Tgm - Blog Posts
Look Me in the Eyes (Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Reader)
*GIF not mine*
Summary: During naval training, your jet crashed and burned, taking your memories with it. But the lieutenant who saved you seems to know you better than he lets on. The only issue is that he refuses to tell you his name.
A/N: pfft half yall don’t read this anyway so imma just say rooster’s hot, oreosmama out *drops mic*
Word count: 3345
It’s not the pervading scent of antiseptic and boredom that has carved its way into your skin, nestling deep into the creases of your brow and your sneering upper lip—
It’s his unflinching gaze.
The lieutenant hovering over you, with a spoonful of green, gelatinous “dinner” posed over your lips, mumbles, “Open the hatch, the F-18 needs to land.”
He’s a staunchly built man ornamented in the same naval jacket he’d been wearing when you first came-to in the hospital room, his lofty shoulders embellished in unfamiliar patches. Over the last two days, most of which have consisted of him lording himself over you or sitting back in the chair beside your bed, his five o’clock shadow has thickened, and the wrinkles underneath his teasing eyes darkened a shade.
The F-18 bumps against your sneer, and he chortles to himself.
You know why you’re here.
Well, sort of.
You know that it must’ve hurt. Like a falling-unconscious-due-to-pain kind of hurt. Black and blue splotches paint your temple and upper left cheek, and each time you force a smile, it aches. The rest of your body looks the same. In the first shower you’d been allowed, you twisted and turned as much as your burning abdomen could handle and had come to the conclusion that you were glad you didn’t remember much of what had happened.
The only real issue was that you didn’t remember much of anything.
The story you had been told was haphazardly crafted, not unlike if a toddler had drawn a house with crayons and passed it to you, insisting it looked exactly like the one you lived in.
It goes something like this: you were flying your jet when the engine stalled, and when you ejected, your head smacked against the windshield. You were lucky—you were unconscious when you had crumpled in on yourself, snapping five of your ribs like pencils, and when you’d landed on the ground, face in the dirt—you were so, so lucky.
But the lieutenant says differently.
When he found you, you were awake. You were echoing his name into the stagnant desert air, screaming and sobbing in ways that still keep him up at night.
You know because he sleeps with folded arms on the edge of your mattress, and he rattles the metal skeleton each time he flinches. And the times when he thinks you’re too buried in exhaustion and slumber, his hand finds yours, fingertips light as air against your skin.
These are the only times the lieutenant bares that part of himself to you.
In the mornings, when you can look him in the eyes and see the guilt buried underneath, he winces a smile onto his lips and asks if you remember anything yet.
You don't.
And he winces again. “Back to the drawing board, huh?”
The lieutenant is a nice-enough man when he wants to be. The only issue is that he doesn’t seem to want to be.
“Tell me your name,” you snipe, dangling over the precipice of flinging Jell-O across the room.
This is a game he never wants to play, despite how often he wins. He has the whole naval base’s hospital staff refer to him as Sir or Lieutenant-no-last-name, and each time you ask, he’ll give you the same response.
“You know my name.”
You don't. He’s a complete stranger. He can hold you hand and feed you Jell-O and help you hobble to the bathroom; he can brush the hair from your sweat-crusted face in the mornings and, on some rare occasions where he thinks he’s woken up before you, he’ll graze a feather-soft kiss on your bruised temple.
And you still haven't got a clue.
Because whoever the lieutenant is, the tight grip he has on your heart is completely foreign to you. It’s a grip that says you and him aren’t just something definable—you were a we in this life; the pair of you have formed a way of living in tandem, your own intrinsic tango to which nobody else knows the steps. It’s not just like or a passing fancy. It’s not just hot static running through veins.
This is fully fledged; this is oxygen now. The rise and fall of your chest is the rise and fall of his. The absence of it must be suffocating.
So you don't know why he doesn’t like this game. He makes a question-answer into a back-and-forth, and then he winds and winds you up until you’re ready to snap.
It’s not fair. God, it’s not fair. You deserve to know his name. Doesn’t he know it’s not just a tickle in the back of your mind anymore? If he was the one whose name you were screaming, didn’t you deserve to know what it was?
“Why do you keep doing this?”
You watch his lips purse, the color bleeding out of them and into pink patches on his neck and cheeks. The spoon rattles against the tray, and the glob of green wavers in its curve. He refuses to hold your gaze like always. Self-inflicted torment disguises itself as burnt-sienna irises. The life you’ve forgotten is bowing his shoulders, and your crash, no matter the fact that he saved you, is eating away at him.
Then the lieutenant smiles, in the fractured way—the way someone might laugh at a funeral.
“Because knowing my name wouldn’t help you. You never called me by it, anyway.”
This, oh God—this is the closest you’ve ever gotten, and you’re still wading in the darkness. A name you’d never even call him by, what a wonder that does to your psyche.
A name was a start; it was a first impression. There was a lot in a name.
So you’d never called him by his name… so what?
So what, only lovers knew each other by more than a name? So what, he never called you by yours? So what, you didn’t want to ever call him by his name, never felt the urge, but felt it was rather proper considering you didn’t know what to call him at all?
He keeps you doggy-paddling for it.
The hospital room is polluted with silence for the rest of the night. Slowly, you finish the Jell-O as he sits back in his chair, watching, yet not quite seeing you. You missed when his staring felt like a buzzing fly. Now it’s a thunderstorm hanging over you, foggy and dampened, and you’re struck every few seconds with a shiver.
He doesn’t reach out for your hand when you pretend you’ve fallen asleep. Twenty minutes past lights out, he stands and heads into the bathroom, slowly creaking the door closed and locking it before the shower faucet turns on and stays on for a long, long time.
Where his hand should be is where he laid his jacket, one sewn patch erroneously rough against your palm. With another glance at the light underneath the bathroom door, you haul the leather jacket up into your lap, tracing the ridges and folds. You trails your fingertips along the jacket, searching for… something. Anything.
Cold metal, a zipper slips underneath your fingers, and you sit up straighter despite the outcry of pain in your ribs.
A pocket, and inside is a small plastic card—his ID.
That, and a small, velvet box.
No…
No, you won’t open it.
No, no, because he shouldn’t even have that here.
Why—dear God—why did he have that here?
It’s not for you. That’s for sure. You don’t even want to open it. No.
