#jake x Javy | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pullmecloseman · 20 days ago

Text

FRIENDLY FIRE

Boyfriend!Bob Floyd x reader

Summary: What starts as a casual Saturday paintball outing turns into utter chaos when the Dagger Squad—split into makeshift teams—goes head-to-head against a group of overconfident middle schoolers. With bruises, banter, and egos on the line, chaos ensues: Bob gets protective, Hangman gets hit in the worst possible place, and you take three paintballs to the ass. Somewhere between the flying paint, locker room teasing, and an impromptu post-game date night, you and Bob find yourselves in the kind of soft, domestic rhythm that feels like home.

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: Short ik but i really wanted to get a bob fic in before the hangman one. I think i just have a thing for writing comedy, i’ve realized that i write it so much better then normal romance 😭 also, do you guys like little fics like this? Cause if you do then ill keep writing them, I really enjoy this kind of writing

Warnings: What starts as a casual Saturday paintball outing turns into utter chaos when the Dagger Squad—split into makeshift teams—goes head-to-head against a group of overconfident middle schoolers. With bruises, banter, and egos on the line, chaos ensues: Bob gets protective, Hangman gets hit in the worst possible place, and you take three paintballs to the ass. Somewhere between the flying paint, locker room teasing, and an impromptu post-game date night, you and Bob find yourselves in the kind of soft, domestic rhythm that feels like home.

masterlist boyfriend!bob masterlist

Group Chat: Dagger Dumbasses 🧼✈️

Fanboy: who’s ready to get wrecked tomorrow 😎

Phoenix: do you mean emotionally or in paintball

Coyote: why not both

Rooster: if i get shot in the face again i’m suing

Hangman: the only thing getting wrecked is your pride

Rooster: YOU SHOT ME IN THE EAR LAST TIME

You: we literally haven’t played yet, how is there a last time

Bob: wait we haven’t gone before?

Phoenix: …bob

Fanboy: i love him so much

Coyote: i’d die for him actually

Hangman: i’d shoot him first

Bob: :)

Rooster: 9am. wear black. bring snacks. no mercy.

Payback: me and coyote are coordinating outfits

Phoenix: ok barbie and barbie

You: hangman is 100% going to get smoked by a 13-year-old again

Hangman: that 13-year-old started it, IM ACTUALLY VERY VERY GOOD AT PING-PONG

Phoenix: YOU FLIPPED HIM OFF

Coyote: he said jake looked like ken got dishonorably discharged

Hangman: okay well that kid’s parents need to teach him how to respect his elders

The arena was aggressively neon. Graffiti-covered barrels, inflatable bunkers in unnatural shapes, random stacked tires spray-painted like toxic waste drums—it was every paintball arena stereotype rolled into one glowing warehouse, pulsing with dubstep from the early 2010s.

And you were already regretting your life choices.

“I THOUGHT THIS WAS GONNA BE FUN!” Hangman’s voice cracked over the noise as he sprinted past you, arms flailing. “THEY’RE FERAL!”

Behind him, a pack of preteens in matching jerseys—Party Squad 13 airbrushed across their backs—chased after him like wolves. One of them had a GoPro strapped to his helmet. Another yelled, “GET THE TALL BLONDE! HE’S THE LEADER!”

“No I’m not!” Hangman shouted, diving behind a fake concrete wall. “I’M THE MASCOT!”

You were hunched behind a low barrier with Bob, your mask fogging up. His expression, despite the chaos, remained eerily calm—like this wasn’t a total war zone populated by sugar-hyped middle schoolers with military-grade coordination.

“We’re definitely losing,” you whispered.

Bob adjusted his vest, cool as ever. “It’s not about winning—”

Your words turned into a shriek as pop-pop-pop!—three paintballs slammed into your ass in rapid fire. You stumbled forward, flailing. “OW! MOTHERFU—” you gasped. “ARE THEY AIMING FOR ME SPECIFICALLY?!”

Bob looked stunned. “That was… aggressive.”

“I GOT SNIPED IN THE ASS!”

You turned, wincing, twisting like a dog chasing its tail. “Am I bleeding? Be honest.”

“No,” Bob said, blinking. “But you might be bruised. Like… spectacularly.”

Just then, Fanboy dove into the bunker beside you both, dramatically rolling in a cloud of orange paint mist.

“We are so outnumbered,” he panted, breathing like he’d just done a 5k in full gear.

“How are we outnumbered?” you snapped. “It’s a birthday party!”

“That kid’s got tactics, man,” Fanboy whispered. “He split his crew into flanks. Rooster’s down. Phoenix is crawling. Hangman might be dead.”

“Dead in the crotch,” someone called from behind a haystack. “I TOOK A DIRECT SHOT TO THE FAMILY JEWELS!”

You peeked around the corner. Hangman was lying flat on his back in the dirt, one hand over his heart, the other dramatically pointing to the sky. “TELL MY STORY,” he croaked.

“Tell them you got gunned down by an eighth grader with pink paintballs?” Rooster yelled.

Hangman groaned.

Bob turned to you and asked softly, “You okay?”

“Physically or emotionally?” you asked, still half-squatting and clenching your butt. “Because my soul is leaking out of that bruise.”

Bob blinked. “Do you want me to—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”

Fanboy peered between you. “Y’all are weirdly hot under pressure it’s getting me horny.”

You shoved his helmet.

In the locker-style changing area afterward, everyone peeled out of their gear like they’d just survived basic training. The arena smelled like sweat, paint, and stale popcorn.

“I’ve never been so humiliated in my life,” Hangman muttered, tugging off his jersey.

“Weren’t you on The Bachelorette for two episodes?” Coyote asked.

“THREE.”

“I got hit in the ear canal,” Rooster said, gingerly probing a red mark just beneath his helmet line.

“Yeah?” Phoenix countered, pointing to her thigh. “I got sniped mid-crawl like it was Saving Private Ryan. That little bastard whispered ‘boom’ when he shot me.”

You rolled your eyes, yanking your vest open and stepping out of the gear. Bob was already back in his hoodie, quietly folding your borrowed jersey like it was his uniform.

You pulled your shorts up—then hissed.

Everyone stopped.

Fanboy blinked. “Whoa.”

Phoenix leaned over. “Is that a whole paintball constellation on your ass?”

“Jesus Christ,” Rooster whispered. “Is that… is that three perfect circles?”

You turned slightly, trying to see. Your ass had clearly become enemy territory, bruised in overlapping blue and purple marks just below your waistband.

“Shit,” you muttered. “Am I… tie-dyed?”

“You’re gonna need ice,” Bob said gently. “Elevation. Maybe arnica.”

Hangman slumped against the wall. “You need a priest. That thing’s cursed.”

Fanboy wheezed with laughter. “Bob, you better massage that out with your strong Navy hands.”

Rooster grinned. “Get that WSO grip going.”

Bob looked like he wanted to die.

You turned to him sweetly. “You’re a gentleman. Wanna kiss it better?”

Bob’s mouth opened, then closed.

Everyone lost it.

“OOOOHHHH BOBBY BOY WANTS TO KISS IT BETTERRRR”

Rooster and Fanboy started making kisses noises and grabbing each others necks like they were about to full on make out

Bob almost started crying, “Okay, OKAY ENOUGH” he mumbled “Don’t we have somewhere to be? like lunch or whatever!??”

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a bruise in 4K,” Rooster said thoughtfully, stirring his Diet Coke with two straws.

You stared at him from across the table, still sitting slightly sideways because ow, and gave him your best “shut up or I’ll throw a fork” glare.

Fanboy was scrolling through his phone. “I caught it on camera, by the way.”

Bob turned slowly. “You recorded it?”

“Live photo,” Fanboy said proudly. “You can literally hear her yell ‘my ass!’ in slow motion.”

Rooster held out his hand like a game show host. “A masterpiece of modern cinematography.”

“Do not send that to anyone,” you warned.

“Too late,” Phoenix said with a smirk. “It’s already in the squad group chat.”

“Is nothing sacred?” you muttered.

“Not your butt,” Coyote replied, sipping his Sprite. “That thing got sniped like JFK.”

Hangman, still limping dramatically, winced as he lowered himself into the booth. “Can we talk about how I got shot in the actual balls? Where’s my sympathy?”

“You flipped off a child,” Phoenix said.

“That child called me a himbo!”

“You are a himbo,” Fanboy said.

“I have a pilot’s license and a 720 credit score!”

Rooster raised an eyebrow. “Do you know what APR stands for?”

Hangman hesitated. “…Ass Paintball Revenge?”

The whole table groaned.

The poor waiter approached hesitantly. You couldn’t blame him—your table looked like a war zone: mismatched bruises, paint splatters, dirt streaks, and seven people in various states of trauma bonding.

“Uh, welcome to Red Plate,” the guy said, blinking. “Can I get you started with drinks?”

“We already have some, thanks,” Phoenix said. “But we’re gonna need mozzarella sticks. Like… now.”

“And wings,” Coyote added.

“Fries,” Fanboy said.

Bob glanced over at you. “You want anything?”

“An ass transplant.”

Everyone snorted.

Bob, bless him, turned a shade of pink.

You added, “Also maybe a milkshake.”

“Got it,” he said, quietly proud.

The waiter blinked, scribbled furiously, and walked away like he feared you might start throwing knives.

Across the booth, Rooster was still dissecting the match like it was a SEAL team operation.

“We lost to kids,” he said, stabbing a ketchup packet. “Children. Actual middle schoolers.”

“To be fair,” Bob said, “they had surprisingly good formation.”

“Formation?” Hangman repeated, looking betrayed. “You’re complimenting them?”

“They flanked us,” Bob said with a shrug. “I respect the hustle.”

You reached over and nudged his knee under the table. “You know, you’re scarily calm under fire.”

Bob shrugged. “You get used to it.”

Fanboy raised his eyebrows. “Used to your girlfriend getting shot in the ass?!”

“I was referring to… combat.”

Phoenix smirked. “You sure? Because you looked very ready to throw hands after that third paintball hit her.”

Bob opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

You turned to him, grinning. “Were you gonna avenge my ass?”

He cleared his throat, face red. “No comment.”

Rooster leaned back in the booth, arm slung across the top like he was holding court. “You guys are disgustingly in love.”

“Not disgusting,” Phoenix corrected. “More like aggressively wholesome. I feel like I should knit them matching sweaters or something.”

“‘I ♥ HER BUTT,’” Coyote offered.

“‘I ♥ HIS LOYALTY,’” you added.

“‘Property of Bob Floyd,’” Fanboy grinned. “Stamped right on the bruise.”

You slapped his arm. “I hate all of you.”

Bob just blinked, straight-faced, like nothing flustered him.

But you knew better. The pink in his ears gave him away.

When the food came, everyone acted like they’d been starved for a week.

“Is this what combat bonding feels like?” Fanboy asked with a mouthful of mozzarella stick.

Phoenix nodded. “Yep. Except with fewer bullets and more ranch dressing.”

Hangman reached for the last wing—and Phoenix stabbed his hand with a fork.

“OW—”

“Nope,” she said. “You got the first five.”

“I got shot in the balls!”

“You also screamed like a child and used me as a human shield.”

“She’s not wrong,” Coyote added.

Hangman pouted.

You turned to Bob, who was methodically cutting his burger in perfect halves, and bumped your knee against his again. He looked up, soft-eyed and quiet.

“Thanks for covering me,” you murmured.

He smiled. “Anytime.”

You leaned in, playful. “You didn’t even flinch when they shot me.”

He gave you a look, dry and amused. “I flinched internally.”

“I knew it.”

Bob smirked. “You did yell pretty loud.”

“I got violated. By a paintball.”

Rooster chimed in. “It was honestly art. Like watching a tragic opera unfold in three acts.”

“I hate everyone at this table,” you muttered.

As the check came around and everyone started tossing in bills and Venmos, you leaned over to Bob again.

“Are you free tomorrow?” you asked.

He nodded. “Yeah. Why?”

“Because I think you owe me a bruise massage.”

He choked on his straw.

Fanboy’s head snapped around. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” Bob croaked.

You smiled sweetly. “Just strategizing. For next time.”

