a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

Me too, Funko. Me too 😭

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

An Unstoppable Force Meets An Immovable Object (Like a Tattoo on My Heart)

Fandom: Top Gun: Maverick, Hangman, Rooster, Hangster, Jake's POV, Tattoo Artist!Rooster AU Summary: After losing a late-night drunken bet, Jake stumbles into a random tattoo shop. There he meets the shop's headstrong (and handsome) owner, Bradley, who refuses to tattoo Jake while he is drunk. But after some smooth talking and negotiation, Jake gets his way...or so he thinks. Word Count: 6066 TW: Tattoo AU, Drunken Behavior, Hangover, Getting a Tattoo, Language Notes: This series is 100% a result of the support, encouragement, beta reading, and late night/early morning DMs with @green-socks 💞 Thank you!!! 💗

Series Masterlist

Stumbling along a few dozen feet behind his friend, Jake groaned as he called out, “Dude…Come on…Let’s just go. This obviously isn’t gonna happen tonight.”

Javy didn’t stop moving but he turned to face Jake so he was now walking backwards. Perfect teeth shining in the streetlights, he called back, “Nuh-uh. You’re not getting out of this bet that easily. I finally beat you at a bar game—”

“‘Cause you got me absolutely hammered!”

“—and I’m not letting you worm your way out of your punishment that easily. There’s gotta still be a place open at this time of night.” Javy spun around and continued down the sidewalk, peering down every side alley he passed looking for the glow of an open shop window.

Jake sighed as he trudged after him, trying his best to keep the world from spinning and his numerous drinks from making a reappearance. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this drunk without blacking out and he was already dreading the hangover that would greet him in the morning. That was if he was ever allowed to give up this hopeless quest and slink home to his bed. Though, he should probably shower first since he spilled his last drink all over himself. But he could wait until morning since he had already called in sic—

“Fuck yes! I found one!”

Jake’s head whipped around and he promptly fell into the adjacent wall. There was no fucking way that Javy found a tattoo shop that was still open at this time on a Thursday night. Or, more accurately, a Friday morning.

Yet, as Jake caught up to his friend and peered down the alleyway, he saw what indeed appeared to be a tattoo shop with its lights still on. In fact, the massive red neon sign in the window cast a warm yet somewhat ominous glow down the entire–otherwise deserted–alleyway. The sign was shaped like a giant rooster (it kind of reminded Jake of the logo on a sriracha bottle) with the words “The Roost” blazing beneath it. It seemed like something you’d expect at a fast-food chicken restaurant, not a tattoo shop. Yet a quick glance through the window proved that was, indeed, exactly what it was. As did the sign reading “Tattoos and Piercings” just to the right of the rooster.

Clasping his hand firmly on Jake’s shoulder, Javy grinned. “Well, buddy, time to settle up.” And he half-dragged Jake into the shop.

The interior was fairly dark. All the lights had been dimmed, save the neon sign still casting its glow inside, and the parts of the walls not covered with sketches of tattoos were painted black. A small display was set up to the right showing off a variety of piercings available. There were several chairs lined against the front wall and a dark counter sat just beyond the entrance with a computer, cash register, and a bell arranged on top.

For a moment or two, Javy moseyed around the front of the shop while Jake leaned heavily on the counter trying to stop the room from spinning, both waiting to see if someone would appear. When no one did, Javy leaned over and tapped the bell a few times as he called out, “Hello?” 

They heard some shuffling from the back and, a moment later, a guy emerged from the darkness wiping his hands on a rag. 

Jake wasn’t sure if it was because he was so drunk or that he hadn’t gotten laid in a while, but when he got a good look at the guy as he walked into the better-lit part of the shop, he inhaled sharply. Fuck, this guy was hot.

Maybe only an inch or two taller than Jake, the new arrival seemed to fill the shop as he sauntered towards them with a laidback ease. His sun-bronzed skin was nearly hidden beneath dozens of intricate tattoos. Both of his arms and hands were covered with them and a few more peeked out from under the collar of his tightly-fitting black t-shirt and licked at his neck. The tattoos seemed to dance when his bulging muscles flexed as he placed his hands on his hips. Chestnut waves fell across his forehead and curled around his ears while a neatly trimmed mustache sat atop a pair of full lips which parted as he asked, “Yeah? What can I help you guys with?”

When Jake didn’t respond but just continued staring with his mouth hanging open, Javy grinned knowingly and elbowed him in the side. “My friend here needs a tattoo. I was thinking maybe a large tramp stamp or a butterfly flying out his ass would suit him well.”

Quickly pulling himself together, Jake shoved Javy away with a muttered, “Oh, fuck off.” Turning back to the guy, he flashed him a coy smile. “I lost a bet so it seems I’m at your mercy.”

The guy’s eyes slowly scanned Jake then Javy. With a sigh, he tossed his rag onto the counter. “Sorry, fellas. Can’t help you with that.”

Jake blinked in surprise. “Why not? The sign says open til 4am. It’s—” Jake glanced at his watch but the numbers swam before his eyes in the dim lighting. Shaking his head slightly, he said, “Well, not that.”

“Oh, I’m open. But did you read the other sign on the door?” Both Jake and Javy just stared blankly at him so the guy sighed again with a slight roll of his eyes. “‘We have the right to refuse service to anyone—especially if you are drunk.’”

“There’s no way in hell it says that.” Javy stormed over to the door and stuck his head out. “Well, I’ll be damned. It does.”

Coming back inside, he implored the guy, “Come on, man! We’ve been looking for a shop for almost an hour. This is the only place that’s still open!”

“Sorry. My shop, my rules.”

“‘Your’ shop?” Jake asked.

The guy’s eyes flickered to Jake. “Yeah. My shop. I’m the owner as well as one of the artists. Which means I get to decide who gets what, when, and under what conditions. So, come back tomorrow and I’ll give you whatever you want. I’ll even make you an appointment. But tonight, it’s not gonna happen.” The guy folded his arms across his chest.

Now, Jake didn’t want the tattoo. In fact, he’d actively been trying to stop Javy from finding a place all night. But the only thing he hated more than losing to a friend was losing to a stranger—no matter how attractive he might be.

So, he flashed his most charming smile and said, “Come on, man. We’re not even that drunk. We just had a few beers and that was hours ago.”

“I highly doubt that,” the guy muttered under his breath. Jake’s eyes narrowed and he took a step forward as he opened his mouth to unleash a tirade against the tattoo artist for calling him a liar, but the other man cut him off before he could utter his first expletive. “Deny it all you want, but I could smell the alcohol wafting off you guys the second you stepped foot in here. And, whether you realize it or not, you’re slurring your words and look like you’re about to fall over at any minute.”

That stopped Jake in his tracks. To him, he might be feeling a few effects of the dozen or so drinks he had consumed that night, but nothing too serious or noticeable. However, he had seen videos Javy had taken of him in the past where he thought he was his usual suave, dashing self. When in reality, he looked like he did right after waking up from getting his wisdom teeth removed: drooling, incoherent, and barely remaining upright.

So there was a strong possibility it was apparent he had had more than a few drinks tonight.

Still not ready to throw in the towel, Jake stared the guy down and spat, “Oh, you’re really enjoying this, aren’t you? Knocking me down, turning me away. I’m trying to be a paying customer! Just take my money already, give me a fucking tattoo, and stop being such an ass about it!”

The guy sighed. “Listen, I’m not being an ass because I enjoy it.” He paused then shrugged. “Well, not only because I enjoy it. But alcohol thins out your blood so you bleed more and it doesn’t clot like it’s supposed to. That can lead to infections and a shitty finished product, neither of which I want on reviews for my shop when you’re unhappy with the results.”

“I’ll sign whatever waivers or contracts or whatever you want me to saying I know the risks and accept full responsibility if something happens. Hell, you can even include a clause saying the only review I’m allowed to post is one where I say it was the greatest experience I’ve ever had, the work was immaculate, and you finished me off with the best blowjob of my life.”

The guy raised one eyebrow. “Not sure I want that on reviews for my shop either.”

Jake threw his hands into the air. “Whatever! Just, come on, please!”

The guy considered for a long moment, his fingers running across his mustache as he pondered. Finally, he sighed. Shaking his head as he stared at the floor, he muttered, “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

Jake grinned. “Haven’t had anyone regret me yet.” Javy snorted behind him but he ignored his friend. Clapping his hands together, he asked, “So, we doing this?”

Taking a deep breath, the guy said, “Fine. I’ll give you a tattoo. But on one condition.”

Buzzing from his victory, Jake bounced up and down on the balls of his feet. “Yeah, sure, whatever you say.”

“I get to pick the design and neither of you get to see it until it’s done.”

Jake froze as he felt the blood drain from his face. There was no telling what this guy might pick and it would be on his body for the rest of his life. He had already been concerned when Javy first brought up the bet about how a tattoo would go over if someone at work saw it, and that was when he thought it would be dumb or embarrassing. What if this guy picked something outright offensive or explicit? What if he wanted to place it somewhere that was hard to hide?

Licking his lips, Jake pointed over his shoulder to where Javy had been sitting in one of the chairs. “Sorry, but the bet was that he got to pick it out so—”

“Oh no, I like this idea better,” Javy chuckled, rubbing his hands together gleefully. “I was just going to pick the stupidest design in the book—no offense—but he’s got to have seen thousands of terrible tattoos. So whatever he wants is fine by me.”

The guy nodded at Javy then turned to Jake with a smug smirk, his hands planted on his hips. “Well, what’ll be, cowboy? We doing this?”

Every part of Jake was screaming to say no. Even through the fog in his mind, he knew this was a terrible idea. However, his ego wouldn’t let him back down. Not now after he worked so hard to charm this guy into breaking his rule for him. Plus, while he knew Javy wouldn’t fight him if he said no, his friend also would never let him hear the end of it if he didn’t go through with it. So, Jake did the only thing he could do. Taking off his jacket and throwing it at Javy’s face, he said, “Let’s do this.”

“Okay. Follow me.” The guy began to head back into the darker part of the shop he had come from. Glancing over his shoulder as he went, he said, “I’m Bradley, by the way.”

Trailing after him, focusing really intently on walking in a straight line, Jake said, “Jake. And that’s Javy.”

Javy raised his hand from his place behind Jake. “Sup.”

Bradley reached a station in the very back of the shop, sat in the chair, and flipped on the overhead light. It was the biggest, most elaborate station Jake had seen in the shop with two full walls decorated with pictures of tattoos, a long counter full of tools and inks, several large cabinets, a rolling cart covered in ink stains, a fancy-looking leather chair, and an adjustable table that was currently in an upright position. Bradley plopped down into the chair and gestured for Jake to sit on the table. As Bradley began sorting through the inks set out on the cart next to him, Jake did as he was told while Javy laid down on one of the nearby tables that was laid fully flat. He was still close enough to interact with the duo but, lying down, he didn’t have a direct line of sight to Jake in the chair so he wouldn’t be able to see what Bradley was tattooing.

Bradley swiveled to face Jake. “I’m gonna place it on one of your upper arms just below your shoulder. But I’m feeling generous so I’ll let you pick which arm.”

Not seeing where it mattered, Jake muttered, “Right, I guess.”

“You got it.” 

Bradley reached out and pushed Jake’s sleeve up, his fingers brushing against his skin. Jake shivered slightly. The tattoo artist’s fingers were rough and calloused, but they were also warm, and Jake wished the brief contact had lasted longer. But then Bradley was scrubbing his arm with some sort of damp cloth—assumedly with a disinfectant or cleaner on it—and though it wasn’t the kind of contact Jake had been hoping for, it was still nice in its own way.

However, once Bradley picked up a tattoo gun off the counter, Jake felt the color drain from his face. Jake was no stranger to pain. He had played football since he was 5 years old up until he graduated college. He had broken at least six bones in his lifetime and had to get two different surgeries so they’d heal properly. He had been in a car accident where his friend had been driving after a night of drinking and, to this day, no one knew how either of them walked away from it even in the condition they did. The point was, pain had been a frequent part of his life for as long as he could remember and he took it in stride. 

However, needles…he didn’t like needles.

So, as Bradley placed the gun against his arm, he gripped the arms of the chair so tightly his knuckles turned white. He saw Bradley glance down at his hands but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he turned on the machine and pressed it to Jake’s arm.

The sensation that shot through him was not the one he was expecting. It wasn’t comfortable, but it also wasn’t painful. At all. It felt more like a vibration shooting deep into his muscle than pain. 

And as Bradley continued, Jake slowly released his death-grip on the chair with a soft, “Wow.”

“What?” Bradley mumbled, not looking up from what he was doing.

“Nothing. I just…I thought it would hurt. But it just feels tingly and a little…itchy?”

Bradley scoffed. “I guess that’s the one good part about getting a tattoo drunk. It dulls your nerves so you don’t feel it.” He continued working for several minutes before asking, “So, is this your first tattoo?”

Jake nodded, willing himself not to look down at what was happening on his arm. “Yeah. I’ve thought about getting one before but never went through with it.”

Bradley grinned. “Oh, a virgin, huh? Well, I’m honored to pop your cherry.” Jake felt his face flush slightly but he tried to control his expression. Whether Bradley noticed or not, he wasn’t sure, but the tattoo artist changed the subject. “So, I know you’re here tonight because of this bet, but what’s kept you away until now?”

“My job isn’t very approving of them. So it’s just been easier not to risk it.”

“Let me guess…finance?”

“Yeah. How’d you know?”

Bradley paused to dip the tattoo gun in the ink next to him. “I clocked it the moment you two walked in.”

Jake raised his eyebrow. “I thought you said you smelled the alcohol as soon as we walked in.” 

“Alcohol and finance bros. Don’t they often go hand in hand?” Bradley started tattooing again. “But, no. You guys all just have an air about you. Like how you hold yourself or something. It’s not hard to spot once you begin to notice it.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“I don’t think you want me to answer that.”

Both men fell silent. The only sounds echoing through the deserted shop were the constant buzz of the tattoo gun and Javy’s loud snoring from the nearby table where he evidently fell asleep. 

However, the anxiety of the situation added to the fact that alcohol had a tendency to put Jake in a talkative mood soon had him talking again. It wasn’t a real conversation this time, he just rambled on about whatever came to mind—sports, hobbies, even the goddamn weather—all the while Bradley continued working on his arm. The artist didn’t contribute much other than the occasional grunt or hum in acknowledgment of whatever Jake was saying, but Jake did notice him trying to hide a smile a few times. After that, it became Jake’s mission to get a real smile out of him before his work was done—a task he succeeded in several times and, to his delight, even managed to get a real chuckle out of him.

Jake had almost forgotten the reason they were sitting there until Bradley sat back and placed his tattoo gun on the tray. “Well, I think we’re done. Just give me a minute to wipe it down with an antibacterial wash and wrap it up, then you’ll be good to go.”

Jake sat up straighter in his chair. “Really? That’s it?”

“Yep. That’s it.” Bradley took a cloth and rubbed it across the area he had been working on. Then, he peeled a piece of plastic off something sitting on his table and quickly pressed a piece of paper over Jake’s arm. Taking a damp cloth, he rubbed it over the paper and held it there for a moment. Once he removed it, he grabbed some sort of bandage and began wrapping it up.

“Uh…” Jake asked. “Aren’t you going to let me see it?”

“Nope. Not tonight,” Bradley said, finishing up his work. “As expected, it’s bleeding more than it should so I had to wrap it as soon as possible to limit infection and damage to your skin. But you should be good to take it off when you wake up tomorrow and get a good look at it.”

“Great,” Jake muttered under his breath. He wasn’t thrilled he’d have to wait to assess how much of a mistake this had been. Sliding off his chair, he walked over and thumped Javy in the chest. “Hey, Sleeping Beauty, nap time’s over.”

Javy bolted upright, then immediately collapsed back clutching his head. “Fuck…”

“I’d feel bad about that if I hadn’t just had hundreds of needles punched into me because of you.”

“Next time don’t make a bet you aren’t willing to lose.” Javy slowly squinted one eye at Jake. “So, what'd ya get?”

“Don’t know yet. Can’t look until tomorrow.” He held out his hand and helped his friend to his feet. Then, turning back to Bradley, he flashed a smile. “Thanks again for making an exception. It ended up not being as bad as I thought it would be.”

Something seemed to sparkle in Bradley’s eyes as he said, “I’m sure there’s a reason for that.” Then he clapped his hands together before Jake could dwell on what he meant. “I’ve gotta clean up here but you guys can see yourselves out. I'll lock up when I’m done.” 

“Cool, thanks,” Javy said, still holding his head. “I think I need to go home and lay down.”

Jake rolled his eyes but then cast one last look at Bradley. He didn’t know what he had expected to happen. There had been no indication that Bradley was even into guys, yet as Jake thought of his fingers brushing across the skin of his arm, the intense gaze in his soulful brown eyes as he worked, and his chuckle at Jake’s story, Jake couldn’t help but wish this wasn’t goodbye.

With Javy already stumbling out the front door, Jake had no choice but to hold up his hand, give Bradley one last smile, and follow his friend out of the shop.

Though no one was left to hear him, Bradley laughed and shook his head as he looked towards the front of the shop. “Goodbye, Jake. I have a feeling we’ll be seeing each other real soon.” 

Pain.

That’s all Jake felt when he clawed himself back to consciousness the next morning. Pain starting from the center of his head and radiating out throughout the rest of his body. He tried to shift slightly to adjust his sweat-dampened sheets that clung to him but immediately moaned as fresh waves of pain and nausea flowed through his system. He hadn’t had a hangover this bad since the firm’s last New Year’s Eve party where there was an open bar. Fucking Javy and his fucking underhanded scheme to finally beat him at something.

Oh god.

Jake’s eyes snapped open—only to wince in pain—as he remembered the bet he had made and subsequently lost. A quick glance at the bandage still wrapped around his arm was all the confirmation he needed that they had carried out the terms of the bet. Jake was struggling to remember more than a few flashes from last night, but he did remember that.

Taking several deep breaths, he eased himself out of bed and trudged to the bathroom. After vomiting, the world stopped spinning quite as much, so Jake braced himself and stepped in front of his mirror. Carefully, he unwrapped the bandage and got his first look at his new tattoo.

“What the fuck?”

There, reflected in the mirror, was a square, decorative border stretching from the peak of his shoulder to just above his elbow. There was a weird design or symbols at the bottom that seemed sort of distorted from the curve of his arm. However, Jake only glanced at that for a moment, seeing as his attention was focused on the image framed inside. 

It was a massive stylized chicken. 

Looking closer, it kind of reminded Jake of the sriracha logo. That’s when it clicked. He got a flash of this same design in red neon hanging in the window of the shop they stopped at, though he couldn’t recall the name under it. 

The tattoo guy had inked his fucking shop logo onto Jake's arm.

Jake continued to stare at the design in the mirror, hoping it was just a hallucination. But no matter how long he stared at it, it didn't change or go away. It just continued to stare back at him in all its inky glory.

“What the fuck!”

Five hours. 

That’s how long Jake wandered the city looking for the shop from last night. His call to Javy immediately after rushing out of the bathroom had been absolutely useless in helping him narrow down his search. Once Javy finally stopped crying from laughter at Jake’s predicament, they compared notes from the night before. Neither one of them could remember anything between leaving the bar and arriving at the tattoo shop. And even the details of their time there were hazy. All they could really agree on was that there was a guy working there who agreed to tattoo Jake if he could pick out the design. Jake couldn’t even remember the guy’s name or what he looked like, he just had a vague image of him and that his name started with a B or something. 

So, after a quick search of “chicken tattoo shops” turned up nothing useful, Jake had begun walking around the city trying to come across the shop just like they had the night before. He passed dozens of shops, but none of them had a large neon chicken sign in the window so he continued on. Looking back on it later, he realized he should have gone into one of these shops, shown them the tattoo, and asked if they recognized the logo. But he would have been too embarrassed to do so even if the thought had crossed his mind.

After the eighth time backtracking to the bar and branching off in a direction they might have headed the night before, Jake finally found what he was looking for. 

As soon as he peered down the correct alley, he was greeted with a bright red glow from the neon sign in the window and he hurried down until he stopped in front of the shop and its ridiculous chicken logo. It was the same image as the one now inked into his skin. And as Jake noticed the name of the shop underneath it, his face grew as red as the sign as he realized how much of an idiot he had been. 

When he was looking at the tattoo in the mirror, he only glanced at the border for a second before focusing on the chicken in the center. If he had given it any more than that first cursory glance, he would have probably noticed that what he had taken as weird symbols or decoration had, in fact, been the name of the shop reflected backwards in the mirror. But between the stylized font and the way it stretched on Jake’s arm, it had never occurred to him that his answer had been there the entire time.