It’s not yours. It’s not yours to have, especially since he hasn’t offered it to you, and it’s not yours to wear, and it’s not yours to look at, to watch, iridescent, crystal devotion reflecting the moonlight from the room’s lone window.
But when you lift the cover and curse the stars that the man whose name you don’t even know knows you so well, knows how beautiful it is in your eyes, and even worse, how well it fits on your finger, you know it’s yours.
Well, not yours.
It’s hers. The one before the crash’s.
That’s her ring on your finger, and that’s her lieutenant grieving in the bathroom.
This is her life, not yours. All you own anymore is the absence pulsing in your chest.
You own the spasms in your veins, the brief and lasting panic of who am I, really?, the deficiency of life and past and love; the frail hold on this reality, on that man, on this ring.
The rest is not yours, so you should let it go.
Then, ideally, you should be able to float away, free from these junctions to a girl you don’t know. The man who loves her loves your face. He loves your body, and your voice, and each of the words falling from your lips, perhaps in the wrong order, yes, but he’ll rearrange them in his mind so that it matches hers.
Ideally.
Ideally, it’s not this drowning feeling, a weight like a hand pressing hard against your chest, shoving you deeper and deeper under the current. She’s the one who breathes, not you. You don’t need to breathe. You’re an accident in this world.
The I.D. slips from your grasp and falls to the floor.
You’ve read it. You saw the name, the rank, the naval symbol. In the dim moonlight and the single glowing strip underneath the bathroom door, his not-really-a-smile smiles up at you from the vinyl floor.
And now you see it, chrome duct tape peeling off the jagged stitches of a patch, the one over his heart. Another of his games: his missing call sign.
It… fits him. Strangely enough.
Is this what you called him?
The hospital room floods with a subdued yellow light carried out by the steam of the lieutenant’s shower. He emerges with a towel wrapped around his lower body, a sheen of wet on his cheeks you’re not certain was caused by the shower.
Like you, this is his third shower in this room, but unlike him, he’s not wearing a smirk when he exits, bare feet padding along the cold tiles. He doesn’t spare you a glance while he pilfers through his black duffle bag, the one seated on the only other guest chair in the room—the one that never moves.
Maybe it was a good thing he didn’t look, because you hadn’t thought to take off the ring. It was a plan as half-baked as when you’d first decided to put it on. Some barbaric, frenzied part of you, the same one that had slipped it on and hugged it close to your heart, refused to yank it off. It was another you—not her nor you, but a new one that had fallen in love with him, Rooster, without memory or qualms, the one that had no issue with him lingering in every corner of your mind; no, in fact, she preferred it.
You don’t listen to her when the lieutenant pivots back to face you, a fresh pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and the rest sourced from the duffel bag in tow, one fist curled into his towel at his waist. His eyes land on yours, and your fingers slicken with the sweat of your palms, tremble like the thumps beneath your ribcage.
At the worst moment possible, you notice, in the hazy yellow light of 10:07 PM, that Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw’s eyes are achingly akin to whiskey. It’s the dark, thick kind that coats your tongue and hits you five seconds after you sip it like a freight train; heady, terribly intoxicating, and in large doses, coaxes out the worst side of yourself at an even worse moment.
The ring clinks against the bed’s metal framework before shuddering against the tile floor, and his eyes leave yours to watch it rattle. The skin of your left ring finger burns from the swift twisting and tugging you’d employed in a state of tipsy panic—your plan had been to slip the ring unnoticed beneath his leather jacket, the same place you’d stuffed the velvet box.
A breath tears itself out of the lieutenant’s chest. Tan skin rises and falls once, and his grip goes white-knuckle on his towel.
Then he pads back toward the bathroom without a word and disappears behind the slammed door. Somehow, in some terrible way, it is even harder to breathe with him not in the room after that.
But he bursts through the door a second later, completely negligent of the violent pacing of your heart, donned in clothes wrinkled and stretched in odd places from frantic dressing. He covers the distance with three long strides and slackens back into the plastic hospital chair, the heavy creases under his eyes never having looked so deep-seated.
You see it now. The damage this whole experience has done to him. He’s been hollowed out, rigorously gutted to the point that one last revelation might finally crack him in half and let the despair pour out.
You’re afraid to tell him all that you don’t know. That even though you had slid that ring on and off your finger, you still don’t know him. But, God, you want to tell him that you love him, despite knowing it won’t be enough. It’s not even enough to you, and it’s all that you have.
Usually, he wears this sheen layer of tenderness over his face; it slips off every night when you close your eyes, and he smooths it back on in the mornings in the mirror. Some days he layers it on so thick you never even notice the grief hidden underneath.
It must have gotten too heavy to bear.
The silence hangs just as heavy. He runs both hands down his face, pressing hard enough that his skin emerges pink, and folds his hands, knocking them against his lips. Veins in his eyes grow redder by the second, and your heart begins a slow crawl up your throat at the watery levels of his eyelines, waiting to spill. The ring sits on the floor untouched.
“Do you,” he faltered, clearing his throat. “Do you… remember anything?”
He’s looking at you so intensely that your skin is searing. Shame washes over you, grasping your shoulders and burying you deeply into its chest. You want to cry.
“Nothing.”
The lieutenant stares at you a second longer, stretching it out until you’re trembling. Then he looks away, down, before reaching and retrieving the ring from the ground. He observes it for just a second, the way it glimmers in night’s imperfect lighting, and his eyes squeeze shut.
Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw, you’ve learned, will draw things out until the perfect moment has come. He will wait until the ache swells and culminates, with a tolerance so inexhaustible you wonder if, in all your time loving him, you ever bothered to wait up. He’s noticed how the darkness has swallowed both of you wholly, and only now does he offer reprieve.
Bradley tells you your name.
And he tells you that he’s been in love with you since the first second he saw you.
He tells you that he can’t bear the thought of losing all that you’d had, and that his world had been crumbling apart before his own goddamned eyes ever since your jet’s engine had sputtered and died. He tells you that he’s so, so fucking sorry he couldn’t save you, sorry that your life ever got entangled so messily with his in the first place, and even more sorry that he’s so useless to help you find your way back, that you can’t seem to find your way back to him.
And when you began to cry, he bolted up from his seat and held you, whispering apologies into your hair, and you cried a little harder, because you had found your way back to him, but he wouldn’t ever care, because it wasn’t the same path you’d taken before.
