The Eagles.” He rushes out.

“Huh.” Dylan quirks an eyebrow, turns his head and shoots you a look. He smirks softly, bringing the rim of his Pepsi glass to his mouth. “And… how’s that working out for ya, big guy?”

Bradley’s mouth falls slack, and he looks quickly across the table for support, finding nothing but you smirking back at him and Taylor giggling in response.

“Hey, buddy, I’ll have you know—“ And once again, that seems to do the trick. That’s the straw, right before the appetizers come out, that gets Bradley really talking, and after that it just doesn’t stop.

Taylor quickly gets him onto the conversation of cats versus dogs — he seems to pass her test. Bradley turns the conversation on you, and winds up grinning ear to ear with the insight of how your children perceive you to be, how they love you. You turn the conversation on Bradley, and reveal to the children that he not only enjoys rum and raisin flavoured ice-cream, but that it’s his favourite.

The betrayal on his face after that one will keep you laughing for weeks to come. It’s almost enough for the children to change their minds about him, but he quickly gets things back on track by revealing that he once met the guy who plays Captain America on a flight.

That wins him some serious brownie points.

You know that, just as easily as he had with you, he had won them over.

He grins at you as he settles the bill — despite your insistence to split it, his nerves seeming to have finally calmed.

“Mom, why do you call him Bradley when his work name is Rooster?” Taylor asks, slipping her hand into you palm as you head for the exit.

“Because we aren’t at work right now.” You answer with a shrug, checking over your shoulder to see Rooster talking with Dylan about something behind you.

“Can I call him Rooster?” She asks, peering up at you.

“If he says you can.”

“Bradley?” She cranes her neck as she calls back to him, capturing his attention instantly. “Can I call you Rooster?”

“Sure. Either works.” He shrugs, tucking his wallet back into the pocket of his jeans, walking to catch up with the two of you.

She looks quickly back up to you, approval plastered across her little face. She gives your hand a quick squeeze and smiles.

…

Tags: @cherrycola27 @mak-32 @khaylin27 @stoncms @shanimallina87 @cool-ultra-nerd @angelmavmurdock @gingerbreadandpaper @mizzzpink @whisperofsong @throwinsauce @perpetuelledaydreaming @n3ssm0nique @thedroneranger @abaker74 @marantha @ghxst-heart @diamond-3 @shawnsblue

#bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #miles teller #bradley bradshaw smut #rooster bradshaw imagine #rooster x you #top gun smut #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader

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alienpossession · 4 months

Text

Body a Day 19: Father

Read the first part here

I was estranged from my homophobic father ever since I graduated college and lived on my own.

I bet deep down he knows about my whole sexcapade with the football jocks throughout high school and then the buddies I brought along during winter break were more than just regular buds. But he chose to not rock his own boat with outing his own gay son and believed that I just chose to went away from him and lived my life.

I finally reached out to him after 7 years as I projected to marry my partner next year and how fast he's approaching 60. I was anxious because I surely would rock his boat by doing this. Yet, contrary to my belief, he took the news well and even congratulated me. He was warm, appreciative and seemed more focused and less talkative, but maybe that's just his way to process the whole news.

As I planned to head back home to San Diego next Monday, I started to pack my luggage. Then, out of the blue, my father walked in my room only in his underwear, a rather common sight around this house during my visit yet still startled me everytime

"Oh, you are not staying for Christmas, Brad?"

"I told you, I promised Dylan that I'll join his family's Christmas in order for him to introduce me to his family,"

"Ahh, that's too bad,"

"Well, you can join me if you want. You haven't met Dylan after all,"

"No no, that's not what I mean. It's too bad that you'll not be able to join Dylan to celebrate Christmas,"

My father instantly leaped like a crazed beast and pinned me to the bed. I tried to fight the hardest but he's simply too strong and seemingly out of his mind. Then, with a sinister smile, he released his increasingly erect cock from his underwear and let it dangle right on top of my gaped mouth and nose. With precision, he then submerged that fat musty inches of manmeat right to my mouth while his hand held my head to keep my head in its place. His face shown a level of seriousness and rather observant look as I let him have a go with my mouth even though I was fully repulsed by the whole thing. It's like as if despite my mind screaming for help, his presence hypnotized me to not make a scene and let it all happen

As the speed of him pistoning that meat in and out of my mouth increased, I started to sense another presence within me. Something cold and foreign lodged in my throat and I can feel the freezing sensation spread slowly yet surely all across my body. As he grunted and telling me that he's about to cum, the sensation already reached 80% of my body but when the geyser finally exploded, I instantly went blank

---

"Hey Dyl, my father insisted on this so he bought you a ticket to Miami to come join us by the beach! Pack your bag and head down here first, then we'll go to your family's home in Delaware together," texted Brad with a smirk on his face while his left hand busy caressing his docile dad's body. Now it's finally inside the son, it feels truly right at home as the son is more age appropriate to ensure its long-lasting and far-reaching presence on Earth with this overflowing stamina and libido to carryout multiple conversion a day. Dylan's family seemed pretty hot based on Brad's memories of seeing their picture, might be a good way to celebrate Christmas by making all of them just like Brad's dad over here, an empty husk that will do nothing except following the conditions implanted on him

#alien possession #male possession #body a day

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its-the-pilot · 3 months

Text

Dancing With Your Ghost | One-Shot

I'm not sure why I felt like writing something sad, but here it is! Working on the next chapter of Waves as well, just needed to get this out of my system first 😭

Summary: Jake "Hangman" Seresin made a promise and he's determined to keep it.

Warnings: major character death, grief, funeral, sad stuff

Length: 2.5k words

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x Female Reader, Jake Seresin x Female Reader (friendship)

| Masterlist | Rooster One-Shots Masterlist |

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Dancing With Your Ghost

Jake Seresin stood in the doorway to your bedroom, a dark frown on his face as he studied the subject of his thoughts carefully. You were sitting on the bed, your knees drawn up to your chest as you stared out the window, silent tears slipping down your cheeks. He didn’t want to be there, especially not on today of all days, but he had made a promise.