You were still limping slightly by the time Bob pulled the car into your driveway.

He noticed. Of course he did. “You okay?”

You unbuckled your seatbelt with a dramatic sigh. “No. I’ve been maimed. My ass has declared war.”

Bob laughed softly, turning off the engine. “I’ll file the paperwork with HR.”

You grinned and looked over at him. “You are HR.”

“Well, then I’m recommending an ice pack, two Tylenol, and a thorough massage.”

You raised an eyebrow. “A massage, huh?”

He blinked. “…medically.”

You didn’t move. Neither did he.

Then you both burst into quiet laughter, heads tilted toward each other, something easy and soft stretched between the car seats.

The house was quiet when you walked in, the lingering scent of detergent and coffee beans wrapping around you like a familiar blanket. Bob followed behind you, automatically reaching for the light switch in the kitchen like he always did. Two years of shared routines had turned your house into a well-choreographed duet.

You slipped off your sneakers with a grunt, dropping into one of the bar stools. “I feel like I aged thirty years today.”

Bob placed a glass of water in front of you without a word, then opened the freezer. The bag of frozen peas he pulled out had definitely been used for non-cooking purposes before.

He handed it to you. “For your war wound.”

You accepted it dramatically. “Tell my story, Bob.”

“I will. The Legend of the Ass-Shot.”

You smiled as he pulled off his hoodie, leaving him in just a faded navy t-shirt. You could see the outline of his dog tags underneath. His hair was slightly mussed, cheeks still pink from leftover sunburn and laughter.

“You tired?” he asked, leaning on the counter.

You shook your head. “Too sore to sleep.”

His eyes flicked down your body and back up, quick but not subtle.

You smirked. “Staring?”

“Assessing.”

“Flirting?”

“Always.”

You padded over to the couch with your peas-of-shame, flopping dramatically onto your stomach. Bob followed, dropping down beside you after grabbing the remote.

“Movie?” he offered.

“Something dumb.”

He scrolled until he found Talladega Nights. “Dumb enough?”

“Perfect.”

You stayed like that for a while, the absurdity of Will Ferrell in the background, your body aching in that weirdly good way that only came after a day of chaos and laughter. Bob’s thigh was warm against yours. Every so often, he’d steal a glance sideways, and every time you caught him, he’d pretend he wasn’t.

Eventually, you nudged his leg. “You gonna give me that massage or what?”

His brows rose. “I thought you were kidding.”

“I never joke about ass pain.”

He gave a short, breathy laugh and turned toward you. “Alright. Turn over.”

You raised a brow. “You wanna straddle me right here on the couch like a Sports Illustrated centerfold?”

Bob blinked. “No! I just—I meant like—okay, that’s not what I meant.”

You were grinning now, relishing every flustered inch of him. “You want me to lie on my stomach like a damsel in distress?”

“You’re impossible,” he muttered, cheeks flushed.

You stretched out dramatically, hugging a throw pillow. “Let’s see if that Eagle Eye training’s worth anything.”

He huffed a laugh and gently sat beside you, resting his hands on your lower back over your oversized paint-stained tee. His touch was light at first, testing pressure. You shivered a little.

“You good?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “You’re warm.”

He paused for a second before leaning in closer, both palms now slowly working over the muscles just above your hips.

“You got hit pretty bad,” he said softly.

“You think?”

Bob was quiet for a second. Then, “I wanted to kill that kid.”

You turned your head, cheek pressed into the pillow. “That’s not very Navy of you.”

He kept massaging, gentle and careful. “I know.”

“Would’ve been hot though.”

Bob snorted, but his hands stilled. “Hey.”

“Yeah?”

He hesitated. “I really like doing stuff like this for you.”

You blinked, surprised by the sudden softness in his voice.

“Not just… this,” he clarified. “Just. All of it. Us.”

You rolled onto your side, careful of the frozen peas, and looked up at him. His hand rested on your waist. His cheeks were still flushed, but his eyes were steady.

“I know,” you whispered.

You touched his chest, fingers tracing the hem of his dog tags under his shirt.

Then you leaned up and kissed him, slow and gentle.

Not rushed. Not heated.

Just… real.

His hand cupped your jaw. You let the kiss linger, your thumb brushing his ribs. The chaos of the day—the bruises, the jokes, the shouting—melted into the quiet hum of shared breath and steady hands.

When you finally pulled away, he smiled.

“I’ll get the Bengay,” he whispered.

You laughed. “Nothing says romance like topical ointment.”

#top gun maverick #top gun fanfiction #ri talks #bob floyd #robert floyd #lewis pullman #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd smut #lewis pullman x reader #jake seresin #bradley rooster bradshaw #natasha trace #fanboy top gun #javy coyote machado #payback

470 notes · View notes

lives-in-midgard · 1 month ago

Text

Maverick: I keep a picture of all of us in my wallet. Whenever I face difficulties, I take it out and stare at the picture.

Dagger Squad: Awwww-

Maverick: And I tell myself "If I can deal with these idiots, then I can deal with anything."

Dagger Squad: Oh.

523 notes · View notes

overwhelmed-alien · 2 months ago

Text

Jake, at the Hard Deck: oh my gosh Bradley is here. Ugh. He’s still so hot. I’m so mad at him. But he’s sooo hot. I bet he misses me. I bet he misses me WAY more than I miss him. Yeah. Ok what do I do? Play it cool Seresin, just play it cool. I am above all this. I am Beyoncé. He doesn’t affect me at all. Not his stupid sexy mustache. Not that ridiculous sexy shirt. Not those…long legs or pretty brown eyes. No. I’m over him. And those perfectly tousled curls. Yea I’m totally beyond over him. I’m just gonna go be Joe Cool and let him know I’ve moved on without him.

Also Jake: *immediately plays a song about sex on the juke box and bends over a table while making intense eye contact with Rooster*

Coyote:

#nailed it.#poor Javy #slow ride REALLY?#hangster #sereshaw #tg:m #top gun maverick #jake hangman seresin #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley x jake

495 notes · View notes

bcystar · 4 months ago

Text

Hangman’s tapping out ceremony

warning: bad parents

Jake stood tall under the blazing California Sun with his back as straight as can be. He could feel the beads of sweat fall down his forehead and back as he waited to be tapped out. His head was held high and he was so excited. Not only was he graduating from the Naval Academy, his dad had promised to be there. His relationship with his dad was far from perfect but it seemed to be getting better as time went on. When Jake was younger, he’d always wake up before Jake and get home after he was tucked into bed, the only time Jake did see him was during holidays.

He kept his eyes staring right ahead but the urge to shift them around to search the face he’d yearned to see for so long was clawing away at him. He saw the person in front of him get tapped out. They had what seemed like their parents, grandparents, and siblings there. He saw as the presumed father gave the soldier the biggest and tightest hug and how the soldier melted into his father’s arms. Jake couldn’t wait until his father came and did the same thing. He wondered, would his sisters and mother cry at the sight of him? Would his dad give him a hug that loving?

He watched as more and more soldiers walked away with their families and friends. There were only and handful of people left and he could see more families approaching from the corner of his eyes. He listened as the soldiers next to him reconnected with their families. The sobs of their mothers and the encouragement of their fathers.

It was when the only people that left were ones tens of feet away from him did he realize that his family was not coming. He felt the tears well up in his eyes and he desperately tried to blink them away. Through his tears, he saw one more family approach and tap out a soldier ten feet ahead of him. His tears flowed down his face as he choked back his sobs. It wasn’t anything new for his father to not show up but not even his sisters? He tried to make excuses for them in his mind but the thought of them only made the tears flow faster. That’s when he saw a familiar face. Was that…Javy?

He watched as Javy and his family walked his direction and he opened his arms wide to Jake. Finally, he felt a big and tight hug. As embarrassed as he was to do so, Jake sobbed into Javys arms. He basically turned into a puddle feeling a hug. He felt a pair of arms wrap around his back, a softer and smaller pair. He could only assume it was either Javy’s mom or sister.

“Thank you” Jake forced out through his sobs.

“Anytime man. Welcome to the Machado family.”

#— spu’s stories 📝#jake hangman seresin #top gun maverick #top gun fanfiction #jake seresin #hangman x reader #javy coyote machado #glen powell #bradley rooster bradshaw #natasha phoenix trace #mickey fanboy garcia #sereshaw

560 notes · View notes

ruerecs · 11 months ago

Text

𝒕𝒐𝒑 𝒈𝒖𝒏 𝒇𝒊𝒄 𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒔 𝒊𝒗.

JAKE 'HANGMAN' SERESIN.

secret wife by @ddejavvu

the beanery by @callsign-peach

left at the alter by @tip-top-cloud-surfer

watermelons by @promisingyounglady

loving you is easy by @thewulf

start the year right by @theharddeck

when jake met polly by @honkytonk-hangman

TAKE A BITE by @dearsnow

BRADLEY 'ROOSTER' BRADSHAW.

valentines S.O.S by @bellaireland1981

for you i'd wait forever by @katsu28

carolina? by @senawashere

angel in the infield by @bradshawssugarbaby

between friends by @sometimesanalice

NATASHA 'PHOENIX' TRACE.

THE FOUNTAIN OF YOU by @moonlight-prose

call out our names by @lenafromthenordiccoven

let your senses guide you by @topguncortez

nat discovers your nipple piercings by @sehnsuchts-trunken

ROBERT 'BOB' FLOYD.

'cause you're so smooth by @bussyslayer333

pretend by @attapullman

four eyes by @promisingyounglady

i got chills, they're multiplying by @deakyjoe

deserve it by @withahappyrefrain

i'm not sorry

it's inevitable

by @drabbles-mc

BIRDS OF A FEATHER by @dearsnow

shopping lists by @sebsxphia

JAVY 'COYOTE' MACHADO.

bones, hearts & marriages by @hangmanssunnies

and i want to make her mine by @beyondthesefourwalls

BRADLEY 'N' JAKE.

it's to you i will always return by @blue-aconite

up the ante by @sometimesanalice

no keying cars by @foreverrandomwritings

why not forever? by @roosterforme

thick thighs save lives by @ddejavvu

2K notes · View notes

kelltonic · 2 months ago

Text

Admiration☆彡

Mickey ‘Fanboy’ Garcia x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Drunkenness/alcohol!! Other than that all fluff. Canon-typical asshole Hangman. established relationship and mentions of introverted girlfriend - no use of y/n

Description: While drinking at the Hard Deck with his fellow daggers, Fanboy finally gets to prove the origins of his callsigns through his drunken ramblings about his (civilian) girlfriend.

WC: 1,580

A/N: My first time posting fanfiction on this account!! Glad it’s dedicated to my underrated husband <33 - on that note, I did write this instead of studying (I’m mid exams) as a form of procrastination, and honestly a de-stressing exercise type thing lmao

“Earth to Garcia?” Mickey hears as he slowly raises his head from his phone, awaiting a text from his girlfriend after the string of ‘I miss you’ and ‘you won’t believe what Reuben just said’ messages.

“Huh? Did you say something?” Fanboy responds, unsure of who grabbed his attention.

“Man, what’s even so interesting on your phone? Come on! Live in the moment!” Javy disappointedly scolded him, gaining some nods and murmurs of agreement. Majority of the squadron were sitting in a spacious booth, various alcoholic drinks accompanying them. Fanboy was squished in between Payback and Hangman while sitting across from Phoenix, Bob and Coyote while Fritz and Rooster sat at the end in seperate chairs.

“Sorry I find my girlfriend more interesting than you guys.” Fanboy scoffed sarcastically.

“Really? Doesn’t seem like she’s responding anytime soon.” Hangman joked with that bothersome southern drawl, peering over to see Fanboy’s one sided conversation. He didn’t blame you, it was late. Really late. The daggers were given a day off and decided to celebrate, not having to worry about getting up early - despite the fact majority probably would anyways.

“She’s probably just asleep, she has exams.” Fanboy defended, he didn’t want the others to get the wrong idea, that he was needy or anything. Though, it didn’t really help. But he wasn’t lying, you were mid exam week in college and were conditioning yourself to a better sleep schedule, he would probably tell you to go to sleep if you did ever respond.