You cry because it hurts to hold him, and even more because it hurts him to hold you. You want all of the I-love-yous he’s ever said to be for you, and you want that damned ring too.
You want that goddamn ring on your finger right now because he’d promised you that it would be yours. That first moment he’d ever seen you, stumbling drunk in a crowded Hard Deck and spilling his beer half on his Hawaiian shirt, half on yours, that he’d make up for it by putting a spendy ring on your little finger right there, despite not actually knowing where right there was. The only one I’ll ever buy, he’d hiccuped, it’ll be yours, darlin’.
“Rooster,” you croaked into his chest. “Roo.”
A provoked sob tore from your throat, your arms and ribs aching from how tightly you clung to him, even after he froze. You surfaced from the curve of his shoulder, hands sliding past his sides, over his thrumming chest, and up to cradle his damp jawline before drawing his face down to yours. He mumbled your name, whiskey eyes potent as ever, and you smothered the rest of his question against your lips.
You couldn’t tell who was crying anymore. Your cheeks’ dampness was his, just the same as his lips pressed against yours so harshly, so numbingly you couldn’t quite tell where yours ended and his began. It must have been somewhere close to where his tongue met yours, making up for lost time as he fought hard and fiercely for everything he’d been starved of for three, going on four, unbearable days. His hands left their leverage against the bed and latched onto your hips, rough fingertips familiarly caressing the soft slopes of your sides, and when you offered an airy moan to him, he accepted eagerly with a tightening grip.
You separated from him with a small cry, ribs twinging. Bradley pulled away in horror, and his dilated pupils struggled to sober up to join. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, larger hands now grappling at yours and trying to remove your grasp. “You need—ice, I’ll go get you some ice–”
“Roo, no,” you mumbled, refusing to let go of him.
He paused, and his body shivered under your touch. The familiarity of his name from your mouth seemed as comforting to him as it was to you. His lips twitched and curled, and he breathed a small sigh. The hard lines of his face grew tender as he slid his hands down to your wrists, turning and pressing a kiss to each palm.
His heart jumped and throbbed against your fingertips, and you had no doubt he could feel the same from yours. The heat of his damp cheeks had grown infinitely warmer under your touch, and for all the nights you’d spent with just a grasp on his hand, the change was more and more welcome.
“Don’t leave me again,” he pleaded against the skin of your palm, voice thick and bittersweet, like honey seeping through your ears. “I don’t think I can handle that again.”
He steeled himself against your mattress with one hand when you tugged his forehead down against yours, lips just whispering against one another. You smiled.
“Was it all the Jell-O that did you in, or…?”
“Yeah, actually,” he nodded, tongue pressed against his cheek. “It was. I hope you know we’re never having Jell-O in our house ever again.”
“Not even lime?”
“Especially lime.”
You huffed, “Fine.” You pulled away, despite how desperate Bradley was to follow you. He let you fall back against the pillows with your hand still in his grasp, and he settled onto the edge of the mattress, letting his spare hand find home in the pliant skin of your thigh. Your eyes rose to the ceiling. “But it’ll cost you.”
Soft lips brushed the back of your left hand before cold metal slipped around your finger. “One of these?”
“Exactly.”
Bradley hummed. “Gladly.”
IM LITERALLY GOING SO FERAL OVER THEM WTF I NEED THIS ASAP
taking nsfw polaroids with the dagger squad
Warnings: afab!reader implied, mentions of female body parts, mentions of sex/sexy times. the race & body type of the reader is not implied & is meant to be open to interpretation! as a plus-sized woman myself, I tried to imagine myself in the reader's position, so I did my best to keep the verbiage in regards to that as neutral as possible. there's swearing, possessiveness, spit kink, borderline almost choking?, real nasty stuff. any of the links that are included to show pictures WILL be genuinely nsfw, so please proceed with caution. let me know if I missed anything!
word count: 1828 words of deliciously sinful content
A/N: no minors or ageless blogs allowed! I will not hesitate to block you. this is so incredibly self-indulgent & I will make absolutely no apologies about it lmao. please be kind as this is one of the first things I've written since like 2016 and one of the first spicy/smut-adjacent things I've ever written. has this idea been done before? it's entirely possible. but that's the great thing about this chaotic internet space, we all have our own interpretations of things. also at this time I will not be taking requests as this is just something random that I decided to share. maybe in the future I might, but for now, only when inspiration strikes. you are more than welcome to stop by my inbox to share whatever you want though! I will be writing accompanying blurbs to some (maybe all??) of these hcs for the "favorite shots" and those will come when they come 😏 (pun not completely intended, but welcomed nonetheless) here is the accompanying inspo moodboard for these!
so with that being said, enjoy you filthy animals & let me know what you think!
be kind & be well 💗
Javy/Coyote
let's be real, Javy is the most fun and playful when it comes to this
when you first suggest it to him he's like "oh shit baby, for real?"