He said your name quietly, not intending to startle you, but when you visibly stiffened, he realized he had. He didn’t move from his place in the doorway as you swiped at the wet trails on your cheeks with the pads of your fingers, waiting until you turned your head to acknowledge him.

“Hey.”

Cautiously, he started moving toward you, noticing as he got closer that your hair was still damp from your shower. “It’s almost time,” he managed, hoping that the reminder would pull you out of your dark thoughts.

You returned your gaze to the window as you nodded, a vacant look in your eyes. The skies were heavy with gray clouds and it had started raining, a light spring shower, but nonetheless a rare event in San Diego. ‘Fitting,’ he thought to himself, shaking his head as he turned his attention back to you. “C’mon… want me to send Nat in to help you get ready?”

“‘M not going,” you whispered, your voice cracking slightly.

Sighing, Jake moved closer and sat beside you on the edge of the bed. “You really think that’s what he’d want?” he asked, looking down at your profile as your chin rested on your knees, making you look much younger than you were. “He’d want you to have closure, darlin’.”

“I can’t,” you croaked out, sniffling. “I can’t go and see him like that. I don’t want that to be my last memory of him.”

The past week had been hard on everyone, but understandably, as his wife you had the hardest time coping. He watched as you twisted the set of rings on your finger, the sight making his chest clench uncomfortably, a reminder of what you had lost.

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

“We’re here.”

The words sent a chill down Hangman’s spine as he looked up from where his cover rested on his lap to the front door of your house. Stepping out of the car, he walked beside the CACO officer and the chaplain wearing his service dress blues, stopping when they climbed the steps to your porch.

Moving to the front of the group, he reached up and knocked on the door firmly, clasping his hands in front of him as he waited for you to answer.

Inside, you were planning to tell Bradley that you were pregnant when he got home in a few hours. There was a cake in the oven and a white onesie with “Daddy” painted on it drying on the counter when you opened the door, your smile fading as soon as you saw the set of solemn faces before you.

You locked eyes with your husband’s wingman and instantly knew why they were there, not needing to be told about the malfunction Bradley had experienced with his jet earlier that day. Your knees gave out as the realization hit and Jake caught you in his arms, slowly lowering you both to sit on your porch as you sobbed into his uniform coat, looking up to his companions helplessly.

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

Releasing another heavy sigh, Hangman shook the memory from his mind and wrapped his arm around your shoulder, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head, hating the way you tensed under his touch. Everyone -- himself included -- had been hesitant to approach you, not knowing what the right words were. There wasn’t exactly a right way to go about comforting someone who just lost their husband and the father of their unborn child.

After a moment Jake felt you lean into him, the tension in your body relaxing some, and it made him smile a little. He squeezed you gently, silently letting you know that he wasn’t going anywhere and that if you wanted to talk, you could.

“Why did he leave me? He promised he wouldn’t.” Your voice was so quiet that he almost let himself believe you hadn’t spoken at all, simply because he wasn’t sure how to answer the question.

“It was an accident, darlin’,” he explained, his thumb rubbing circles against your shoulder. “You know he loved you more than anything, and he would have been so happy about the baby.”

You simply nodded and wrapped your arms around your slight bump protectively. When you finally pulled away from Jake he noticed that you were wearing the NAVY t-shirt Rooster used for workouts, his scent still embedded in the fabric.

“I don’t think I can do it,” you managed, pushing yourself to your feet shakily and heading to the window.

Jake leaned forward, his eyes never leaving you as he rested his elbows on his knees. “You can do anything you put your mind to. You’re one of the strongest women I’ve ever known.”

You didn’t bother to look back at him, instead focusing your gaze on the street outside, following a car as it passed. The tension in the room was palpable, and Jake could make out the knots in your shoulders under the t-shirt you wore.

He struggled to hold back a quiet sigh as he said your name again. When you didn’t reply, he stood and moved toward you, dropping another kiss to your cheek before squeezing your shoulder gently. “I’m gonna go downstairs, alright? We’re leaving for the service in ten minutes.”

A single nod was the only recognition you gave him before he turned to leave the room, closing the door almost silently behind him. Once he was at the bottom of the stairs, he allowed himself a moment of grief, releasing the shaky sigh he had held back moments before. Internally, he cursed himself, hating that he wasn’t strong enough to show you that you weren’t the only one in pain.

“Did you get her to talk?”

Hangman turned at the sound of Phoenix’s voice as she stood in the kitchen behind him, a frown on his lips. “I tried. Don’t know how much good it did.”

She nodded, smoothing the front of her uniform to give her hands something to do. “This was his biggest fear, leaving her alone with a baby that would never know him,” she explained, a sadness to her voice that neither of them were ready to acknowledge.

“Yeah,” he replied, leaning against the counter heavily. “It’s not fair how history repeats itself.”

Natasha moved to stand beside him, her heels making her slightly taller than his shoulder. When he glanced over to her, he couldn’t help but notice the way her neatly manicured nails were digging into her palms, leaving little crescent-shaped marks in their wake.

The two pilots stood in silence, unsure of what to say to each other. It had been a week since the accident, and the Daggers had been spending time at your house in shifts so that you weren’t alone, giving them something to focus on besides their own emotions surrounding the death of their teammate.

It was Bradley Bradshaw’s only final request -- that his squad look out for you. He had pulled Hangman and Phoenix aside only days after proposing and made them promise that if anything happened to him, you would be taken care of. They had agreed, of course. You had become a part of their Dagger family as soon as Rooster introduced you to them years earlier, knowing from the start that you were The One.

The sound of your bedroom door opening pulled both Jake and Natasha from their silent thoughts, simultaneously pushing away from the counter as you came down the stairs and stopped in front of them. Your hair was pulled into a simple ponytail and your makeup was natural looking, something Bradley liked. You wore a knee-length black lace dress that wasn’t too tight around the middle, one that Nat had laid out for you that morning before you woke up. You were still early in your pregnancy but there was a slight bump that you didn’t want everyone to see yet -- only the Daggers knew about the baby.

“I think I’m ready,” you stated quietly, briefly looking each of them in the eye before stepping past them.