“Mhm… I’m starting to think she’s been made up.” Hangman mocked, no matter how much alcohol he has - he will always find a way to push someone’s buttons. If anything, the alcohol made him more irritating. But before Fanboy could interject, he was saved by his best friend.

“Trust me, she’s real.” Payback groaned. Fanboy wasn’t surprised that he backed him up, or that he seemed so annoyed about it. Reuben had nothing against you, to be honest, he hadn’t even met you in person. But, he did have the unfortunate role of being the closest to Mickey in every outburst he had when he was away from you for too long and needed to scroll through all your shared memories. Reuben had lost count of how many times Mickey showed him his favourite photo of you two right before he got called to Top Gun.

“Really? I need proof or I’m never believing you.” Hangman emphasised, more likely bored than actually unbelieving. Mickey was attractive, both physically and personality-wise, it’s no shocker he’s dating someone. But when your foundation is being a dickhead, and you add alcohol and boredom to the equation, you need someone to annoy. Fanboy was just the easiest target for Hangman given the situation.

“Haha, no chance.” Fanboy swiftly replied. He absolutely loved showing people photos of you. Displaying you with pride, like a toddler showing off their artwork. But when it came to people in the military, specifically other men in the military, he always felt icky. After hearing too much nasty locker room talk, he really only described you and your shared experiences, keeping away from physical depictions and photos. The only exceptions were guys he really trusted, like Reuben. And it’s not even that he doesn’t trust Jake, he just doesn’t want to risk you getting involved in his constant teasing.

“Come on, you always talk about her - just one photo!” Phoenix chimed in, genuinely curious. Fanboy took a second, he was always easy to persuade when he was drunk. But, he stuck to his values and faced his phone away from Jake while scrolling through his favourites album.

“Seriously?” Hangman bluntly groaned, shaking his head in disbelief. “I swear I wont actually say anything weird.” Hangman pleaded, that signature smile spread across his slightly flushed cheeks.

“No shot.” Mickey responded, clicking on one of his favourites of you. You were in a beautiful black dress with some light makeup, it was the one time he ever successfully persuaded you to go to a big party. You were smiling widely, holding onto Mickey while both of you were laughing your asses off. It was a candid one of your mutual friends took while you were both drunk out of your minds. Your hair was slightly tucked behind your ear, revealing an earplug. You were never good with loud noises or bustling groups, so Mickey bought you earplugs to colour match your jewellery. You seemed so happy, and Mickey couldn’t have been more relieved. He was terrified that he would finally get you to go out to a big party and you would hate it, so he sought to make you as comfortable as possible in the situation.

He proudly flipped his phone towards the other side of the booth, presenting you to Phoenix, Bob and Coyote while Rooster and Fritz peeked over. Just about everyone was curious at this point, they had always gotten bits and pieces of his ranting about you but never actually seen the face that matches the admiration.

“Aww!! She’s so pretty.” Bob reacted softly, trying not to overstep but also wanting to validate Fanboy.

“The dress is stunning on her.” Phoenix raved with an approving smile to Fanboy.

“I know, everything’s stunning on her.” He sighed thoughtfully. Despite the fact you were dating, he was still acting like a schoolgirl yearning over her celebrity crush. The others could only laugh at this, while Hangman just drank from his beer. He doesn’t usually feel left out due to his very extroverted and dominating personality, but this was an exception.

“Well that explains a lot.” Rooster chuckled.

“Huh?” Fanboy was seemingly brought out of his trance, tilting his head at Rooster’s comment.

“Your callsign, always wondered what warranted it.” Rooster elaborated, gaining a group-wide laugh. It was so true, he was full on fanboying over you.

His slight embarrassment to his exposure was quickly taken to a halt when his phone buzzed while Phoenix was holding his phone, admiring the photo.

“Mickey baby, you drinking responsibly or just drinking?” You texted. You couldn’t help but laugh at the seemingly millions of messages you had gotten while locked in studying - cramming - for your next exam in… about 7 hours.

Mickey chuckled at your message the moment he snatched his phone back. But, his remaining responsibility took control as he replied.

“You should be sleeping! I love youuuuuuuuuu1!1!1!! go to sleep!” He typed out, his heart sad that he knows he can’t keep you up. But, his last remaining brain cells were aware that you needed to sleep for your big exam in the morning.

“No fair, you texted me first.” You groaned, knowing he was right.

“Yeahhh but like…. I don’t have work in the morning.” He sighed, he was so excited for your exams to be over so he could endlessly bug you without feeling guilty about taking up your time.

“What’s going on now?” Hangman interjected, finally trying to weasel his way back into the conversation.

“I’m telling her to go to sleep, I wasn’t lying - she’s got exams.” Fanboy whined, he was desperate to talk to you - he was always extra clingy when drunk.

“Ooh that reminds me of this other photo.” He quickly switched up, you stopped replying so he could tell you got the message and (hopefully) went to sleep rather than uselessly cramming.

“Oh lord not again.” Reuben moaned, falling back into the seat while he had to sit through yet another rant about you.

“I took this one after the last one when we were in bed..” Mickey was swiftly cut off by some disapproving noises.

“No, no, not like that, it’s nothing sexual - it’s cute!” Mickey reassured, not surprised that his friends’ minds immediately went there.

He pulled up a photo of him lying on your chest while you were both pressed together on your sides, lipstick marks all over his face. He had about a dozen kisses on his face printed from your lipstick, and he couldn’t have been happier. He and you were both still clearly drunk - only the bottom half of your face in frame. Your hair was dangling onto Mickey while he was tucked just below your chin, leaning into your chest. Your smile was just in frame, while his was front and centre. He loved the photo not only for its contents, but also the fact that it was one of your favourites. Mickey explained to his friends the backstory, and how you never really liked seeing or taking photos of yourself. So the fact that you were only partially in frame yet your presence was one of the most significant aspects, it was perfect.

“Okay, okay, we get it - you’re an absolute fanboy. Can we talk about something else now?” Hangman complained, still excluded from the presentation.

“This is what you get for being such an asshole and taking advantage of any personal thing we tell you, Bagman.” Phoenix responded, utilising her daily humbling moment. With a few ‘karma’ and ‘deserved’ comments flying around alongside the comfortable laughter, Mickey couldn’t help but feel so at home. He missed you more than anything, and he couldn’t wait to introduce you to his friends.

“Good night baby ❤️ ❤️” you finally texted back.

“Were you studying just then??”

“I had to finish up!!”

“Yeah? Well good night sweetheart, sleep well ❤️” he replied, shaking his head with a small chuckle.

Began: 1:00am 21st of June

Finished: 2:30am 21st of June

367 notes · View notes

queenofwands89 · 1 year ago

Text

Quiet Affections

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x Pilot!reader

Summary: After her friends tease her about Jake having a crush on her, Y/N reflects on certain memories that make her question whether there might be some truth to their playful jabs.

Warnings: Teasing, pining, Jake being a sweetheart, Y/N being oblivious, insults aimed at Y/N, protective Jake, mention and description of injury, anxiety, doubts, fluff.

Notes: Happy Friday, everyone! We made it! 🎉 I just hit 2,500 likes on here and wanted to thank each and every one of you who liked, reblogged, or commented on my works. It means the world to me. I’m down bad for Jake, and need him badly so I wrote this. Enjoy byeeee

You find yourself deep in the heart of the Hard Deck, the familiar hum of chatter and clinking glasses forming a comforting backdrop. Rooster, Natasha, Javy, Bob, Reuben, and Mickey are clustered around the pool table, laughter spilling freely as they take turns making shots and throwing jabs. Jake had just excused himself to go to the restroom, but not before brushing a lingering hand against your shoulder and whispering something that made you smile. This action set off a chain reaction of teasing directed at you.

"Y/N, you know Hangman’s got a huge crush on you, right?" Rooster's mustache twitches with a sly smile as he lines up for his shot.

You laugh it off, waving a hand dismissively. "Oh please, Bradley. Jake? No way. He's just... nice."

Rooster and Natasha exchange glances before Natasha cocks an eyebrow at you. "Nice? Hangman is many things, but nice isn't the first word I'd use. Unless he’s talking to you," she remarks, tapping her cue stick against her palm.

Bob, always the quiet observer, chimes in. "He's got a point though, Y/N. I've seen how he looks at you."

You can't help but roll your eyes. "I'm just completely unaware of it," you say, sarcasm dripping from your voice. "You guys are ridiculous."

Mickey grins, his boyish charm lighting up his face. "Maybe, but can you really deny the way he's always got your back?" he asks, leaning casually against the pool table.

Your first instinct is to rebut, but as their words settle in, you start to think about some of the things Jake had done for you. Not just the grand gestures like saving your hide in aerial combat, but the small, everyday things. The way he'd always save you a seat, bring you coffee exactly how you like it, offer subtle words of encouragement when you doubted yourself.

Javy steps forward, his competitive spirit twinkling in his eyes. "You're telling me you haven't noticed how he always goes out of his way to make sure you're okay?"

Reuben, good-natured but always vigilant, nods in agreement. "Hangman's not exactly an altruistic guy, Y/N. But for you? He'd go to lengths he wouldn't for anyone else."

You crack a wry smile, determined to stay firm in your denial. "He's just protective. We're teammates."

Natasha had already joined in, her voice warm yet teasing. “Don’t sell yourself short, Y/N. It’s not just about being teammates. He genuinely cares.”

In the ensuing silence, you can't help but ponder on their words. Jake "Hangman" Seresin is charismatic and assertive, traits forged from his exceptional flying skills and competitive nature. But beneath that cocky exterior, there lies a heart incredibly loving and caring, willing to sacrifice anything for his loved ones. Slowly, you find yourself drifting into a vivid memory, reliving the countless cherished moments and experiences you've shared with Jake.

You recall that evening at the Hard Deck vividly. The bar was buzzing with the usual chatter and laughter, the hum of camaraderie filling the air. You were amidst your friends, enjoying the rare downtime when an unfamiliar voice cut through the noise—this stranger making an offhand but cruel remark about you. The comment was subtle, yet it stung deeply, rooting you in place with a mix of shock and mortification. Your cheeks burned under the weight of the ridicule, words lodged in your throat.

Before you could muster a response, you felt Jake's presence beside you, solid and reassuring. He stepped forward, placing himself between you and the offender. His usual easy going demeanor was replaced by a steely resolve, his eyes dark with anger. "Do us all a favor and think before you speak," he said, his voice steady but carrying an unmistakable edge.

The bar fell into an uneasy silence as Jake’s glare pinned the offender in place. "If you've got a problem with Y/N," he continued, his voice low and unwavering, "you’ll be dealing with me."

The tension hung in the air, thick and palpable. The offender, unable to match Jake's intensity, muttered an apology and slunk away, deflated. The moment passed, but the impact lingered. Jake remained there a moment longer, ensuring the threat had fully dissipated before turning back to you.

As he met your gaze, the hardness in his features softened, replaced by a gentle concern. He reached out, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. "You okay?" he asked, his voice filled with a tenderness reserved just for you.

You felt an overwhelming wave of gratitude, the initial embarrassment giving way to a profound sense of relief. Jake had stood up for you without a second thought, his protective instinct leaving no room for compromise. In that moment, you knew you were safe, not just physically but emotionally, knowing Jake had your back. His touch and the concern in his eyes reassured you even more, providing a solace that words alone could not.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

Then there was the night when you couldn’t sleep, tormented by insecurities that gnawed at the edges of your mind. It was long past midnight, and you found yourself seated on the deck of the aircraft carrier, trying to get some fresh air to clear your head before the mission. The vast expanse of the ocean and the cool night breeze did little to quiet the whirlwind of self-doubt swirling inside you.

The stars dotted the sky like tiny beacons, and the waves below gently lapped against the ship's hull, but none of it brought you peace. You wrapped your arms around yourself, tense and lost in thought, barely noticing the sound of footsteps approaching.

Jake emerged from the shadows, his silhouette becoming clearer in the soft glow of the ship's lights. He paused when he saw you, his brow furrowing with concern. He looked around, ensuring no one else was around, before walking over to you with determined but careful strides.