will 100% drive around town to stock up on polaroid film because he is so stoked y'all are doing this
and you can't help but giggle at how he's almost literally vibrating in line at Best Buy
"babydoll it's on my sexy bucket list!" "Javy shhh there's children here" "if I'm quiet, can we do this as soon as we get home pleaaaaase"
it's hard to say no to him, so you playfully roll your eyes and say yes
he has a specific pose in mind for you, so once you're done with the last stop for film, he swings by the makeup store to grab something & has you stay in the car
he's spent enough time shopping with you & his cousins & mom to know exactly where to go, so he's in and out within 10 minutes
it's a tube of dark cherry red lipstick and you just look at him and it clicks
his ultimate favorite polaroid of you isn't even one of you bare ass naked (although those are pretty good contenders)
nah it's the one of you suggestively licking a lollipop, that dark cherry red lipstick on, pushing your lace-covered tits up in your face, leaning towards the camera and making eye contact
he can never truly look at the jar of lollipops Penny keeps next to the register at The Hard Deck, the same way ever again without getting hard
jokes on Javy, he essentially Pavlov'ed himself
definitely into pin-up girl poses as well, but a lot less clothing
the man loves a good prop (they are teammates, not the enemy. take that as you will 😏)
Jake/Hangman
he gets so fucking smug when you bring it up one night while you're laying in bed
"Oh you're going to miss this cock so much, you want a picture to remind you of how full and wrecked it makes you feel, don't ya sweetheart" "Shut up Jake, you know you'll miss this pussy just as much when I'm not around. So wet and oh god, oh so needy for you" fake moaning to really sell the silliness of it all
he has so many of you in different poses, but his absolute favorite? definitely the one of you sitting in his big leather office chair, legs spread and hanging over the sides, heels on (but out of frame), that big ole engagement ring on your finger that he gave you a few short weeks ago, that same hand is sliding towards your center, gently crazing your clit and your other hand squeezing your breast
this man is possessive, so seeing you, his fiancée touching his pussy? he's done for. that picture has gotten some serious mileage on nights apart & he always calls you when he can and you just know what's about to happen phone sex duh
I think the entire fandom has made it well known that Jake is a Navy man, born and bred, so you know he's got to have a military-inspired shot
something a little bit like this (with you saluting & wearing his dog tags) that he begs you to keep at his desk, but you don't want to run the risk of his nieces or nephews seeing your bare tits when they come to visit
so you compromise and let him keep it at his bedside table
Mickey/Fanboy
He's so much like Javy in the sense that he is absolutely buzzing with excitement over this
You both have shared a fair amount of nudes with each other (carefully of course) and so now having a physical copy? Mickey almost cums in his pants at the thought
Now he is not a particularly handsy guy outside of the bedroom. He likes holding your hand and will slide a sly hand in your back pocket every once in a while
In the bedroom though?
His hands are alllllll over you
I'm talking like, caressing your thighs as he goes to tease a finger at your entrance, squeezing your boobs & tweaking your nipples to hear you whine and moan, gripping your hips so hard as he's thrusting into you
so that means his favorite polaroids are ones with his hands in them
He's hitting it from behind? his hands are grabbing a handful of of your ass, spreading your cheeks to get a good shot of his cock deep inside you
He'll have his hand around your throat, a thumb in your gasping mouth
very much likes it when you return the favor and have your hand around his throat, knowing he's at your mercy
or even one with your hand wrapped around his cock, pressing it up against his toned abs, precum leaking from the tip
Bradley/Rooster
As cliché as it is, you know this man is driven wild at the thought of you wearing any one of his Hawaiian/Tropical shirts
regardless of if the Navy stopped issuing dog tags or not, he finds a way to have a set just like his dad's with his own info on them
which leads us to the fun stuff
Rooster's favorite shot is one of you on your knees, wearing nothing but one of his shirts and the dog tag replicas
he has you keep your hands to yourself, mouth open and waiting, while he jerks off and cums on your face
breathless, he snaps the first picture, but then takes his thumb, swirling his cum over your lips and into your mouth
he thinks he might cum again right then & there
very much likes the idea of a beer poster adjacent polaroid as well
finds a way to get you, with your legs spread sitting on the open tailgate of the Bronco, yet again wearing nothing but that shirt and those damn dog tags
basically likes to see you wet & messy in his clothes
will tuck his polaroids away in a corner of his own little home shop, far away from prying eyes
he learned the hard way when Jake came over to help work on something and he found a polaroid of you, ass up, lacy thong in view, hidden in his tool box
that is something they never speak of, but when Jake's partner sends a bottle of wine & flowers, Rooster knows what happened and leaves it at that
Reuben/Payback
with Reuben, I feel like he's not super into it like the rest of the squad, but he's not, not into ya know?
why have a picture when he can have the real thing
but when he can't, he will 100000% indulge
maybe for your birthday or an anniversary, or whatever thing it is your celebrating, he will do whatever to make you happy
he likes more of the "classy"/artistic shots, but that doesn't mean that they're not sexy as hell
BIG fan of when you wear his dress shirts as you're getting ready for an event or a night out especially if you haven't put on your lingerie yet
you'll be a big tease and bend over and wiggle your ass at him
"take a picture it'll last longer" "don't mind if I do, hold that pose for me"
definitely plays with shadows a lot
really likes when your silhouette shows off your nipples
you'll be laying in bed, still naked from the night before, your hair is a mess
but Reuben thinks you're the most stunning being to set foot on this earth
so when he sees you stirring from a deep sleep, he grabs the polaroid camera from the bedside table, and pulls the sheets off your chest, nipples perking up at the cold as you let out a whimper (another favorite of his)
Natasha/Phoenix
she's truly something else
when you're one of the only women in a male-dominated field, you get real fucking tough & are immediately a bad ass no matter what
and I think that translates into almost all aspects of her life, but she doesn't let it change her too much as a person ya know?
in the bedroom though? oooof
now this may be controversial, but she was the first person out of the entire squad I thought of, when it came to mind, but bear with me here
she spits on your face and/or in your mouth
don't ask me why or how, she just does and my god you both get off on it
maybe it's a dominance thing or marking you as hers but it's hot
the first time she takes a polaroid after spitting in your mouth, she has you stick your tongue out, let your now mixed saliva drip off your tongue
you looked so dumb and fucked out and blissful and she LOVES it
she's a BIG fan of marking you
whether it's leaving lipstick marks all over your chest or hickeys instead
but spit on your face AND hickeys all over your chest? double-fucking whammy you're both going another couple rounds after those pictures finish developing
her stash of polaroids are tucked in her pocket because who the fuck would dare to go snooping in Nat's stuff??? (not Jake because he knows now to ask for a pen, instead of looking for it)
may have a few shots of you using toys on each other but that's a story for a different day
Bob
Oh darling Bob, Bobby, Robby, Bobert
now he's the wild card of the entire sqaud in my opinion & I feel like he could go either way
I could see him being very meek and nervous about taking nudes of you
like even though they're physical copies & there's no chance of them ending up on the internet, he doesn't want to take advantage of you, ya know? (We stan an absolutely respectful King)
But then...