Moving with you toward the door, Jake lifted your coat off of the hook and helped you into it before leading you out to his truck with a gentle hand at the small of your back, Phoenix following close behind. The drive to the cemetery was silent as you stared out the window, your fingers playing with your rings again as your hands rested in your lap.

When you arrived, Jake rounded the front of the truck and opened your door, offering a hand to help you out. “Ready?”

Accepting his help out of the tall truck, you leaned up and kissed his cheek softly before turning and giving Nat a hug when she climbed out of the truck behind you. “Thanks, both of you,” you whispered, offering a sad smile before moving toward the group of uniforms near the gravesite.

Jake closed his eyes as she walked away, taking a deep breath to center himself as Nat stood beside him. “She’ll be okay,” she assured him. “Hopefully she’ll get some closure.”

He nodded, looking over to his fellow pilot. “Yeah… I hope so.”

The funeral was standard for a Naval Officer as you stood at the gravesite, Bradley’s surrogate father Pete Mitchell on one side and Jake on the other, the rest of the Daggers nearby for any additional support you would need. You did your best to hold back tears as a folded flag was placed into your hands by Admiral Simpson, though you lost the battle when you watched Bradley’s squadron approach his coffin one at a time and pound their wings into the smooth wood.

Finally, cradling the folded flag to your chest, you stepped forward, hesitantly brushing your fingers over the coffin that encased your husband. You closed your eyes and recited a quiet prayer, tears sliding down your cheek and landing on the casket.

After a moment the crowd began to disperse and Maverick came to stand beside you, his hand moving to rest on your back gently. You didn’t protest, leaning into him for support, having grown close to the older man over the past few years since Bradley reconnected with him.

“I thought we would be together forever,” you whispered, your voice thick with tears as you finally pulled your hand away from the casket. “Silly, huh?”

Maverick shook his head, taking your hand when you dropped it to your side, squeezing it gently. “That’s what he wanted. He never loved anyone the way he loved you.”

Looking over to him, you offered a grateful nod, tears shining in your eyes. “Thank you,” you replied quietly, biting your lip. “It meant a lot to him to have you back in his life these last few years.”

“It meant a lot to me too,” he affirmed. “Just trust that his mom and dad are taking care of him now, and know that he wishes more than anything he could be here with you.”

A fresh set of tears began sliding down your cheeks as he spoke, clutching the flag tighter to your chest. Releasing Maverick’s hand, you swiped at the tears just as Hangman approached, offering the older man a salute. The same was returned, followed by a handshake between them.

“I’ll let Jake get you home,” Maverick said simply, leaning in to kiss your cheek gently. “Are you gonna be okay tonight?”

You nodded, looking down at your feet to prevent your eyes from sliding back to the coffin. “I’ll be okay. I have to get used to it sometime.”

“I’ll be there,” Jake assured him, prepared to stay as long as you needed him to, taking his promise to Rooster seriously. “If you want me to, of course.”

Maverick watched as you shrugged half-heartedly, wishing that he could take your pain away. “Okay,” he nodded, giving you another kiss on the cheek before clapping Hangman on the shoulder. “Take care of her,” he whispered, his voice laced with concern for you.

“You know I will, Sir,” he replied, waiting until the older man departed before turning to fully face you. “Ready to go?”

You couldn’t stop your eyes from moving back to the casket at the question, wanting to stay there forever if you were being honest. Clutching the flag tighter, you forced yourself to look up at Jake and nod your head. His large hand found the small of your back once again as he led you back to his truck.

“Where’s Nat?” you asked, allowing the blonde aviator to open the passenger door for you.

“She got a ride with Coyote,” Jake explained, watching you climb inside before rounding the truck and sliding behind the wheel. “I can call her when we get back to your place, if you want?”

“No,” you insisted, shaking your head. “You don’t have to stay with me either. I”ll be fine on my own.”

Jake started the truck and frowned at her reply. “‘Okay’... ‘fine’... you’re starting to sound like him,” he pointed out, beginning the drive back to your house.

You didn’t say anything in response as you rested your head against the window of the truck while he drove, never once letting go of the folded flag in your arms, holding it as though it was a lifeline. When he finally pulled into the driveway and parked the truck, Jake moved to your side again to open the door, tapping on the window and waiting until you reluctantly lifted your head from the glass so as to not hurt you.

“He’s not coming home,” you declared, your voice eerily calm despite the tears that stained your cheeks. “I’m never gonna feel him hold me again.” Your eyes were fixed on the house in front of you, and Jake’s heart broke as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against his chest.

His hand ran up and down your back, feeling the moment when your resolve finally broke, your body shaking as you sobbed into the lapel of his uniform coat just as you had on the day it happened. “Everything will get easier, darlin’,” he tried, unsure if he was trying harder to convince you or himself. “And over time… it’ll hurt less.”

“I don’t want it to hurt less, I want him to come back,” you mumbled, your voice cracking as you continued to cry. “I just want my Bradley back.”

Jake’s eyes fell shut at the sound of his wingman’s name coming from your lips, the first time he had heard you use it since he died. He knew that you understood what you were asking for was impossible, but in that moment as he held you trembling in his arms, he would have done anything to take Rooster’s place.

If only to see you smile one more time.

#bradley rooster bradshaw #top gun maverick #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw x oc #bradley bradshaw x reader #jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #hurt/comfort #tw death #tw funeral #tw grieving #Youtube

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mostlysignssomeportents · 2 months

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Pluralistic is four

I'm on tour with my new novel The Bezzle! Catch me TOMORROW in SALT LAKE CITY (Feb 21, Weller Book Works) and then SAN DIEGO (Feb 22, Mysterious Galaxy). After that, it's LA, Seattle, Portland, Phoenix and more!