"Y/N, what's wrong?" he asked, his voice breaking the solitude with an edge of worry.

You hesitated, feeling foolish for bothering him. "I…I just can't stop thinking about everything that's been going wrong. I don't know if I'm cut out for this, Jake."

Jake's eyes softened, and he lowered himself to sit beside you on the cold metal deck. "Tell me more," he said gently, coaxing you to open up. His voice was so steady, so soothing, that you found yourself pouring out all your fears and anxieties—the relentless pressure, the fear of failure, the nagging feeling that you weren't good enough. With each word, you felt a weight lifting from your chest.

Jake listened without interrupting, his usual cocky demeanor replaced by an unwavering focus on you. His eyes never left your face, and his expression remained kind and attentive. "You know what I see when I look at you?" he said quietly once you had finished. "I see someone who's brave, who fights every day to be better, who cares deeply about others. You're stronger than you think, Y/N. Don't let those doubts control you."

His words felt like a balm to your soul, soothing the raw edges of your insecurities. When he reached out to brush a stray tear from your cheek, the warmth of his touch and the sincerity in his eyes melted away your remaining doubts, leaving you wrapped in a cocoon of reassurance. Sitting there on the deck, under the endless sky, you felt profoundly grateful for Jake's unwavering support and the strength he helped you find within yourself.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

You also remember the time when you injured your ankle during a training exercise. You had insisted on limping back to your quarters, trying to maintain your independence. But Jake wouldn't hear of it. He had scooped you up without a second thought, cradling you in his arms as if you weighed nothing. "I've got you," he murmured, his voice laced with an uncharacteristic gentleness. The entire trek back, he kept you engaged in light-hearted banter, ensuring your mind stayed off the pain.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

And how could you forget the morning he had brought you coffee? Not just any coffee, but a complex, personalized concoction—an oat milk latte with a shot of caramel, a pinch of cinnamon, and a dash of nutmeg, and no foam. You hadn’t even mentioned it to him before. "Thought you could use a pick-me-up," he had said nonchalantly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. But you knew the effort he had put into remembering such a detailed order, and it made your heart swell with an unfamiliar warmth.

These memories play in your mind like a cherished montage, each moment a testament to the man beneath the bravado. Jake "Hangman" Seresin wasn’t just the cocky pilot everyone else saw. He was a protector, a confidant, a friend who cared deeply for you, even if you had been too blind to see it before.

Returning back to the present moment amidst the lively ambiance of the Hard Deck, surrounded by the warmth of friends and laughter, you notice Jake returning from the restroom. As your eyes meet, his familiar smirk emerges, but this time there’s a tender softness in his gaze that you hadn’t noticed before—or perhaps, hadn't allowed yourself to see.

“Miss me?” he jokes, sliding back into the chaos of pool cues and friendly banter.

You chuckle, shaking off the speculative thoughts. “Like a bad habit, Seresin.”

But later, as the night winds down and the camaraderie ebbs into a quieter hum, you catch yourself glancing his way more often. The teasing remarks of your friends aren’t so easily dismissed anymore. And as Jake catches your gaze across the room, you start to wonder if maybe, just maybe, they might be onto something.

Because sometimes, the most significant realizations are the ones that had been right in front of you all along, masked by the comfort of friendship and the chaos of duty.

You smile to yourself, feeling an inexplicable warmth. Maybe it was time to see what was beyond the camaraderie, to delve into the possibilities of what if. The thought lingers, like an unopened letter, waiting for the right moment.

For now, you return to the laughter and games, but with a new awareness, a curiosity that couldn’t be easily shaken. One thing was for sure—things were going to get interesting.

Text divider credits: @bunnysrph

2K notes · View notes

mxrcusflint · 6 months ago

Text

TGM on social media In his flimsy defense, Bradley posted half-asleep

#hangster #sereshaw #erinedits #jake seresin #bradley bradshaw #top gun maverick #dagger squad #hangman x rooster #rooster x hangman #social media edit #back on my bs by doing instagram edits bc its so funny to me #entry to the mooster cinematic universe #this took far 2 long #anyways bradley's so embarrassing with emojis he constantly texts jake's phone with 🥰👅😈#top gun edit #tgm #javy coyote machado #robert bob floyd #sereshaw socials

976 notes · View notes

callsign-mayhem · 5 months ago

Text

heaven is a place on earth (b.b)

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female!Reader Word count: 4.6k CW: Smut and swearing. MINORS DNI.

A roller rink with the Daggers, a bet with Bradley Bradshaw, and a photo booth that’s about to get way too hot. Lose the game, make the move—neither one of you is backing down, especially when the stakes are so high.

Rollerskating was—of course—Mickey’s idea. Who else, at the ripe age of 32, would suggest it when faced with the question of what to do on a Friday night?

It had come about earlier in the week when Javy complained that he was bored of spending every Friday at The Hard Deck. At first, you were shocked to hear it, but the more you thought about it, the more you realised that you felt the same. The Hard Deck was great and would always be the Dagger Squad’s designated hangout spot, but you could do with a change.

Everybody agreed, but by Thursday night, there was still no plan for the following evening. Jake had suggested a country bar in the city, which you and Reuben had liked the sound of. Turns out, you were the only ones.

Natasha had suggested sushi, but you weren’t a fan and Mickey didn’t think it was exciting enough for your first Friday adventure away from The Hard Deck.

You were getting ready for bed when the text came through to the Dagger Squad group chat.

And that’s how you found yourself lacing up the old pair of skates you’d dug out from the back of your closet.

‘Since when do you own rollerskates?’ Jake retorted.

‘Since college.’ You replied. ‘I got a lot of use out of them. I had a friend who loved skating, and she forced me to buy a pair.’

Jake raised a brow. ‘Doesn’t match up with the version of you I have in my head.’

‘You’re just annoyed ‘cause I’m gonna show you up. Bet you’re shit at skating.’ You smirked.

Bradley, who was lacing up his own skates next to you, huffed a laugh. Jake’s shit-eating grin faltered. He was getting that look he always got when he challenged someone.

‘How hard can it be?’ He asked, full of fake bravado.

‘It’s harder than it looks.’ You told him.

‘Ten bucks says you fall on your ass before I do.’

You looked up at him and smirked, reaching your hand out so you could shake on it. ‘Oh, you’re so on.’

‘Material Girl’ by Madonna blasted through the overhead speakers, and disco lights spattered the rink with colour. The neon-coloured seats outside the rink were shaped like giant blobs of paint, and the Daggers were spread across three of them, getting ready to make total fools of themselves.

Bob shifted uneasily as he eyed his feet, trying to figure out how to stand up without sprawling flat out on the ground. You stood up easily and glided over to him, earning you a whistle from Reuben.

‘You okay, Bobby?’ You asked, even though you already knew the answer.

He offered you a weak smile. ‘I’ve never skated before.’

‘That’s okay, I’ll help.’

You held out both hands and he took them tentatively. His palms were slick with nervous sweat, and you had to swallow a laugh. It would only make him more nervous if he thought you were making fun of him.

‘Alright, on the count of three. One…two…’

And then you pulled him up. He couldn’t straighten his legs at first, and he wobbled a bit, but after a couple of seconds he was standing up straight and steady.

‘There you go.’ You praised. ‘Easy peasy.’

Nat, who was leaning against the edge of the rink waiting for everyone, clapped.

‘Now you’ve actually gotta move, Floyd.’ She called out.

Bob glanced at her nervously.

‘Ignore her. You fly in multi-million dollar jets every day, Bob. You can get yourself from here to the rink.’

Thankfully, this turned out to be precisely the right thing to say. You held on to one of his hands, and the two of you gently edged over to Nat. It took longer than it should have, but he was still upright by the time he got there, so you counted that as a win.

‘Well done.’ You beamed.

You were about to step out onto the rink when Mickey called out your name.

‘Can I get a ride, too? I’m stuck!’ He yelled.

You rolled your eyes. ‘This was your idea!’

‘Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I know how to skate!’

You whizzed over to where Mickey was standing. He smiled sheepishly as you took his hand and repeated the same steps you’d taken with Bob. Mickey almost fell over, but he was right by the rink by that point, so he grabbed the edge to stop it from happening.

Effortlessly, you spun around. ‘Okay, anybody else?’

Bradley rolled over almost as effortlessly as you had. He was wearing one of his more ‘out there’ Hawaiian shirts, and the pink flowers seemed to glow in the dark. Honestly, you were a bit gutted that he didn’t need your help—it would’ve been a good excuse to hold his hand.

He leaned down so you would be able to hear him. ‘Hangman needs help, but he’s too proud to admit it.’ Bradley murmured, his breath warm against the side of your neck.

You hoped he didn’t notice the goosebumps that broke out across your skin.

‘I wouldn’t help him even if he asked.’ You retorted.

Javy and Reuben managed to get over to the rink's edge without much trouble, but Jake was checking his phone one last time and ensuring it was secure in the pocket of his jeans.

‘What’re you waitin’ for, Hangman?’ You shouted.

He rolled his eyes, and you and Bradley both laughed.

Jake on roller skates reminded you of a baby deer that hadn’t learned to walk properly yet. You suspected you would be ten bucks richer in the next five minutes.

Madonna gave way to ‘Take On Me’ by Aha, and Bradley nudged your arm with his elbow.

‘I love this song, let’s get out there. Hangman will catch up.’

His smile and joyous energy were infectious, so you followed him onto the rink without a word, and without looking back at poor Jake who was stuck behind a group of kids who were skating better than he was.

‘It’s the carpet.’ You heard him say. ‘I’ll be fine once I get off the carpet.’

Reuben, Coyote, and Nat were right behind Bradley and you. You mistakenly thought it would be a while before any of them could catch up on you, but then Nat glided past you, her dark hair billowing out behind her.

‘Whoa, Phoenix! I thought you couldn’t skate!’ Bradley exclaimed.

She spun around, so she was rolling backwards. ‘I never said that. There are plenty of things you don’t know about me!’

She sped off. Reuben and Javy tried to catch up, but their glides weren’t long enough, and they wobbled a lot.

‘You’re shuffling, not skating.’ You instructed. ‘You need to push the tips of your toes into the floor and then push forward.’

They wore matching confused frowns, and you huffed in annoyance. ‘It’s hard to explain. Just watch my feet!’

When the song's chorus kicked in, you pushed off and started taking long strides across the rink. When you got close to the edge, you leaned to your left to get around the corner, and then picked up your speed. It felt like being 21 again, carefree and full of boundless energy.

By the time Mickey, Bob and Jake finally joined the rest of the squad on the rink, you'd done three loops.

Reuben and Javy watched you closely; before long, they were building their confidence. Bradley was skating next to them, watching you with an impressed smirk.

It was easily the most fun you’d had in months.

Especially when Jake got too cocky, sped up and went straight into the barrier around the rink. You felt it in your body when he smashed into the floor.

You got to him quickly and helped him back onto his feet.

‘Are you hurt?’ You asked.

‘Just my pride.’

You grinned, clapping him on the shoulder. ‘In that case, you owe me ten dollars.’ You said, and then you were on your way again.

Nat was teaching Bob and Mickey the same technique you’d taught Javy and Reuben, who were now racing each other around the rink. You’d slowed down next to Bradley to watch the commotion that was sure to end in tears.

Not five seconds later, the same group of kids that had gotten in Jake’s way were right in their path. The pair of them were going way too fast to stop, and before you could shout, the whole lot of them were in a pile on the floor. Both you and Bradley doubled over in hysterics, unable to breathe properly.

You were laughing so hard that you almost fell over. Bradley grabbed your waist with his big, strong hands, steadying you immediately. The warmth of his touch through the skin-tight fabric of your tank top was something you doubted you’d be able to forget anytime soon.

‘Easy, sweetheart.’ He said gruffly.

Your heart pitter-pattered, loud and fast enough that you were sure he could hear it over ‘Heaven Is A Place On Earth.’ Your mind wandered to the other places you wouldn’t mind those hands being, and you were nearing dangerous territory. Like, not-being-able-to-look-Bradley-in-the-eye-without-kissing-him territory.