I truly could see him being the raunchiest fucker out of 'em all
I'm talking like shots of his cock in your mouth, drool dribbling out the sides, your mascara running down your cheeks
There's some of him eating you out, glasses askew & fogging up, eyes blown wide and black, staring you down while he is doing his damn best to get you to cum so hard you forget everything but the feel of his mouth on your cunt
maybe one day he's on leave long enough to grow just the right amount of stubble
so after date night & he's just eaten you out within an inch of your life, he takes a polaroid of your dripping cunt, a mixture of your cum staining the sheets, your thighs red and raw from the baby beard he's growing
but because Bob is Bob, he takes such good care of you afterwards though and is constantly checking in, making sure you were okay with all the pictures he took
we are Team Bob Fucks here at mxgyver dot tumblr dot com thank you very much
tagging some tgm pals that might be interested!: @rae-gar-targaryen, @withahappyrefrain, @rhettabbotts, @theharddeck, @bioodforbiood, @ellariasand, @fidogo, @hangmanbrainrot, @fanboygarcia
a/n #2: woooow y'all that was... something. if you've made it this far, thank you for reading & thank you for indulging in this! I was very nervous to post this, but we're going into 2023 with the mindset of don't think, just do!
Shove them together and make them kiss??? Sometimes….
does anyone wanna uuhhhhhh
Ever since this man played Rooster, the Hawaiian shirts have become apart of his everyday wardrobe. Honestly, I’m here for it.
It's the gold chain for me 🫠
Maverick: And what do I get out of this?
Slider: I will give you a dollar.
Maverick: What do you think I am? A chump? I would never do it for a dollar!
Iceman: How bout two dollars?
Maverick: You got yourself a deal.
He’s trying to kiss him because he was so turned on.😂😂😂😂
no because I need to talk about this moment again for a second actually
hangman has spent so much time trying to goad rooster into reacting the way that he wants. the song at the bar, the asking personal questions, the bickering in the classroom. and rooster is relatively dismissive of it up until this point - smiles at hangman while he’s monologuing, shuts the convo down with a ‘none of your business,’ rolls his eyes and casually points out that hangman’s being a terrible wingman
and then this moment happens. rooster is finally reacting the way hangman wants, and like. pls just watch the gif again through the hangster lens.
there’s that moment on hangman’s expression before he starts to grin where he’s almost, like. recognizing bradley again. like, a mix of “that’s how far I have to go to break you now?” and “oh, there you are”
and it makes me want all the history for them. how easily did bradley react to jake’s asshole behavior before? how many times has bradley shoved him like that? how many times has hangman seen what rage looks like on rooster?
like. that is a man that knows what he did. that is the face of a man that just proved to himself and to his whatever-the-fuck-bradley-is-to-him that he’s still able to get under bradley’s skin bc he knows exactly where to cut. jake realizes he still has the power to affect bradley (even if it takes more effort now), and he knows it.
that look in the second gif is a quiet, taunting “I’m in your head”
so also, consider -
a quiet, arrogant, taunting “I’m still in your head”
SAM YOUVE DONE IT AGAIN GOOD BUDDY!!!!
The beach scene but make it gayer
HES A TWINKIE
Mav, in the middle of sex with Ice: I'm like a cake
Ice: wha-?
Mav, smirking: covered in ICING
Ice: ...
Ice: get out
Mav: but-
Ice: OUT
Our saviour (TGM, comfort)
Pairings: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Gn reader x Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw
Synopsis: you comfort your boyfriend after a nightmare.
Tw: angst,hurt/comfort,nightmare, death,crying,fluffy ending
Note: Jake is a bit oc but I love soft Jake and no one can change my mind.
_________________________________________
Jake was petrified...
He didn't make it...he didn't save them...he lost them.
Jake see the F-14 explode with wide eyes, frozen in a shock stare before everything crashed on him letting out a scream of despair
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"NO !"
Jake jolted awake and you had never woken up so fast in your entire life. Immediately, you light up the room, approaching slightly the man on your left.
"Jake ?"
He didn't respond, too far gone to his nightmare, the image spinning in his own head, he couldn't hear your soft calls of his name.
Jake was trembling of fear, hyperventilating. You see tears rolling down his cheeks.
It was not a sight unknown to you, after the suicide mission, nightmares were part of his nightly routine and you know that Jake needed time before talking about it.
So you sit on your knees and take one of Jake's hand and kiss it lightly to try and ground him:
"Everything is fine Jake, take some deep breaths, in and out"
"I'm here, I'm not leaving you"
And you continue with small praises to help him as much as you can.
When you feel Jake's breathing return to a good rhythm with only silent tears on his beautiful face and him squeezing back your hand, you smile at him with a soft look:
Yn: "Hey love, wanna talk about it ?
Jake: I-I didn't make it this time, they're a-all dead and I couldn't save them...Rooster and Maverick I failed them...I killed our boyfriend and we lost him because of me, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..."
You've never seen your boyfriend so vulnerable, crying in your arms. It's killing you to see him like this.
Softly, your hands went to his face, wiping his tears.
Yn: "Jake, it was a nightmare. It's not real, you saved them Honey, they are alive thanks to you and your amazing pilot skills. You didn't fail them. I know it's hard but I'm still here, you're still here with me, Mav and Bradley are still here. You saved them they are okay"
Jake: But where's Roos ? He's not with us right now ! I-I-
Yn: Darling don't listen to your head. Brad is with Mav to spend the evening/night with him, remember ? I promise you they're okay but they need this time together and make their relationship stronger.
Jake: Yeah I know..."
He gives you a little smile for you to reciprocate with a sweet kiss on his cheek
Jake: "I'm sorry...
Yn: It's okay J, I'll always help you like you always help us. Now lay down with me, we need our beauty sleep. A must to be on the Top."
He laughs a little at your small joke, making you smile, and joining you under the blanket. Wrapping your arms around him to pull him closer to your body, Jake let his head rest on your chest, finding more comfort, thanks to your body's heat.
Jake:...Thank you.
Yn: It's my thing to help you and not only in the air. Now close your eyes, I'm not going anywhere Love.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
When Jake woke up this morning, he felt two set of arms around his body, making him a little confused. He recognised you immediately, head on his chest snoring softly. Before he could even move, the other set tighten his grip on his belly to cuddle more into Jake's neck, a tired "Baby, go to bed..." was heard in the bedroom.
Trying his best to let you sleep, Jake slowly turned his head and smiled when he saw the face of his boyfriend.
Jake: Roos ?
Bradley: Hey." Bradley smiled at him softly.
Jake: What are you doing here ? I thought you were with Pops
Bradley: Well yeah but you needed me more than anything sweetheart.
The pet name was originally just for teasing Jake but this time, Bradley use it with only affection and care for his lover, making him blush.
Jake: How did you know ? That I had a fucking bad nightmare.