Four years ago, I started pluralistic.net, my post-Boing Boing, solo blog project: an ad-free, tracker-free site that anyone can republish, commercially or noncommercially. It's been a wild four years, featuring over 1,150 editions, many consisting of multiple articles:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/02/19/pluralist-19-feb-2020/

As a project, Pluralistic has been a roaring success. I've published multiple, significant "breakout" articles that popularized obscure, important, highly technical ideas, most notably "adversarial interoperability":

http://pluralistic.net/tag/adversarial-interoperability

"End-to-end" as a remedy for multiple internet ripoffs, including as a superior alternative to link-taxes as a means of saving the news industry from Big Tech predation:

https://pluralistic.net/tag/e2e/

and, of course, "enshittification":

https://pluralistic.net/tag/enshittification/

These are emblematic of the sorts of ideas that I've spent the past 20+ years trying to popularize in tech-policy debates dominated by technologically illiterate policy ideas ("abolish Section 230!") and politically illiterate technical ideas (so many to choose from, but let's just say "cryptocurrency"). They require that the reader come along for a lot of cross-disciplinary analysis that often gets deep into the weeds. These are some of the hardest ideas to convey, but nuanced proposals and critiques that work on both political and technical axes are the best hope we have of successfully weathering the polycrisis.

Blogging has always been a part of this project. For nearly 20 years, I posted nearly every day on Boing Boing – 53,906 posts in all! – taking note of everything that seemed important. Keeping a "writer's notebook" in public imposes an unbeatable rigor, since you can't slack off and leave notes so brief and cryptic that they neither lodge in your subconscious nor form a record clear enough to refer to in future. By contrast, keeping public notes produces both a subconscious, supersaturated solution of fragmentary ideas that rattle around, periodically cohering into nucleii that crystallize into full-blown ideas for stories, novels, essays, speeches and nonfiction books. What's more, those ripened ideas are supported by a searchable database of everything I've thought about the subject, often annotated by readers and other writers who've commented on the posts. I call this "The Memex Method":

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/09/the-memex-method/

Pluralistic marks a new phase in my deployment of the Memex Method. With 50K+ notes in a database, I've gradually turned Pluralistic into a forum for far more synthetic, longer-form work that pulls on threads from decades of research into nothing in particular and everything that seemed important.

Pluralistic is also an experiment in retaining control over my destiny – but not my work. Rather than hitching my ability to reach an audience through a platform that can be enshittified at the whim of a mercurial, infantile billionaire or their venal, callous shareholders, Pluralistic is published web-first, on a site I control, and then syndicated to every platform that matters to me. It's a process called POSSE (Post Own Site, Syndicate Everywhere):

https://pluralistic.net/2021/01/13/two-decades/#hfbd

I want to spread the ideas I fight for, so I post them everywhere, and license them Creative Commons Attribution-Only, encouraging others to repost them. Lots of small sites do this, but so do large ones. Notably, Wired picked up my first breakout piece on enshittification and republished it under the CC terms:

https://www.wired.com/story/tiktok-platforms-cory-doctorow/

This was a really interesting process. On the one hand, I didn't get paid for this feature, which did really well for Wired. On the other hand, nearly 30 years of writing for Wired makes me doubtful that I could have gotten this piece out in the form it emerged, without substantially toning down (or, if you prefer, neutering) the rhetoric that made that piece more persuasive. A commissioning editor from one of the largest newspapers in the world got in touch with me after it came out and said they wished they'd published it – but also that they knew they couldn't possibly have done so. By publishing the story first on my blog, proving its audience, and establishing its canonical form, I was able to get it amplified by a service with a much bigger platform than me, without having to compromise on the form.

That republication gave me the much-maligned "exposure" – but it also carried the message to places it wouldn't have reached on its own. I don't write – have never written – solely as an income source. As both an artist and an activist, connecting with audiences has always been co-equal in my mind with earning my living. That's why I don't do a lot of film-writing: it pays well, but most of it never sees the light of day. It's also why I stopped writing for ad agencies: it paid well, but it didn't matter to me or my audience. To mangle Dr Johnson: "No man but a blockhead ever wrote solely for money."

The open nature of this blog, with its many open syndication channels, creates multidirectional pathways for evaluating and refining my attempts at making my ideas understood and my art land. My posts often circle back to points I made earlier, incorporating useful feedback from readers and colleagues, sure, but also anticipating and rebutting those areas where critics have convinced others in various forums. Vanity searching is unjustly maligned: I learn a ton about how to make by work better by lurking in Reddit comments, Hacker News, Twitter, Slashdot, Metafilter and other forums. I also take a sneaky pleasure in knowing that the persistent trolls who reliably pop up to grind their weird axes about me (sometimes referencing blog posts I made decades ago) have taught me how to neutralize them in advance, and it's delightful to see them try their same old lines, only to have other commentators point out that my latest piece makes it absolutely undeniable how wrong they are. Living well is the best revenge, indeed.

Four years. I've been writing Pluralistic for four years. During that time, I've published eight books – and beyond any doubt, Pluralistic helped me get those books into readers' hands. But far more importantly, during that time, I've written nine books – and contracted for a tenth – as the Memex Method paid off again and again.

I don't know how long I'll do Pluralistic for, but I don't foresee stopping any time soon. What's more, no matter what happens to Pluralistic, I can't ever see giving up on the Memex Method, keeping notes in public and making them work for me.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/20/fore/#synthesis

#pluralistic #blogging #anniversaries #memex method

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thewulf · 1 year

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My Girl || Tom "Iceman" Kazansky

Summary: Request! Hello!! I saw that your requests are open, and was wondering if you could do a beau "cyclone" Simpson or a tom "iceman" Kazansky one shot, where cyclone/iceman are in an established relationship w a doctor and dagger squad/1986 top gun squad find out about the reader?

A/N: This one was so fun to write, although a bit shorter than my normal one shots. It just came so easily. I went with Tom in the Original 1986 version! There’s lots of flipping back and forth between names and callsigns, just a warning!

Pairing: Tom "Iceman" Kazansky x Y/N

Word Count: 3,200+

Once you parked your car in the driveway you took a moment to collect your thoughts. The residency was tough, kicking your ass even. You had opted to go into pediatric surgery which wasn’t for the faint of heart. More often than not things did go your way but today was one of those days where you lost a baby right at the end of the surgery, shattering you. These cases always felt worse than the best cases made you feel happy.