Throwing open the door, Jake stormed into The Roost.

The woman behind the counter didn’t seem the least bit fazed by his over-the-top entrance. From what Jake could remember from the previous night, she looked exactly like the kind of person he would expect to be working here. Her dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail showing off each ear completely pierced with a dozen or so gold hoops. She was sporting a matching septum ring. Her black strapless shirt clung to her body and allowed two full sleeves of tattoos to be on full display. As she turned slightly, Jake noticed the one on her right arm looked like a flaming bird taking flight.

She lazily looked up from the binder she was writing in and blew a bubble with her gum as she stared at Jake. When it popped, she asked, “Can I help you?”

Jake was momentarily taken aback by her demeanor but quickly recovered and regained his determination. Marching up to the counter, he said, “Yeah. I’m looking for someone who works here. I think his name started with a B? Tall guy. Brown hair. Lots of tattoos. Ridiculous mustache.”

“Oh!” Her face lit up as a knowing smile spread across her face. Leaning back, she said, “You must be Jake. Rooster said you’d be in sometime today.”

“Rooster?” The feeling of stupidity Jake was feeling only grew. Of course it wasn’t just a chicken in the logo—it was a rooster. That might explain why he never found anything when he searched online. He should have looked for “rooster tattoo shop” instead.

She shrugged. “Bradley. He’s Rooster to all of us, but depending on the client, he sometimes uses his real name. Guess you were one of the lucky ones.”

The anger that had been brewing in Jake’s chest all day reached a boiling point. Not only had this guy branded him with his shop logo, but it was also his nickname. What kind of sick son of a bitch did he meet last night? 

Through gritted teeth, he growled, “Is he here?”

The woman nodded. “Yeah, he’s working on someone right now but he told me to bring you back if you showed up.” Stepping out from behind the counter, she motioned for Jake to follow her as she headed deeper into the shop.

They passed a few other stations with customers in various stages of getting tattooed. A pale man with glasses was applying an elaborate stencil to a young woman's arm. At another station, a guy with buzzed hair and bronze skin was finishing up a photo-realistic tattoo of Captain America holding his shield on some guy’s thigh. Both were very impressive and made Jake even more upset that he got stuck with this feathery monstrosity.

As they neared the back—Jake was beginning to get a very fuzzy memory of this place from the night before—the woman called out, “Hey, Roo! You’ve got a visitor.”

At the very last station that seemed to take up the whole back wall, a man was lying on his stomach on the table while someone leaned over him tattooing on his shoulder blade. When he heard the woman call out, the artist glanced up then grinned as he saw Jake hot on her heels. For a moment, Jake’s rage fizzled out as he got his first look at Brad—Rooster sober. The hazy drunken version of the man did not do him justice and, in any other situation, Jake would have immediately slipped into flirtation mode. 

However, this was a unique circumstance. 

Pushing past the woman, Jake stormed up to Rooster. “What the fuck, dude!”

Rooster chuckled softly as he shook his head. Glancing at the woman, he said, “Thanks, Phe. I’ve got it from here.”

She muttered something under her breath that Jake couldn’t make out before she walked away. 

Tapping the man he had been tattooing on his side, Rooster said, “Hey, I’ve gotta take care of something but I’ll be right back. Give you a chance to take a breather before we finish up.” The man muttered an unfazed “whatever” and Rooster swung his chair around to face Jake. Grinning like a cat that got the cream, he said, “I’ve been wondering when you’d stumble back in here. Like my work? I think it suits you. You looking for another one already?”

“Cut the shit. You turned me into a walking billboard? How fucked up is that!”

Rooster held out his hands. “You agreed that I could pick any design I wanted. That’s what I picked.”

“I don’t care what we agreed on! It’s pretty much assumed ‘free advertisement for your shop’ was excluded from your selection!” Jake shivered at the thought. “God, I feel like a whore or something.”

Rooster rolled his eyes. “Don’t you think that’s a little dramatic?”

“I have the right to be dramatic right now!” Jake could feel every eye in the shop on him at the moment, but he didn’t care. Well, he did, but at the moment, he cared about what was etched on his arm more. With his cheeks burning and his voice breaking slightly, he demanded, “What am I supposed to do? I can’t…I can’t walk around with this on me for the rest of my life.”

For a moment, Rooster just sat there staring at him. Then, silently, he rose from his seat and took a few steps towards Jake, stopping so close that Jake could feel his breath brushing against his face. Refusing to meet his eye, Jake stared straight ahead, right at Rooster’s mustache…and his full lips. 

“Hey, Jake, look at me.” 

Jake still refused to budge. That is until Rooster placed his finger under his chin and tilted his head up. Completely taken aback, Jake allowed it to happen and his eyes met Rooster’s. They were softer, sweeter, more compassionate than Jake was expecting from him and he felt some of the tension ease from his shoulders simply from staring into the other man’s eyes.

Giving him a small smile, Rooster not unkindly whispered, “Maybe next time you won’t push someone to get your way when they tell you no.”

Using his teeth to grab the tip of one of the latex gloves he was wearing, Rooster peeled it off his hand. Then, after spitting the glove to the side, he slowly slid his now bare middle finger between his lips. Jake watched in fascination, his mind short-circuiting from what he was seeing. The only two thoughts running through his brain were “what the hell is going on” and “why do I find this insanely hot”.

Rooster pulled his finger out of his mouth with a pop, then reached out with his dampened middle finger and rubbed Jake’s tattoo. Hard. When he pulled it away, the ink where he had touched was now peeling and flaking off. 

Realizing what was happening, Jake’s head snapped up as his jaw dropped. “It’s a fucking fake?!”

Rooster stepped back smirking as he crossed his arms over his chest. “We tend to call them temporaries. We hand smaller ones out at events and such for a little advertisement or promotion. But I had a few larger ones made too just in case a situation came up we might be able to use one…turns out, one finally did.”

Jake looked back down to the tattoo on his arm then up to Rooster then down to his arm again. Once he finally grasped the situation, he shoved Rooster in the chest (the other man barely moved) with a loud “What the fuck, dude!” However, there was a laugh of relief in his voice as he did so.

Now that he knew the truth and he wasn’t facing a future with this plastered on his arm for the rest of his life, he could see where it was already starting to crack in several places. If he had actually inspected it this morning or showered as he had planned (he was sure he still smelled of stale beer) instead of immediately jumping into panic mode, he would have discovered the ruse hours ago. It also now made perfect sense why he never felt any pain while he was being tattooed. Rooster must have been using the gun without the needle so all Jake felt were the vibrations of the machine.

After trying several times to find something snappy or sarcastic to say, Jake finally settled on, “But why?”

“Sometimes when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object, you have to find a way to get the force to shift paths slightly. You weren’t going to leave here without a tattoo and I was never going to ink you. So, I found a way for us both to get what we wanted. Yeah, I could have just wrapped your arm up without putting the temporary tattoo there but where’s the fun in that.” Rooster’s smug expression softened slightly as his arms fell to his side. “And, selfishly, I was hoping you’d fall for it and use the logo to track me down.”

“Why would you want me to find you again?”

“Well, for one, I figured once you had sobered up you might want to actually get a real one and I felt like I owed you that. So think about it and let me know if you decide you want one. I promise no tricks this time and I can work with you to find a design you actually want. But right now, I’ve gotta get back to work.” Rooster walked back to the table where his client was still lying. Sitting back in the seat, he grabbed a new glove from out of a box on the tray next to him and pulled it on. 

Feeling a bit dismissed but always wanting to have the final word, Jake scoffed. “All this trouble just to get me back in your chair, huh? Guess I left quite the impression on you.”

“Yeah. You did. Which is the other reason I was hoping you’d come back. This way I get to ask you out for dinner. ” As he picked up the tattoo gun, Rooster glanced at Jake with a grin. “So let me know what you think of that too.”

Jake sputtered in disbelief as Rooster winked at him then leaned forward to continue his work.

Thank you for reading this first part of my new series! It's going to be more a series of connected one-shots rather than a traditional series. New updates coming soon! If you'd like to join the taglist, please let me know! 💕

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

An Unstoppable Force Meets An Immovable Object (Like a Tattoo on My Heart)

Fandom: Top Gun: Maverick, Hangman, Rooster, Hangster, Jake's POV, Tattoo Artist!Rooster AU Summary: After losing a late-night drunken bet, Jake stumbles into a random tattoo shop. There he meets the shop's headstrong (and handsome) owner, Bradley, who refuses to tattoo Jake while he is drunk. But after some smooth talking and negotiation, Jake gets his way...or so he thinks. Word Count: 6066 TW: Tattoo AU, Drunken Behavior, Hangover, Getting a Tattoo, Language Notes: This series is 100% a result of the support, encouragement, beta reading, and late night/early morning DMs with @green-socks 💞 Thank you!!! 💗

Series Masterlist

Stumbling along a few dozen feet behind his friend, Jake groaned as he called out, “Dude…Come on…Let’s just go. This obviously isn’t gonna happen tonight.”

Javy didn’t stop moving but he turned to face Jake so he was now walking backwards. Perfect teeth shining in the streetlights, he called back, “Nuh-uh. You’re not getting out of this bet that easily. I finally beat you at a bar game—”

“‘Cause you got me absolutely hammered!”

“—and I’m not letting you worm your way out of your punishment that easily. There’s gotta still be a place open at this time of night.” Javy spun around and continued down the sidewalk, peering down every side alley he passed looking for the glow of an open shop window.

Jake sighed as he trudged after him, trying his best to keep the world from spinning and his numerous drinks from making a reappearance. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this drunk without blacking out and he was already dreading the hangover that would greet him in the morning. That was if he was ever allowed to give up this hopeless quest and slink home to his bed. Though, he should probably shower first since he spilled his last drink all over himself. But he could wait until morning since he had already called in sic—

“Fuck yes! I found one!”

Jake’s head whipped around and he promptly fell into the adjacent wall. There was no fucking way that Javy found a tattoo shop that was still open at this time on a Thursday night. Or, more accurately, a Friday morning.

Yet, as Jake caught up to his friend and peered down the alleyway, he saw what indeed appeared to be a tattoo shop with its lights still on. In fact, the massive red neon sign in the window cast a warm yet somewhat ominous glow down the entire–otherwise deserted–alleyway. The sign was shaped like a giant rooster (it kind of reminded Jake of the logo on a sriracha bottle) with the words “The Roost” blazing beneath it. It seemed like something you’d expect at a fast-food chicken restaurant, not a tattoo shop. Yet a quick glance through the window proved that was, indeed, exactly what it was. As did the sign reading “Tattoos and Piercings” just to the right of the rooster.

Clasping his hand firmly on Jake’s shoulder, Javy grinned. “Well, buddy, time to settle up.” And he half-dragged Jake into the shop.

The interior was fairly dark. All the lights had been dimmed, save the neon sign still casting its glow inside, and the parts of the walls not covered with sketches of tattoos were painted black. A small display was set up to the right showing off a variety of piercings available. There were several chairs lined against the front wall and a dark counter sat just beyond the entrance with a computer, cash register, and a bell arranged on top.

For a moment or two, Javy moseyed around the front of the shop while Jake leaned heavily on the counter trying to stop the room from spinning, both waiting to see if someone would appear. When no one did, Javy leaned over and tapped the bell a few times as he called out, “Hello?” 

They heard some shuffling from the back and, a moment later, a guy emerged from the darkness wiping his hands on a rag. 

Jake wasn’t sure if it was because he was so drunk or that he hadn’t gotten laid in a while, but when he got a good look at the guy as he walked into the better-lit part of the shop, he inhaled sharply. Fuck, this guy was hot.

Maybe only an inch or two taller than Jake, the new arrival seemed to fill the shop as he sauntered towards them with a laidback ease. His sun-bronzed skin was nearly hidden beneath dozens of intricate tattoos. Both of his arms and hands were covered with them and a few more peeked out from under the collar of his tightly-fitting black t-shirt and licked at his neck. The tattoos seemed to dance when his bulging muscles flexed as he placed his hands on his hips. Chestnut waves fell across his forehead and curled around his ears while a neatly trimmed mustache sat atop a pair of full lips which parted as he asked, “Yeah? What can I help you guys with?”

When Jake didn’t respond but just continued staring with his mouth hanging open, Javy grinned knowingly and elbowed him in the side. “My friend here needs a tattoo. I was thinking maybe a large tramp stamp or a butterfly flying out his ass would suit him well.”

Quickly pulling himself together, Jake shoved Javy away with a muttered, “Oh, fuck off.” Turning back to the guy, he flashed him a coy smile. “I lost a bet so it seems I’m at your mercy.”

The guy’s eyes slowly scanned Jake then Javy. With a sigh, he tossed his rag onto the counter. “Sorry, fellas. Can’t help you with that.”

Jake blinked in surprise. “Why not? The sign says open til 4am. It’s—” Jake glanced at his watch but the numbers swam before his eyes in the dim lighting. Shaking his head slightly, he said, “Well, not that.”

“Oh, I’m open. But did you read the other sign on the door?” Both Jake and Javy just stared blankly at him so the guy sighed again with a slight roll of his eyes. “‘We have the right to refuse service to anyone—especially if you are drunk.’”

“There’s no way in hell it says that.” Javy stormed over to the door and stuck his head out. “Well, I’ll be damned. It does.”

Coming back inside, he implored the guy, “Come on, man! We’ve been looking for a shop for almost an hour. This is the only place that’s still open!”

“Sorry. My shop, my rules.”

“‘Your’ shop?” Jake asked.

The guy’s eyes flickered to Jake. “Yeah. My shop. I’m the owner as well as one of the artists. Which means I get to decide who gets what, when, and under what conditions. So, come back tomorrow and I’ll give you whatever you want. I’ll even make you an appointment. But tonight, it’s not gonna happen.” The guy folded his arms across his chest.

Now, Jake didn’t want the tattoo. In fact, he’d actively been trying to stop Javy from finding a place all night. But the only thing he hated more than losing to a friend was losing to a stranger—no matter how attractive he might be.

So, he flashed his most charming smile and said, “Come on, man. We’re not even that drunk. We just had a few beers and that was hours ago.”

“I highly doubt that,” the guy muttered under his breath. Jake’s eyes narrowed and he took a step forward as he opened his mouth to unleash a tirade against the tattoo artist for calling him a liar, but the other man cut him off before he could utter his first expletive. “Deny it all you want, but I could smell the alcohol wafting off you guys the second you stepped foot in here. And, whether you realize it or not, you’re slurring your words and look like you’re about to fall over at any minute.”

That stopped Jake in his tracks. To him, he might be feeling a few effects of the dozen or so drinks he had consumed that night, but nothing too serious or noticeable. However, he had seen videos Javy had taken of him in the past where he thought he was his usual suave, dashing self. When in reality, he looked like he did right after waking up from getting his wisdom teeth removed: drooling, incoherent, and barely remaining upright.

So there was a strong possibility it was apparent he had had more than a few drinks tonight.

Still not ready to throw in the towel, Jake stared the guy down and spat, “Oh, you’re really enjoying this, aren’t you? Knocking me down, turning me away. I’m trying to be a paying customer! Just take my money already, give me a fucking tattoo, and stop being such an ass about it!”

The guy sighed. “Listen, I’m not being an ass because I enjoy it.” He paused then shrugged. “Well, not only because I enjoy it. But alcohol thins out your blood so you bleed more and it doesn’t clot like it’s supposed to. That can lead to infections and a shitty finished product, neither of which I want on reviews for my shop when you’re unhappy with the results.”

“I’ll sign whatever waivers or contracts or whatever you want me to saying I know the risks and accept full responsibility if something happens. Hell, you can even include a clause saying the only review I’m allowed to post is one where I say it was the greatest experience I’ve ever had, the work was immaculate, and you finished me off with the best blowjob of my life.”

The guy raised one eyebrow. “Not sure I want that on reviews for my shop either.”

Jake threw his hands into the air. “Whatever! Just, come on, please!”

The guy considered for a long moment, his fingers running across his mustache as he pondered. Finally, he sighed. Shaking his head as he stared at the floor, he muttered, “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

Jake grinned. “Haven’t had anyone regret me yet.” Javy snorted behind him but he ignored his friend. Clapping his hands together, he asked, “So, we doing this?”

Taking a deep breath, the guy said, “Fine. I’ll give you a tattoo. But on one condition.”

Buzzing from his victory, Jake bounced up and down on the balls of his feet. “Yeah, sure, whatever you say.”

“I get to pick the design and neither of you get to see it until it’s done.”

Jake froze as he felt the blood drain from his face. There was no telling what this guy might pick and it would be on his body for the rest of his life. He had already been concerned when Javy first brought up the bet about how a tattoo would go over if someone at work saw it, and that was when he thought it would be dumb or embarrassing. What if this guy picked something outright offensive or explicit? What if he wanted to place it somewhere that was hard to hide?

Licking his lips, Jake pointed over his shoulder to where Javy had been sitting in one of the chairs. “Sorry, but the bet was that he got to pick it out so—”

“Oh no, I like this idea better,” Javy chuckled, rubbing his hands together gleefully. “I was just going to pick the stupidest design in the book—no offense—but he’s got to have seen thousands of terrible tattoos. So whatever he wants is fine by me.”

The guy nodded at Javy then turned to Jake with a smug smirk, his hands planted on his hips. “Well, what’ll be, cowboy? We doing this?”

Every part of Jake was screaming to say no. Even through the fog in his mind, he knew this was a terrible idea. However, his ego wouldn’t let him back down. Not now after he worked so hard to charm this guy into breaking his rule for him. Plus, while he knew Javy wouldn’t fight him if he said no, his friend also would never let him hear the end of it if he didn’t go through with it. So, Jake did the only thing he could do. Taking off his jacket and throwing it at Javy’s face, he said, “Let’s do this.”

“Okay. Follow me.” The guy began to head back into the darker part of the shop he had come from. Glancing over his shoulder as he went, he said, “I’m Bradley, by the way.”

Trailing after him, focusing really intently on walking in a straight line, Jake said, “Jake. And that’s Javy.”

Javy raised his hand from his place behind Jake. “Sup.”

Bradley reached a station in the very back of the shop, sat in the chair, and flipped on the overhead light. It was the biggest, most elaborate station Jake had seen in the shop with two full walls decorated with pictures of tattoos, a long counter full of tools and inks, several large cabinets, a rolling cart covered in ink stains, a fancy-looking leather chair, and an adjustable table that was currently in an upright position. Bradley plopped down into the chair and gestured for Jake to sit on the table. As Bradley began sorting through the inks set out on the cart next to him, Jake did as he was told while Javy laid down on one of the nearby tables that was laid fully flat. He was still close enough to interact with the duo but, lying down, he didn’t have a direct line of sight to Jake in the chair so he wouldn’t be able to see what Bradley was tattooing.

Bradley swiveled to face Jake. “I’m gonna place it on one of your upper arms just below your shoulder. But I’m feeling generous so I’ll let you pick which arm.”

Not seeing where it mattered, Jake muttered, “Right, I guess.”

“You got it.” 

Bradley reached out and pushed Jake’s sleeve up, his fingers brushing against his skin. Jake shivered slightly. The tattoo artist’s fingers were rough and calloused, but they were also warm, and Jake wished the brief contact had lasted longer. But then Bradley was scrubbing his arm with some sort of damp cloth—assumedly with a disinfectant or cleaner on it—and though it wasn’t the kind of contact Jake had been hoping for, it was still nice in its own way.

However, once Bradley picked up a tattoo gun off the counter, Jake felt the color drain from his face. Jake was no stranger to pain. He had played football since he was 5 years old up until he graduated college. He had broken at least six bones in his lifetime and had to get two different surgeries so they’d heal properly. He had been in a car accident where his friend had been driving after a night of drinking and, to this day, no one knew how either of them walked away from it even in the condition they did. The point was, pain had been a frequent part of his life for as long as he could remember and he took it in stride. 

However, needles…he didn’t like needles.

So, as Bradley placed the gun against his arm, he gripped the arms of the chair so tightly his knuckles turned white. He saw Bradley glance down at his hands but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he turned on the machine and pressed it to Jake’s arm.

The sensation that shot through him was not the one he was expecting. It wasn’t comfortable, but it also wasn’t painful. At all. It felt more like a vibration shooting deep into his muscle than pain. 

And as Bradley continued, Jake slowly released his death-grip on the chair with a soft, “Wow.”

“What?” Bradley mumbled, not looking up from what he was doing.

“Nothing. I just…I thought it would hurt. But it just feels tingly and a little…itchy?”