But then Mickey rolled up beside you, the rest of the Daggers in tow, demanding your hand. Apparently, there was a first time for everything, because suddenly, you’d all made one long link. A friendship link, as Mickey had so gleefully yelled. You were skating around the rink in one long chain, laughing and singing along to Belinda Carlisle. It was a neon-coloured, cotton-candy scented dream.

Nearly two hours passed. The time flew by so quickly that when someone announced over the intercom that the seven o'clock group had only 5 minutes left, you were genuinely gobsmacked.

‘There’s no way we’ve been here that long already!’ Mickey exclaimed.

‘I know right,’ you said, pretty bummed out. ‘We’re gonna have to come back, I really enjoyed tonight.’

Nat looped her arm through yours. ‘I think even Hangman enjoyed himself towards the end.’

Jake was in front of you, trying to learn how to skate backwards with Bradley, who kept catching your eye on purpose.

There had always been chemistry between you, but nothing had ever come of it. In actual fact, tonight was the most obvious the two of you had been about it.

Unfortunately, you didn’t have time to dwell on this too much, because you had to get off the rink. The group chatted happily as they removed their skates and put their shoes back on. Everybody else had rented skates, so you went outside to wait while they returned them.

After two hours of skating, the fresh air was a relief. Your skates were tied together, slung over your shoulder, and you closed your eyes and lifted your face to the sky, breathing deeply. A night with your squad always left you feeling whole in ways that alone time didn’t.

‘Y/N!’ Bradley called.

You turned around to find him standing in the doorway holding what appeared to be two beers.

‘There’s an arcade upstairs, and bowling. You comin’ back in?’

This wasn’t part of the plan, but you were happy that the night wasn’t over yet.

‘What, so I can kick your ass at every game?’ You teased.

Bradley cocked a brow, the corner of his mouth twitching as he suppressed a smirk. God, you wanted to kiss that stupid mouth.

‘How about we make a bet of our own?’ He said, watching as you strolled over to him.

You didn’t stop until you were right in front of him, close enough that if you stood on your tiptoes just slightly, your lips would be touching.

‘What do you have in mind?’

He stared at you intently, eyes dark with lust. His brief glance at your glossed lips was a dead giveaway. ‘First one to lose a game has to make the first move.’ He rasped.

You looked up at him through your eyelashes, and he released a short, exasperated breath.

‘Deal.’

Reuben, Javy, Bob and Mickey were locked into a serious game of bowling. You weren’t sure, but you thought they were playing for money. Nat and Jake were playing air hockey—rather viciously. After dumping your skates, you and Bradley set about choosing a game to play.

Mickey had really lucked-out by finding this place. The arcade was chock-full of different games and amusements—so many that you were overwhelmed by choices.

Bradley suggested Mortal Kombat, to which you politely declined. You counter-offered the race car sim, but Bradley wasn’t feeling it.

After playfully debating pros and cons for most of the games, the pair of you found yourself in front of Dance Dance Revolution.

There were so many pros for this one. For one, you kicked ass at DDR. For two, you would be in close proximity the entire time. You could accidentally trip him up or something.

Bradley shook his head slowly. ‘Uh-uh. Nope.’ He made a point of popping the ‘p’.

‘Why?’ You whined. ‘Please, it’ll be fun. Besides, I suck at this game so I’ll probably lose anyway.’ You lied.

Bradley eyed you suspiciously. Then, he got distracted and he trailed over your entire body. You might as well have been standing naked in front of him, for the way it made you feel.

He licked his bottom lip and you shivered. ‘Fine. Dance battle it is.’

You stepped onto the DDR platform, rolling your shoulders as the neon lights flickered over the screen. Bradley took the spot next to you, cracking his knuckles like he was about to go into battle.

He glanced over, that cocky smirk already tugging at the corner of his mouth. ‘Think you can keep up with me, sweetheart?’ He teased, nudging your shoulder.

The machine beeped, the song selection flashing across the screen, and you scrolled through the options with deliberate slowness, dragging out the moment just to watch him fidget. His hands settled on his hips, chest rising and falling as he exhaled through his nose. Oh, he wants to win. Badly.

But when you finally picked a song and stepped back, Bradley leaned in—just enough for his breath to ghost over your cheek—and murmured, ‘Hope you don’t get too distracted.’

The countdown ticked down, and the first notes of the song exploded from the speakers. The arrows rolled up the screen, and you both moved in sync, feet tapping out the rhythm like it was second nature. You were laser-focused—at first. But then you glanced over, and Bradley was watching you, not the screen.

He was still nailing every step, his body moving effortlessly, but his eyes? They flickered over to yours, his smirk widening when he caught you looking. Oh, he was playing dirty.

‘You’re slowing down, sweetheart.’ He taunted over the pounding bass, his voice smug and dripping with amusement.

You gritted your teeth and snapped your gaze back to the screen, doubling down—faster steps. Perfect timing. Your score started climbing, matching his. But then—distraction struck back.

Bradley suddenly rolled his hips with the beat, his arms lifting slightly like he was actually dancing instead of just playing, and your brain stuttered.

‘Oh, come on.’ You huffed, missing an arrow.

His laughter was rich and victorious, but you didn’t have time to glare at him. The song kicked into high gear, the steps coming rapid-fire, and you forced yourself to focus, willing your feet to move faster, faster, until—

The screen flashed.

PLAYER TWO: GAME OVER.

Your heart sank as you realised what just happened. One tiny misstep, one moment of distraction, and—

Bradley whooped, punching the air. ‘And that, sweetheart, is game.’ He crowed, stepping off the platform with the swagger of a man who knew exactly what was coming next.

Your stomach flipped as he turned back to face you, grinning like the cat who got the cream. ‘You remember the bet, don’t you?’

Oh, you remembered.

And from the way he was looking at you—his lips slightly parted, his hands twitching at his sides like he was holding himself back—so did he.

You’d felt pretty confident up until about five seconds ago, and now the rug had been ripped out from under you. The DDR machine was in a poorly lit corner at the back of the arcade. Panicking slightly, you scanned your surroundings, trying to devise a plan. What if someone saw you? Were you supposed to kiss him?

Then your attention was snagged by the photo booth against the opposite wall. It was nestled between the back wall and a claw machine full of Jellycats. If this next part went well, you made a mental note to bring Bradley back here and make him win one for you.

Now you had a plan, your confidence was slowly trickling back in. After one more glance around the space to make sure none of the Daggers were watching, you grabbed Bradley’s hand and pulled him towards the photo booth.

‘Romantic.’ He quipped, a shit-eating grin to rival Jake’s plastered on his face.

If you thought DDR was close quarters, this was something else entirely. The bench was just big enough for the two of you.

You pushed the button to start it up, and prepared to pose for the first picture.

You knew the first one would be cute, because you and Bradley were both grinning like lovesick fools. As the countdown began for the second picture, your confidence finally hit max capacity…

Without giving yourself time to back out, you put your hand on the top of Bradley’s thigh and just before the camera snapped, you (not so) gently grabbed his dick. Now you were the one sporting the shit-eating grin, and Bradley’s head snapped towards you. That move had made him practically rabid.

You stared each other down, the countdown totally forgotten about. It didn’t matter, anyway. You were perfectly on time without even trying.

One minute, you were staring, and the next, Bradley was on you. Your hands were in his hair as he pulled you onto his lap and let both of his hands rest on your ass. The kiss was sloppy and frantic; you didn’t dare stop even though you were breathless. You’d been waiting a long time for this. You silently thanked your past self for choosing this little white tennis skirt. You could feel Bradley’s hard-on through your underwear.

His hands, which were on top of your skirt, now reached under so he was touching bare skin (another thank you to your past self for the pretty white thong). This only seemed to intensify the moment, because his lips moved to your neck. It was your turn to make noise when he began sucking on the sweet spot just below your earlobe. Honestly, you hadn’t meant for the moan to escape you, but it had, and he’d definitely heard it.

Bradley stopped only to tease you. ‘Oh, you like that do you?’

‘B-bradley.’ You breathed.

‘Okay, okay.’ He whispered. ‘I’ll carry on.’

And he did. You became a squirming, writhing mess on top of him, and he was eating it up. You’d lost the bet and you wanted to take some control back. While he was busy kissing your neck, you undid the button and zipper on his jeans, and reached in. You were sly and quick about it, and he barely had enough time to register what you were doing before you were palming his dick over his boxers.

Bradley’s breath caught in his throat as he tilted his head back up to look at you. His eyes were all pupil, and his cheeks were as red as the photo booth curtain. How was it possible for a man to be so fucking sexy and so adorable at the same time?

You had him right where you wanted him. Or so you’d thought. Stupidly, you found yourself getting distracted by the size of him, and that’s when he took two fingers and slipped them underneath the wet fabric separating you from him. All he had to do was make one stroke, and you were mewing in his lap.

‘Unless you want me to fuck you in this photobooth,’ you snapped. ‘You better cut that shit out.’

A deep, husky chuckle rolled through him, vibrating against your chest. You were half-joking, but he took your threat seriously. Adjusting slightly, he pulled his jeans down so they were at his knees, and then let you resume your former position. If you shimmied forward slightly, you’d be sitting directly on his dick, just his boxers and your flimsy underwear between you. Luckily for you, you didn’t have to decide whether to do that or not, because Bradley gripped your thighs and pulled you forward.

Dizzy with lust, you reached around and pulled his length from his boxers. Following your lead, he pulled your thong to the side, and slowly pushed two fingers deep into the heat of you. You bit back a moan that would have been far too loud, and his smirk was so frustrating that you had to cover his mouth with yours to hide it. He licked your bottom lip, and you let him taste you. It was a good distraction from the noises you were thinking about making.

‘I don’t have a condom.’ He whispered against your lips.

You were in such a state of ecstasy that you could barely get two words out. You just about managed to say one, which was simply ‘pill.’

He chuckled darkly again, and you tightened around his fingers. ‘Can you give me a full sentence, pretty girl? I need to make sure we’re both on the same page.’

He was being genuine, but he also couldn’t help himself. He added another finger and watched your eyes roll into the back of your head.

‘Sweet girl?’ He prompted.

You had a death grip on his bicep. ‘I’m. On. The. Pill.’ You said through gritted teeth.

‘See,’ he whispered, positioning himself beneath you. ‘That wasn’t so hard, was it?’

‘I’m gonna get you back for that someday, Bradshaw.’

‘I look forward to it.’

His tip pressed against your entrance. Briefly, you wondered what would happen if one of the Daggers, or some random stranger, came down to this end of the arcade. But then you were sinking onto Bradley’s cock, and the worries just melted away. As he gripped your hips and to help you get a rhythm, the phrase ‘rearrange my guts’ took on a totally new meaning. You groaned, and Bradley captured your lips in a brief kiss.

‘Quiet, sweetheart.’

Something about his commanding tone made it harder to keep quiet. You bit down on your lip to keep from shouting his name at the top of your lungs.

You were having sex. With Bradley Bradshaw. In a photo booth.

If Bradley hadn’t suddenly grabbed your hips, lifted you slightly, and started thrusting up into you, you would’ve laughed.

‘Fuck,’ he stuttered. ‘You feel so good.’

You were close. You tightened around him and he groaned again—it was your new favourite sound.

‘I’m-’

‘Me too.’

And then both of you were coming. Hard. His head rolled back as he tipped over the edge and spilled into you. It felt like someone had used your nerve endings to light a match.

You rode out your highs together, and when you were spent, you let out a long, shaky breath.

‘Holy fuck.’ You said.

Bradley ran a hand through his hair. ‘Well, I hope you like souvenirs, baby, ‘cause we’re keeping those pictures.’

You laughed. ‘We should probably get out of here. We’ve been missing a while.’

He kissed you again, for good measure. ‘I need to ask you something.'

You cocked your head. ‘What?’

‘Was that a one time thing?’

‘I really, really hope not.’

Back at the bowling lanes, Jake and Nat had joined in the fun. When you and Bradley appeared, everybody turned. Jake grinned wickedly. You locked eyes with Bob and he diverted his gaze very quickly. Nat was glaring at Bradley like a disappointed mother. Mickey and Reuben both handed Javy twenty bucks. All of this happened over the course of five, extremely drawn-out seconds.