Tom was home you noted. His truck sitting in the driveway next to your much smaller car. He had moved into your condo after three years of dating. Things between the two of you were great. More than great. The both of you understood how demanding each other’s careers were so when you did get time together you loved to just relax with each other. You were rather looking forward to falling asleep on Tom’s shoulder or lap in a few hours.

Walking through the front door you found him sitting on the couch reading through what looked like a manual. Tom had just gotten into Top Gun with his RIO Slider, or as you knew him, Ron. Luckily, Top Gun wasn’t far from where you he was already stationed in San Diego so selfishly you got to have him home for a little while longer. That was the hardest of it all when Tom was deployed on a mission. You knew just how good he was in the air but there was that fear that always sat in the back of your mind when he left. You always just prayed he’d make it home safe. He hadn’t let you down yet.

“Hi baby,” Leaning down you kissed his cheek. Breaking him right of the trance he was in, “Everything okay?”

“Y/N.” He smiled pulling your neck down for an actual kiss, “I’m great sweetheart. Just making sure I’ve got everything before our practical tomorrow. Viper wasn’t happy we shot him down today, so I think he wants to prove a point.”

“Pete giving you any trouble today?” You asked while plopping yourself down next to him. Cuddling into him you took a deep breath finding immense comfort in his scent.

He grinned pulling you right on top of him, throwing the manual off to the side, “Mav’s always giving me trouble. But I don’t want to talk about him. I want to talk about you. How was your day?”

You sighed placing your head onto his chest, “Not good T. Lost an infant. Another five-year-old isn’t doing great either.” You didn’t feel like elaborating. Tom already knew how you felt. Completely and utterly defeated.

Rubbing your head he squeezed you with his other hand, “I’m sorry baby.”

“It’s okay,” You whispered, “Occupational hazard I suppose.”

“Doesn’t make it any easier.” He placed his chin on top of your head, “It’s okay to be sad.”

“I know, you make it easier though.” Mumbling you closed your eyes, listening to the steady rhythm of your boyfriend’s heart. Always finding comfort in him.

“You can’t fall asleep yet sweetheart.” His vibrations of the laughing coming from his chest only soothing you further.

“And why not?” You pouted while still keeping your eyes closed.

He paused, not sure if he wanted to bring up his plan anymore. See, the guys at Top Gun didn’t believe Ice the last time they were all at the Hard Deck. They didn’t believe he had a doctor girlfriend. Ice refused to even look at another woman knowing you were working late that night. Really the only reason he ever went out was if you were stuck at the hospital. He’d much rather spend his nights in with you on the couch watching some dumb show neither of you paid attention to.

Mav and Goose teased that he had no game. Not accepting that he had a girlfriend. Nonetheless one that was literally smarter than all of them combined. Claiming that Ice was far too cold of a person to ever get a girlfriend like that. Let alone keep one for four years. But your Tom was a whole lot different than the Iceman that all the aviators knew.

They really didn’t believe him when he described you. Even a few other aviators had to agree with the pair. Not believing Iceman was emotionally capable of obtaining somebody like you for that amount of time. You sounded way too grounded, smart, and beautiful to be wrapped up in the life of an aviator’s girlfriend. But the two of you made it work. You always made it a point to communicate as much as you could, even when things were tough.

The whole group all about lost it when Ice showed off the engagement ring he carried around with him. He didn’t know when he was going to propose to you, but he wanted to have the ring ready to go for when it felt right. He’d bought it a few months ago, the longer he lived with you the more it reinforced that he knew you were it for him. He saw himself starting a family with you. Being forever happy with you.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to babe.” He kissed the top of your head, “I was thinking we go to the Hard Deck tonight?”

You looked up at him turning your head in confusion. He never invited you to the Hard Deck. Not that you minded, at all. That was his place with the guys. You trusted Tom with your life. Of course, you’d let him have his place, “The Hard Deck?”

“Mhmm,” He rubbed circles on your back, “Maybe you could grab a few drinks, not think about the day?”

“Did you say the Hard Deck?” You asked again, making sure you heard him right.

“Yes.” He smiled, “There something wrong with it?”

You shook your head quickly, “No! I just haven’t been with you before.”

He frowned almost instantly, “Really?”

“Yeah, but it never bothered me. I promise. I know it’s your place.” You gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

“No wonder they don’t believe me.” Tom sighed leaning back into the couch, pulling you right along with him.

Over time you found that Tom’s love language was physical touch and quality time. He always pulled you into him or onto him. He found solace in your touch, loving every single second of it.

“What are you talking about?” You laughed, “You’re confusing me tonight, T.”

He smiled at his favorite nickname, “The guys don’t believe that you exist. That I’m making you up.”

“Ahh, now you’re making some more sense my love.” You giggled, “You want to show them that I exist then?”

He smirked pinching your side, “I want to show you off baby.”

“I’ve got a lot of work to do if you want to show me off.” You sighed feeling the ugliness of the day consuming the way you felt as well.

“Hardly. You’re so beautiful.”

Blushing lightly, you never got tired of the shower of compliments he always gave you, “Shush you cheese.”

“Only for you.” He bopped your nose.

“Let me shower really quick and then we can go.”

“Yeah?” He smiled knowing you would do anything for him, “We don’t have to go if you’re tired and just want to relax.”

You shook your head, “And miss my chance to meet Maverick? The only human whose ever made you angry. Never.” You giggled hopping right off him and running upstairs before he could protest.

You opted for a nice floral sundress. One because it was over a hundred damn degrees in San Diego during the summer and two you had to dress to impress. Tom wanted to show you off and you wanted to try your best. Hopefully you weren’t as awkward as you normally felt you were.

“Baby, you look amazing. As always.” Tom winked pulled you into his side, “I’m so lucky.”

“Always such a mush.” You cooed wrapping an arm around his side.

“What? I can’t fawn over my beautiful girl.”

Blushing you rolled your eyes, “Shush, you know what you’re doing.”

He shrugged, “I love seeing you blush.” Chucking he gave you a squeeze before going to open the door for you. The ride to the Hard Deck was short, you lived close to the base. You didn’t work at the Naval hospital but the civilian one down the road.

Before he let you hop out, he stopped you, “I might act a little different than normal.”