Bradley: Well, our amazing partner was really worried so-
Yn: -So I texted Brad after you fell asleep.
They looked at you and a tired smile appeared on your face.
Yn: Good morning handsomes.
Bradley: Did you just woke up like that ?
Yn: You were very loud
Bradley: "Loud" my ass, I was whispering !
Jake: You're always loud Bradley.
A small blush appears on Bradley's face. You were smirking.
Yn: That's what she said.
Jake: Oh my- Loves not like that.
You laugh and Bradley hide his blushing face in Jake's hair, mumbling a "I hate you both". You respond by coming closer towards Jake's chest, trying to bring your arms around him and Bradley. Jake let you and Bradley squeeze him, bringing your bodies together with a soft smile and tears in his eyes:
Jake: I love you so much...You don't know how much I care about you and I'm so glad we're together. Tha-Thank you so much...
Yn: Hey hey baby...don't cry. We care so much about you and you can see how much we love you !
Bradley: It should be us thanking you...you literally saved my life ! You're our saviour Honey.
Jake: I love you so much...Both of you.
You can't help it and you let out a few tears yourself. Taking Jake's face in your hand, brushing his tears, you kiss his check and his lips softly, putting all your love. Bradley did the same with the same passion as you and you feel Jake rest in your arms.
Bradley: We love you so much Love.
Yn: We'll be here when you wake up Babe.
Jake:...Love you both more.
"Our saviour"
_________________________________________
Thank you so much for reading this !I hope you enjoyed this story !
Sorry for my mistakes, english is not my first language :)
Hangster but put them on The Bachelor
we‘ve been neglecting the bradley calls jake princess agenda
listen. i was yelling about this yesterday and i need to yell about it again.
im forever now thinking about how goose is basically canonized in top gun.
he's held up as this untouchable memory and bradley grows up both in the shadow of that, as well as trying to become that but hes not gonna be bc goose is a memory. hes stuck in time. he can be canonized to that extent because he will never change. he will never grow and make mistakes and that is sad. it is a tragic loss, a pure accident and nothing more. and it was so long ago that time has smoothed the rougher edges he has because goose was human. and bradley??
bradley will never be goose bc goose is long gone but people still look at him and think about his dad first in a lot of ways.
and like.
sure, there are parts of him that are his father bc goose is his dad, and there is some aspect of nature involved. and at which point does he end and goose begins and does he ever stand the chance of knowing when that is?
especially when his godfather looks at him with guilt in his eyes first and love second, even though he tries. and his mom (as far as we can tell) never moves on from that love?
bradley's been in both of their lives so much longer than goose ever did, but hes secondary to goose. they love him, and support him but the way they deal with things regarding bradley feels like they aren't seeing him. they're seeing the same ghost that hovers behind bradley and they're making decisions based on that.
their grief drives them. love for sure as well. but so much grief and that grief is once again used to put bradley secondary.
goose died in a freak accident so that means bradley needs to be saved. it doesn't matter what bradley wanted. it doesn't matter that a child can have the same dreams as their parents and not want to walk the same path. its not bradley trying to be a memory. its someone who grew u around that world and still wanted it.
and like, pulling the papers was never about bradley. it wasn't about wanting him to not join a system that would chew him up and spit him out. or talk about the very real dangers that come with the job, or how isolating it can be because of the travel involved.
they pulled the papers because they didn't want him to become goose. even when they claim to want to protect bradley. they are using the memory of goose to make it happen.
bradley never stood a chance of growing up without that shadow and it kinda makes me sad. hes haunting the narrative in so many ways, but hes also dragging bradley down as well.
Bob: Don't you get jealous?
Hangman: I never really had anything to worry about. Roo was never really good at the flirting thing.
Rooster: What are you talking about? It worked with you.
Hangman: Oh, you know what? You're right. We met, you flirted, and then bam! Ten years later you had me!
but “thank you for saving my life” maverick has spent more than three decades believing that the world would be better if he had been the one to die in that crash. has tried to do everything he can to atone for that moment. including fulfilling the dying request of the boy’s mother (whom he loved like a sister) aided by his own fear of his surrogate son dying so so young like his father and estranging his son from him. maverick goes on that mission knowing he’ll die saving his son as his final act of atonement. and he almost gets his wish. until the son he pushed away saves him in return and he realizes. his death is not required for atonement. sacrifice doesn’t have to be the end but can allow him to live. to let the grief and the guilt go. to thank his son for saving his life. because he wants to live. and “it’s what my dad would have done” bradley doesn’t remember much of his father but he knows goose loved him. he knows goose would have done anything for maverick. but goose wasn’t the man who raised rooster. his dad raised him. his dad taught him of the love required to sacrifice yourself for others. his dad taught him to never leave your wingman. his dad taught him to not think, just do. and through all the pain and grief and time lost he finally understands. because dammit he is his fathers’ son.
You know what would be funny? Whether or not in this scenario Bradley and Mav would still be talking or not - imagine that Bradley still talks about his family, and that includes his dad, so Jake catches things about him from time to time and makes mental notes in case he ever meets him.
The problem is, he is not aware Bradley is talking about 3 different people. And Bradley talks about Mav using 'dad', and about Goose using 'dad/father' and about Ice using 'pops'. Sometimes he just uses 'my old man' for any of them and only he knows it.
So Jake is under the impression that dad, father, pops and his old man are one and the same person, which in turn makes Bradley's 'dad' into some kind of mythical being.
Because he's a naval aviator, but he was also a RIO?? He's an admiral, but he's a test pilot as well?? Or he was from Tenesssee but he was also from New York and from DC??? He had a father (Bradley's grandfather) who died in a car crush and who died in Vietnam, and who died of cancer? Also he has tons of medals but he's also a person non grata in the Navy? He drives motorcycles but hates motorcycles? He taught Bradley how to drive but also had his driving licence confiscated twice for bad driving?? He met Bradley's mom in a group home but he also met her through his best friend? He's gay but he's bi but also he's a straight ally who Bradley is pretty sure dated guys at some point (can that even be classified as a straight ally, Jake doubts it)?