Bradley scoffed. “I guess that’s the one good part about getting a tattoo drunk. It dulls your nerves so you don’t feel it.” He continued working for several minutes before asking, “So, is this your first tattoo?”

Jake nodded, willing himself not to look down at what was happening on his arm. “Yeah. I’ve thought about getting one before but never went through with it.”

Bradley grinned. “Oh, a virgin, huh? Well, I’m honored to pop your cherry.” Jake felt his face flush slightly but he tried to control his expression. Whether Bradley noticed or not, he wasn’t sure, but the tattoo artist changed the subject. “So, I know you’re here tonight because of this bet, but what’s kept you away until now?”

“My job isn’t very approving of them. So it’s just been easier not to risk it.”

“Let me guess…finance?”

“Yeah. How’d you know?”

Bradley paused to dip the tattoo gun in the ink next to him. “I clocked it the moment you two walked in.”

Jake raised his eyebrow. “I thought you said you smelled the alcohol as soon as we walked in.” 

“Alcohol and finance bros. Don’t they often go hand in hand?” Bradley started tattooing again. “But, no. You guys all just have an air about you. Like how you hold yourself or something. It’s not hard to spot once you begin to notice it.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“I don’t think you want me to answer that.”

Both men fell silent. The only sounds echoing through the deserted shop were the constant buzz of the tattoo gun and Javy’s loud snoring from the nearby table where he evidently fell asleep. 

However, the anxiety of the situation added to the fact that alcohol had a tendency to put Jake in a talkative mood soon had him talking again. It wasn’t a real conversation this time, he just rambled on about whatever came to mind—sports, hobbies, even the goddamn weather—all the while Bradley continued working on his arm. The artist didn’t contribute much other than the occasional grunt or hum in acknowledgment of whatever Jake was saying, but Jake did notice him trying to hide a smile a few times. After that, it became Jake’s mission to get a real smile out of him before his work was done—a task he succeeded in several times and, to his delight, even managed to get a real chuckle out of him.

Jake had almost forgotten the reason they were sitting there until Bradley sat back and placed his tattoo gun on the tray. “Well, I think we’re done. Just give me a minute to wipe it down with an antibacterial wash and wrap it up, then you’ll be good to go.”

Jake sat up straighter in his chair. “Really? That’s it?”

“Yep. That’s it.” Bradley took a cloth and rubbed it across the area he had been working on. Then, he peeled a piece of plastic off something sitting on his table and quickly pressed a piece of paper over Jake’s arm. Taking a damp cloth, he rubbed it over the paper and held it there for a moment. Once he removed it, he grabbed some sort of bandage and began wrapping it up.

“Uh…” Jake asked. “Aren’t you going to let me see it?”

“Nope. Not tonight,” Bradley said, finishing up his work. “As expected, it’s bleeding more than it should so I had to wrap it as soon as possible to limit infection and damage to your skin. But you should be good to take it off when you wake up tomorrow and get a good look at it.”

“Great,” Jake muttered under his breath. He wasn’t thrilled he’d have to wait to assess how much of a mistake this had been. Sliding off his chair, he walked over and thumped Javy in the chest. “Hey, Sleeping Beauty, nap time’s over.”

Javy bolted upright, then immediately collapsed back clutching his head. “Fuck…”

“I’d feel bad about that if I hadn’t just had hundreds of needles punched into me because of you.”

“Next time don’t make a bet you aren’t willing to lose.” Javy slowly squinted one eye at Jake. “So, what'd ya get?”

“Don’t know yet. Can’t look until tomorrow.” He held out his hand and helped his friend to his feet. Then, turning back to Bradley, he flashed a smile. “Thanks again for making an exception. It ended up not being as bad as I thought it would be.”

Something seemed to sparkle in Bradley’s eyes as he said, “I’m sure there’s a reason for that.” Then he clapped his hands together before Jake could dwell on what he meant. “I’ve gotta clean up here but you guys can see yourselves out. I'll lock up when I’m done.” 

“Cool, thanks,” Javy said, still holding his head. “I think I need to go home and lay down.”

Jake rolled his eyes but then cast one last look at Bradley. He didn’t know what he had expected to happen. There had been no indication that Bradley was even into guys, yet as Jake thought of his fingers brushing across the skin of his arm, the intense gaze in his soulful brown eyes as he worked, and his chuckle at Jake’s story, Jake couldn’t help but wish this wasn’t goodbye.

With Javy already stumbling out the front door, Jake had no choice but to hold up his hand, give Bradley one last smile, and follow his friend out of the shop.

Though no one was left to hear him, Bradley laughed and shook his head as he looked towards the front of the shop. “Goodbye, Jake. I have a feeling we’ll be seeing each other real soon.” 

Pain.

That’s all Jake felt when he clawed himself back to consciousness the next morning. Pain starting from the center of his head and radiating out throughout the rest of his body. He tried to shift slightly to adjust his sweat-dampened sheets that clung to him but immediately moaned as fresh waves of pain and nausea flowed through his system. He hadn’t had a hangover this bad since the firm’s last New Year’s Eve party where there was an open bar. Fucking Javy and his fucking underhanded scheme to finally beat him at something.

Oh god.

Jake’s eyes snapped open—only to wince in pain—as he remembered the bet he had made and subsequently lost. A quick glance at the bandage still wrapped around his arm was all the confirmation he needed that they had carried out the terms of the bet. Jake was struggling to remember more than a few flashes from last night, but he did remember that.

Taking several deep breaths, he eased himself out of bed and trudged to the bathroom. After vomiting, the world stopped spinning quite as much, so Jake braced himself and stepped in front of his mirror. Carefully, he unwrapped the bandage and got his first look at his new tattoo.

“What the fuck?”

There, reflected in the mirror, was a square, decorative border stretching from the peak of his shoulder to just above his elbow. There was a weird design or symbols at the bottom that seemed sort of distorted from the curve of his arm. However, Jake only glanced at that for a moment, seeing as his attention was focused on the image framed inside. 

It was a massive stylized chicken. 

Looking closer, it kind of reminded Jake of the sriracha logo. That’s when it clicked. He got a flash of this same design in red neon hanging in the window of the shop they stopped at, though he couldn’t recall the name under it. 

The tattoo guy had inked his fucking shop logo onto Jake's arm.

Jake continued to stare at the design in the mirror, hoping it was just a hallucination. But no matter how long he stared at it, it didn't change or go away. It just continued to stare back at him in all its inky glory.

“What the fuck!”

Five hours. 

That’s how long Jake wandered the city looking for the shop from last night. His call to Javy immediately after rushing out of the bathroom had been absolutely useless in helping him narrow down his search. Once Javy finally stopped crying from laughter at Jake’s predicament, they compared notes from the night before. Neither one of them could remember anything between leaving the bar and arriving at the tattoo shop. And even the details of their time there were hazy. All they could really agree on was that there was a guy working there who agreed to tattoo Jake if he could pick out the design. Jake couldn’t even remember the guy’s name or what he looked like, he just had a vague image of him and that his name started with a B or something. 

So, after a quick search of “chicken tattoo shops” turned up nothing useful, Jake had begun walking around the city trying to come across the shop just like they had the night before. He passed dozens of shops, but none of them had a large neon chicken sign in the window so he continued on. Looking back on it later, he realized he should have gone into one of these shops, shown them the tattoo, and asked if they recognized the logo. But he would have been too embarrassed to do so even if the thought had crossed his mind.

After the eighth time backtracking to the bar and branching off in a direction they might have headed the night before, Jake finally found what he was looking for. 

As soon as he peered down the correct alley, he was greeted with a bright red glow from the neon sign in the window and he hurried down until he stopped in front of the shop and its ridiculous chicken logo. It was the same image as the one now inked into his skin. And as Jake noticed the name of the shop underneath it, his face grew as red as the sign as he realized how much of an idiot he had been. 

When he was looking at the tattoo in the mirror, he only glanced at the border for a second before focusing on the chicken in the center. If he had given it any more than that first cursory glance, he would have probably noticed that what he had taken as weird symbols or decoration had, in fact, been the name of the shop reflected backwards in the mirror. But between the stylized font and the way it stretched on Jake’s arm, it had never occurred to him that his answer had been there the entire time.

Throwing open the door, Jake stormed into The Roost.

The woman behind the counter didn’t seem the least bit fazed by his over-the-top entrance. From what Jake could remember from the previous night, she looked exactly like the kind of person he would expect to be working here. Her dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail showing off each ear completely pierced with a dozen or so gold hoops. She was sporting a matching septum ring. Her black strapless shirt clung to her body and allowed two full sleeves of tattoos to be on full display. As she turned slightly, Jake noticed the one on her right arm looked like a flaming bird taking flight.

She lazily looked up from the binder she was writing in and blew a bubble with her gum as she stared at Jake. When it popped, she asked, “Can I help you?”

Jake was momentarily taken aback by her demeanor but quickly recovered and regained his determination. Marching up to the counter, he said, “Yeah. I’m looking for someone who works here. I think his name started with a B? Tall guy. Brown hair. Lots of tattoos. Ridiculous mustache.”

“Oh!” Her face lit up as a knowing smile spread across her face. Leaning back, she said, “You must be Jake. Rooster said you’d be in sometime today.”

“Rooster?” The feeling of stupidity Jake was feeling only grew. Of course it wasn’t just a chicken in the logo—it was a rooster. That might explain why he never found anything when he searched online. He should have looked for “rooster tattoo shop” instead.

She shrugged. “Bradley. He’s Rooster to all of us, but depending on the client, he sometimes uses his real name. Guess you were one of the lucky ones.”

The anger that had been brewing in Jake’s chest all day reached a boiling point. Not only had this guy branded him with his shop logo, but it was also his nickname. What kind of sick son of a bitch did he meet last night? 

Through gritted teeth, he growled, “Is he here?”

The woman nodded. “Yeah, he’s working on someone right now but he told me to bring you back if you showed up.” Stepping out from behind the counter, she motioned for Jake to follow her as she headed deeper into the shop.

They passed a few other stations with customers in various stages of getting tattooed. A pale man with glasses was applying an elaborate stencil to a young woman's arm. At another station, a guy with buzzed hair and bronze skin was finishing up a photo-realistic tattoo of Captain America holding his shield on some guy’s thigh. Both were very impressive and made Jake even more upset that he got stuck with this feathery monstrosity.

As they neared the back—Jake was beginning to get a very fuzzy memory of this place from the night before—the woman called out, “Hey, Roo! You’ve got a visitor.”

At the very last station that seemed to take up the whole back wall, a man was lying on his stomach on the table while someone leaned over him tattooing on his shoulder blade. When he heard the woman call out, the artist glanced up then grinned as he saw Jake hot on her heels. For a moment, Jake’s rage fizzled out as he got his first look at Brad—Rooster sober. The hazy drunken version of the man did not do him justice and, in any other situation, Jake would have immediately slipped into flirtation mode. 

However, this was a unique circumstance. 

Pushing past the woman, Jake stormed up to Rooster. “What the fuck, dude!”

Rooster chuckled softly as he shook his head. Glancing at the woman, he said, “Thanks, Phe. I’ve got it from here.”

She muttered something under her breath that Jake couldn’t make out before she walked away. 

Tapping the man he had been tattooing on his side, Rooster said, “Hey, I’ve gotta take care of something but I’ll be right back. Give you a chance to take a breather before we finish up.” The man muttered an unfazed “whatever” and Rooster swung his chair around to face Jake. Grinning like a cat that got the cream, he said, “I’ve been wondering when you’d stumble back in here. Like my work? I think it suits you. You looking for another one already?”

“Cut the shit. You turned me into a walking billboard? How fucked up is that!”

Rooster held out his hands. “You agreed that I could pick any design I wanted. That’s what I picked.”

“I don’t care what we agreed on! It’s pretty much assumed ‘free advertisement for your shop’ was excluded from your selection!” Jake shivered at the thought. “God, I feel like a whore or something.”

Rooster rolled his eyes. “Don’t you think that’s a little dramatic?”

“I have the right to be dramatic right now!” Jake could feel every eye in the shop on him at the moment, but he didn’t care. Well, he did, but at the moment, he cared about what was etched on his arm more. With his cheeks burning and his voice breaking slightly, he demanded, “What am I supposed to do? I can’t…I can’t walk around with this on me for the rest of my life.”

For a moment, Rooster just sat there staring at him. Then, silently, he rose from his seat and took a few steps towards Jake, stopping so close that Jake could feel his breath brushing against his face. Refusing to meet his eye, Jake stared straight ahead, right at Rooster’s mustache…and his full lips. 

“Hey, Jake, look at me.” 

Jake still refused to budge. That is until Rooster placed his finger under his chin and tilted his head up. Completely taken aback, Jake allowed it to happen and his eyes met Rooster’s. They were softer, sweeter, more compassionate than Jake was expecting from him and he felt some of the tension ease from his shoulders simply from staring into the other man’s eyes.

Giving him a small smile, Rooster not unkindly whispered, “Maybe next time you won’t push someone to get your way when they tell you no.”

Using his teeth to grab the tip of one of the latex gloves he was wearing, Rooster peeled it off his hand. Then, after spitting the glove to the side, he slowly slid his now bare middle finger between his lips. Jake watched in fascination, his mind short-circuiting from what he was seeing. The only two thoughts running through his brain were “what the hell is going on” and “why do I find this insanely hot”.

Rooster pulled his finger out of his mouth with a pop, then reached out with his dampened middle finger and rubbed Jake’s tattoo. Hard. When he pulled it away, the ink where he had touched was now peeling and flaking off. 

Realizing what was happening, Jake’s head snapped up as his jaw dropped. “It’s a fucking fake?!”

Rooster stepped back smirking as he crossed his arms over his chest. “We tend to call them temporaries. We hand smaller ones out at events and such for a little advertisement or promotion. But I had a few larger ones made too just in case a situation came up we might be able to use one…turns out, one finally did.”

Jake looked back down to the tattoo on his arm then up to Rooster then down to his arm again. Once he finally grasped the situation, he shoved Rooster in the chest (the other man barely moved) with a loud “What the fuck, dude!” However, there was a laugh of relief in his voice as he did so.

Now that he knew the truth and he wasn’t facing a future with this plastered on his arm for the rest of his life, he could see where it was already starting to crack in several places. If he had actually inspected it this morning or showered as he had planned (he was sure he still smelled of stale beer) instead of immediately jumping into panic mode, he would have discovered the ruse hours ago. It also now made perfect sense why he never felt any pain while he was being tattooed. Rooster must have been using the gun without the needle so all Jake felt were the vibrations of the machine.

After trying several times to find something snappy or sarcastic to say, Jake finally settled on, “But why?”

“Sometimes when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object, you have to find a way to get the force to shift paths slightly. You weren’t going to leave here without a tattoo and I was never going to ink you. So, I found a way for us both to get what we wanted. Yeah, I could have just wrapped your arm up without putting the temporary tattoo there but where’s the fun in that.” Rooster’s smug expression softened slightly as his arms fell to his side. “And, selfishly, I was hoping you’d fall for it and use the logo to track me down.”

“Why would you want me to find you again?”

“Well, for one, I figured once you had sobered up you might want to actually get a real one and I felt like I owed you that. So think about it and let me know if you decide you want one. I promise no tricks this time and I can work with you to find a design you actually want. But right now, I’ve gotta get back to work.” Rooster walked back to the table where his client was still lying. Sitting back in the seat, he grabbed a new glove from out of a box on the tray next to him and pulled it on. 

Feeling a bit dismissed but always wanting to have the final word, Jake scoffed. “All this trouble just to get me back in your chair, huh? Guess I left quite the impression on you.”

“Yeah. You did. Which is the other reason I was hoping you’d come back. This way I get to ask you out for dinner. ” As he picked up the tattoo gun, Rooster glanced at Jake with a grin. “So let me know what you think of that too.”

Jake sputtered in disbelief as Rooster winked at him then leaned forward to continue his work.

Thank you for reading this first part of my new series! It's going to be more a series of connected one-shots rather than a traditional series. New updates coming soon! If you'd like to join the taglist, please let me know! 💕

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

Like a Tattoo on My Heart Masterlist

Summary: After losing a late-night drunken bet, Jake Seresin stumbles into a random tattoo shop...and his life changes forever.

Status: On-Going

Main Story:

An Unstoppable Force Meets An Immovable Object (coming 3/5)

Getting to Know You (coming soon)

More to Come!

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

Hellooooou, I would like to know if you know Frank Grillo , this man is extremely hot and not many people know him:(.

And if you know him, I would like to know if you are willing to write about him 👀

Hi!

I DO know who Frank Grillo is! Mostly from Captain America: Winter Soldier and The Purge movies.

Unfortunately, I'm stepping back from writing at the moment. It also sounds like you might be looking for RPFs (sorry if I am misunderstanding) which I don't write anyway. But I hope you find someone who writes or will write what you are looking for!

Thank you for thinking of me and sending the ask 💗

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

I am already sat for Homlander Lew. Just give me my popcorn.

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

Thank you!!!!! It means so much when people read my work once, but the fact people reread my work is beyond incredible 💞 And I'm so glad it still hits just as hard on a reread!

I'll Come Back

Fandom: Top Gun, Top Gun: Maverick, Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, f!reader

Word Count: 1796

TW: Angst, Fluff, Kissing, Presumed Dead (but not really), Grief, Reunion

Spoilers for Top Gun: Maverick

Top Gun Masterlist

You lingered outside the briefing room, waiting for the news you were certain was about to come but yet you prayed didn’t. As much as you knew Rooster wanted on this mission, the thought of him going made your stomach roll and your heart clench. Though you only worked the coms in the control room for the mission and had no clearance for the details of the current assignment, you had managed to sneak a look at the mission plan. It was a near-suicide mission, and everyone knew it. And yet, you knew better than to ask Rooster to step down. It was missions like this that he trained for his entire career, and he wouldn’t turn down the opportunity to fly it. Even for you.

Suddenly, the door to the briefing room flew open and Hangman stormed out. The second you saw his face, all of your fears were confirmed. The only reason he would look that pissed off is if he hadn’t been selected for the team, which meant…..

Rooster walked out of the room, and he stumbled to a stop when he saw you standing there. Without saying a word, he opened his arms and you were instantly in them, wrapped in his tight embrace for what might be the last time. Burying your face into his chest, you said in a muffled voice, “I told you he would pick you. Maverick knows talent when he sees it.”

Rooster sighed as he rested his chin on the top of your head. “Yeah, well, you’re not exactly objective when it comes to my skills.”

You chuckled softly but the sound quickly shifted into a sob. You tried to bite your lip to keep your tears from falling, but it was useless. Rooster placed his hands on your arms and pushed you away from him, getting a good look at your face. “Aw, baby, please don’t. If you cry, I’ll cry and that won’t be good.”

“I’m sorry, I just- I need you to come back. Okay? I can’t…. I can’t sit there and watch you go down.” The tears were flowing more steadily down your face and Rooster reached up and wiped them away with his thumb.

“I’ll come back. I promise.”

You shook your head. “You can’t promise that. There are so many things that could go wrong, so many chances to fail. You know I believe in you, baby, but this….. this isn’t something that just relies on skill. If even the slightest bit of information is incorrect, if they miscalculated anything, this could all go wrong, and I can’t-”

“It’s not going to. I will come back. I promise you. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.” He trailed his hand down your cheek before lifting your chin with his thumb. His lips brushed against yours, gentle and soft, and as much as his words were saying differently, you knew this was him telling you goodbye.

You rested your head on his chest once more and the two of you held each other in silence for as long as time permitted.

To everyone’s astonishment, the mission had been accomplished perfectly even with Dagger 4’s laser malfunction. You smiled broadly as pride swelled in your chest as Rooster managed to hit his target without the guidance. However, that feeling quickly faded as he crested over the top of Coffin Corner and into range of the SAMs. As missiles filled the radar screens in the control room, you gripped the arms of your seat so tightly, that the muscles in your arms began to tremble. And it felt as if your heart stopped when Rooster’s desperate cries filled your headset as he informed everyone he was out of flares. But Maverick had flown in at the last second and saved him. And as much as it pained you to see Maverick go down, at least Rooster was safe.

Until he wasn’t. Despite his orders, despite your desperate pleas to him over the coms, Rooster went back for Maverick. And it was then that your world exploded as you watched a SAM slam into his plane before his signal blinked out.

Frantically reaching for your controls, you said, “Dagger 2, come in….” Silence. “Dagger 2, I repeat, co-come in.” Still no response. You jumped to your feet as you slammed the com button and screamed, “Rooster! Answer me!”

The entire control room was deathly silent as you felt every eye on you. But you didn’t care. You just needed Rooster to answer. But he never did.