“Like what?” You smiled seeing him so nervous.

“A bit of an asshole.”

Your turn to laugh, “I expected that, Tom. I do pay attention to your stories you know.”

He returned your smile with one of his own, “God, I love you. You know that?”

Nodding your head, you leaned in for a kiss, “I do. I love you to pieces too.”

Breaking the kiss, he quickly got out to open the door for you. Four years later and you never grew tired of his gestures. He always thought of you in everything that he did. How could you not be madly in love with a man like that?

He wrapped his arm around your shoulders pulling you close into him as you both entered the bar. Whether he was staking his claim on you or what you didn’t care, you loved being close to him. You loved it even more when he wasn’t afraid to show it. Who knew a bunch of Naval aviators would push him to do something so wildly out of his comfort zone. Tom at home was lovey and mushy always. Tom in public was sweet but never got too affectionate. Nothing like what he was doing right now.

Tom quickly spotted Slider pulling you along with him. He let you take the seat next to him white he stood behind you.

“I’ll be damned. Is this Y/N really out at the Hard Deck.” Ron put his aviators on top of his head eyeing the pair curiously. You adored Tom’s RIO. You guys often had him over for dinner once you moved in. He was good company and saw the rare soft side that Tom really only reserved for you on occasion.

“Your eyes don’t deceive you, Ronny.” You grinned using your favorite nickname for him. It still felt odd calling him Slider even though that’s exclusively how Tom referred to him as.

Ron looked up towards Ice waiting for his response, “What?” Ice questioned his RIO.

“Mav and Goose get under your skin that bad?”

Tom scoffed, “Hardly. I just wanted to go out with my girl. Is that such a crime?”

Ron smirked up at his friend knowing he was bullshitting him hard. Ever since Ice heard what happened to Cougar with the MIG’s and dropping out of the Navy as a whole pissed him off. Mav took Cougar’s spot. His rightful spot that he worked years for. Of course, he held resentment. Then he met the guy. He had to admit that you were right. There weren’t many people who could agitate Tom, Mav ended up being one.

Tom spotted him just as he was thinking of him sitting across the bar. Smirking Tom decided to lean down and give you a long kiss on the cheek hoping Mav would see before whispering, “Mav, 2 o’clock.” To you.

You looked over in that general direction and had to have spotted the man that seemed to torture your Tom. He looked a little shocked before replacing it was a cocky façade you were sure most aviators wore.

It wasn’t a moment later the man made his way over to where the three of you were.

“Your girl actually exists Ice?” Pete asked Tom but looked at you. He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off you.

Taking a long sip of your cocktail you eyed him up and down, “That’s it?” You looked back up at Tom curiously.

“What hon?” He asked you quizzically. Not having a clue what you were getting at.

“I was just expecting more that’s all.” You smiled sweetly at the man. Ron up and started laughing. Tom’s mouth almost completely dropped, and Pete looked a little pissed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Pete questioned you with a confused expression garnering his face.

You shrugged, “For such a dominant callsign of Maverick I was just expecting more. That’s all.”

“What are you doing?” Tom whispered in your ear albeit with a small smile forming on his face.

“Pissing him off baby.” You kissed his cheek slowly.

“Why?”

“Because he pisses you off. Fair is fair.” You giggled before grabbing for your cocktail again. You weren’t sure what was coming over you. You weren’t overly attention seeking but when somebody wound up your boyfriend like that you just had to do the same back. Tom protected you fiercely it was your turn to do the same. Even if it was all just in good fun.

Pete stood there confused. You decided to rub salt on the wound, “Would you like a drink or?”

“Are you paying?” He smirked getting his confidence back.

“Ha!” You let out an obnoxious laugh earning the attention of a few more aviators unbeknownst to you, “You wish hot shot. Your boyfriend down there is paying.” You pointed straight to the blonde who was avidly watching what was going down between the group.

You looked up at Tom who looked pleasantly surprised. His girlfriend more than holding her own against the arrogant asshole that drove him mad.

“Goose.” Mav sighed rolling his eyes before darting off to go find him.

You smiled up to your boyfriend feeling the buzz start to take over as you downed your first drink a little too quickly.

“Ice! That’s your girl?” A group of aviators in uniform came over. Turning towards the group you smiled kindly to the trio that made their way over.

“No shit, you actually exist. How do you stand him?”

“Hollywood shut it.” Tom nearly growled stepping closer to your barstool.

“Easily.” You continued after Tom interjected.

“Really?” The one standing next to Hollywood spoke up.

Tom looked like he was going to explode on them if they didn’t back off soon, “Really Wolfman?”

“Just surprising.” He muttered looking away from the gaze that could kill.

“It’s nice to meet you all.” You attempted to break the tension between all the men that happened out of nowhere, “Tom says great things about you all.”

“You too!” Hollywood clapped walking over to you, “Now I need to pick your brain on Iceman over here.”

“No way Hollywood.” Tom laughed blocking him from taking a seat next to you. He had his mask for work for a reason. He had to build up his reputation to be called Iceman, he didn’t want that to be ruined. He was cool calm collected Iceman who never broke in the air. Flew cold as ice. There is no way in hell he’d ever let one of them learn about the other side of himself. The soft side of him. The truer side where he felt his best when he was with you. He knew he was weak for you, but he always knew you were just as weak for him.

Tom never really believed in soul mates before he met you. But when he accidentally ran into you, literally, at the hospital you worked at his heart nearly stopped right then and there. He knocked you flat on your ass, but you were nothing but gracious. You started laughing, likely in embarrassment but it was a better reaction than anger. Tom insisted he buy you a coffee for the trouble and you accepted. You were on hour fourteen of a hell shift and a coffee sounded more than wonderful. From that moment on Tom believed. He was so thankful he literally ran you over.

Little did the two of you know that would kick off the world wind romance you found yourself in, but you couldn’t be more grateful. Tom was everything to you. You quickly fell in love with him, and it terrified you. You were so useed to shitty men and shitty relationships this relationship made you constantly on edge. Waiting on the other shoe to drop. But it never did. Tom just kept treating you better and better the longer you two dated. It was month four that you knew you loved him deeply. Luckily, he told you first which negated any fear you had in the relationship.