‘You two were gone a while.’ Nat pointed out, folding her arms.

You and Bradley glanced at each other, unsure how to approach this situation.

‘We were playing Dance Dance Revolution.’ You told her. ‘I lost a bet.’

‘Really.’ She droned, sounding almost bored.

Oh, she knew alright.

You scrambled for something to say, tried to ignore the heat of everyone’s eyes burning into you. It was like they could see your sinful act written all over you.

And the ground might as well have opened up and swallowed you whole when Nat said: ‘Take any nice pictures?’

A/N: Just a little one shot while I try to motivate myself to finish my WIPs. This is my first time writing smut, so if it sucks, go easy on me.

862 notes · View notes

sometimes-i-write-good · 4 months ago

Text

Handling It

Top Gun: Maverick - Fanboy x f!reader [no use of y/n]

7.2k | Fanboy couldn’t remember the last time he punched someone square in the face. Today seemed as good a day as any. He’d forgotten the way pain blossomed behind his knuckles and webbed its way up his arm. Assault and battery charges were the last thing on his mind. Honestly the only thing on his mind when he threw that punch was you.

===

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort

CW: Mentions of Abuse and Stalking, Breaking of Restraining Order, one-sided bar fight, insults and confrontation by a past abuser (there is no mentions or illusions to physical abuse, but please handle anything to do with emotional/mental abuse, stalking, and breaking of restraining orders with care. If this story isn’t for you, that’s okay. Just be safe <3)

Author’s Note: I’m a sucker for the ‘who did this to you’ style fics or any kind of ‘you came? you called’ - also, sorry to any Brent’s who caught a stray today. || cross-posted on ao3

===

“I can’t name just one thing.”

Mickey laughed over the lip of his beer bottle. A quick sip to, hopefully, mask the pink gracing his cheeks, even though he knew the effort was futile at best. “You know that.”

Reuben wouldn’t listen. He never did. It was one of the many qualities that made him such a great friend at times, and such a frustrating one tonight. “One thing you like about her,” Payback pushed for an answer. “It’s not that difficult of a question, Mick.”

But it was.

They went through this once a week. Minimum. He and Payback skirted off base early - easier to secure a spot at the bar before the crowds rolled in - all to sip a few beers and lament over the fact that they both missed the clause in their kickass fighter pilot careers where it stated relationships wouldn’t fall into their laps. If anything, their chances at love were as out of reach as the horizon in front of them. They could speed towards it all they wanted. The line would still always be there, a hair’s breadth away.

Reuben often started. Making sure to take his time in overanalyzing every interaction he had that week with the woman who worked in the control tower. Fanboy could agree she had the voice of an angel. Payback’s infatuation was completely warranted. Even before they found out she also looked like an angel, Mickey could tell she was a good fit for his wingman. Reuben would flirt relentlessly and she, ever professional, would instruct them with a smile in her voice. Occasionally she’d joke around, but not enough for a week by week breakdown. Her clearing them for landing wasn’t the easiest thing to warp into a ‘dude, she likes you. You should totally ask her out.’

Creating a conversation around you took no effort for Fanboy at all.

“She’s like no one else I’ve ever met, Reuben.” Once Mickey got started, he couldn’t stop. His callsign hadn’t exactly spawned into existence because of his cool, detached, and nonchalant approach towards anything he remotely liked.

“I know what you mean,” Payback said.

He motioned to the bartender for another beer. Mav and Penny had a date tonight. Precisely why he and Mickey were sitting belly up to the bar so early on a Thursday afternoon. No eavesdropping from Penny. She was known for meddling if any of her regulars were remotely interested in each other.

“Day,” Payback sighed, “she has the most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard. You know what she did last week?”

Fanboy arched a brow. He did know what she did last week. The past few months of being stationed here sat in his mind, carefully cataloged away. From the batting eyelashes to the extremely obvious attempts to get Reuben to ask her out on a date. Mickey knew Day’s entire day all thanks to Payback’s crush. At this point, he felt like he knew her well enough to consider her a friend despite having never held a conversation with her.

Payback could easily do the same. There was one memory in particular Fanboy would break down again and again - Reuben truly had the patience of a saint.

“Does your mother call you Garcia?” You asked the first time he took you out for drinks.

The rest of the Dagger Squad milled about the bar. You all had shown up together, along with some of your fellow TOPGUN instructors, but somehow Mickey paid for everyone’s drinks that night. The two of you ended up tucked away in a booth by yourselves. He couldn’t help but to think of it as a date.

“No, she doesn’t.” He remembered how to form words somewhere between watching you polish off your drink and feeling you lean in closer to show your interest.

“Does she call you Fanboy?” A sheepish grin and a small shake of his head. “So what does she call you?”

He leaned closer to you, stopping just before your noses could touch. “She calls me Miguel.”

You tested the word out for yourself. Reuben swears that was the moment Mickey fell in love, and he wasn’t entirely wrong. Fanboy melted when he heard his name on your lips. This shift in power felt dangerous. At any point you could have this man in a puddle at your feet, willing to do anything for you. Yet, Mickey felt nothing but trust. You had never been one to abuse power - unless, of course, it was to give Hangman shit or get Payback back for something.

“But I can call you Mickey?” You smiled one of the most stunning smiles Fanboy ever saw out of you. How could he say no?

And that’s how you wormed your way into a first name basis. On top of becoming a featured subject for their Friday debriefs. If Payback took a shot every time Fanboy asked “Do you think her asking to call me Mickey was her way of hitting on me?” he’d have alcohol poisoning.

“Mickey!”

His head snapped towards the sound of your voice like a moth to a flame. Icarus to the sun. Maverick to bad decisions. Hangman to asshole comments. Thousands of similes all as timeless as the way his heart ached in your presence. A romance for the ages.

He only wished it could get off the ground.

Reuben slapped him on the shoulder. He passed Fanboy a tequila shot saying, “You need to make a move tonight.”

You moved towards the pair, splitting off from your friends. Surely that was something Mickey could overanalyze later tonight.

“Yeah,” he answered absentmindedly. “Sounds good.”

“Hi, Reuben.” You saddled up to the bar. Payback crushed you in a hug, and Mickey couldn’t ignore the jealousy flickering about in his chest. When would he build up the courage to greet you with a hug? Why couldn’t he approach anything that had to do with you with the same surefire confidence he could impart towards flying?

You squirmed in Payback’s grip. “Too tight,” you playfully choked out. “I’m dyin’ here.”

Payback released you, taking care to carefully shove you closer to Mickey, and laughed. “Good to see you too, Einstein.”

Both you and Mickey shot him a look. You’d been through your fair share of shitty callsigns. Mouth, which finally got axed after filing enough harassment claims, started because you’d mouthed off to your superior once during Plebe Summer and had your whole squad in the doghouse for two months. It took another two months for the disdain to finally drop off whenever someone called you. By then, though, people had been shifted around, and most at The Academy (those with extreme insecurity) didn’t appreciate having a woman attempting to be a future TOPGUN flier.

Needless to say, Mouth in the hands of young men with sexism at the forefront of their minds quickly became a problem. So the remainder of your time at The Academy, and sometime after, marked you as IKEA. I Know Everything Anyway. Not nearly as cool as Maverick, Slider, or Iceman, but you’d rather be known for your brain than your hotheadedness. Talking over everyone simply had to happen in class. Otherwise you weren’t going to be heard at all.

Einstein came later; from Iceman himself. He came to personally congratulate you on your perfect score. “You’re a regular Einstein, aren’t you?” He’d said, and it stuck. Sometimes spoken in awe, sometimes with disgust, but mostly in a playful manner like Payback always managed.

“Watch yourself, Payback.” You plucked the shot from Mickey’s fingertips. It was gone in a flash. “Can I have another round, please?” You asked the bartender, then turned towards Fanboy with a grin. “You’re having one with me, right? And one more, probably, to make things even.”

The one thing Reuben asked about earlier came to mind. Your refusal to take shit. That would have to be his favorite thing (in this moment because Fanboy knew he truly couldn’t choose a single aspect) about you.

“What’re you starin’ at?” How you tilted your head to scrutinize him reminded Mickey of his childhood dog. A stray his mother swore up and down would never come in the house, only to end up sleeping in bed with her each night. Kind of like you - except you snuck your way into his heart rather than his bed. “Are you okay?”

Mickey could feel the heat radiating off his face. In comparing you to his childhood dog, he had gotten the image of you in his bed stuck in his mind. What a dream, and not even in the typical horny way people used the term ‘in bed.’ Fanboy’s fantasy consisted of being able to hold you, talk to you for hours in the early hours of the morning, and revel in the knowledge that out of anyone in the world you could choose, you chose him. Anything more that came with a domestic love like that would be a bonus.

Of course, you weren’t a mind reader. Thank god for that. No stumbling apology would ever be enough to save Mickey from the embarrassment of daydreaming about you while you were next to him. This crush steadily reached towards schoolgirl doodling your joint married name in a notebook levels of delusion. Whoever said be friends with your crush never mentioned the crushing anxiety of ruining that friendship with any given misstep. When did Mickey know it was safe to take the next step?

“Hmmm?” The tips of his ears grew hot as you stared. Somehow he managed to grasp every chance to make a fool of himself around you. “Yeah,” he breathed, acutely aware of Payback’s smirk off to the side, “I’m fine.”

“Are you doing a tequila shot?”

“I don’t know about Mick here-” Reuben brought a hand down on Mickey’s shoulder- “but I will definitely be having one.” He turned his attention to the bartender pouring the shots. “Lime and salt too, please.”

Your eyebrows practically shot to your forehead. “You can’t handle a tequila shot? I would not have guessed that about you, Payback.”

If only she knew how Reuben truly partied. Fanboy knew him longest out of anyone on The Dagger Squad; they'd been a pair for most of his career.

Payback brought a hand to his chest. He gasped dramatically and Mickey rolled his eyes. “We call him Payback because of all the shots I paid for that he promised to pay me back for.”

“I did pay you back!”

“When?”

“How many times have I saved your life?”

You laughed, doing nothing for the heat still trapped in Mickey’s cheeks. “Isn’t that your job?”

“I could be shit at my job.” Payback shrugged. He shifted his position to reach for the salt on the table. All the confidence of a man who didn’t own this tab - Mickey, unfortunately, would be paying for more of the squad’s drinks tonight. “The lime and salt,” he explained, “are a part of the experience. There’s a comradery to a ritual done together. After this, we’re bonded for life.”

Long ago Fanboy used to be envious of the way people flocked to Payback. This simple act transformed into a performance. Storytelling was an art, and Reuben perfected it. He even had you succumbing to the supposed weakness of using a chaser.

To not stare you down while you licked your hand, Fanboy busied himself with the salt. However, his eyes flickered to you for the briefest of seconds. Right as he dragged his tongue over the fleshy part between his thumb and wrist. The want must have been apparent. He had always been the type to wear his emotions on his face.

But you weren’t. So when your eyes widened, Mickey paused. A horrible thing to do considering his current position. Your chest stilled for a second, eyes trained on him, and time stopped entirely. The knowledge that you might just want him too sent Fanboy crashing back to reality. He salted his hand with as steady a hand he could manage.

“A toast!” You cleared your throat, eyes darting around before settling pointedly not on Fanyboy. He could see your desperation for control. “Payback?”

Payback lifted his shot glass. The two of you followed suit. “May it always be the other guy who says 'This drink's on me.’”

Between Fanboy’s annoyance and your giggle Reuben licked the salt, threw back the shot, and grabbed a lime wedge to bite down on. He grinned around the peel. “I win.”

The competitive nature of fighter pilots took over. Mickey completed the sequence with ease. His bank account wouldn’t appreciate the smooth taste of the liquor but nearly dying those few months ago made him realize two things. One, he really didn’t want to spend all his time pining over you - he’d rather be with you. Two, he was getting too old for cheap liquor.

“That’s really- hey!” You felt around blindly on the counter. “Mickey, that's so not fair.”

He brandished your lime slice. “You’re supposed to do the shot, then complain about Payback. Everyone knows this.”

You stuck your bottom lip out in an overdramatic pout. “I wanted that.”