You collapsed back into your seat in stunned silence, still unable to grasp the reality of what just happened. From somewhere behind you, you heard Vice Admiral Simpson mutter, “Get her out of here” before you felt a pair of hands gently rest on your shoulders and help usher you out into the hall.

It wasn’t until the door to the control room closed that you collapsed to the floor in a heap of sobs and tears. Rooster couldn’t be gone. He just couldn’t. He promised you he would come back. He promised he wouldn’t make you go through watching his readings blink off of your screen, wouldn’t make you watch him go down. Yet, he had gone back for Maverick and made you watch him die.

Another sob rattled through your chest and you felt the hands from before rest softly on your shoulders. Looking up, you saw Hondo staring back at you, a tear running down his face as well. You nodded at him, a sign of thanks and understanding. While you had just lost the man you loved, Hondo had just lost a dear friend who he had served with for many years. The pains you were feeling were different yet not really so dissimilar. And as terrible as it was to think, at least you weren’t alone in your grief.

As he lowered himself to the floor, you slid over and rested your head on his shoulder. Neither one of you said a word. You both just sat silently as you tried to come to terms with what had happened and what you had lost.

After what seemed like an eternity, you managed to stop crying and pull yourself together for the most part. The pain was still there, but the initial shock had started to fade a little, leaving a deep emptiness instead. But you knew that feeling would take much longer to fade.

Just as you were about to ask Hondo how he was doing, the door to the control room flew open and Rear Admiral Bates stuck his head out. “You two need to get back in here now.”

Through your puffy, bloodshot eyes, you looked up at him in confusion. “Sir?”

“We’re receiving a signal from Rooster’s tracker.” Your eyes went wide as your breath caught in your chest. “He’s currently in the air in what appears to be in a F-14 Tomcat headed this way.”

“Maverick.” Hondo chuckled in relief.

Your head swam as you tried to grasp the miracle that was being presented to you. “Are you saying they’re both okay and on their way back?”

Warlock shook his head. “We can’t say for certain. We haven’t been able to hail their craft and…. there appears to be two, possibly three Su-57s closing in on their position.”

Suddenly, the entire ship shook as a roar of a plane taking off sounded from the deck above. Exchanging a confused look with Hondo and Warlock, you all hurried back into the control room where chaos was currently ensuing.

As you looked around, you heard someone saying, “Dagger Spare, you were not cleared for takeoff. I repeat you were not cleared for takeoff.”

A smile spread across your face as you realized what just happened and a voice came in over the comms. “This is Dagger Spare and with all due respect, you’ve been denying my requests to go help my team all mission and I won’t let my fellow pilots die because you refuse to give me authorization. So, I’m willing to take whatever reprimands are warranted when I get back, but I won’t be coming back alone.”

Hangman. You made a note to never bad-mouth the pilot again. He had just risked his career to save Maverick and Rooster and for that, you would never be able to repay him.

There was a pause as the room held its breath, waiting to see what Hangman’s fate would be. Finally, Vice Admiral Simpson sighed and said, “Dagger Spare, you are cleared for the mission. Go bring our men home.”

The room erupted in a cheer as Hangman said, “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Hope soared through you for the first time since you found out Rooster was going on the mission. With Hangman and Maverick (two of the only men in active duty ever to have a confirmed kill in aerial combat) by his side, you knew they would make it.

Rooster was coming home.

They wouldn’t let anyone from the control room up on deck until all aircrafts had safely landed (safety protocols or some bullshit). But the second you received the all-clear, you burst through the door. The deck was swarming with people trying to congratulate the returning pilots, so you had to shove and elbow your way through. Finally, as you approached the spot where the planes had come to a stop, you could see Rooster and Maverick embracing. It looked like an emotional and tender moment that under any other circumstance would have warmed your heart to see the two men seemingly settling their differences. But after what you just went through, you were willing to spoil their moment.

“Rooster!” you screamed.

Immediately, he dropped his hold on Maverick and pivoted towards the sound of your voice. Without saying a word, he opened his arms and you were instantly in them, wrapped in his tight embrace after fearing you never would be again. As you buried your face into his chest, he whispered, “I promised you I’d be back.”

His voice was choked and strained and when you pulled back to look at him, you saw tears shimmering in his eyes. Quickly reaching up to wipe them away, you said, “Oh, baby. Come on. If you cry, I’ll cry, remember? And no one wants to see that.”

“I don’t care, let them see.” Rooster smashed his lips into yours and you quickly returned his embrace with just as much love and devotion. Soon, you could taste the salty sting of tears on your lips and you weren’t sure if they were yours or his but you didn’t mind. Because Rooster was alive and safe and back in your arms. And that was all that mattered. 

Taglist: @valoraxx

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

The Middle of Nowhere (Part 4)

Fandom: Top Gun, Top Gun: Maverick, dark!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, dark!Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Reader (no relationships) Summary: As the hunt begins, you try to make it back to town before one of your captors can carry out their murderous plan. But it isn't long until one of them finds you... Word Count: 6037 TW: NOT ALL TWS MAY BE MENTIONED SO READ AT YOUR OWN RISK! Language, Hunted for Sport, Knives, Blood, Reader has hair long enough to grab, Reader's POV Notes: I am EXTREMELY proud and excited about this series and hope you enjoy!

Series Masterlist

The freshly fallen snow stretches for miles in all directions. Your head is still pounding where Rooster drove his elbow into it but at least your vision has mostly returned to normal. Now that you have left the clearing with its electric lanterns, your eyes begin to adjust to the natural lighting around you. Luckily—or maybe not so luckily—the moon is nearly full and reflecting off the snow around you, allowing you to avoid crashing into the trees directly in front of you. That doesn’t stop branches from snagging on your jacket or underbrush from scratching at your bare legs and feet and you still can’t see more than a few feet in front of you, but you are trying to find any positives in your current situation.

Who are you kidding—there’s nothing positive about your current situation.

You’ve been drugged, assaulted, stripped down, and are being forced to flee from a pair of psycho killers who plan on murdering you in ways you can’t possibly even fathom. All while you’re barefoot and wearing a jacket that stands out so starkly against the snow that it might as well be a neon sign saying “come and get me”. 

But on top of all that, the worst part is that there’s no way to cover your tracks as you go. The snow is several inches deep and with every step you take, you sink into the soft powder leaving a clear imprint behind that either of the men chasing you can easily follow. You could try to take the time to cover your tracks, but that’s much easier said than done, and even in the best-case scenario, it would still be noticeable something had disturbed the snow. Besides, it would just stall your escape, allowing them to get closer, and it would further numb your already frozen hands as you dug through the snow.

So, no. Continuing forward is the only slim chance you have of making it to safety and out of your captors’ clutches. 

The only slight advantage you may have over them is that neither man seemed too familiar or comfortable in the snowy terrain. You, on the other hand, have lived in this area your entire life. Hell, you’ve been coming out to these woods for as long as you can remember. That has to count for something, right? Maybe under normal conditions it would, but between the lingering effect of the drugs they used on you, the throbbing in your head from Rooster’s blow, the burning pain in your hands and feet, and the cold making it difficult to even breathe, you aren’t able to navigate as easily as normal. So once again, whatever upper hand you might have come up with is snatched away from you.

Even knowing it is a useless endeavor, you still refuse to give up without some sort of a fight. So, with your hands jammed deep within your jacket’s pockets and your hood pulled as tightly around your face as possible, you continue to run forward in a straight line as you try to think up some way to fight back.

You aren’t sure how far you’ve gotten or how long you’ve been running, but you freeze as you hear something from the direction you had run from. The voice echoes around the barren woods and you manage to make out the last few words. “—run. Hangman’s coming.”

Shit. It seems as though your head start is over and the hunt has officially begun.

The fact you are still close enough to the clearing to be able to hear Hangman’s whoop of excitement sends a shiver through you—one not caused by the cold. While you’d much rather deal with Hangman than Rooster every time, escape or evasion from both men is still your ultimate goal. If only you had a weapon or some sort of protection against the two heavily armed men. But they must have emptied your jacket pockets before handing it over and your tank top and boy shorts barely provide any protection from the cold, let alone anything that could be used against your pursuers. For now, your only chance is to keep running and hope, by some miracle, you can evade them. 

As you run, time seems to stand still. You feel as if you are on a treadmill, running as fast as you can yet remaining in one place. You have no idea how long it has been since you took off from the clearing, but everything looks the same. The same towering trees and bushes reaching out from the darkness towards you, the moonlight only seemingly illuminating a few dozen feet in front of you at one time. The same unmarked snow stinging your feet as you sink into it with every step, a troublesome numbness spreading from your little toes across to the others. The same silence enveloping you, the only sound breaking it is the sound of your panting and chattering teeth. 

But then…another sound breaks the silence.

There is a soft whoosh from behind you seconds before something drives itself into your left shoulder. You collapse into the snow with a cry of pain, twisting around to see a long, thin knife jutting from your shoulder blade. Luckily, your coat managed to deflect most of the damage, but you can still feel hot blood oozing down your back, leaving a warm trail in its wake.

As you reach for the knife, wincing as another bolt of pain shoots through your shoulder, a voice calls out from the dark maze of trees, “If you thought my dart skills were impressive, darlin’, just wait ‘til you get a taste of what I can do with a blade.”

You hear another whoosh and you just have time to roll sideways as another knife lodges in the snow, exactly where your knee had been seconds ago. The move had saved you from being incapacitated, but the quick jostling causes the knife still in your shoulder to sway violently back and forth and you are forced to bite your lip to keep from wailing. The taste of copper fills your mouth, but you would rather bite through your tongue than give Hangman the satisfaction of hearing you scream. 

You take a deep breath before yanking the knife out of your shoulder with a stifled moan. 

Flexing your hand, you’re relieved to see the knife didn’t seem to cause any nerve or mobility damage. You didn’t need another thing to add to your growing list of disadvantages. 

Grabbing the second knife as you heave yourself to your feet, you spin around brandishing both knives in front of you. Hangman is close enough to nail you with a knife, but he is still far enough away to remain cloaked in darkness. This means the next attack could come from any direction, and, if you’re not careful, it could be deadly.

“You know,” the voice calls out to you from your left and you swiftly turn towards the sound. “I was so sure Rooster would find you first. I haven’t seen him this set on winning a hunt since we found a girl outside of Boston who looked like his ex-girlfriend. Oof, the things he did to her that night. Even I got a little nauseous. So I can only imagine the look on his face when he walks up and sees me on top of you, slowly carving you up or having more fun like we did back at the bar.” 

You shutter as you recall the feeling of his tongue in your mouth back before you knew what a psycho he was. His voice continues to taunt you from the darkness. “Or, better yet, I want to watch his face as he stumbles on your corpse hanging from one of these trees. Remind him exactly why they call me Hangman.”

“You sick fuck,” you cry, still brandishing your knives in the direction of his voice. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because we enjoy it.” His voice now comes from your right and you nearly trip over your frozen feet as you face it. “Because we can. Because there’s nothing better in this world than snatching someone like you and dropping them into a place like this where they don’t stand a chance. It’s the natural order of things that humans have either forgotten or hidden away because we’ve been told it’s wrong. But what is more right than a predator hunting its prey?”

Panting slightly, causing large puffs of your breath to bloom in front of your face, you call out, “This is where you made your mistake, dickhead. I’m not your timid ‘little fox’ who you threw into an unfamiliar arena. Around here, we’re raised in these woods. Taught to hunt almost before we can walk. So if you think I’m gonna just lay down without a fight, you’re about to be sorely disappointed.”

“Oh, sweetheart, you’ve got me all wrong.” You whirl around, knives raised, to face the sound of his voice behind you. “I don’t want you to give up or give in. I’m ready for a fight. That’s what makes this fun.” 

With that last word, another knife shoots out at you from the darkness. You have just enough time to dive backwards before it passes over you, inches from your face. But before you can scamper back to your feet, Hangman is charging out of the woods towards you. As he reaches you, knife raised, you thrust your feet up, driving them into his stomach. Using his forward momentum, you flip him over your head and he ends up on his back gasping in the snow. The knife he had been holding in his hand disappears into the snow somewhere to the left but far enough away he can’t reach it.

As Hangman continues to struggle to catch his breath behind you, you scamper to your feet. Grinning as you approach your would-be attacker, you chuckle, “And my ex said those self-defense classes were a load of bull.” With your hands resting on your knees as you peer down at him, you ask Hangman in a cloying voice, “How’s those solar plexus feeling? Little winded there, buddy?”

He glares up at you with murder burning in his eyes but even as he struggles to sit up, he’s helpless until he has a moment to collect himself. That thought only makes your grin grow wider. 

Stepping over his waist, you sit down—hard—on his stomach, causing him to let out another oof as the air is knocked out of him once again. Pressing the knives he had previously thrown at you against either side of his neck, you drop the smile as you growl, “Now listen, you fucker. I’m not like you. I haven’t enjoyed a second of any of this and I’m not the kind of person who likes hurting others—even pieces of shit psycho murderers like you. So, I’m going to walk away from here and you’re not going to follow me. In fact, you’re going to go find your psychotic friend and you’re both going to get back in your truck and drive the fuck out of my life forever. And for that small gesture of human decency, I won’t turn you in to the cops when I reach town. We all just go about our lives like this never happened and you never come after me again. Do we have a deal?”

“What if I say no?” he pants, the murderous glint in his eyes suddenly taking on a more mischievous gleam to it. “You said it yourself, you’re no killer. So what’s your plan if I decide I’ll take my chances against you? You really think you can plunge those things into me? Watch the life fade from my eyes as my blood soaks onto your hands? That’s a stain you’ll never be able to wash out. Me? I’d bathe in blood every day if I got the chance. But can you live with that stain on your hands for the rest of your life?”

“Considering it meant I lived through this nightmare you put me through, I think I’d be fine. But should we test that theory?” You press the tips of the blades deeper into his neck and you feel him flinch beneath you. The movement is slight and he maintains a blank expression, but that little, involuntary motion is enough to boost your confidence in your plan. Seems you are making your point. “Besides, I said I don’t like hurting people, not that I wouldn’t. Believe me, if it comes down to either you or me, I’ll choose me every time. But I’d rather not kill anyone if I have another option. So, what do you say? You let me walk away or you get skewered with your own knives? Your choice.”

Hangman glares at you for a long time and you can almost see his mind at work trying to figure out another way out of this. But when you drive the knives in deeper, blood trickling down his neck into the white snow, he snarls, “Alright! I’ll let you go. But I can’t make any promises about Rooster. Once he starts a hunt, there’s no stopping him until he’s tasted blood.”

You consider this for a moment then nod. “Fine. But he said the rules are that if I make it to town, I’m free. Right? So that means he’ll have to stop then.”

Hangman hesitates. “Yeah, those are the rules. But…”

“But what?”

“But it’s never happened before. No one’s ever made it to safety so I don’t know what he would actually do if you make it back to town before he catches you. Technically, he’s supposed to let you go but I wouldn’t be surprised if he snuck into your apartment a few days from now and slit your throat while you slept.”

Pressing the knives further into his skin, you growl, “How the fuck do you know I live in an apartment?”

“Your driver’s license was in your wallet,” he grunts, squirming under the pressure of the blades. “It’s one of the first things we look at. The anonymity of a random victim is more fun, but we have to make sure your disappearance wasn’t going to be noticed before we could leave town. So, we did a little research while you were still unconscious.”

Which means they probably know everything about you. Your real name, your address, your social media which means your friends and family. Even if you escape, there’s nothing stopping them from biding their time then returning to finish the job. However, none of that matters if you can’t survive the night.

You know this is a horrible idea. There is nothing to stop Hangman from coming after you the moment you remove the knives from his neck beside his word. And considering he’s a lying, psychotic serial killer, there’s very little doubt he’ll do just that the moment you let your guard down. But what else can you do? You think what you said to Hangman is true and you could kill him if it came down to it, but there is still a lingering doubt in the back of your mind. 

You had been hunting many times with your dad growing up and had killed your share of smaller animals before. But killing a squirrel and killing a person were two very different things. If you try yet fail and Hangman sees you can’t go through with it, then you lose any leverage you currently have which means there’s nothing left to stop him from overpowering and killing you. 

Then, there’s Rooster. Even if Hangman does hold up his side of your deal, you know deep down Rooster won’t. He was practically coming in his pants at the thought of all the unthinkable things he was going to do to you if he got his hands on you—and that was before you seemingly broke his nose. After that, there’s no way he’ll agree to let you go as long as you are still in the woods. And while you may have gotten lucky with Hangman and gotten the upper hand, you doubt you’d be able to recreate that feat with Rooster. Not when all he can think about is mutilating and murdering you. But maybe it would slow him down if he finds his friend and Hangman explains what happened. Maybe it would give you just enough time to reach town before he got his hands on you. Then there would be nothing stopping you from going back on your part of the deal and heading straight to the police station so these two could be stopped before they could finish their hunt.

Yet that unlikely plan hinged on Hangman truly agreeing to let you go which put you right back to the issue of not being able to trust him not to kill you.

Suddenly, you remember the noose he showed you back at camp he kept tied around his belt. Dropping one of your knives, you reach down and begin blindly reaching for the rope with one hand as the other still holds the knife to Hangman’s throat.

He chuckles as your hand brushes against something that is definitely not the rope. “Whoah there, sweetheart. If that’s what you wanted, I’d have given it to you back at the bar. All you had to do was ask.”

“Shut up, you perverted bastard,” you mutter as you continue to fumble around his belt. Your fingers finally brush against something thin and coarse and, instinctually, you glance down to confirm you located your target.

It is a dire mistake.

Instantly, Hangman thrusts up and slams his head into yours. The knife you had pressed against his throat cuts a thin line across his skin, drawing blood, but isn’t deep enough to slow him down. His forehead drives into yours and the world goes black for a second as your head snaps backward, the knife flying from your grasp. You feel yourself fall back into the snow as Hangman climbs to his feet. By the time your vision begins to return to normal—though your head is once again throbbing in pain—he is standing over you in a similar gloating stance as to how you leered down at his prone body moments before, blood streaming down the side of his neck.

As a malicious grin slowly spreads across his face, Hangman holds up the rope. “Was this what you were looking for? Well, sweetheart, if you want it so badly, who am I to say no.”

Winding back his arm, he throws the noose end of the rope high into the air where it arches perfectly before soaring over a limb of a nearby tree and dropping back down just within his reach. It is the kind of throw only a trained athlete could pull off and, especially given his physique, it wouldn’t surprise you if you learned Hangman had played some form of pro sports at some point in his life. He also has the ego for it.

You try to crawl away from him across the frozen ground, but the world still hasn’t completely cleared and you slip and crash back into the snow. As you prop yourself up on your forearms once more, you feel yourself yanked to your feet as a hand grabs a fistful of your hair. A ripping, burning feeling tears at your scalp as you struggle in Hangman’s grasp, but it’s too strong. Tears sting your eyes in the frosty air as he begins dragging you on your stomach over to the limb where the noose swings ominously. 

It’s over. You had your chance to put down your attacker and you pussied out. Now he is going to kill you and there’s nothing else you can do to stop him. You wonder if anyone will ever find your body or if everyone will always just wonder where you disappeared. Maybe one day there will be an episode of 20/20 or a True Crime documentary on the bartender who just vanished one night after her shift and the theories of what might have happened to her. That makes you wonder how many of those shows or stories you’ve seen over the years were actually caused by these two and their group of psychopathic killers. 

Hangman releases his hold on your hair when he reaches his noose causing you to faceplant into the snow. You want to just lay there and just let the cold embrace of the snowbank take you, but of course, Hangman isn’t that generous. His foot drives into your side, kicking up slightly so it flips you over onto your back. Groaning, you clutch at your aching ribs but he isn’t giving you a moment of relief. He learned from his previous mistake. 

Grabbing the noose, he pulls it over until he is standing over you with it swinging in his hand. Grinning, he tugs on the knots as he stares down at you. “You know, I planned on drawing this out and making it really satisfying for me. But seeing how you weren’t a fan of my knives—or maybe enjoyed them a little too much—” he gestures to his neck where blood is still freely flowing from the slash you put there “—I think it’s time to move on to the grand finale, don’t you think? It’s my favorite part after all.”

On your back looking up at him, you try to scuttle away as he leans down to slip the noose over your neck. He lunges at you but you pull your legs away just in time to avoid his grasp. As you continue to crawl away, you notice the other side of the rope that is dangling from the limb is slowly unfurling and all the slack is getting pulled up into the tree as Hangman drags the noose along with him. In a moment, it’ll all slip up out of his reach or even all the way off the limb. The smallest smile flashes across your face at the realization.