“Come on Ice!” Hollywood attempted to pout earning a laugh from Slider and Wolfman.

“Like I said. No fucking way.”

Smiling you loved watching the interaction between all of the aviators. He was different but he was still your Tom. He just threw that mask up to protect himself. You understood. You had to do the same thing at work. Feeling like you had to be a stone-cold bitch many times to prove yourself to your attending because you were a woman. There weren’t many woman surgeons let alone ones that specialized in pediatrics in the 80’s. You were sure that Tom would hardly recognize you at work, an almost heartless version of yourself.

A few more aviators came over seeing a crowd forming around you. Tom viscerally groaned knowing this was likely going to happen. He brought it upon himself but now the guys were picking on him by giving you so much attention. Tom wanted nothing more than to throw you over his shoulder and take you home away from all of them.

“Ice! She’s pretty. How in the hell did you manage that?”

Tom rolled his eyes knowing you heard the comment, “Shut up Merlin.”

Slider started cracking up seeing the irritation grow on his pilot’s face, “Hey Merlin, ever thought it was because he’s amazing in the sack?”

Your face grew bright red at the comment. He surely wasn’t wrong, but you certainly weren’t going to admit it to the now group of pilots that surrounded you and Ron at the bar.

Ice slapped the back of his head, “The hell is wrong with you?”

“Her face is bright red! It must be true!”

You shrugged grabbing your refreshed cocktail instead of answering.

“Oh, shut the hell up Goose!” Tom groaned flipping him off earning a roar of laughter from the Top Gun group.

“I always knew you were a legend man.” Slider commented while winking over at him making sure to dig his hole deeper.

“You’re on my shit list.” Tom tried to keep a straight face before joining in the group laughing at the situation.

For the next few hours, you chatted with random pilots finding the best conversation with Nick Bradshaw. He reminded you of your brother finding an easy casual conversation with him. You still made sure to give Pete a hard time, for the sake of Tom.

Tom pulled you aside when he had enough, “Ready to go home? I want some time with you sweetheart.”

You nodded finding it so attractive he wanted you to himself, “Let’s go.”

He helped you up from your stool waving the crowd of aviators off. The two of you blaming your work for your early departure. One perk of being a doctor is being able to use that as an excuse to leave anything you didn’t want to be at.

“For the record, I’m not only with you because you’re good in bed. But it’s a perk.”

He smirked, “Let’s utilize that perk when we get home, yeah?”

You looped your arm in his, “Hell yeah.”

“That’s my girl.”

@wildellaa I hope you enjoy!

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lieutenantfloyd · 8 months

Text

When Duty Calls Part 1 | Cyclone x Reader

Word count: 1.9k

Summary: Your return home brings you inner turmoil, prolonged typing bubbles, and what may turn out to be a chance to mend what you broke.

Warnings: mentions of anxiety, a lot of internal thoughts/monologue, implied non-platonic feelings (if you squint).

a/n: This took a bit longer to get out than I’d hoped, but I’m so excited to have gotten the ball rolling!

Read on AO3

In your experience, one of the hardest parts of being back stateside is the noise. Both the quiet and the loud.

Your former home — An aircraft carrier somewhere in the middle of the Pacific — was by no means quiet, but each sound, each movement, each person, had its purpose. the low hum of radio chatter or the sound of planes taking off overhead had become a strange comfort to you. You were one of the lucky ones who quickly found where you belonged amongst that noise. Now after years spent painstakingly carving your name into the Naval history books, you were far from just another officer. And yet, in some twisted way, that glorious reputation of yours is exactly what brought you back here in the first place.

Exactly 23 hours ago you were still stationed on that aforementioned aircraft carrier, completely unaware that you would soon be summoned and informed — albeit with more eloquent verbiage — that you were to pack your things and head back to TOPGUN. A thousand different questions brewed inside you, but you were well aware that the Navy has never been the place to voice them. Instead, you honored each following set of instructions with nothing more than a simple "Yes sir, no ma'am".

The subsequent hours were filled with personal chaos and three different modes of transportation. Luckily, not much could phase you at this point. At least not enough for anyone to pick up on your external cues of panic. Contrary to the aviator stereotype, you liked to think of yourself as level-headed with a strong preference for flying under the radar, both in a literal and figurative sense. You'd weathered through everything the last 24 hours had thrown at you without so much as a snide remark. You kept your calm when the airline briefly lost your single piece of checked luggage. You even brushed off each lingering stare and every all too frequent ask of "So, Is your husband/brother/father/next-door neighbor in the service?". Yet, approximately three and a half minutes ago, something in you started to crack. Logic told you that this was just your nervous system coming to terms with what the next several weeks would entail, but an increasingly large part of your mind knew that that was only half the story. But seeing as you currently found yourself frozen in the back of your Uber, gripping the door handle as if your life depended on it, these facts were neither here nor there. As the latest wave of anxiety runs its course you suppress a shudder and call on your now-sapped willpower. Logic once again tells you that fresh air helps in these situations, so you force your pointer finger out and roll the window down. You hold the button until the window is right above halfway down. Just far enough to let the bright San Diego sunshine in while still allowing you to lean your head against the cool glass. After a few deep breaths, you run your tongue along the outside of your lips. The air is laced with the familiar taste of sea salt. If your memory served you right, you were just under a mile from the ocean and no more than three from base. The thought had barely crossed your mind before the pang of countless different emotions hit you. You silently curse your faultless sense of direction. In sudden need of a distraction, your free hand reaches into your bag and pulls out your phone. You blink away the dryness in your eyes before shifting your attention to the small screen which only takes a halfhearted tap to flash to life. You swipe through your notifications before tapping on the message that's been lingering in the back of your mind since the early hours of the morning.

I'm assuming you've been made aware of your latest assignment. received 7:13 am. — followed by — We hope your trip back goes well. received 7:26 am.

I landed about an hour ago, you text back. Headed home now.