“Oh, yeah?” Sure, Fanboy may have deepened his voice slightly. He might have seized the opportunity to slide forward, closer to you. What was he supposed to do? Ignore your blatant attempts at flirting because someone else was standing right there? He’d been doing that for the entire time he’d known you. At some point the third wheel needed to read the room.

Placing the lime wedge between your lips helped Payback do precisely that. His gaze flicked back and forth between Fanboy and his thumb gently pushing the fruit to your mouth. “I, uh,” Reuben fumbled for words, “I’ll go over there.”

No one acknowledged his departure. Fanboy kept his eyes locked on yours. After all, you were the whole reason he was at the bar in the first place. You pulled the lime into your mouth, and he let his thumb linger on your bottom lip for a moment before leaning back on the bar stool.

“Done pouting?”

You popped the lime out of your mouth. “I wasn’t pouting.”

Being a gentleman became so much harder when you ran your tongue over your lips to lick up all the juice. The movement killed Fanboy’s ability to speak entirely. Your smirk confirmed what he already knew. You were well aware of his weaknesses.

“So, Mickey…”

Like the sound of his name falling from those very lips.

It had been a while since the two of you talked about something other than work. Hell, Fanboy couldn’t remember the last time you and him were one on one. A lie. Payback debriefed that last one on one conversation with Mickey a few days ago. He couldn’t help it. Every day you were gentle on his mind.

“What have you been fanboying over recently?” You toyed with the citrus peel. Focused intently on pushing the thing around the counter. “Anything interesting?”

“You mean other than you?”

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. His eyes locked on yours. Widening by the second with embarrassment. “I mean-”

A shy smile played on your lips. You looked pleased with yourself as you said, “Yeah, other than me. I try not to talk about myself too much. Don’t want to be Bagman Jr.”

Oh, Mickey could kiss you right now.

“Then what do you want to talk about?” He asked. Straightforward in the hopes of appearing more confident than he felt. Fanboy could face certain death, he could face Cyclone, and he could face Bob in poker. Your pretty face on the other hand almost always left him flustered.

You tapped a finger against your chin. Faking a deep concentration to pull a smile out of Mickey. “What was that TV show you’ve been dying to get everyone to watch, again?”

He instantly perked up. “You sure you want to open that door?”

“You’re right. Let’s have one more shot first,” you teased. Your hand rested on Mickey’s forearm. He tried hard not to stare at the headliner for flirty behavior and focused on your beautiful smile instead. The whole time his heart threatened to beat out of his chest. “I’m sure, Mickey. I like listening to you talk.”

And, damn, did Mickey talk. Somewhere in the midst of laughter, finding excuses to touch one another, and conversation the two limes turned into seven. The liquor worked any and all tension from Mickey. Tipsy - maybe leaning more on drunk - confidence coursed through him. Any flirty freudian slips he took in stride.

Tequila made a new man out of Fanboy. A closer version of himself, might be a better way to look at it. How he normally attempted to pick women up at bars. You weren’t any woman. Precisely why so many shots were necessary in the first place.

“Is it Thursday today?” You slurred your words together ever so slightly. The drinks brought a warmth to your cheeks that hadn’t been there earlier. Fanboy resisted the urge to reach out. Scared the slightest touch would shatter the illusion. “Thursday is darts day.”

“Thursday is karaoke day,” Mickey corrected, his sentence also fuzzy around the edges. “ ‘s why Coyote’s not here.”

He focused on the concentrated furrow between your brow. An expression that only ever came out when you were drinking. Sober you calculated everything immediately. A beer or two in a loading screen appeared while you clicked the pieces into place. “But Bob’s here.”

Bob and Javy often skipped Thursday’s at The Hard Deck. Karaoke was bad enough with sober people who couldn’t sing. Adding drunkenness to the equation ended in certain disaster. Case in point - Javy “Coyote” Machado almost became Javy “Wolf” Machado because of all the drunken howling he did onstage instead of singing.

He hadn’t shown his face at karaoke since.

“Bob is here at Phoenix’s request.” That request being he lost a bet, but semantics were lost on the squad. “My guess is she gets him to sing ‘Sweet Caroline.’”

“All that attention on him? He’d melt.”

Fanboy shook his head. Bob was shy, sure, but he could handle the spotlight with enough time to prepare. “No, but Rooster is absolutely going to take the next three slots after to prove he’s the better singer.”

You laughed, and Fanboy could have sworn you used that as an excuse to lean in close and squeeze his bicep. “Oh, I’m telling him you said that.” You swung around in your stool, using Mickey’s arm to stabilize yourself, and searched for Rooster in the sea of people.

In your time surveying the crowd, Fanboy traced the rim of his empty shot glass and reveled in being your rock. Could this be your future together? Inside jokes over drinks. Innocent touches with serious potential to transform into something more.

Tonight everything became clear. All questions would be answered - good or bad - Mickey decided. You were the brains. IKEA. You could tell him if you knew your feelings for him. If this pipedream had potential or would swirl down the drain.

Nails pricking skin pulled Fanboy from his thoughts. Your grip went stiff along with the rest of your body. Any traces of a buzz disappeared entirely in this strange rigid poster. He carefully pried your hand off him. “What is it?”

“Brent.” Your voice escaped you in a panicked whisper.

The name registered with Mickey briefly after wracking his tequila soaked brain for a moment longer than necessary. A few weeks ago, during downtime between practice hops, everyone traded stories about the worst ex they had. Payback shared his egregious tale about a girl he dated in high school stealing his dog when he didn’t ask her to prom, Phoenix told everyone how her blind date ended up storming into the kitchen of the restaurant they were at to cook his own meal, and Mickey gave the pared down version of his longest relationship ending when she moved halfway across the country to reunite with her… other boyfriend.

No one had anything nice to say. Except for you.

Your most recent ex, it seemed, had boundary issues that couldn’t be solved in a relationship with someone in the military. The constant reminders and communication simply weren’t compatible with where you were at in your career. Always moving around from base to base, fully prepared to be whisked away on a secret mission without a word of warning, didn’t bode well for the two of you. So, you split.

Everyone - Hangman - blatantly accused you of still having feelings for this man. Mickey couldn’t help but lean forward with interest, waiting for your answer. He prepared himself for crushing disappointment. You simply dismissed the notion with a gentle, “He’s not bad people. I wish him nothing but the best, and I hope that best for him is far, far away from me.”

But your body language conveyed the opposite. You stood, swaying on your feet, and shook your head. Mickey was immediately off the barstool. Buzz be damned. He let himself assume the worst and boost some adrenaline into his system. Overpowering the effects of the alcohol with stress always pulled Mickey’s mind back together. He called a constant state of anxiety home. Fight or flight was where he performed best. Fanboy had medals to prove it.

“Einstein? Are you okay?”

One arm wrapped around your waist. The look of shock on your face had Fanboy scared your legs would give out from beneath you at any given moment. His earlier thought of being your rock solidified in this storm. He wanted to be your constant, a source of comfort.

If only he knew how to help you.

For a second you didn’t answer him. Your eyes were locked on the man who had just passed through the threshold of The Hard Deck. Then you nodded. “Yeah.” You sounded far away. “Everything’s fine.”

Fanboy followed your gaze. He wanted to know exactly which man you side-eyed.

Smaller and skinnier than a lot of the men in the bar, expected from someone who wasn’t training with the Navy seven days a week. He appeared unassuming. Still, you knuckles were turning white from where you were gripping the counter. Unassuming didn’t mean he wasn’t capable of harm.

“What do you need from me?” He asked.

You swallowed, and your eyes finally met his. Mickey could have cried. You looked… small. The feared Naval aviator he knew so well had been replaced with someone else. Someone hurt, clearly because fear wasn’t an emotion you willingly showed. In all of a few seconds you’d become human.

“Einstein,” he repeated in a slow, gentle voice. “What do you need from me?”

“I have a restraining order on that man.” Shame, which Fanboy couldn’t comprehend why, lit your eyes. You turned back towards the bar. Eyes trained on the pile of lime peels. “For stalking.”

Boundary issues seemed like a serious downplay.

Mickey slid behind you to shield you from view of anyone approaching. He brought an arm around to rest against the bar. To anyone else, this would look flirty, but really Fanboy wanted to give you the ability to whisper to him without anyone else overhearing. “We should get you out of here.”

You shook your head. “I don’t know where he is.” The way your voice broke, broke Mickey’s heart. What did he do to you? “I don’t want to move if I don’t know where he is.”

“Okay.” Mickey nodded. “If I tell you where he’s at, then we’ll figure out if we’re using the back door or the front door.”

He keeps his eyes locked on yours, searching your face for any sign that you heard him. Gears turned behind your eyes. Emotions clicked away, compartmentalized to deal with later. You were using your training. Adrenaline killed if not dealt with effectively.

“You okay?” He whispered.

“I don’t want you to look away.” Selfishly, Mickey nodded. He didn’t want to look away until he felt confident he wasn’t leaving you to drift about in your anxiety alone. “I have to… to get myself under control.”

The bartender passed by without a glance in their direction. Conversation around them continued loudly. As far as Mickey could tell, no one paid you two any mind at all.

“You’re doing a great job.”

You closed your eyes. “Thank you, Mickey.” When you opened your eyes, any trace of fear vanished. Einstein, the Navy’s top aviator, would do what everyone else on a particularly traumatic mission did - deal with the emotional shit later, and eliminate the threat now. “Ready to go?”

Right now? He shouldn’t be shocked. When you were in action, you didn’t hesitate.

Mickey nodded. Now was as good a time as any. He held out a hand and helped you step around the barstool. You clung to him, the only impression that Brent’s appearance still had you rattled. It didn’t seem like a good time for Fanboy to peel himself away from you. Having a hand on you might be smart anyway. You wouldn’t get separated as you made your way through the crowd.

“There you are.”

Brent stood an uncomfortably close foot away. His teeth weren’t sharpened fangs, but his smile cut Mickey to the core regardless. This was worse case scenario - coffin corner. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you, but my calls go straight to voicemail.”

Hands still clasped, the two of you turned to face him. You stared straight past him, right over his shoulder. Only when it became clear you couldn’t pass by without him being able to lay a hand on you did you acknowledge him. “Brent.”

The grin grew. Mickey straightened to full height. He wished he had the intimidating extra few inches most of the others on Dagger Squad had. Brent’s eyes slid Mickey’s way, down to your enjoined hands, but snapped back up to Einstein quick. Like you’d vanish given the slightest opportunity.

“Please move.” Your voice gave no room for further conversation but Brent made an attempt anyway.

“Went by your place, but your windows were dark.”

A pit of unease grew in Mickey’s stomach. Einstein had been going through this all on her own. None of them knew the baggage she carried. Some squad they were. He glanced your way, but you had the same blank look on your face.

Brent barreled on. “Key didn’t work in the lock. The one you kept under that stupid garden decoration was gone.” His eyes bore into your face. Too aggressive to be considered making eye contact. Fanboy had only ever seen a power display like this in interrogation training. “Did you move or something?”

You lifted a shoulder in a noncommittal shrug. “If you’d like to contact me, you’ll have to do so through my lawyer.”

The mere implication Brent was breaking his restraining order changed the set of his jaw. Muscles feathered and he pressed his lips together. “But,” he said around a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “I’m here now. Look. This is the last time, I swear. I just need closure.”

“If you’d like to contact me, you’ll have to do so through my lawyer.” You gripped Mickey’s hand a bit tighter and moved to step around Brent, but he sidestepped in your way. “Please move.”

“It’s a public bar, darling. I can stand wherever I fucking please.” All attempts at playing nice slowly started to drip away. “You don’t care about anyone but yourself.”

Darling. Mickey’s stomach rolled. He felt your hand jerk backwards but neither of you could back up without the bar digging into your back. Brent seemed well aware of such a fact. He took a lazy step forward. “Whenever you want to ditch this one-” he spoke about Fanboy without sparing him a glance- “I’d like to talk to you.”

Enough was enough. Fanboy stepped forward with intent. What exactly said intent was he would figure out halfway through the confrontation. He wasn’t exactly known for his foresight in his personal life. The only thing that stopped him was you tugging him back.