Hangman must have noticed because his brow furrows for a moment before he looks over his shoulder. In doing so, he unconsciously pulls on the noose as his body turns and the rope jumps another few inches into the air. 

Hangman’s eyes grow wide as he mutters, “No, no, no, no.” 

Releasing the noose end, Hangman leaps up just as the other end of the rope goes soaring past. He just manages to snag the end of the rope between two fingers before it is out of reach. Then he crashes back to the ground.

Seeing your chance, you snatch the noose as it begins to rise up into the tree and, bounding forward, tackle Hangman just as he is sitting back up. He flails underneath you and one of his fists collides with your jaw, snapping your head back. You can taste blood as it begins pooling in your mouth, but you ignore it and the pain. Instead, you weave between Hangman’s continued flailing limbs and, just as he raises up to snarl at you, you slip the noose over his head. The action surprises him enough that he pauses for a few seconds as he processes what just happened.

But that’s all the time you need.

Grabbing the other end of the rope, you heave with every ounce of energy you have left. Hangman is a muscular guy, but somehow your efforts manage to tighten the noose around his neck, causing his eyes to widen in surprise. As he claws at the rope, you heave again, practically dragging yourself across the snow to get the needed leverage. The rope moves a little further and Hangman is lifted off the ground. It’s not much, but it’s enough that you can see he is struggling to breathe. Not wanting to make the mistake of underestimating him again, you give the rope one final pull. Given the energy you expended on the first few pulls, it was a much weaker effort, but it does the job. Hangman’s full body weight is now suspended by the rope.

Spitting out a mouthful of blood into the pure snow, you tie off your end of the rope on a nearby limb. After ensuring it won’t give him any slack, you take a few steps closer to where Hangman is thrashing on his rope. Grinning at the sight of his face growing redder and redder, you lock eyes with him and sneer, “Turns out, I’m really enjoying this grand finale after all. It’s my favorite part too.”

His lips move as he tries to snarl something back at you, but the rope around his neck is making it difficult for him to manage much more than some grunts and rasps. As his breathing begins to grow more frantic and strained, you see a shadow of fear pass over his face as his fate begins to become clearer to him. It is a sight that warms your entire body despite the frigid environment around you. 

Stepping forward so you are as close as possible while still just out of his reach, you murmur, “What you’re feeling right now, that fear and helplessness? That dread of knowing what’s about to happen yet knowing there’s nothing you can do to stop it? That’s what all those women felt while they hung there while you got your rocks off. And I gotta say, I questioned whether or not I’d really be able to kill you. But now that it’s happening, I’ve never seen a more satisfying sight.”

Almost all the fight has gone out of Hangman as he weakly wheezes and meekly pulls at the rope. His eyes have become bloody as the blood vessels burst from all his straining and his face is so red it's almost purple. 

No longer afraid of the man who had beat, stabbed, and almost murdered you, you step closer until your face is nearly touching his chest. Looking up at his face swaying above you, you put all the fury, all the pain, all the fear you’ve felt over the past few hours into your words as you hiss, “I hope in whatever Hell I’m sending you to that you’re forced to relive this moment for all eternity.”

If Hangman heard or understood you, he makes no sign of it. Instead, it seems as if all his remaining energy is focused on getting out his last word or words. Even as you watch the last sparks of life flickering out, his lips continue to move as if trying to say something even as his chest begins to spasm due to lack of air. 

And, just as you think he’s done, he manages to force out a single breathy word that is only decipherable because you are practically pressed against him. 

“Bra-Bradley…”

Then his hands drop from his neck as his entire body goes slack and the woods fall silent. 

You stand looking up at him for a long time, holding your breath in anticipation of one last jump scare or resurgence. But this isn’t a movie. The evil is gone and Hangman’s not coming back for more. 

As the realization that it’s really over finally washes over you, you stumble back and collapse to the ground. All the fear and adrenaline that had kept you going since that first knife struck you in the shoulder, suddenly vanishes. 

For the first time, you feel the full impact of the injuries you’ve sustained. Your shoulder cries out from all the strain you’ve put on it, all with a stab wound still bleeding down your back. You just now notice how your tank top clings to your skin from all the blood and sweat that has soaked into it. Your jaw throbs from where Hangman’s fist collided with it, and you can tell it’ll be swollen and bruised in an hour or so. At least you have plenty of snow to press against it. Your scalp still stings from where Hangman pulled you across the ground by your hair and you really hope he didn’t make a bald spot somewhere. But it’s your ribs that hurt the most. It’s doubtful they are broken, probably just bruised, yet each breath sends a fresh stabbing pain into your side. It’ll cause the most issues as you continue on.

That thought almost makes you cry. Taking on Hangman had been difficult enough and you had barely escaped with your life. However, Rooster is still somewhere in these woods actively looking for you. Any head start you had is gone after all the time you took tussling with Hangman. And you have a feeling if Rooster was out for your blood before this, when he discovers you killed his friend, he’s going to want to carve you up with a rusty knife piece by tiny little piece. 

But maybe…

The only reason you were able to get the advantage against Hangman was because he underestimated you. He was too distracted by his own fun and games to really pay attention to what you were doing. Now, while you seriously doubt Rooster will make that same mistake—not after you headbutted him in the clearing—maybe he has a different distraction that will work on him. Namely, his rage and blood lust.

If you can get him so angry and ramp up his need to kill you so high, then maybe, just maybe, he will get sloppy and you’ll have a chance to take him down too. Maybe you can make him see red so strongly, that he won’t be able to see you going in for the kill.

Glancing back at Hangman’s limp body, you wonder if there’s a way to use it in this new plan. Maybe carve something into his skin with one of his knives? Like a message to Rooster saying you have Hangman’s weapons and he’s next? Very Die Hard of you.

It wouldn’t be that difficult to do. After all, Hangman isn’t that far in the air. In fact, the toes of his boots softly kiss the snow beneath him as he continues to sway.

His boots!

Ignoring the way your muscles scream at you as you move, you scramble to your knees and crawl over to Hangman’s dangling body. Your fingers are so numb and swollen from the cold that untying the tight laces is nearly impossible but you refuse to give up. By the time you can slide the second boot off his rapidly chilling body, your nails are cracked and your fingers are bleeding, ruby droplets coating the snow around you.

You hesitate for a moment, wondering if it’s too morbid to also take his socks. However, the boots are several sizes too big and your feet are so frozen that you need to take whatever extra padding you can get. So you slip off his thick, woolen socks. You do draw the line at taking his pants though. As much as you would love some covering for your bare legs, you knew the fit would be way off and just slow you down as you tried to plan the rest of your escape. So, you resign yourself to your new socks and boots.

As you pull them on, the heat radiating from within the soft wool and worn leather feels like Heaven wrapped around your frostbitten feet. However, you can’t help but shudder at the knowledge this is the last warmth Hangman will ever give off. It’s almost like you can feel his hands wrapped around your ankles and trailing up your shins. 

You try your best to push those thoughts aside. After all, you only did what you had to do to survive. If the roles had been reversed and Hangman had won the hunt, he would currently be doing fuck knows what manner of twisted, ungodly things to your body. 

Just the thought of what he might have done reignites the fury and fight in your chest that had blazed when you watched Hangman get a taste of his own medicine. 

Turning back to his now shoeless body, you begin to doubt your original idea of carving a message into him. For one, you really don’t want to do it. Killing him was one thing but mutilating his body is a whole other ball game. Plus, you have terrible penmanship using a pen or pencil. There’s no telling if your message would even be legible when using a knife as a writing tool and then you just wasted time for no reason. Then there is the fact you are in a massive wood at night in the dark. Even if Rooster is tracking you, there’s no guarantee he’ll come across Hangman’s body, especially with his dark denim jacket and jeans helping him blend into the night. 

But that gives you another idea. 

Stripping off your burnt-orange jacket, you shiver as the cold air hits your bare arms. Trying your best to ignore it, you grab Hangman’s jacket, wrestle it off of him, and put it on yourself. Though denim on the outside, the interior is sherpa-lined and it is as warm, if not more, than the jacket you just traded him for. 

Feeling something in the pockets, you are overjoyed to discover his phone in one and the keys to the truck in the other. Checking the phone first, you see it’s locked. However, the key is a facial recognition scan. You know it’s a long shot, but, standing on your toes, you line Hangman’s face up to the screen and nearly squeal when you see it unlock. Your joy deflates somewhat when you see there’s no service but you remember Hangman mentioning the terrible service in these woods when he got that call from his missing hunter friends back in the clearing. Hopefully, as you walk, you’ll find a spot with at least one bar so you can call for help. Going into the settings, you disable the lock function so you won’t need Hangman’s face next time you try to access the phone.

Turning back to what you had planned, you do your best to fit your jacket onto his body. It’s too small but you manage to get it pulled up almost to his shoulders, enough that it’ll stay on. Then, taking a few deep breaths, you slowly pull on the end of the rope. It’s hard going without the adrenaline rush to aid in your efforts, but eventually, you manage to raise Hangman until his head almost brushes the limb the rope is thrown over. Hopefully, between the height and the flash of color, Rooster will be able to spot him if he is anywhere in the area. 

However, that means you need to leave this area as soon as possible.

Now that you have Hangman’s phone and truck keys, your best bet is to try to head back to the clearing. If you can make it there before Rooster catches you, you should be able to steal their truck and head for town. Or at least get somewhere where you can use the phone. 

And if for some reason that plan doesn’t work, at least the clearing will make a good place to make your final stand against Rooster.

Collecting all of the knives that you can find that had scattered around during your fight, you tuck them into the inside of your new jacket. Then, taking one last look at Hangman’s limp body hanging high overhead, you turn and head back in the direction you came from.

They wanted you to be a fox, fine, you’ll be a fox. A fox will do whatever it takes to free themselves from a trap and survive, even if that means gnawing off their own foot. So while it might take doing unspeakable things that will haunt you for the rest of your life in order to survive, it’s a price you’re willing to pay to be the one who walks out of these woods at the end of the night.

One down. One to go.

Thank you all for reading, reblogging, and commenting! There are two more parts coming soon in this series (Part 5 in Bradley's POV and Part 6 in Reader's POV). But I also have more planned for this universe beyond that so stay tuned for updates!

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

Hi! could I ask for a jason todd fic with SI reader who is somehow teleported to some moment before he is killed by joker and saves him somehow 😭 (with hurt/comfort)

Ooooo!!!! 😲👀 I have so many ideas for this already!!! The whole plot is already mapped out and I've jotted it all down. Thank you SO MUCH for the ask! I love this idea!

I'm not 100% sure when I'll be able to write/post it since I'm trying to finish up another WIP before the end of the year, but I promise this is one of the first things I'll tackle in the new year. Please feel free to either DM me, comment on this post, or send another ask off anon if you want to be tagged when it is posted. Or if you'd prefer to remain on anon, I understand. Just make sure to check back in January!

Thank you once again for the ask and I'm very excited for this! 🥰💗

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

The Middle of Nowhere (Part 4)

Fandom: Top Gun, Top Gun: Maverick, dark!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, dark!Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Reader (no relationships) Summary: As the hunt begins, you try to make it back to town before one of your captors can carry out their murderous plan. But it isn't long until one of them finds you... Word Count: 6037 TW: NOT ALL TWS MAY BE MENTIONED SO READ AT YOUR OWN RISK! Language, Hunted for Sport, Knives, Blood, Reader has hair long enough to grab, Reader's POV Notes: I am EXTREMELY proud and excited about this series and hope you enjoy!

Series Masterlist

The freshly fallen snow stretches for miles in all directions. Your head is still pounding where Rooster drove his elbow into it but at least your vision has mostly returned to normal. Now that you have left the clearing with its electric lanterns, your eyes begin to adjust to the natural lighting around you. Luckily—or maybe not so luckily—the moon is nearly full and reflecting off the snow around you, allowing you to avoid crashing into the trees directly in front of you. That doesn’t stop branches from snagging on your jacket or underbrush from scratching at your bare legs and feet and you still can’t see more than a few feet in front of you, but you are trying to find any positives in your current situation.

Who are you kidding—there’s nothing positive about your current situation.

You’ve been drugged, assaulted, stripped down, and are being forced to flee from a pair of psycho killers who plan on murdering you in ways you can’t possibly even fathom. All while you’re barefoot and wearing a jacket that stands out so starkly against the snow that it might as well be a neon sign saying “come and get me”. 

But on top of all that, the worst part is that there’s no way to cover your tracks as you go. The snow is several inches deep and with every step you take, you sink into the soft powder leaving a clear imprint behind that either of the men chasing you can easily follow. You could try to take the time to cover your tracks, but that’s much easier said than done, and even in the best-case scenario, it would still be noticeable something had disturbed the snow. Besides, it would just stall your escape, allowing them to get closer, and it would further numb your already frozen hands as you dug through the snow.

So, no. Continuing forward is the only slim chance you have of making it to safety and out of your captors’ clutches. 

The only slight advantage you may have over them is that neither man seemed too familiar or comfortable in the snowy terrain. You, on the other hand, have lived in this area your entire life. Hell, you’ve been coming out to these woods for as long as you can remember. That has to count for something, right? Maybe under normal conditions it would, but between the lingering effect of the drugs they used on you, the throbbing in your head from Rooster’s blow, the burning pain in your hands and feet, and the cold making it difficult to even breathe, you aren’t able to navigate as easily as normal. So once again, whatever upper hand you might have come up with is snatched away from you.

Even knowing it is a useless endeavor, you still refuse to give up without some sort of a fight. So, with your hands jammed deep within your jacket’s pockets and your hood pulled as tightly around your face as possible, you continue to run forward in a straight line as you try to think up some way to fight back.

You aren’t sure how far you’ve gotten or how long you’ve been running, but you freeze as you hear something from the direction you had run from. The voice echoes around the barren woods and you manage to make out the last few words. “—run. Hangman’s coming.”

Shit. It seems as though your head start is over and the hunt has officially begun.

The fact you are still close enough to the clearing to be able to hear Hangman’s whoop of excitement sends a shiver through you—one not caused by the cold. While you’d much rather deal with Hangman than Rooster every time, escape or evasion from both men is still your ultimate goal. If only you had a weapon or some sort of protection against the two heavily armed men. But they must have emptied your jacket pockets before handing it over and your tank top and boy shorts barely provide any protection from the cold, let alone anything that could be used against your pursuers. For now, your only chance is to keep running and hope, by some miracle, you can evade them. 

As you run, time seems to stand still. You feel as if you are on a treadmill, running as fast as you can yet remaining in one place. You have no idea how long it has been since you took off from the clearing, but everything looks the same. The same towering trees and bushes reaching out from the darkness towards you, the moonlight only seemingly illuminating a few dozen feet in front of you at one time. The same unmarked snow stinging your feet as you sink into it with every step, a troublesome numbness spreading from your little toes across to the others. The same silence enveloping you, the only sound breaking it is the sound of your panting and chattering teeth. 

But then…another sound breaks the silence.

There is a soft whoosh from behind you seconds before something drives itself into your left shoulder. You collapse into the snow with a cry of pain, twisting around to see a long, thin knife jutting from your shoulder blade. Luckily, your coat managed to deflect most of the damage, but you can still feel hot blood oozing down your back, leaving a warm trail in its wake.

As you reach for the knife, wincing as another bolt of pain shoots through your shoulder, a voice calls out from the dark maze of trees, “If you thought my dart skills were impressive, darlin’, just wait ‘til you get a taste of what I can do with a blade.”

You hear another whoosh and you just have time to roll sideways as another knife lodges in the snow, exactly where your knee had been seconds ago. The move had saved you from being incapacitated, but the quick jostling causes the knife still in your shoulder to sway violently back and forth and you are forced to bite your lip to keep from wailing. The taste of copper fills your mouth, but you would rather bite through your tongue than give Hangman the satisfaction of hearing you scream. 

You take a deep breath before yanking the knife out of your shoulder with a stifled moan. 

Flexing your hand, you’re relieved to see the knife didn’t seem to cause any nerve or mobility damage. You didn’t need another thing to add to your growing list of disadvantages. 

Grabbing the second knife as you heave yourself to your feet, you spin around brandishing both knives in front of you. Hangman is close enough to nail you with a knife, but he is still far enough away to remain cloaked in darkness. This means the next attack could come from any direction, and, if you’re not careful, it could be deadly.

“You know,” the voice calls out to you from your left and you swiftly turn towards the sound. “I was so sure Rooster would find you first. I haven’t seen him this set on winning a hunt since we found a girl outside of Boston who looked like his ex-girlfriend. Oof, the things he did to her that night. Even I got a little nauseous. So I can only imagine the look on his face when he walks up and sees me on top of you, slowly carving you up or having more fun like we did back at the bar.” 

You shutter as you recall the feeling of his tongue in your mouth back before you knew what a psycho he was. His voice continues to taunt you from the darkness. “Or, better yet, I want to watch his face as he stumbles on your corpse hanging from one of these trees. Remind him exactly why they call me Hangman.”

“You sick fuck,” you cry, still brandishing your knives in the direction of his voice. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because we enjoy it.” His voice now comes from your right and you nearly trip over your frozen feet as you face it. “Because we can. Because there’s nothing better in this world than snatching someone like you and dropping them into a place like this where they don’t stand a chance. It’s the natural order of things that humans have either forgotten or hidden away because we’ve been told it’s wrong. But what is more right than a predator hunting its prey?”

Panting slightly, causing large puffs of your breath to bloom in front of your face, you call out, “This is where you made your mistake, dickhead. I’m not your timid ‘little fox’ who you threw into an unfamiliar arena. Around here, we’re raised in these woods. Taught to hunt almost before we can walk. So if you think I’m gonna just lay down without a fight, you’re about to be sorely disappointed.”

“Oh, sweetheart, you’ve got me all wrong.” You whirl around, knives raised, to face the sound of his voice behind you. “I don’t want you to give up or give in. I’m ready for a fight. That’s what makes this fun.” 

With that last word, another knife shoots out at you from the darkness. You have just enough time to dive backwards before it passes over you, inches from your face. But before you can scamper back to your feet, Hangman is charging out of the woods towards you. As he reaches you, knife raised, you thrust your feet up, driving them into his stomach. Using his forward momentum, you flip him over your head and he ends up on his back gasping in the snow. The knife he had been holding in his hand disappears into the snow somewhere to the left but far enough away he can’t reach it.

As Hangman continues to struggle to catch his breath behind you, you scamper to your feet. Grinning as you approach your would-be attacker, you chuckle, “And my ex said those self-defense classes were a load of bull.” With your hands resting on your knees as you peer down at him, you ask Hangman in a cloying voice, “How’s those solar plexus feeling? Little winded there, buddy?”

He glares up at you with murder burning in his eyes but even as he struggles to sit up, he’s helpless until he has a moment to collect himself. That thought only makes your grin grow wider. 

Stepping over his waist, you sit down—hard—on his stomach, causing him to let out another oof as the air is knocked out of him once again. Pressing the knives he had previously thrown at you against either side of his neck, you drop the smile as you growl, “Now listen, you fucker. I’m not like you. I haven’t enjoyed a second of any of this and I’m not the kind of person who likes hurting others—even pieces of shit psycho murderers like you. So, I’m going to walk away from here and you’re not going to follow me. In fact, you’re going to go find your psychotic friend and you’re both going to get back in your truck and drive the fuck out of my life forever. And for that small gesture of human decency, I won’t turn you in to the cops when I reach town. We all just go about our lives like this never happened and you never come after me again. Do we have a deal?”

“What if I say no?” he pants, the murderous glint in his eyes suddenly taking on a more mischievous gleam to it. “You said it yourself, you’re no killer. So what’s your plan if I decide I’ll take my chances against you? You really think you can plunge those things into me? Watch the life fade from my eyes as my blood soaks onto your hands? That’s a stain you’ll never be able to wash out. Me? I’d bathe in blood every day if I got the chance. But can you live with that stain on your hands for the rest of your life?”

“Considering it meant I lived through this nightmare you put me through, I think I’d be fine. But should we test that theory?” You press the tips of the blades deeper into his neck and you feel him flinch beneath you. The movement is slight and he maintains a blank expression, but that little, involuntary motion is enough to boost your confidence in your plan. Seems you are making your point. “Besides, I said I don’t like hurting people, not that I wouldn’t. Believe me, if it comes down to either you or me, I’ll choose me every time. But I’d rather not kill anyone if I have another option. So, what do you say? You let me walk away or you get skewered with your own knives? Your choice.”

Hangman glares at you for a long time and you can almost see his mind at work trying to figure out another way out of this. But when you drive the knives in deeper, blood trickling down his neck into the white snow, he snarls, “Alright! I’ll let you go. But I can’t make any promises about Rooster. Once he starts a hunt, there’s no stopping him until he’s tasted blood.”