Jake doesn't want to call out Bradley on the inconsistencies out of fear he'd stop talking about his family or feel pressured to tell him more than he's ready for, but Jake is also dying to meet that man just to confirm what is true
The way I love the 'Hangman thinks the Rooster-Maverick animosity/familiarity during mission training is there because Rooster and Maverick are exes/partners and Rooster is horrified when he finds out because excuse me that's my dad' trope
Bonus points if Hangman (Rooster's actual ex) is green with jealousy and fucking panicking because he can't compete with that silver fox and he's got no chances to get back with Rooster if Maverick is nearby
Please give me more fics with this, I can't be the only one writing them like that
(I'm begging you people for fic recs 🙏🏻)
girlfriend | robert “bob” floyd x fem!reader
warnings- fluff, bob blushing, swearing, alcohol, smut, unprotected sex, i was too lazy to proofread lol
18+ minors DNI!!!
reader works at hard deck :)
word count- 2.7k
You knew that look. As you skated around drunk men and took the orders of nearly the whole bar his gaze never left yours. For weeks now you two had been balancing on a tightrope of teasing and heated moments.
When Robert “Bob” Floyd first arrived for his mission you two had hit it off right away. His being sober at The Hard Deck called for him striking up conversation with you as much as he could. One night after your shift ended you stayed up sitting on the bar stools for nearly 3 hours talking about anything you could. The week after that you couldn’t wait to see him walk through the bar doors just to get a chance to talk again.
He began to infiltrate your thoughts almost constantly. As you were talking again late one night your eyes couldn’t help but drift their gaze to his lips. He was explaining something to you about the mechanics of his jet, but your mind had wandered to what his lips would feel like against your own. A hot blush crept up your neck as you realized you had begun to harbor feelings for the man.
On an impulse you sprang forward and kissed him in the middle of his sentence, completely silencing him. You pulled back just as quickly, and Bob just blinked at you, processing if what had just happened actually did.
You quickly muttered an apology and Bob just shook his head. You turned away from him immediately regretting your impulsive decision. Your face burning, you began to regret everything you’d said to the man, thinking you’d read him all wrong.
You felt his hand fall to your forearm as he turned you back to face him. He didn’t say anything as his gaze moved from your eyes to your lips and back. His silence continued as he leaned forward and connected your lips again.
This time it was intentional, slow, and made butterflies creep up your stomach. He reached for you as you reciprocated the kiss. One hand in your hair, thumb resting on your cheek, the other searching for your waist. You held the front of his shirt, scared to let him go, and deepened the affair, sliding your tongue along his bottom lip. He gladly accepted and slowly yet fiercely slid his own into your mouth.
The kiss continued and your hands slid along his front and ended in his hair, gripping. He released a quiet moan as you did and without breaking the kiss he stood from his own stool and trapped you against the bar. Your back dug into the bartop as you moaned back into his mouth and his hands slid down to your hips, squeezing.
Had your phone not interrupted, you’re sure it would have continued to escalate that very night. He released you with a sigh, and you kept your eyes closed for just a moment longer.
You slowly peeled them open and Bob groaned at the sensuality of it all. He huffed a small laugh and a blush covered his face as he scratched the back of his neck, perhaps in insecurity at his previous actions.
As time went on you began to see each other frequently, in and out of the bedroom. No one could have prepared you for the skill Bob provided when you began sleeping together. While no label had been discussed between you two, you knew there was something more. Besides the near-perfect chemistry you two had when you slept together, your conversations and communication were the best you’d had with any man.
Afraid to mess up whatever was going on between you two, you never pushed for a label or serious commitment. You knew he was working hard on a dangerous mission, and you didn’t want to ruin this (partly because he was the best lay you’ve ever had).
Little did you know Bob felt the same way. The man was obsessed with you. Despite not enjoying the bar scene he made sure to be at The Hard Deck as much as he could. Penny found it absolutely adorable. Bob thought about you constantly. When he was flying, during important briefings, before bed, hell even when he was brushing his damn teeth.
He was afraid that proposing a relationship would freak you out, but also understood being in a relationship with a pilot could be a draining one. So, he kept things as they were. Casual. But not. He’d never in his life been able to fuck a girl, then talk about which constellation was his favorite, or why certain childhood memories meant more to him than others. It was something he loved about your dynamic.
But here you were. It was getting late and even more busy as the night went on. While nights were always pretty packed, Friday nights were the worst. Bob and the rest of the Dagger Squad had shown up earlier playing pool and darts, and discussing new ideas for their mission.
You had snuck in some conversation with Bob when he was sent to the bar to collect another round, but the crowd kept you busy and your mind preoccupied with all the orders.
The Dagger Squad had their suspicions that Bob liked you, but never in a million years did they think you two were actually “something”.
Hangman especially. The man could never not flirt with you. You always shot him down, but it became some sort of game to him. Bob always observed, but seeing as you rarely even responded to Jake, he found it more amusing.
So when Hangman announced in the middle of who knows what round of pool, “Well damn. Seems like I’ve got some competition at the bar.” Bob’s heart rate picked up.
His head swung over to you taking an attractive man’s order while laughing and shaking your head. His brows furrowed as you continued to smile while you made his drink.
Bob put down his pool stick and muttered a quick excuse to get away from the game. Phoenix shot Rooster a knowing look that he returned.
You were handing the same guy, even more attractive up close, his drink as Bob placed his elbows on the bar. You turned to him and your eyes widened as you registered who was before you.
“Hi”, you blushed.
He continued to stare at you then switched his gaze to the man who was retreating to his table.
“Who was that?” Bob questioned.
“I don’t know. Just some guy.” You were confused by his sharp greeting.
He hummed a reply then pushed his glasses up his nose as he said, “I uh, it just looked like maybe you knew him or something”
You furrowed your brows and shook your head.
“No, no I've never seen him here before actually.”
He once again looked back to the guy then you, “I don’t like him”, he muttered.
You huffed a small laugh then said, “Me either, his attempt at flirting with me was atrocious.”
You laughed again as Bob scoffed. He leaned off the counter onto his hands, and a small smile appeared as he turned back to his friends shaking his head.
It was near closing and the guy from earlier was not letting you out of his sights. Bob had come to pay his near nonexistent tab and whispered to you that he’d wait for you outside till you were finished.
Last call had been announced what seemed like forever ago and this guy had still not left. As you were dragging your rag across the bar top he leaned in too close for your liking.
“You wanna get outta here when you're done?”
“Uh, no. I’m good thanks.”
He just smiled as if you were playing hard to get.