With one small squeeze, you removed your hand from Mickey’s.

“You can talk to my fucking lawyer.” You used the same sickly sweet voice Fanboy heard you use on higher up’s that refused to take you seriously. “Until then, you need to move. Now.”

“Can we just talk outside?” Brent asked. He reached out to grab for your arm, but you dodged his advances.

“Please, do not touch me.” Your words were firm and flat. “I don’t want you touching me.”

“You owe me the courtesy of a conversation.”

Mickey never wanted to white knight on your behalf, but there wasn’t a chance in hell he was going to let this douchebag get anywhere near leaving his sight with you let alone get all the way to the front doors. He could handle you being mad at him for fighting a battle for you. He couldn’t handle what would happen if you took on a fight like this by yourself when you didn’t have to.

“Can we talk outside? Or are you going to keep letting your friends gaslight you into thinking I’m always the bad guy?”

When you failed to answer, Brent rephrased his question. It seemed your lack of emotional response wormed its way under his skin in a way he couldn’t hide.

“Can you stop being such a bitch and answer me?” He asked, reaching out once again to put his hands on you. A mistake.

Everyone in the bar fell silent at the dull ‘thack’ of your fist connecting with Brent’s cheek. Somewhere in the wide arsenal of cinema there was a scene just like this that ends in an all out brawl. Here Brent’s head snapped to the side thanks to the sheer force you packed in a single punch. He blinked in disbelief.

Mickey, on the other hand, saw the first forming a while ago. He wasn’t one for violence, but watching you remind everyone you weren’t one to take shit always made his mouth water. And watching you throw a punch may just be the hottest thing he’d seen all week.

Excusing, of course, the fact that your creep of an ex boyfriend still stood there in front of you with a dumbfounded look on his face like he had no clue what he could have done to deserve that.

You cleared your throat. “I asked you not to touch me, please.”

Fanboy grew tired of the niceties. The second you looked towards him for help, he was telling Brent to fuck off and he wouldn’t give him any choice but to listen.

Payback paced behind Brent. He inched close enough to catch Fanboy’s eye. Mickey and Reuben could always reasonably assume the other’s thoughts without words. Half the time they only talked because they liked to hear themselves speak. One look from Fanboy said everything, though. His wingman was headed out the front door on the phone with the cops in an instant.

All Fanboy had to do was keep things from escalating.

Brent straightened, eyes shifting around to all the Navy’s finest, and brought a hand up to where you punched him. For a second, Mickey foolishly thought he would swallow his pride. Brent looked ready to tuck his tail, turn on his heel, and run out of the Hard Deck.

No one said anything while they waited for Brent to respond. If he left, no one would bother him too badly. If he didn’t take the warning punch seriously, Mickey could almost bring himself to pity the poor fool. Almost, but not really.

Creepy smile devoid of emotion in place, Brent reached out politely once again and, this time, caught ahold of you. “I’m not leaving until I get what I came for.”

At the sight of Brent gripping your arm, the sound of your first name falling from his lips, Fanboy’s self-control snapped. This thin string holding himself together split.

His fist flew up faster than he could process. Brent’s teeth clacked as his jaw came together. Fanboy clipped your ex’s chin in the perfect uppercut, and he dropped straight to the floor.

Unconscious.

You, who talked so highly of this ex those few weeks ago that Fanboy convinced himself you were still in love with him, turned to Mickey with panic written across your features.

“You punched him!” You shouted to Mickey, eyes flickering between your ex on the floor and Fanboy. The angle wasn’t the slightest bit flattering for the poor guy.

Fanboy couldn’t remember the last time he punched someone square in the face. He’d forgotten the way pain blossomed behind his knuckles and webbed its way up his arm. Assault and battery charges were the last thing on his mind. Honestly the only thing on his mind when he threw that punch was you.

“You punched him first.” Mickey shrugged. He shook his hand out in a gesture he hoped passed as nonchalant. Pain lingered, though, and he couldn’t help but grimace when he flexed his fingers.

“I had a reason.”

“So did I.” You crossed your arms and arched a brow. Mickey sighed and stepped over Brent’s unconscious body. “He didn’t respect you clearly stating you didn’t want to be touched.”

“I was handling it.”

“I know,” he said, and shrugged. “I just handled it with you.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but, when your gaze moved from Brent to Fanboy one more time, he could see gratefulness. “I have to call my lawyer.”

—

Those bright red knuckles of yours had yet to fade. From the sound of it, Mickey could guess you’d hit his cheek bone and would be sporting some nasty bruises for a while. He didn’t bother to look at his own hand. It throbbed to an annoying degree. The chances of his knuckle being split was exceptionally high, but your well being in the moment mattered far more.

Neither of you wanted ice for your hands. Fanboy hoped it would make him look tough. You had been more preoccupied with leaving a voicemail explaining Brent had broken his restraining order and the police had been called and “to please call me back as soon as humanly possible.”

Then you both collapsed in a booth in the furthest corner possible of the Hard Deck because you wanted to see when the cops walked through the door rather than tuck yourself in the back. Fanboy refused to stray far. You hadn’t asked him to leave, which he took as a good sign. At least you weren’t too mad at him for stepping in.

“That’s one hell of a right hook you’ve got there.”

He hoped to ease the tension with a teasing joke. In classic Fanboy fashion, he misread the timing.

“My lawyer is not going to like this one bit.” You dragged a hand over your face. The one with the angry knuckles. “She told me, ‘If he breaks his restraining order, you can’t just punch him. As much as he might deserve it.’”

Mickey smothered a grin. He wanted to throw out a joke about you being the only one to find a lawyer who talks like Bob, but instead he motioned for your hand.

“Here.” A towel of half-melted ice sat next to him, waiting for the opportune moment for Mickey to refuse to let you suffer any longer. You extended your hand across the table for him to grab. He set the ice down gently, muttering a soft “sorry” at your hiss of pain. “You handled yourself pretty well out there.”

You made no move to take the ice pack or your hand away from Mickey. So he sat there, icing your hand, and watched you wrestle with your reaction. Fear, anger, grief, aggravation. They all shuffled over your features like Payback trying to pick a song from the jukebox.

Eventually, you settled on a classic. Humor as deflection. “I think I’d feel better if my punch was a one and done.”

He lifted the makeshift ice pack and made a show of inspecting your knuckles. “I’d say you packed a pretty good punch.”

That same shy, flirty smile from earlier came back. “Thanks, Mickey.”

“Of course.” Any attempt to appear cool shattered the second he saw the gratefulness in your eyes. “I hope I didn’t overstep. I’m not really up to date on the laws surrounding restraining orders or stalker exes.”

You shook your head with a self-deprecating laugh. “I don’t think you would be. You don’t strike me as someone who would ever turn out like Brent.”

“If I do, you have full permission to punch me. Whether your lawyer advises it or not,” he teased, and relief flooded him when you laughed.

“It isn’t self-defense to punch someone violating their restraining order. No matter how scared I was seeing how he found me.”

The tone in the booth shifted towards seriousness. Any trace of a smile on your face vanished, and you curled your fingers around Mickey’s hand. “I used to live out in Texas. Stationed there so often, I rented out an apartment because living on base didn’t feel permanent. I wanted a place to call my own.”

Mickey glanced out towards the bar full of the Navy’s best. Payback stood watch over Brent, who had finally come to and was arguing with the wall that was Rooster, Hangman, and Bob.

“He followed you from Texas?” He asked.

You nodded. Whatever you attempted to say got lost in the tears welling up behind your eyes. “Sorry.” You swallowed and blinked rapidly to clear the emotion from your face. “I saw him around town a few times, but this was the first time I felt like he actually knew where I was. Like it was more than a coincidence. When he talked about coming around to my place… there’s this part of me that can’t tell if he was talking about back in Texas or where I live now. It’s terrifying.”

Fanboy hoped the cops would hurry up. The sooner Brent could get out of here, the better. One punch suddenly didn’t feel like enough, and if Mickey threw another he didn’t think he’d be able to stop.

“And there’s a good chance I’ll be charged for assault.” Your laughter was ice cold. “I shouldn’t have reacted like that. I know better- god, I’m so fucking stupid.”

Mickey squeezed your hand, drawing your attention back to him, and shook his head. “You are not stupid. He put his hands on you.”

“That’s not self-defense either,” you sighed. “He wasn’t attacking. The cameras are going to show him reaching out with a smile and he’ll, at most, get a slap on his wrist. I’m screwed.”

“He was attacking.”

“Did you not hear what I just said? He wasn’t attacking.”

“He. Was. Attacking.” Fanboy emphasized every word, then gestured to the bar you were in. “There’s at least 20 people I can count who will give that same story without needing to be asked. I’m sure Phoenix and Bob are already out there waiting for the cops so they can be the first to let them know what he did.”

You turned to look at the crowd of people, mouth quirking up into a smile when you spotted the rest of the squad keeping Brent on the other side of The Hard Deck. Fanboy watched your gaze lock onto the camera capturing the man acting like a saint for the sake of the security camera in the corner of the room.

The smile faltered. “You really think so?”

“You’re one of us, Einstein. We don’t care what base you’re coming in from. You’re assigned to our squad and we take care of our own.”

Mickey moved the ice pack and released your hand back to you. “Don’t worry about the security cam footage, either. The cops tend to take our word at face value. Plus, Penny’s got a good reputation for not calling unless it’s warranted. There hasn’t been a single bar fight she hasn’t sorted out herself..”

“That feels…”

“Like how Maverick would handle something?” He supplied.

You nodded with a laugh. “Exactly.” Your eyes traveled over Mickey’s face. “I appreciate you handling things with me today. I’ve been dealing with this on my own for a few years now. I forgot what it’s like to know someone has my back on the ground instead of only in the sky.”

“I’ve always got your back, Einstein. Ground, sky, and all areas in between.”

The opening practically presented itself to him in the way you smiled at him.

“Look, I know this might not be the best time or anything…” Mickey trailed off. He cleared his throat in an attempt to keep his nerves at bay. What kind of moron decided to ask someone out immediately after an incident like this? “But, after all the statements are taken, would you, maybe, want to take a walk along the beach with me? Just get out of here, get your mind off everything?”

You sat up straighter in the booth. For once, Fanboy wished he wasn’t alone with you. If Payback were here, he could confirm if your eyes actually lit up at the proposition or if Mickey’s wishful thinking clouded his mind again.

“Are you asking me out on a date, Mickey?” You asked. His name passing over your lips, over the teasing smile spreading across your face, rendered him speechless.

He cringed. “I’m an idiot, right?” Nervous laughter escaped him. “I mean, I planned on asking you out tonight anyway. If that changes anything. I don’t want you to think I’m, like, stepping in to take advantage of a bad situation. You can tell me no, Einstein. I know it’s been a… I mean, the past hour has been a lot.

“But I don’t want you to be alone while you’re dealing with all of this.” He turned in his seat to glance around for Phoenix. “Should we call Nat over here? Would you rather talk to her? I’m serious, this doesn’t have to be a date. I didn’t mean to overstep… What? Why are you laughing at me?”

You sat across the seat, hand smothering the giggles slipping through your smile. “Am I rambling again?” He asked, and you nodded. “Sorry. I’m usually better at dealing with emotional situations like this.”

“I’d say you knocked it out of the park today,” you joked. Fanboy could only groan at the pun.

The two of you sat in silence for a bit. Mickey hoped the flush on his face appeared to be alcohol induced rather than his lapse of judgement. Your phone sat between them, screen still black while you waited for your lawyer to get the voicemail and call you back.

“It took you long enough.”

He tilted his head. Much like how you did when you first walked in today. “What?”

“Asking me out,” you clarified, “that took you a while.”

“Is that a yes?”

You threw your head back and laughed in a way Fanboy never heard you laugh before. A mix of elation and pure joy. Maybe the sound of your voice saying his name could be his second favorite sound. That laugh needed to be bottled away in his memories forever. “Yes,” you said. “I’d love to go on a date with you.”

“I really like you,” he said, then, after a moment’s consideration, he tacked your first name at the end of the sentence. It only felt fitting.

341 notes · View notes