You consider this for a moment then nod. “Fine. But he said the rules are that if I make it to town, I’m free. Right? So that means he’ll have to stop then.”

Hangman hesitates. “Yeah, those are the rules. But…”

“But what?”

“But it’s never happened before. No one’s ever made it to safety so I don’t know what he would actually do if you make it back to town before he catches you. Technically, he’s supposed to let you go but I wouldn’t be surprised if he snuck into your apartment a few days from now and slit your throat while you slept.”

Pressing the knives further into his skin, you growl, “How the fuck do you know I live in an apartment?”

“Your driver’s license was in your wallet,” he grunts, squirming under the pressure of the blades. “It’s one of the first things we look at. The anonymity of a random victim is more fun, but we have to make sure your disappearance wasn’t going to be noticed before we could leave town. So, we did a little research while you were still unconscious.”

Which means they probably know everything about you. Your real name, your address, your social media which means your friends and family. Even if you escape, there’s nothing stopping them from biding their time then returning to finish the job. However, none of that matters if you can’t survive the night.

You know this is a horrible idea. There is nothing to stop Hangman from coming after you the moment you remove the knives from his neck beside his word. And considering he’s a lying, psychotic serial killer, there’s very little doubt he’ll do just that the moment you let your guard down. But what else can you do? You think what you said to Hangman is true and you could kill him if it came down to it, but there is still a lingering doubt in the back of your mind. 

You had been hunting many times with your dad growing up and had killed your share of smaller animals before. But killing a squirrel and killing a person were two very different things. If you try yet fail and Hangman sees you can’t go through with it, then you lose any leverage you currently have which means there’s nothing left to stop him from overpowering and killing you. 

Then, there’s Rooster. Even if Hangman does hold up his side of your deal, you know deep down Rooster won’t. He was practically coming in his pants at the thought of all the unthinkable things he was going to do to you if he got his hands on you—and that was before you seemingly broke his nose. After that, there’s no way he’ll agree to let you go as long as you are still in the woods. And while you may have gotten lucky with Hangman and gotten the upper hand, you doubt you’d be able to recreate that feat with Rooster. Not when all he can think about is mutilating and murdering you. But maybe it would slow him down if he finds his friend and Hangman explains what happened. Maybe it would give you just enough time to reach town before he got his hands on you. Then there would be nothing stopping you from going back on your part of the deal and heading straight to the police station so these two could be stopped before they could finish their hunt.

Yet that unlikely plan hinged on Hangman truly agreeing to let you go which put you right back to the issue of not being able to trust him not to kill you.

Suddenly, you remember the noose he showed you back at camp he kept tied around his belt. Dropping one of your knives, you reach down and begin blindly reaching for the rope with one hand as the other still holds the knife to Hangman’s throat.

He chuckles as your hand brushes against something that is definitely not the rope. “Whoah there, sweetheart. If that’s what you wanted, I’d have given it to you back at the bar. All you had to do was ask.”

“Shut up, you perverted bastard,” you mutter as you continue to fumble around his belt. Your fingers finally brush against something thin and coarse and, instinctually, you glance down to confirm you located your target.

It is a dire mistake.

Instantly, Hangman thrusts up and slams his head into yours. The knife you had pressed against his throat cuts a thin line across his skin, drawing blood, but isn’t deep enough to slow him down. His forehead drives into yours and the world goes black for a second as your head snaps backward, the knife flying from your grasp. You feel yourself fall back into the snow as Hangman climbs to his feet. By the time your vision begins to return to normal—though your head is once again throbbing in pain—he is standing over you in a similar gloating stance as to how you leered down at his prone body moments before, blood streaming down the side of his neck.

As a malicious grin slowly spreads across his face, Hangman holds up the rope. “Was this what you were looking for? Well, sweetheart, if you want it so badly, who am I to say no.”

Winding back his arm, he throws the noose end of the rope high into the air where it arches perfectly before soaring over a limb of a nearby tree and dropping back down just within his reach. It is the kind of throw only a trained athlete could pull off and, especially given his physique, it wouldn’t surprise you if you learned Hangman had played some form of pro sports at some point in his life. He also has the ego for it.

You try to crawl away from him across the frozen ground, but the world still hasn’t completely cleared and you slip and crash back into the snow. As you prop yourself up on your forearms once more, you feel yourself yanked to your feet as a hand grabs a fistful of your hair. A ripping, burning feeling tears at your scalp as you struggle in Hangman’s grasp, but it’s too strong. Tears sting your eyes in the frosty air as he begins dragging you on your stomach over to the limb where the noose swings ominously. 

It’s over. You had your chance to put down your attacker and you pussied out. Now he is going to kill you and there’s nothing else you can do to stop him. You wonder if anyone will ever find your body or if everyone will always just wonder where you disappeared. Maybe one day there will be an episode of 20/20 or a True Crime documentary on the bartender who just vanished one night after her shift and the theories of what might have happened to her. That makes you wonder how many of those shows or stories you’ve seen over the years were actually caused by these two and their group of psychopathic killers. 

Hangman releases his hold on your hair when he reaches his noose causing you to faceplant into the snow. You want to just lay there and just let the cold embrace of the snowbank take you, but of course, Hangman isn’t that generous. His foot drives into your side, kicking up slightly so it flips you over onto your back. Groaning, you clutch at your aching ribs but he isn’t giving you a moment of relief. He learned from his previous mistake. 

Grabbing the noose, he pulls it over until he is standing over you with it swinging in his hand. Grinning, he tugs on the knots as he stares down at you. “You know, I planned on drawing this out and making it really satisfying for me. But seeing how you weren’t a fan of my knives—or maybe enjoyed them a little too much—” he gestures to his neck where blood is still freely flowing from the slash you put there “—I think it’s time to move on to the grand finale, don’t you think? It’s my favorite part after all.”

On your back looking up at him, you try to scuttle away as he leans down to slip the noose over your neck. He lunges at you but you pull your legs away just in time to avoid his grasp. As you continue to crawl away, you notice the other side of the rope that is dangling from the limb is slowly unfurling and all the slack is getting pulled up into the tree as Hangman drags the noose along with him. In a moment, it’ll all slip up out of his reach or even all the way off the limb. The smallest smile flashes across your face at the realization.

Hangman must have noticed because his brow furrows for a moment before he looks over his shoulder. In doing so, he unconsciously pulls on the noose as his body turns and the rope jumps another few inches into the air. 

Hangman’s eyes grow wide as he mutters, “No, no, no, no.” 

Releasing the noose end, Hangman leaps up just as the other end of the rope goes soaring past. He just manages to snag the end of the rope between two fingers before it is out of reach. Then he crashes back to the ground.

Seeing your chance, you snatch the noose as it begins to rise up into the tree and, bounding forward, tackle Hangman just as he is sitting back up. He flails underneath you and one of his fists collides with your jaw, snapping your head back. You can taste blood as it begins pooling in your mouth, but you ignore it and the pain. Instead, you weave between Hangman’s continued flailing limbs and, just as he raises up to snarl at you, you slip the noose over his head. The action surprises him enough that he pauses for a few seconds as he processes what just happened.

But that’s all the time you need.

Grabbing the other end of the rope, you heave with every ounce of energy you have left. Hangman is a muscular guy, but somehow your efforts manage to tighten the noose around his neck, causing his eyes to widen in surprise. As he claws at the rope, you heave again, practically dragging yourself across the snow to get the needed leverage. The rope moves a little further and Hangman is lifted off the ground. It’s not much, but it’s enough that you can see he is struggling to breathe. Not wanting to make the mistake of underestimating him again, you give the rope one final pull. Given the energy you expended on the first few pulls, it was a much weaker effort, but it does the job. Hangman’s full body weight is now suspended by the rope.

Spitting out a mouthful of blood into the pure snow, you tie off your end of the rope on a nearby limb. After ensuring it won’t give him any slack, you take a few steps closer to where Hangman is thrashing on his rope. Grinning at the sight of his face growing redder and redder, you lock eyes with him and sneer, “Turns out, I’m really enjoying this grand finale after all. It’s my favorite part too.”

His lips move as he tries to snarl something back at you, but the rope around his neck is making it difficult for him to manage much more than some grunts and rasps. As his breathing begins to grow more frantic and strained, you see a shadow of fear pass over his face as his fate begins to become clearer to him. It is a sight that warms your entire body despite the frigid environment around you. 

Stepping forward so you are as close as possible while still just out of his reach, you murmur, “What you’re feeling right now, that fear and helplessness? That dread of knowing what’s about to happen yet knowing there’s nothing you can do to stop it? That’s what all those women felt while they hung there while you got your rocks off. And I gotta say, I questioned whether or not I’d really be able to kill you. But now that it’s happening, I’ve never seen a more satisfying sight.”

Almost all the fight has gone out of Hangman as he weakly wheezes and meekly pulls at the rope. His eyes have become bloody as the blood vessels burst from all his straining and his face is so red it's almost purple. 

No longer afraid of the man who had beat, stabbed, and almost murdered you, you step closer until your face is nearly touching his chest. Looking up at his face swaying above you, you put all the fury, all the pain, all the fear you’ve felt over the past few hours into your words as you hiss, “I hope in whatever Hell I’m sending you to that you’re forced to relive this moment for all eternity.”

If Hangman heard or understood you, he makes no sign of it. Instead, it seems as if all his remaining energy is focused on getting out his last word or words. Even as you watch the last sparks of life flickering out, his lips continue to move as if trying to say something even as his chest begins to spasm due to lack of air. 

And, just as you think he’s done, he manages to force out a single breathy word that is only decipherable because you are practically pressed against him. 

“Bra-Bradley…”

Then his hands drop from his neck as his entire body goes slack and the woods fall silent. 

You stand looking up at him for a long time, holding your breath in anticipation of one last jump scare or resurgence. But this isn’t a movie. The evil is gone and Hangman’s not coming back for more. 

As the realization that it’s really over finally washes over you, you stumble back and collapse to the ground. All the fear and adrenaline that had kept you going since that first knife struck you in the shoulder, suddenly vanishes. 

For the first time, you feel the full impact of the injuries you’ve sustained. Your shoulder cries out from all the strain you’ve put on it, all with a stab wound still bleeding down your back. You just now notice how your tank top clings to your skin from all the blood and sweat that has soaked into it. Your jaw throbs from where Hangman’s fist collided with it, and you can tell it’ll be swollen and bruised in an hour or so. At least you have plenty of snow to press against it. Your scalp still stings from where Hangman pulled you across the ground by your hair and you really hope he didn’t make a bald spot somewhere. But it’s your ribs that hurt the most. It’s doubtful they are broken, probably just bruised, yet each breath sends a fresh stabbing pain into your side. It’ll cause the most issues as you continue on.

That thought almost makes you cry. Taking on Hangman had been difficult enough and you had barely escaped with your life. However, Rooster is still somewhere in these woods actively looking for you. Any head start you had is gone after all the time you took tussling with Hangman. And you have a feeling if Rooster was out for your blood before this, when he discovers you killed his friend, he’s going to want to carve you up with a rusty knife piece by tiny little piece. 

But maybe…

The only reason you were able to get the advantage against Hangman was because he underestimated you. He was too distracted by his own fun and games to really pay attention to what you were doing. Now, while you seriously doubt Rooster will make that same mistake—not after you headbutted him in the clearing—maybe he has a different distraction that will work on him. Namely, his rage and blood lust.

If you can get him so angry and ramp up his need to kill you so high, then maybe, just maybe, he will get sloppy and you’ll have a chance to take him down too. Maybe you can make him see red so strongly, that he won’t be able to see you going in for the kill.

Glancing back at Hangman’s limp body, you wonder if there’s a way to use it in this new plan. Maybe carve something into his skin with one of his knives? Like a message to Rooster saying you have Hangman’s weapons and he’s next? Very Die Hard of you.

It wouldn’t be that difficult to do. After all, Hangman isn’t that far in the air. In fact, the toes of his boots softly kiss the snow beneath him as he continues to sway.

His boots!

Ignoring the way your muscles scream at you as you move, you scramble to your knees and crawl over to Hangman’s dangling body. Your fingers are so numb and swollen from the cold that untying the tight laces is nearly impossible but you refuse to give up. By the time you can slide the second boot off his rapidly chilling body, your nails are cracked and your fingers are bleeding, ruby droplets coating the snow around you.

You hesitate for a moment, wondering if it’s too morbid to also take his socks. However, the boots are several sizes too big and your feet are so frozen that you need to take whatever extra padding you can get. So you slip off his thick, woolen socks. You do draw the line at taking his pants though. As much as you would love some covering for your bare legs, you knew the fit would be way off and just slow you down as you tried to plan the rest of your escape. So, you resign yourself to your new socks and boots.

As you pull them on, the heat radiating from within the soft wool and worn leather feels like Heaven wrapped around your frostbitten feet. However, you can’t help but shudder at the knowledge this is the last warmth Hangman will ever give off. It’s almost like you can feel his hands wrapped around your ankles and trailing up your shins. 

You try your best to push those thoughts aside. After all, you only did what you had to do to survive. If the roles had been reversed and Hangman had won the hunt, he would currently be doing fuck knows what manner of twisted, ungodly things to your body. 

Just the thought of what he might have done reignites the fury and fight in your chest that had blazed when you watched Hangman get a taste of his own medicine. 

Turning back to his now shoeless body, you begin to doubt your original idea of carving a message into him. For one, you really don’t want to do it. Killing him was one thing but mutilating his body is a whole other ball game. Plus, you have terrible penmanship using a pen or pencil. There’s no telling if your message would even be legible when using a knife as a writing tool and then you just wasted time for no reason. Then there is the fact you are in a massive wood at night in the dark. Even if Rooster is tracking you, there’s no guarantee he’ll come across Hangman’s body, especially with his dark denim jacket and jeans helping him blend into the night. 

But that gives you another idea. 

Stripping off your burnt-orange jacket, you shiver as the cold air hits your bare arms. Trying your best to ignore it, you grab Hangman’s jacket, wrestle it off of him, and put it on yourself. Though denim on the outside, the interior is sherpa-lined and it is as warm, if not more, than the jacket you just traded him for. 

Feeling something in the pockets, you are overjoyed to discover his phone in one and the keys to the truck in the other. Checking the phone first, you see it’s locked. However, the key is a facial recognition scan. You know it’s a long shot, but, standing on your toes, you line Hangman’s face up to the screen and nearly squeal when you see it unlock. Your joy deflates somewhat when you see there’s no service but you remember Hangman mentioning the terrible service in these woods when he got that call from his missing hunter friends back in the clearing. Hopefully, as you walk, you’ll find a spot with at least one bar so you can call for help. Going into the settings, you disable the lock function so you won’t need Hangman’s face next time you try to access the phone.

Turning back to what you had planned, you do your best to fit your jacket onto his body. It’s too small but you manage to get it pulled up almost to his shoulders, enough that it’ll stay on. Then, taking a few deep breaths, you slowly pull on the end of the rope. It’s hard going without the adrenaline rush to aid in your efforts, but eventually, you manage to raise Hangman until his head almost brushes the limb the rope is thrown over. Hopefully, between the height and the flash of color, Rooster will be able to spot him if he is anywhere in the area. 

However, that means you need to leave this area as soon as possible.

Now that you have Hangman’s phone and truck keys, your best bet is to try to head back to the clearing. If you can make it there before Rooster catches you, you should be able to steal their truck and head for town. Or at least get somewhere where you can use the phone. 

And if for some reason that plan doesn’t work, at least the clearing will make a good place to make your final stand against Rooster.

Collecting all of the knives that you can find that had scattered around during your fight, you tuck them into the inside of your new jacket. Then, taking one last look at Hangman’s limp body hanging high overhead, you turn and head back in the direction you came from.

They wanted you to be a fox, fine, you’ll be a fox. A fox will do whatever it takes to free themselves from a trap and survive, even if that means gnawing off their own foot. So while it might take doing unspeakable things that will haunt you for the rest of your life in order to survive, it’s a price you’re willing to pay to be the one who walks out of these woods at the end of the night.

One down. One to go.

Thank you all for reading, reblogging, and commenting! There are two more parts coming soon in this series (Part 5 in Bradley's POV and Part 6 in Reader's POV). But I also have more planned for this universe beyond that so stay tuned for updates!

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

Anon who requested this, I have a question...

Usually, I write my SI readers as f!readers. However, I noticed in your ask there were no pronouns used. Are you okay with a f!reader or were you looking for more of a gn!reader or a m!reader?

Please feel free to send me another anon ask with your preference soon and I can make a correction if desired. Otherwise, since I have started writing it as a f!reader, I will probably continue with that and I hope that's ok 💗

Happy New Year! 🎉

Hi! could I ask for a jason todd fic with SI reader who is somehow teleported to some moment before he is killed by joker and saves him somehow 😭 (with hurt/comfort)

Ooooo!!!! 😲👀 I have so many ideas for this already!!! The whole plot is already mapped out and I've jotted it all down. Thank you SO MUCH for the ask! I love this idea!

I'm not 100% sure when I'll be able to write/post it since I'm trying to finish up another WIP before the end of the year, but I promise this is one of the first things I'll tackle in the new year. Please feel free to either DM me, comment on this post, or send another ask off anon if you want to be tagged when it is posted. Or if you'd prefer to remain on anon, I understand. Just make sure to check back in January!

Thank you once again for the ask and I'm very excited for this! 🥰💗

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

The Middle of Nowhere (Part 4)

Fandom: Top Gun, Top Gun: Maverick, dark!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, dark!Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Reader (no relationships) Summary: As the hunt begins, you try to make it back to town before one of your captors can carry out their murderous plan. But it isn't long until one of them finds you... Word Count: 6037 TW: NOT ALL TWS MAY BE MENTIONED SO READ AT YOUR OWN RISK! Language, Hunted for Sport, Knives, Blood, Reader has hair long enough to grab, Reader's POV Notes: I am EXTREMELY proud and excited about this series and hope you enjoy!

Series Masterlist

The freshly fallen snow stretches for miles in all directions. Your head is still pounding where Rooster drove his elbow into it but at least your vision has mostly returned to normal. Now that you have left the clearing with its electric lanterns, your eyes begin to adjust to the natural lighting around you. Luckily—or maybe not so luckily—the moon is nearly full and reflecting off the snow around you, allowing you to avoid crashing into the trees directly in front of you. That doesn’t stop branches from snagging on your jacket or underbrush from scratching at your bare legs and feet and you still can’t see more than a few feet in front of you, but you are trying to find any positives in your current situation.

Who are you kidding—there’s nothing positive about your current situation.

You’ve been drugged, assaulted, stripped down, and are being forced to flee from a pair of psycho killers who plan on murdering you in ways you can’t possibly even fathom. All while you’re barefoot and wearing a jacket that stands out so starkly against the snow that it might as well be a neon sign saying “come and get me”. 

But on top of all that, the worst part is that there’s no way to cover your tracks as you go. The snow is several inches deep and with every step you take, you sink into the soft powder leaving a clear imprint behind that either of the men chasing you can easily follow. You could try to take the time to cover your tracks, but that’s much easier said than done, and even in the best-case scenario, it would still be noticeable something had disturbed the snow. Besides, it would just stall your escape, allowing them to get closer, and it would further numb your already frozen hands as you dug through the snow.

So, no. Continuing forward is the only slim chance you have of making it to safety and out of your captors’ clutches. 

The only slight advantage you may have over them is that neither man seemed too familiar or comfortable in the snowy terrain. You, on the other hand, have lived in this area your entire life. Hell, you’ve been coming out to these woods for as long as you can remember. That has to count for something, right? Maybe under normal conditions it would, but between the lingering effect of the drugs they used on you, the throbbing in your head from Rooster’s blow, the burning pain in your hands and feet, and the cold making it difficult to even breathe, you aren’t able to navigate as easily as normal. So once again, whatever upper hand you might have come up with is snatched away from you.

Even knowing it is a useless endeavor, you still refuse to give up without some sort of a fight. So, with your hands jammed deep within your jacket’s pockets and your hood pulled as tightly around your face as possible, you continue to run forward in a straight line as you try to think up some way to fight back.

You aren’t sure how far you’ve gotten or how long you’ve been running, but you freeze as you hear something from the direction you had run from. The voice echoes around the barren woods and you manage to make out the last few words. “—run. Hangman’s coming.”

Shit. It seems as though your head start is over and the hunt has officially begun.

