somaliapearls

[somaliapearls]

STATIC LOYALTY

marvel masterlist

Thunderbolts* x fem!reader (platonic)

genre: platonic, psychological thriller, superhero angst

wc: 1.9k

summary: You are the powerful and unshakable handler, the failsafe tethering a team of fractured warriors, including Bob Reynolds, a man wrestling a godlike, destructive force within. As you navigate fragile loyalties, broken souls, and a mission spiraling into chaos, the story explores themes of control, trust, and the fine line between salvation and destruction.

warnings: mental health struggles and trauma, angst and emotional vulnerability, themes of power loss and loss of control, violence and combat situations, references to manipulation and emotional strain, occasional mentions of death and mortality

a/n: considering a pt2!!

They gave you the headset like it meant something. Like a comm and a kill switch were all it took to keep a god on a leash.

“Handler” sounded official, clinical. You preferred the other name they whispered when they thought you couldn’t hear.

Failsafe.

You stepped onto the quinjet with the weight of five broken soldiers and one walking apocalypse. No one met your eyes except Yelena, and only because she liked making people squirm.

“You gonna keep him in check?” she asked, nodding toward Bob.

Bob Reynolds sat buckled at the rear of the jet, head low, hands folded neatly in his lap. Harmless, until he wasn’t. The calm before a hurricane that didn't know the meaning of mercy.

“I’ll try,” you said, flat.

Yelena smiled like it was a joke. It wasn’t.

The first two hours were silence and steel. Red Guardian snored with his head against a crate. Ava glitched in and out of visual range by the cockpit. John Walker stared straight ahead, jaw clenched like he could feel the disaster crawling beneath his skin.

Only Bucky looked at you with something like recognition. Like maybe, under the layers of protocol and detachment, he saw the same hollow in you that lived in him.

"Still think this team’s worth saving?" he asked quietly.

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.

You met Bob in the containment corridor between sleep shifts. No armor. No mask. Just him, and the flicker behind his eyes that said he wasn’t alone in there.

“You’re scared of me,” he said, voice soft.

“I’m scared of what’s behind you.”

He tilted his head. “Most people are.”

“I’m not most people,” you replied.

That made him smile. Not the real kind. The kind you wear when you’re trying to pass for stable.

He leaned in, voice like smoke. “If I slip… will you stop me?”

You didn’t blink. “Yes.”

Bob closed his eyes like he was relieved. Like that answer was the only mercy anyone had ever offered him.

“Good.”

The mission went south by hour nine.

A black site hidden beneath a collapsed Siberian observatory. A HYDRA remnant project buried under miles of concrete and memory. You felt it before anyone said a word, static in your teeth, like the air knew what was coming.

They split into teams. You stayed with Bob.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” he muttered.

“You do,” you said calmly. “We all do.”

“What about you?” he asked.

You looked him dead in the eye. “Especially me.”

Something went wrong in the east wing.

Screams over the comm. Ava’s voice, clipped and glitching, “It’s not dead, it’s not human, Yelena, get out-”

You turned to Bob.

His eyes were golden.

Shining.

The Void whispered in the corner of your mind. Not words. Just hunger.

“Bob,” you said slowly. “Do not move until I tell you.”

He didn’t nod. Didn’t blink. Just stood there, trembling, like the light was about to crack through him.

You raised a hand, power humming in your bloodstream like voltage. Just in case.

The wall caved in behind you. Red Guardian crashed through first, bloodied and panting. John stumbled after, dragging Yelena by the collar. Ava blinked in three feet behind, half-solid, covered in ash.

They all looked at Bob.

He hadn’t moved.

Then he spoke.

“I wanted to help,” he said. Voice quiet. Terrified.

“I know,” you replied. “But if you had, no one would’ve made it out.”

He nodded, like a child who finally understood the rules of a game he didn���t want to play.

That night, you sat outside the site’s blown perimeter while the team patched themselves up. They talked low. Quiet. No one laughed.

You didn’t go to Bob. He came to you.

“I’m still in control,” he said.

“For now.”

“What happens if I’m not?”

You looked at him, really looked, at the broken pieces of a man too powerful to break.

“Then I do what I was built for.”

Bob looked down.

And said nothing.

The quinjet’s hum was a lullaby you couldn’t fall asleep to.

Bob sat across from you, eyes fixed on nothing and everything all at once. The golden glow behind his gaze flickered like a candle in a breeze, fragile, ready to go out or flare into wildfire. You didn’t reach out. Not yet. You never did unless you had to.

Ava’s quiet static buzzed through the comms. Somewhere in the back, John tapped his knife rhythmically, his mind chasing ghosts only he could see.

Yelena was cleaning her pistol with a ruthless efficiency that made the air heavier.

And Bucky? Bucky stared out the window, lost in shadows you couldn’t reach.

You, though, you were the axis holding them all together. The handler. The failsafe.

But sometimes, even failsafes break.

“You don’t sleep,” Bob said suddenly.

You didn’t answer right away.