“C’mon girl you were flirting with me all night, don’t leave me hanging.”
You stopped your cleaning and glared at the man. Luckily for you, Penny had overheard his antic from the register. She nearly shouted at the guy, “She doesn’t owe you anything, pal. We’re closing now, you gotta go.”
He shot his hands up in a false act of surrender and laughed as he said, “Alright, alright” and made his way out.
You turned to Penny with wide eyes and shook your head. She laughed and told you to head home and be careful.
Bob was waiting outside the door, just like he said he would. He pushed off the wall he was leaning against and reached for you. He grabbed you by the waist, one hand gripping your cheek as he collided his mouth with yours. Your eyes widened at his unusual greeting, but as his lips met yours again you leaned into him. You kissed him back with the same urgency and clasped your hands to his cheeks. He deepened the kiss with a groan and you pulled away, knowing you would find no shame in letting him fuck you outside your place of work if you didn’t.
You caught your breath as you gasped “What was that for?”
He replied with a shy “Nothing”, but turned as you heard a car door slam.
The guy from the bar. You gave Bob a knowing look and he sheepishly shrugged his shoulders, blushing.
“Oh my God you were jealous”
“What? No.” He tried to play it off and fake a laugh, which prodded a genuine one from you.
“You can’t deny it, you were showing that guy I was yours.” You stopped dead realizing what had slipped from your lips. His. You opened your mouth to refute your comment, but Bob grabbed your hand and squeezed. You glanced up at him and saw he was giving you a small smile.
“Mine, huh?”, “I’d like that. Like a lot”
You blushed even more at his statement and a smile overcame your features.
“Yeah?” you questioned.
“Yes.” He answered definitely.
“Me too”, you grabbed him by the cheeks again and slotted your lips against his.
He kissed you back slow this time. When he pulled away he gripped your hand and led you to his car. He opened the door for you and jogged back to his side. As he started the car he gave you the look. You nodded back, answering his silent question.
You bit your lip as he slid his hand along your thigh while he started the journey back to your place. He sent you heated glances as he drove and began rubbing his thumb back and forth where it lay on your thigh. Pathetic as it may sound, the light touch turned you on.
You felt that familiar heat spread throughout you as you thought about what was going to proceed in a few moments.
As he pulled to the curb outside your house you both quickly unbuckled and jumped out. Bob grabbed your waist as you made your way to the front door. You felt his body heat radiate as he pressed his front to your back while you shakily unlocked the door. You could feel all of him as he began to press his lips to your neck. You gasped and pushed back against him.
The door finally managed to open, and Bob was quick to spin you and lead you inside. His lips attacked your own as he maneuvered his way to your bedroom. The man knew where to step seeing as he’d made it a mission to christen every piece of furniture you both could. Your bedroom door was pushed open and Bob never broke the kiss as he laid you onto the bed. He was hovering above you as he pulled away and stared at you.
He was panting, as were you, and he slowly sat up and removed his shirt. He tossed it to the floor as he began to place kisses down your neck. You moved your head to the side to give him more room and moaned as he made his way to that tender, sweet spot right at the base of your neck.
As he assaulted your neck his hands made their way under your top to your chest. He squeezed and your back arched up in return. You were panting and becoming impatient.
You quickly removed your own shirt and grabbed Bob’s face to kiss him thoroughly. He kissed you harshly his tongue dancing with your own. You moaned into his mouth and shot your hips up to grind against his own.
He released a sound of his own and pushed his hips into yours, harder. As his hips rolled against just the right spot your mouth opened against his as you groaned. Your back arched with his movements and Bob took the opportunity to unclasp your bra. He dragged the straps down your shoulders and when you were exposed he quickly made work of kissing you. His tongue dragged across your nipple as his hand made work of the other breast. Kneading and squeezing, pinching your nipple as his mouth sucked the other, teeth grazing it as he released it with a pop.
“Please” you begged, not entirely even sure what for.
He leaned down again and began his torment on your other breast. You ground your hips against his and moved one hand to run through the hair at his neck.
Your other hand reached between your bodies and you made quick work of the button on his jeans. You palmed him over his pants and he groaned. He sat up taking the hint your actions called for. He quickly undid your own pants and slid them off impossibly fast. He grabbed the hem of your underwear and slowly, painfully so, slid them over your hips and down your legs. You whined at the torture and lightly wrapped your leg around his own attempting to pull him closer. He huffed a laugh, and slid his jeans and briefs off.
His cock was stiff and hard. He leaked at the tip just as you leaked between your thighs. He crawled back over you and moved his hand over your hip. His fingers slid over your entrance, capturing your arousal as he moved his fingers to your clit. You moaned loudly when he traced circles over you and watched you with glazed-over eyes.
While you normally would have basked in the foreplay, right now you needed him.
“I need you”, you breathily said.
“I’ve got you”, was all he said as he leaned down and sensually kissed you. You felt him move to your entrance and slowly sheath himself inside you. You both moaned into each other as his length stretched you. His thrusts started slow, but not soft. He was rocking into you, hands supporting himself over you. You wrapped your legs around his waist and held him as close as you could. He was yours. Your arms covered his shoulders and you panted and squirmed under him. He picked up his pace and you threw your head back at the sensation. He was hitting you in just the right spot.
He pushed his head into your neck and placed loose kisses there. His lips pressed against your ear as he practically moaned, “You’re mine. All mine.”
Your moans grew louder as he thrust and thurst inside you. He could feel you growing closer, consequences to his words.
He reached down and rubbed furious circles around your clit. You felt the familiar heat grow in your lower spine and you whined. He lifted his head and held your eyes as he urged you to come.
You came around him and he groaned at the sight. His head fell back to your ear as he whispered how beautiful you looked as you came.
His thrusts became uneven and his pace faltered. You gripped his back and pushed him as far into you as you could. You kissed everything you could reach and kept repeating “I’m yours”, until he stilled and finished inside you.
He slowly pulled out and rolled onto the bed, taking you into his arms. You cuddled in a blissful daze, saying nothing as he pushed your hair behind your ears.
“I’ve wanted you to be my girlfriend for God knows how long.”
You glanced at him through your lashes and smiled. “Me too” you murmured.
“I’m glad we're on the same page then”, he blushed.
Your smile only grew as he pulled you into him and traced aimlessly on your bare back until you both found a peaceful slumber.