The fact you are still close enough to the clearing to be able to hear Hangman’s whoop of excitement sends a shiver through you—one not caused by the cold. While you’d much rather deal with Hangman than Rooster every time, escape or evasion from both men is still your ultimate goal. If only you had a weapon or some sort of protection against the two heavily armed men. But they must have emptied your jacket pockets before handing it over and your tank top and boy shorts barely provide any protection from the cold, let alone anything that could be used against your pursuers. For now, your only chance is to keep running and hope, by some miracle, you can evade them. 

As you run, time seems to stand still. You feel as if you are on a treadmill, running as fast as you can yet remaining in one place. You have no idea how long it has been since you took off from the clearing, but everything looks the same. The same towering trees and bushes reaching out from the darkness towards you, the moonlight only seemingly illuminating a few dozen feet in front of you at one time. The same unmarked snow stinging your feet as you sink into it with every step, a troublesome numbness spreading from your little toes across to the others. The same silence enveloping you, the only sound breaking it is the sound of your panting and chattering teeth. 

But then…another sound breaks the silence.

There is a soft whoosh from behind you seconds before something drives itself into your left shoulder. You collapse into the snow with a cry of pain, twisting around to see a long, thin knife jutting from your shoulder blade. Luckily, your coat managed to deflect most of the damage, but you can still feel hot blood oozing down your back, leaving a warm trail in its wake.

As you reach for the knife, wincing as another bolt of pain shoots through your shoulder, a voice calls out from the dark maze of trees, “If you thought my dart skills were impressive, darlin’, just wait ‘til you get a taste of what I can do with a blade.”

You hear another whoosh and you just have time to roll sideways as another knife lodges in the snow, exactly where your knee had been seconds ago. The move had saved you from being incapacitated, but the quick jostling causes the knife still in your shoulder to sway violently back and forth and you are forced to bite your lip to keep from wailing. The taste of copper fills your mouth, but you would rather bite through your tongue than give Hangman the satisfaction of hearing you scream. 

You take a deep breath before yanking the knife out of your shoulder with a stifled moan. 

Flexing your hand, you’re relieved to see the knife didn’t seem to cause any nerve or mobility damage. You didn’t need another thing to add to your growing list of disadvantages. 

Grabbing the second knife as you heave yourself to your feet, you spin around brandishing both knives in front of you. Hangman is close enough to nail you with a knife, but he is still far enough away to remain cloaked in darkness. This means the next attack could come from any direction, and, if you’re not careful, it could be deadly.

“You know,” the voice calls out to you from your left and you swiftly turn towards the sound. “I was so sure Rooster would find you first. I haven’t seen him this set on winning a hunt since we found a girl outside of Boston who looked like his ex-girlfriend. Oof, the things he did to her that night. Even I got a little nauseous. So I can only imagine the look on his face when he walks up and sees me on top of you, slowly carving you up or having more fun like we did back at the bar.” 

You shutter as you recall the feeling of his tongue in your mouth back before you knew what a psycho he was. His voice continues to taunt you from the darkness. “Or, better yet, I want to watch his face as he stumbles on your corpse hanging from one of these trees. Remind him exactly why they call me Hangman.”

“You sick fuck,” you cry, still brandishing your knives in the direction of his voice. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because we enjoy it.” His voice now comes from your right and you nearly trip over your frozen feet as you face it. “Because we can. Because there’s nothing better in this world than snatching someone like you and dropping them into a place like this where they don’t stand a chance. It’s the natural order of things that humans have either forgotten or hidden away because we’ve been told it’s wrong. But what is more right than a predator hunting its prey?”

Panting slightly, causing large puffs of your breath to bloom in front of your face, you call out, “This is where you made your mistake, dickhead. I’m not your timid ‘little fox’ who you threw into an unfamiliar arena. Around here, we’re raised in these woods. Taught to hunt almost before we can walk. So if you think I’m gonna just lay down without a fight, you’re about to be sorely disappointed.”

“Oh, sweetheart, you’ve got me all wrong.” You whirl around, knives raised, to face the sound of his voice behind you. “I don’t want you to give up or give in. I’m ready for a fight. That’s what makes this fun.” 

With that last word, another knife shoots out at you from the darkness. You have just enough time to dive backwards before it passes over you, inches from your face. But before you can scamper back to your feet, Hangman is charging out of the woods towards you. As he reaches you, knife raised, you thrust your feet up, driving them into his stomach. Using his forward momentum, you flip him over your head and he ends up on his back gasping in the snow. The knife he had been holding in his hand disappears into the snow somewhere to the left but far enough away he can’t reach it.

As Hangman continues to struggle to catch his breath behind you, you scamper to your feet. Grinning as you approach your would-be attacker, you chuckle, “And my ex said those self-defense classes were a load of bull.” With your hands resting on your knees as you peer down at him, you ask Hangman in a cloying voice, “How’s those solar plexus feeling? Little winded there, buddy?”

He glares up at you with murder burning in his eyes but even as he struggles to sit up, he’s helpless until he has a moment to collect himself. That thought only makes your grin grow wider. 

Stepping over his waist, you sit down—hard—on his stomach, causing him to let out another oof as the air is knocked out of him once again. Pressing the knives he had previously thrown at you against either side of his neck, you drop the smile as you growl, “Now listen, you fucker. I’m not like you. I haven’t enjoyed a second of any of this and I’m not the kind of person who likes hurting others—even pieces of shit psycho murderers like you. So, I’m going to walk away from here and you’re not going to follow me. In fact, you’re going to go find your psychotic friend and you’re both going to get back in your truck and drive the fuck out of my life forever. And for that small gesture of human decency, I won’t turn you in to the cops when I reach town. We all just go about our lives like this never happened and you never come after me again. Do we have a deal?”

“What if I say no?” he pants, the murderous glint in his eyes suddenly taking on a more mischievous gleam to it. “You said it yourself, you’re no killer. So what’s your plan if I decide I’ll take my chances against you? You really think you can plunge those things into me? Watch the life fade from my eyes as my blood soaks onto your hands? That’s a stain you’ll never be able to wash out. Me? I’d bathe in blood every day if I got the chance. But can you live with that stain on your hands for the rest of your life?”

“Considering it meant I lived through this nightmare you put me through, I think I’d be fine. But should we test that theory?” You press the tips of the blades deeper into his neck and you feel him flinch beneath you. The movement is slight and he maintains a blank expression, but that little, involuntary motion is enough to boost your confidence in your plan. Seems you are making your point. “Besides, I said I don’t like hurting people, not that I wouldn’t. Believe me, if it comes down to either you or me, I’ll choose me every time. But I’d rather not kill anyone if I have another option. So, what do you say? You let me walk away or you get skewered with your own knives? Your choice.”

Hangman glares at you for a long time and you can almost see his mind at work trying to figure out another way out of this. But when you drive the knives in deeper, blood trickling down his neck into the white snow, he snarls, “Alright! I’ll let you go. But I can’t make any promises about Rooster. Once he starts a hunt, there’s no stopping him until he’s tasted blood.”

You consider this for a moment then nod. “Fine. But he said the rules are that if I make it to town, I’m free. Right? So that means he’ll have to stop then.”

Hangman hesitates. “Yeah, those are the rules. But…”

“But what?”

“But it’s never happened before. No one’s ever made it to safety so I don’t know what he would actually do if you make it back to town before he catches you. Technically, he’s supposed to let you go but I wouldn’t be surprised if he snuck into your apartment a few days from now and slit your throat while you slept.”

Pressing the knives further into his skin, you growl, “How the fuck do you know I live in an apartment?”

“Your driver’s license was in your wallet,” he grunts, squirming under the pressure of the blades. “It’s one of the first things we look at. The anonymity of a random victim is more fun, but we have to make sure your disappearance wasn’t going to be noticed before we could leave town. So, we did a little research while you were still unconscious.”

Which means they probably know everything about you. Your real name, your address, your social media which means your friends and family. Even if you escape, there’s nothing stopping them from biding their time then returning to finish the job. However, none of that matters if you can’t survive the night.

You know this is a horrible idea. There is nothing to stop Hangman from coming after you the moment you remove the knives from his neck beside his word. And considering he’s a lying, psychotic serial killer, there’s very little doubt he’ll do just that the moment you let your guard down. But what else can you do? You think what you said to Hangman is true and you could kill him if it came down to it, but there is still a lingering doubt in the back of your mind. 

You had been hunting many times with your dad growing up and had killed your share of smaller animals before. But killing a squirrel and killing a person were two very different things. If you try yet fail and Hangman sees you can’t go through with it, then you lose any leverage you currently have which means there’s nothing left to stop him from overpowering and killing you. 

Then, there’s Rooster. Even if Hangman does hold up his side of your deal, you know deep down Rooster won’t. He was practically coming in his pants at the thought of all the unthinkable things he was going to do to you if he got his hands on you—and that was before you seemingly broke his nose. After that, there’s no way he’ll agree to let you go as long as you are still in the woods. And while you may have gotten lucky with Hangman and gotten the upper hand, you doubt you’d be able to recreate that feat with Rooster. Not when all he can think about is mutilating and murdering you. But maybe it would slow him down if he finds his friend and Hangman explains what happened. Maybe it would give you just enough time to reach town before he got his hands on you. Then there would be nothing stopping you from going back on your part of the deal and heading straight to the police station so these two could be stopped before they could finish their hunt.

Yet that unlikely plan hinged on Hangman truly agreeing to let you go which put you right back to the issue of not being able to trust him not to kill you.

Suddenly, you remember the noose he showed you back at camp he kept tied around his belt. Dropping one of your knives, you reach down and begin blindly reaching for the rope with one hand as the other still holds the knife to Hangman’s throat.

He chuckles as your hand brushes against something that is definitely not the rope. “Whoah there, sweetheart. If that’s what you wanted, I’d have given it to you back at the bar. All you had to do was ask.”

“Shut up, you perverted bastard,” you mutter as you continue to fumble around his belt. Your fingers finally brush against something thin and coarse and, instinctually, you glance down to confirm you located your target.

It is a dire mistake.

Instantly, Hangman thrusts up and slams his head into yours. The knife you had pressed against his throat cuts a thin line across his skin, drawing blood, but isn’t deep enough to slow him down. His forehead drives into yours and the world goes black for a second as your head snaps backward, the knife flying from your grasp. You feel yourself fall back into the snow as Hangman climbs to his feet. By the time your vision begins to return to normal—though your head is once again throbbing in pain—he is standing over you in a similar gloating stance as to how you leered down at his prone body moments before, blood streaming down the side of his neck.

As a malicious grin slowly spreads across his face, Hangman holds up the rope. “Was this what you were looking for? Well, sweetheart, if you want it so badly, who am I to say no.”

Winding back his arm, he throws the noose end of the rope high into the air where it arches perfectly before soaring over a limb of a nearby tree and dropping back down just within his reach. It is the kind of throw only a trained athlete could pull off and, especially given his physique, it wouldn’t surprise you if you learned Hangman had played some form of pro sports at some point in his life. He also has the ego for it.

You try to crawl away from him across the frozen ground, but the world still hasn’t completely cleared and you slip and crash back into the snow. As you prop yourself up on your forearms once more, you feel yourself yanked to your feet as a hand grabs a fistful of your hair. A ripping, burning feeling tears at your scalp as you struggle in Hangman’s grasp, but it’s too strong. Tears sting your eyes in the frosty air as he begins dragging you on your stomach over to the limb where the noose swings ominously. 

It’s over. You had your chance to put down your attacker and you pussied out. Now he is going to kill you and there’s nothing else you can do to stop him. You wonder if anyone will ever find your body or if everyone will always just wonder where you disappeared. Maybe one day there will be an episode of 20/20 or a True Crime documentary on the bartender who just vanished one night after her shift and the theories of what might have happened to her. That makes you wonder how many of those shows or stories you’ve seen over the years were actually caused by these two and their group of psychopathic killers. 

Hangman releases his hold on your hair when he reaches his noose causing you to faceplant into the snow. You want to just lay there and just let the cold embrace of the snowbank take you, but of course, Hangman isn’t that generous. His foot drives into your side, kicking up slightly so it flips you over onto your back. Groaning, you clutch at your aching ribs but he isn’t giving you a moment of relief. He learned from his previous mistake. 

Grabbing the noose, he pulls it over until he is standing over you with it swinging in his hand. Grinning, he tugs on the knots as he stares down at you. “You know, I planned on drawing this out and making it really satisfying for me. But seeing how you weren’t a fan of my knives—or maybe enjoyed them a little too much—” he gestures to his neck where blood is still freely flowing from the slash you put there “—I think it’s time to move on to the grand finale, don’t you think? It’s my favorite part after all.”

On your back looking up at him, you try to scuttle away as he leans down to slip the noose over your neck. He lunges at you but you pull your legs away just in time to avoid his grasp. As you continue to crawl away, you notice the other side of the rope that is dangling from the limb is slowly unfurling and all the slack is getting pulled up into the tree as Hangman drags the noose along with him. In a moment, it’ll all slip up out of his reach or even all the way off the limb. The smallest smile flashes across your face at the realization.

Hangman must have noticed because his brow furrows for a moment before he looks over his shoulder. In doing so, he unconsciously pulls on the noose as his body turns and the rope jumps another few inches into the air. 

Hangman’s eyes grow wide as he mutters, “No, no, no, no.” 

Releasing the noose end, Hangman leaps up just as the other end of the rope goes soaring past. He just manages to snag the end of the rope between two fingers before it is out of reach. Then he crashes back to the ground.

Seeing your chance, you snatch the noose as it begins to rise up into the tree and, bounding forward, tackle Hangman just as he is sitting back up. He flails underneath you and one of his fists collides with your jaw, snapping your head back. You can taste blood as it begins pooling in your mouth, but you ignore it and the pain. Instead, you weave between Hangman’s continued flailing limbs and, just as he raises up to snarl at you, you slip the noose over his head. The action surprises him enough that he pauses for a few seconds as he processes what just happened.

But that’s all the time you need.

Grabbing the other end of the rope, you heave with every ounce of energy you have left. Hangman is a muscular guy, but somehow your efforts manage to tighten the noose around his neck, causing his eyes to widen in surprise. As he claws at the rope, you heave again, practically dragging yourself across the snow to get the needed leverage. The rope moves a little further and Hangman is lifted off the ground. It’s not much, but it’s enough that you can see he is struggling to breathe. Not wanting to make the mistake of underestimating him again, you give the rope one final pull. Given the energy you expended on the first few pulls, it was a much weaker effort, but it does the job. Hangman’s full body weight is now suspended by the rope.

Spitting out a mouthful of blood into the pure snow, you tie off your end of the rope on a nearby limb. After ensuring it won’t give him any slack, you take a few steps closer to where Hangman is thrashing on his rope. Grinning at the sight of his face growing redder and redder, you lock eyes with him and sneer, “Turns out, I’m really enjoying this grand finale after all. It’s my favorite part too.”

His lips move as he tries to snarl something back at you, but the rope around his neck is making it difficult for him to manage much more than some grunts and rasps. As his breathing begins to grow more frantic and strained, you see a shadow of fear pass over his face as his fate begins to become clearer to him. It is a sight that warms your entire body despite the frigid environment around you. 

Stepping forward so you are as close as possible while still just out of his reach, you murmur, “What you’re feeling right now, that fear and helplessness? That dread of knowing what’s about to happen yet knowing there’s nothing you can do to stop it? That’s what all those women felt while they hung there while you got your rocks off. And I gotta say, I questioned whether or not I’d really be able to kill you. But now that it’s happening, I’ve never seen a more satisfying sight.”

Almost all the fight has gone out of Hangman as he weakly wheezes and meekly pulls at the rope. His eyes have become bloody as the blood vessels burst from all his straining and his face is so red it's almost purple. 

No longer afraid of the man who had beat, stabbed, and almost murdered you, you step closer until your face is nearly touching his chest. Looking up at his face swaying above you, you put all the fury, all the pain, all the fear you’ve felt over the past few hours into your words as you hiss, “I hope in whatever Hell I’m sending you to that you’re forced to relive this moment for all eternity.”

If Hangman heard or understood you, he makes no sign of it. Instead, it seems as if all his remaining energy is focused on getting out his last word or words. Even as you watch the last sparks of life flickering out, his lips continue to move as if trying to say something even as his chest begins to spasm due to lack of air. 

And, just as you think he’s done, he manages to force out a single breathy word that is only decipherable because you are practically pressed against him. 

“Bra-Bradley…”

Then his hands drop from his neck as his entire body goes slack and the woods fall silent. 

You stand looking up at him for a long time, holding your breath in anticipation of one last jump scare or resurgence. But this isn’t a movie. The evil is gone and Hangman’s not coming back for more. 

As the realization that it’s really over finally washes over you, you stumble back and collapse to the ground. All the fear and adrenaline that had kept you going since that first knife struck you in the shoulder, suddenly vanishes. 

For the first time, you feel the full impact of the injuries you’ve sustained. Your shoulder cries out from all the strain you’ve put on it, all with a stab wound still bleeding down your back. You just now notice how your tank top clings to your skin from all the blood and sweat that has soaked into it. Your jaw throbs from where Hangman’s fist collided with it, and you can tell it’ll be swollen and bruised in an hour or so. At least you have plenty of snow to press against it. Your scalp still stings from where Hangman pulled you across the ground by your hair and you really hope he didn’t make a bald spot somewhere. But it’s your ribs that hurt the most. It’s doubtful they are broken, probably just bruised, yet each breath sends a fresh stabbing pain into your side. It’ll cause the most issues as you continue on.

That thought almost makes you cry. Taking on Hangman had been difficult enough and you had barely escaped with your life. However, Rooster is still somewhere in these woods actively looking for you. Any head start you had is gone after all the time you took tussling with Hangman. And you have a feeling if Rooster was out for your blood before this, when he discovers you killed his friend, he’s going to want to carve you up with a rusty knife piece by tiny little piece. 

But maybe…

The only reason you were able to get the advantage against Hangman was because he underestimated you. He was too distracted by his own fun and games to really pay attention to what you were doing. Now, while you seriously doubt Rooster will make that same mistake—not after you headbutted him in the clearing—maybe he has a different distraction that will work on him. Namely, his rage and blood lust.

If you can get him so angry and ramp up his need to kill you so high, then maybe, just maybe, he will get sloppy and you’ll have a chance to take him down too. Maybe you can make him see red so strongly, that he won’t be able to see you going in for the kill.

Glancing back at Hangman’s limp body, you wonder if there’s a way to use it in this new plan. Maybe carve something into his skin with one of his knives? Like a message to Rooster saying you have Hangman’s weapons and he’s next? Very Die Hard of you.

It wouldn’t be that difficult to do. After all, Hangman isn’t that far in the air. In fact, the toes of his boots softly kiss the snow beneath him as he continues to sway.

His boots!

Ignoring the way your muscles scream at you as you move, you scramble to your knees and crawl over to Hangman’s dangling body. Your fingers are so numb and swollen from the cold that untying the tight laces is nearly impossible but you refuse to give up. By the time you can slide the second boot off his rapidly chilling body, your nails are cracked and your fingers are bleeding, ruby droplets coating the snow around you.

You hesitate for a moment, wondering if it’s too morbid to also take his socks. However, the boots are several sizes too big and your feet are so frozen that you need to take whatever extra padding you can get. So you slip off his thick, woolen socks. You do draw the line at taking his pants though. As much as you would love some covering for your bare legs, you knew the fit would be way off and just slow you down as you tried to plan the rest of your escape. So, you resign yourself to your new socks and boots.

As you pull them on, the heat radiating from within the soft wool and worn leather feels like Heaven wrapped around your frostbitten feet. However, you can’t help but shudder at the knowledge this is the last warmth Hangman will ever give off. It’s almost like you can feel his hands wrapped around your ankles and trailing up your shins. 

You try your best to push those thoughts aside. After all, you only did what you had to do to survive. If the roles had been reversed and Hangman had won the hunt, he would currently be doing fuck knows what manner of twisted, ungodly things to your body. 

Just the thought of what he might have done reignites the fury and fight in your chest that had blazed when you watched Hangman get a taste of his own medicine. 

Turning back to his now shoeless body, you begin to doubt your original idea of carving a message into him. For one, you really don’t want to do it. Killing him was one thing but mutilating his body is a whole other ball game. Plus, you have terrible penmanship using a pen or pencil. There’s no telling if your message would even be legible when using a knife as a writing tool and then you just wasted time for no reason. Then there is the fact you are in a massive wood at night in the dark. Even if Rooster is tracking you, there’s no guarantee he’ll come across Hangman’s body, especially with his dark denim jacket and jeans helping him blend into the night. 

But that gives you another idea. 