It didn't surprise you that Warlock would be the first to reach out. Given his rank and location, he probably knew all about the mission. Plus, if you knew anything about the man, it was that he's always been the diplomatic type. From the stories you heard of their younger years, a part of you has always wondered if this is why his friendship with Cyclone worked so well.

Speaking of Cyclone, you click the back button and select his contact. Your last conversation with him — dated just one day before your deployment — quickly appears. God, had it really been almost five months since you last spoke? At this revelation, you sit staring at the screen for a few beats. You knew him and his personality far too well to expect him to welcome you back with open arms, but that didn't make the radio silence hurt any less. You want nothing more than to reach out, but with a shaky breath, you remind yourself that he's a horribly busy man with fewer personal relationships than you can count on one hand. However, this doesn't stop a flash of sadness from coursing through your body.

Exiting the text thread, you click on the only other new message. It's from an unsaved number and its contents inform you that everyone who's been called back is meeting up tonight at the Hard Deck. Just as you are about to send back a quick "thank you. Who is this?", something else pops into your mind and grabs your interest entirely. You quickly back out and tap on Warlock's contact. You read his second message again, Then at least five more times after that.

We hope your trip back goes well.

We?

You weren't one to get into the semantics of things, but the ambiguity of his word choice hung heavy over you. There was a possibility that he was innocently referring to himself and his wife. Yet there was an equal, and far more electrifying, chance that he was talking about himself and Cyclone. It was no secret to Warlock that the pair of you were, at least at one time, immensely close. That familiar itch returned to your fingertips, though this time you feared it would be here to stay. Over the last five months, You've been down this path countless times before. Yet each time it got harder and harder not to simply dial his number and ask about his day as if no time had passed at all. Reminding yourself that the chances of him picking up were firmly in the negative, you looked from your phone entirely and instead redirected your sights to the world outside. As you look up, The car rounds one last corner and the familiarity of your surroundings kicks into overdrive. The lump in your throat grows as both the ocean and your house come into view. Your heart swells as you realize your neighborhood hasn't changed a bit. You were fully prepared for your homecoming to be emotionally taxing, but what you hadn't prepared for was just how right it would all feel.

You come to a stop at the curb directly across from your house. You thank the driver as you exit, and a moment later your feet hit the concrete. Your hands are surprisingly steady against your luggage. The car slowly pulls away. You are left standing in your yard, phone in hand, staring up at your long-established home. The walk up the driveway is one you've made at least a thousand times. And something in you knows that it's the bittersweet familiarity of it all that finally allowed your one inescapable urge to take hold.

The rational side of your brain — the one you should be more inclined to listen to in this situation — told you that he's probably terribly busy doing all those terribly important Vice Admiral things he spent far too many hours a day doing. But the emotional side — the one that above all else, won't let you forget your history together — told you that all you really wanted was to hear his voice again. Or at very least get a few words of blunt (and often trenchant) encouragement. Your suitcase rolls over polished hardwood as you close the door behind you. The only thing you're greeted by is a stale silence. Your friends in the area had been kind enough to stop by while you were gone to ensure remained in working order, but that didn't make the stillness any easier to swallow.

Surely there's no harm in simply reaching out, right?

It was in that moment, standing with your back against the front door, that you hoisted up your white flag of defeat. Almost instantly your fingers were fast at work typing out your message before your conscience could reckon with how bad this idea was. Your words of choice were innocuous enough, yet you feel nothing but anguish the moment after you hit send.

Hey there. I know it's been… a while. You probably know I'm back in town on orders. If you have the time, I'd love to catch up. Sent >1min ago.

You kick your shoes off with a frustrated huff and immediately head for your bedroom. For what you lacked in the typical aviator ego, you made up for tenfold with split-second impulsiveness. On the bright side, you at least had the sense to leave the "I miss you so bad please respond" part unsaid. It's a short walk, and you toss your phone onto your bed once you're there with the full intention of taking a quick shower. Only, your phone lands face up. Leaving you watching in horror as your still unlocked screen proudly displays the typing bubbles on his end slowly appearing and disappearing.

Somewhere between bolting back out of the room and spending 45 minutes under the ice cold water coming out of your shower head, you pulled together a crude course of action. For the duration of your time here, you will do nothing but keep your head down, execute the mission, and be the Navy's perfect little flying angel. Somewhere between the lines of the damp post-it note you jotted this down on are the words "and no more attempts at reconnecting with the people you left in the past.". though even you know that even your best attempt at following that step will wind up unavailing at best. Post shower and with a slight semblance of a plan in place, you were already starting to feel like yourself again. Like every other mission, your ability to execute the plan would make or break you, and If the secrecy surrounding why exactly you were called back to Top Gun was anything to go off of you would have to be entirely focused and at your most cutthroat.

Exiting your room, you made your way to the front door where you quickly pulled on your boots and grabbed your keys from the dish in the entryway. The route from your house to the Hard Deck is one that's permanently etched into your mind. This wasn't the time nor the place to be making friends and in all honesty you wanted nothing more than to stay in and order takeout. However, you knew that you needed to scope out your competition as soon as possible.

You check the entryway mirror one last time before turning the knob and passing the threshold. You square your shoulders as you make the short walk to your car while also doing your best to ignore the growing feeling that the first of many wrenches is about to be thrown at your freshly made strategy.

Taglist: @luckyladycreator2, @katesmadness, @natasharomanoffisbaebby, @nobody7102, @idiomaticpunk, @thebeckyjolene, @paintballkid711, @simpledyiing, @barbiewritesstuff, @bbooks-and-teas, @starshipfantasy, @saramaple, @marchingicenotes7, @bayisdying, @princessofglitterland, @katesmadness, @shakira-sasha, @xoxabs88xox, @nyx2021, @qardasngan, @fanboyluvr, @mrsjaderogers, @bellamy1998, @alexxavicry, @madamemelancholysstuff, @autumnleaves1991-reads, @dozcan123, @nani-kenobi, @noxytopy, @accio-boys, @the-winter-marvel33, @justameresimp, @abaker74, @starlightmoon2020, @comfortzonequeen, @flrboyd, @heyitskay-21, @kmc1989, @kkrenae (let me know if you'd like to be added!)

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