Stripping off your burnt-orange jacket, you shiver as the cold air hits your bare arms. Trying your best to ignore it, you grab Hangman’s jacket, wrestle it off of him, and put it on yourself. Though denim on the outside, the interior is sherpa-lined and it is as warm, if not more, than the jacket you just traded him for. 

Feeling something in the pockets, you are overjoyed to discover his phone in one and the keys to the truck in the other. Checking the phone first, you see it’s locked. However, the key is a facial recognition scan. You know it’s a long shot, but, standing on your toes, you line Hangman’s face up to the screen and nearly squeal when you see it unlock. Your joy deflates somewhat when you see there’s no service but you remember Hangman mentioning the terrible service in these woods when he got that call from his missing hunter friends back in the clearing. Hopefully, as you walk, you’ll find a spot with at least one bar so you can call for help. Going into the settings, you disable the lock function so you won’t need Hangman’s face next time you try to access the phone.

Turning back to what you had planned, you do your best to fit your jacket onto his body. It’s too small but you manage to get it pulled up almost to his shoulders, enough that it’ll stay on. Then, taking a few deep breaths, you slowly pull on the end of the rope. It’s hard going without the adrenaline rush to aid in your efforts, but eventually, you manage to raise Hangman until his head almost brushes the limb the rope is thrown over. Hopefully, between the height and the flash of color, Rooster will be able to spot him if he is anywhere in the area. 

However, that means you need to leave this area as soon as possible.

Now that you have Hangman’s phone and truck keys, your best bet is to try to head back to the clearing. If you can make it there before Rooster catches you, you should be able to steal their truck and head for town. Or at least get somewhere where you can use the phone. 

And if for some reason that plan doesn’t work, at least the clearing will make a good place to make your final stand against Rooster.

Collecting all of the knives that you can find that had scattered around during your fight, you tuck them into the inside of your new jacket. Then, taking one last look at Hangman’s limp body hanging high overhead, you turn and head back in the direction you came from.

They wanted you to be a fox, fine, you’ll be a fox. A fox will do whatever it takes to free themselves from a trap and survive, even if that means gnawing off their own foot. So while it might take doing unspeakable things that will haunt you for the rest of your life in order to survive, it’s a price you’re willing to pay to be the one who walks out of these woods at the end of the night.

One down. One to go.

Thank you all for reading, reblogging, and commenting! There are two more parts coming soon in this series (Part 5 in Bradley's POV and Part 6 in Reader's POV). But I also have more planned for this universe beyond that so stay tuned for updates!

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

The Middle of Nowhere (Part 3)

Fandom: Top Gun, Top Gun: Maverick, dark!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, dark!Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Reader (no relationships) Summary: While he waits for the timer to count down, Bradley reflects on the game, how it all started, and his plans for you once he finds you. That is if Jake doesn't get to you first. Word Count: 2705 TW: Kidnapping, Language, Mentions of Murder and Mutilation, Hunted for Sport, Getting Off on Thoughts of Violence/Death, Bradley's POV Notes:I am EXTREMELY proud and excited about this series and hope you enjoy! Huge thank you to @loverhymeswith and @green-socks for all of your help!💕

Series Masterlist

Bradley watches his little fox scamper off into the darkness, silently counting down the seconds until he can begin the hunt. Usually, they have a strict rule against selecting their prey from the employees of the restaurant or bar they were scouting out, however, the second Bradley saw you, he knew you were the one, yet he could never have guessed you were even more than you seemed or that such a fiery, determined vixen lay hiding behind that stunning face. 

He licks his lips, tasting the blood still slowly dripping from his nose, and he smiles. You had made him bleed—something only a handful of prey had managed before—and he can’t wait to repay the favor.

Three minutes to go.

Jake has wandered over to the back of the truck and laid out his vast collection of knives on the tailgate as he tries to decide which ones to carry with him on the hunt. To Bradley, they all look the same, but he had made the mistake on more than one occasion of asking Jake the difference between them. Even after several forty-five-minute lectures on tip points, serrations, length, grips, guards, and fuck knows what else, Bradley still didn’t really understand the difference, nor did he care. The only weapon he liked to use was his hands. He needed to physically feel bones breaking beneath him, blood bubbling through his fingers and staining his nails, that last fragile flutter of a pulse before it stilled forever, and he couldn’t get any of that using a gun or a knife–or in Jake’s case–a rope.

That is yet another of Jake’s quirks that Bradley just can’t understand. Why anyone would want to step back and watch their prey take their last breath from afar just baffles him. There is nothing in the world that compares to the high he gets hovering just over his prey and inhaling their last breath into his own lungs—

Oh god, he is so turned on right now. 

Bradley takes a few long, slow, deep breaths of the frigid night air as he tries to calm the fire racing through his veins. This lust-filled adrenaline rush can be helpful during the hunt in small doses, but currently, the speed at which all the blood is rushing from his head is leaving him woozy and he needs to be clear-headed for what comes next. Otherwise, he’ll get sloppy and Jake’ll find you before he does and he can’t let that happen. Not this time. Not with you. 

It has been a long time, possibly even years since he has wanted a prey this badly and he plans on doing whatever it takes to ensure that his is the last face you will ever see. Even if that means bending the rules of the game and stealing you away from Jake. But the way Bradley sees it, Jake already got a taste of you back in the bar, so now it's his turn.

It had taken everything in him not to leap out of his seat and tear Jake off you as he was forced to watch his best friend shove his tongue down your throat. And what made it worse was how much you had seemed to enjoy it. Bradley had to grip the edge of the bar until his knuckles turned bone white as you slid Jake’s hand up from your hip to rest on your breast. He nearly missed his chance to spike your drink because he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the scene in front of him. But he remembered at the last minute and everything else had gone according to plan. 

Two minutes thirty-six seconds to go.

It’s amazing to think how far he and Jake had come since the first time they did this, back when it was an accident. 

It had been their senior year in college and they decided to go camping for the long Veteran's Day weekend to try and relieve some of the stress they were under. Jake was being scouted for several professional football teams and since the playoff game was coming up soon, his coach had been riding him extra hard lately. Bradley had just had yet another fight with his godfather about his plans for his future and he was so tired of feeling like he had no control over his life anymore. So a weekend away from it all with nothing but each other and the forest around them seemed like the perfect escape for both of them. 

All in all, it would have been a pretty forgettable weekend had a pretty young hiker not stumbled onto their campsite on their second night. Bradley and Jake managed to coax her into staying for a drink or two and one thing led to another—but then Jake took things too far and the girl fled into the woods. 

They knew if she made it back to town and reported what happened, Jake would be expelled–if not arrested–due to some past…questionable conduct that had only been overlooked at school because he was a national champion quarterback on his way to a professional career. But an official police arrest wouldn’t be swept under the rug as easily as a campus complaint, so they went after her to try to convince her not to say anything. 

The next thing Bradley remembered was kneeling over her body, his hands still around her throat as she stared up at him with wide, unseeing eyes. Jake was huddled beneath a nearby tree, vomit puddled beside him as he rocked back and forth, his eyes locked on the motionless girl. He might have been horrified at first, but Bradley….Bradley had never felt more alive. What's more, once they found a way to hide the body and it became clear no one would ever discover what they had done, that feeling only grew. And Bradley needed more.

It took a lot of convincing to get Jake on board, but once he had a taste of it himself, he too began to crave the thrill of the hunt, the rush of the kill, and it soon became somewhat of an obsession for the pair. A few weeks before graduation, Jake announced he was retiring from football and Bradley told his godfather he was done letting him make decisions about his life and blocked his number. 

As soon as school was over, they both found work that allotted them flexibility in their schedules and frequent time off so they could make their hunts a monthly event. Whatever they did didn’t matter; it was all just to serve the next hunt, the next kill. That was all that mattered to them anymore. And soon, the pair figured out the one thing that could make it even better: turning it into a competition. 

Over the next decade, they perfected their game. Trial and error taught them the best places to start their hunts, how to select their prey, how to transport them, how to dispose of the bodies once they were done. After a few years on their own, they had found others who shared in their bloodlust and the game had expanded. Now they had a network of seven or so people who would come in and out of the games based on availability, though a single game would never consist of more than four hunters. They couldn’t risk the attention bigger groups might attract. Each hunter brought different skills, different tactics, and different assets to the dynamic, and it was a great way to keep the games fresh and interesting over the years.

But tonight, it is just Bradley and Jake and their little fox hiding in the woods waiting for them to take chase.

One-minute fifty-two seconds.

Bored of just staring into the darkness of the trees waiting for the time to expire, Bradley slowly saunters over to the truck. Jake glances over as he approaches but never stops shifting through the knives. 

As he picks up one about the length of his forearm to examine it, he says, “Looks like your nose finally quit bleeding.”

“Yeah, but it still hurts like a motherfucker. I can’t wait to get my hands on that bitch and show her what real pain feels like.” Bradley grins, but then shakes his head as he starts getting lightheaded once more.

Jake chuckles as he puts down his knife to pick up another one twice its size. “Yeah, good luck with that. You’ll have to find her before I do, and I have a good feeling about tonight.” He chuckles, “I mean, my odds of winning have already increased from 25% to 50% with just one phone call.”

“And so have mine,” Bradley reminds him, then sighs. “I wish they would have called sooner and we could have postponed until the road cleared up. It’s weird they waited until we were supposed to start to let us know. Some of the others, maybe, but it’s not like them.”

Jake shrugs, "Apparently they had been trying to call for a while. Honestly, I'm surprised it made it through it all. The signal out here is shit." He pulls out his phone and quickly flashes it so Bradley can see the large warning signal with the words “No Service” below it on the screen before he returns it to his jacket pocket. “And, don’t get me wrong, I love getting to go head-to-head with you again, but it’s kind of a shame it’s just gonna be us tonight. I really wanted to see how they dealt with the snow.”

Bradley scoffs as he checks his watch. “Probably a lot better than you, Texas boy.”

Jake throws down the knife he is holding, the metal clattering loudly as it crashes against the rest of his blades, and he turns to face a startled Bradley. “Make up your mind, man. Earlier you were yelling at me for not thinking it snowed in Texas—which obviously I know, I just meant it’s still warm there this time of year. And now you are ragging on me for not being able to handle the snow because I’m from Texas. You can’t have it both ways!”

“Woah, chill out, Jake,” Bradley says, holding up his hands. “I was only messing with you.”

Jake sighs and scrubs his hand over his face before grumbling, “Yeah, I know. Sorry. I’m just so keyed up to go, I’m a little on edge.”

“Yeah, I get it. So am I.” Bradley chuckles and glances at his watch once again. “But only fifty-seven seconds to go.”

“Can’t we just…you know.” Jake jerks his head in the direction you had fled. “It’s not like we left her her watch so she knows how much time has passed.”

“You know we don’t do that. We have our rules for a reason. And besides,” Bradley laces his fingers together and stretches, cracking his knuckles, “that would take away some of the fun. We want her to get far enough away there is some skill in tracking her down. Otherwise, what’s the point?”

“The point is, I want to have some fun with her. God, I can still taste her lip gloss and feel her sucking on my tongue. Once I find her, I’ll give her something else to suck on.” The knife in Jake’s hand begins to twirl as his eyes glaze over. “I can’t wait to stick one of these in her and listen to all the pretty noises she makes. I wonder how many times it’ll take to make her cry.”

Bradley physically bit his tongue to stop from growling at Jake that you were his. Just listening to him daydreaming about winning is making a different kind of fire course through his veins, this one possessive and dark. But he silently reminds himself that Jake has a tendency of getting carried away and overly cocky as he drags out his teasing with his knives which, more often than not, allows his prey to slip from his fingers. Bradley had stolen quite a few wins from him this way by just waiting and watching, and he has a feeling that might be the case this time too if Jake somehow reaches you first. 

And maybe that will be the best outcome. While finding you first guarantees you will be his, Bradley can’t help but think how much more delicious it would be to find you cut up and bleeding, thinking you have escaped one horrible fate just to fall into his deadly embrace. That look of fear and anguish when you realize something far worse than Jake has found you. The knowledge that he won’t let you slip away. The way the fire will dim in your eyes as you realize there is no escape and he is about to—

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Twin grins of excitement spread across Bradley’s and Jake’s faces as the alarm on Bradley’s watch goes off. It’s showtime.

Scooping up his rejected knives, Jake quickly tosses them into the backseat of the truck while Bradley slams the tailgate shut. After one final glance to the front to make sure they aren’t forgetting anything, Jake shuts the door to the truck and locks it before sliding the keys into his jacket pocket next to his phone. Another thing they had learned from experience was to never leave the keys with the vehicle—that had almost been a disaster. 

With everything ready, Jake walks over to Bradley and warmly clasps his hand. Giving it a tight squeeze, he smiles. “Ready?”

Bradley squeezes his hand back. “Ready. May the best hunter win.”

“I plan to,” Jake winks at his friend and releases his hand. Walking over to the spot where you had disappeared minutes ago, he bounces lightly on his feet a few times, shaking out his limbs as he does so. With one final grin in Bradley’s direction, he calls into the darkness, “You better run. Hangman’s coming.” And in a flash, he disappears into the trees.

Bradley rolls his eyes and calmly walks over to the edge of the clearing. Jake had charged out following the trail of footprints you had left behind, but Bradley decides to wait. That idea of finding you only after Jake has already had a little fun with you is too tantalizing to pass up, so he’s going to hang back and let Jake think he has won, only to swoop in and steal the prize at the last minute. 

After about another ten minutes, Bradley calmly steps into the darkness and begins following Jake’s trail. He can’t wait anymore, and if Jake hasn’t found you by now, then screw it. He’ll just have to settle for being the first one to reach you. He’s not worried about you getting too far away or somehow finding help, not while you are still barefoot and affected by the remains of the drugs in your system. However, Jake’s concerns about you succumbing to the elements is more of a possibility than Bradley wanted to admit earlier. The only thing worse than Jake killing you is the cold killing you, and Bradley can’t let that be the way your story ends.

Suddenly, Bradley hears a loud whoop of joy in the distance to his left. Jake found you. For someone who dubbed him “Rooster” because of his crooning over his prizes, Jake sure liked to announce his finds just as loudly.

Tearing off in the direction of the shout, Bradley ducks and weaves around trees and branches as he tries to locate the two of you. This forest is huge and only having one brief cry to navigate by isn’t easy.

After a while, Bradley thinks he sees something up ahead. At first, it is nearly impossible to identify, just a swaying shape up in one of the trees. However, as he gets a little closer, his heart freezes in his chest and all that fire rushing through his veins is instantly extinguished. Jake hadn’t screwed up this time, and Bradley took too long to find you.

The darkness still shrouds the majority of the hanging shape, but the orange jacket wrapped around it is unmistakable against the trees and snow. 

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[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

The Middle of Nowhere Masterlist

Summary: For over a decade, Bradley Bradshaw and Jake Seresin have shared a deadly secret. Once a month or so, these two best friends kidnap a young woman, drive her out to the middle of nowhere, and compete with each other to see who can hunt her to her death. While some of their victims put up more of a fight than others, they've never stood a chance against the two men...until now. Bradley and Jake are about to discover that this time, the hunters will become the hunted. Status: On-Going Major TW (more specific one listed on each part): Hunted for Sport, Murder, Blood, Drugging, Kidnapping, Tied Up, Knives, Rope, Gore

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 (coming soon)

Moodboards:

Jake "Hangman" Seresin Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw Reader "Little Fox"

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

The Middle of Nowhere Part 4 Sneak Peek

I know I promised more The Middle of Nowhere this month and I am working on it! Life has been rough lately. But I do plan to have at least the next part posted before the end of the year.

However, I do want to give you all a little sneak peek at what I've been working on for Part 4 🤭😉 Enjoy!

Taglist:

Taglist: @nerdysuperchick, @mayhem24-7forever , @the-untamed-soul , @hederasgarden

@inglourious-imagines , @straightforwardly , @srry-itshockeyszn , @flyinlove, @fandomhopped ,

@wanderdreamer , @callsign-phoenix , @forever-sleepy-sloth , @notroosterbradshaw , @dezthegeek ,

@cherrycola27 , @phoenix1389, @smells-like-perfect-senses , @boringusername3,

@petlaufeyson , @cycbaby, @fantasticcopeaglepasta , @writercole , @onebigfangirlworld ,

@ravenmoore14 , @clancycucumber230 , @kmc1989 , @ohtobeleah ,

@sunlightmurdock , @sparrows-corner , @ryebecca @slightly-psycho-multifan , @mads-weasley , 

@trencher4lyfe , @merlehs, @sunshineflowerchild789, @je-suis-prest-rachel,

@shanimallina87 , @mak-32, @blue-aconite , @deppresseddyslexic, @horneybeach1,

@desert-fern , @withahappyrefrain , @roosterforme , @dingochef , @littlestatesman

@sorchathered, @idontcare-11, @gretagerwigsmuse, @toomuchfluffs

@seresinhangmanjake

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

hey so I know someone who gets anxiety the moment someone expresses anger as an instinctual reaction would probably be best suited for Tim and Dick cuz of their temperaments. Jason isn’t an angry guy, but he is prone to expressing himself angrily quite easily. But how do you think Jason would deal with. Having a s/o who has playful banter with him and they can argue and it won’t get angry. They can handle dangerous situations. S/o’s trying to reasonably sort things out. But as soon as he ever starts getting angry at something, s/o stiffens and looks uncomfortable and mentally shut down?

Hi! Thank you for the ask! 💞 To answer this, I'll try to stick with the format you provided above (using S/O, "they" pronouns, etc).

While I do agree Dick or Tim are the obvious choices for a S/O like this, I do think that Jason would step up to the situation and, given a little time to learn, he would handle it well (let's not even touch on how Damien would react to this situation 😂):

Jason and his S/O get along great....most of the time. It's not easy dating a former Robin-turned dead guy-turned resurrected guy-turned mob boss-turned vigilante. But somehow, they make it work.

When small arguments do come up, voices may get raised slightly but it remains more of a sarcastic back-and-forth rather than a full-out fight, something Jason doesn't even realize is the case.

However, that calm style of arguing doesn't carry over to when Jason has discussions with his family. More often than not, Jason ends up screaming at at least one of the Batfamily when they get together. His approach to vigilantism still conflicts with Bruce's and there is still tension there around his death. But Jason usually visits his family by himself so it's not a problem...until it is.

One night, S/O goes with Jason to see his family. Everyone is down in the Batcave chatting when a recent criminal escape is brought up. Predictably, this devolves into a fight about how Bruce's way of handling criminals ends up with them back on the street.

Eventually, Jason gets fed up with the same old fight so he goes to leave...only to finally realize his S/O is nowhere to be found. After a quick search, he finds them in the kitchen with Alfred drinking a cup of hot tea. His S/O tells Jason that they didn't want to interfere in the Bat-dynamics and gave them all space. Jason buys this and they both go home.

It isn't until the next time he's on the phone with Dick that he realizes something is wrong. His S/O is watching tv on the couch as he takes his call in the other room. As the call goes on, things get more heated until Jason ends up hanging up and throwing the phone across the room with a yell. He storms out of the room but freezes as he notices S/O on the couch, curled into a ball yet tenser than he has ever seen them. But what really scares him is the vacant, wide-eyed look on their face as they stare at the floor.

Cautiously, Jason approaches them and sits on the couch next to them. Slowly, he places his hand on their knee. S/O finches but their glazed stare never wavers. Growing more concerned, Jason slides off the couch to kneel before them and tries to get them to look at him. When they still don't move, he places his hands on their face and tries to tilt their head towards him. It's only then that they cower back, emotion finally returning to their face. Only this time as they stare at Jason, it is fear etched into their expression.

They have never looked at Jason like that. Even when he told them everything he had done in the past, and that kills him he could have done something to make them scared of him. Softly, he asks what's wrong. For a minute, S/O doesn't say anything. Then, in a whisper Jason almost can't make out, they say, "I don't like when people get angry." Jason assures them he isn't angry at them, but they only repeat, "I don't like when people get angry."

That time, it clicks. Jason grew up with enough shitty people around to understand this isn't about him yelling at Dick on the phone. It's about something deeper, older. However, that doesn't mean he can't try his best to not let it affect things moving forward. In a calm, soothing voice, he asks if he can touch S/O. When they nod, he pulls them gently into his lap and promises that, moving forward, he'll try not to get angry when they are around. They nod into his chest and the two of them cuddle on the couch for a long time.

From then on, Jason tries to make a conscious effort to keep his anger in check when his S/O is around. He still messes up from time to time, but he does get better. And while there are moments when S/O has another reaction like they did that night, they can see how much Jason is trying and how he immediately shifts into caregiver mode the moment he realizes what's happening.