“Do you ever wonder if you’re just delaying the inevitable?”

The weight of that question pressed down harder than the jet’s reinforced hull.

“Not every day,” you said finally, voice low. “But enough.”

He shifted, a ghost of a smile touching his lips.

“I envy you.”

“For what?” You raised a brow.

“Not being the thing everyone’s afraid of. Not carrying all this, all this potential for destruction on your shoulders.”

You thought about that. About the power humming beneath your skin—the ability to break or mend with a thought. The burden that came with knowing that if you faltered, you might become just another nightmare.

“You think I’m not scared?”

Bob’s eyes met yours, steady and raw.

“Scared of losing control. Scared of what happens if the light inside me dies.”

Hours later, the team gathered in the dim glow of the safehouse’s bunker. The air smelled of stale coffee and old regrets.

John’s voice broke the silence.

“We’re falling apart.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Ava murmured, her form flickering.

Yelena slammed her fist into the table.

“We’re all broken in different ways.”

Bucky’s gaze landed on you.

“Especially the one trying to keep us from bleeding out.”

You met his eyes without flinching.

“I’m not perfect.”

“Doesn’t mean you’re not trying.”

Later, you found yourself alone with Bob again.

He was pacing now, restless.

“I feel it,” he whispered. “The Void, it’s getting louder.”

You placed a hand on his arm, firm.

“You’re not alone.”

He looked at you, desperation cracking through the calm mask.

“What if one day I don’t come back?”

“You will.”

Silence stretched between you.

Then, the faintest tremor ran through his body.

You squeezed his arm.

“We face it together.”

The night stretched on, and somewhere deep inside, you knew the battle was only beginning.

The safehouse was heavy with silence, the kind that wasn’t peaceful but brittle, ready to crack with the slightest pressure. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, flickering erratically as if reflecting the unrest simmering in the room. You stood by the scratched-up metal table where the team had gathered hours ago, but your eyes never left Bob. He sat slumped against the far wall, hands trembling as if he were fighting off a storm no one else could see.

“You need to talk to me,” you said, voice low, steady, an anchor in the growing tempest.

Bob’s golden eyes flickered, the light wavering like a candle caught in the wind. He breathed shallow, voice barely above a rasp. “It’s louder now. The Void is clawing its way up, closer every day.”

You swallowed the tightening knot in your throat. You’d seen this before, when power became a prison, and fear was the cell.

“You’re not alone in this. We’re in it together,” you assured him, sliding a hand to rest firmly on his shoulder.

He looked up, vulnerability crashing against his usual guarded mask. “What if together isn’t enough? What if I lose control and hurt the people I’m supposed to protect?”

The question wasn’t rhetorical. It hung in the air like a guillotine’s blade, ready to fall.

Around you, the rest of the team shifted uneasily. Yelena’s eyes narrowed, restless fingers curling into tight fists. John’s jaw clenched as if chewing on a bitter pill. Ava’s holographic form flickered, a low static buzz like a sad song barely audible beneath the tension.

Bucky stepped forward, voice calm but weighted with the ghosts he carried. “We all have something breaking inside us. Doesn’t mean we stop fighting.”

“But what if this breaks more than just us?” you challenged softly, voice strained. “What if the thing inside Bob isn’t something we can fix with willpower alone?”

Red Guardian slammed his fist down, voice booming through the quiet room. “Then we fight harder. That’s all we know.”

Later, alone in the narrow corridor, Bob leaned back against the cold wall, breathing ragged, eyes haunted and distant.

“You think they see me as a ticking bomb?” he asked without meeting your gaze.

You stepped closer, your voice gentle but firm. “Maybe. But you’re still one of us. And I won’t let you fall.”

He laughed bitterly, a sound like breaking glass. “I’m not sure I can be saved.”

“You don’t have to be,” you said firmly, “You just have to keep fighting.”

The tremor in his hands slowed, his breath steadied. Despite the chaos, the fear, the unrelenting storm inside him, you caught a flicker of something fragile, hope. A silent promise that maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance.

That night, the team’s fragile truce was tested.

A mission meant to be routine spiraled out of control. Intelligence about a weapons cache had been wrong, and the Thunderbolts found themselves ambushed by mercenaries armed with tech far more advanced than expected.

Chaos erupted.

You barked orders, voice sharp, cutting through the panic. “Bucky, cover the rear! Yelena, neutralize their tech! Bob, focus, stay with me!”

Bob’s golden eyes flared bright as the Void pushed against his limits. You reached out, tethering him to the moment, anchoring him with your steady presence.

“Remember who you are,” you commanded, locking eyes with him. “You’re not the Void.”

He nodded, grit lining his jaw as he unleashed a controlled surge of power that tore through their attackers, careful not to lose himself in the destructive tide.

The aftermath was grim.

Breathing hard, sweat and grime smeared across your skin, you gathered the team. Bruised, exhausted, but alive.

Bucky looked at you, respect and exhaustion etched deep in his features. “You kept him grounded. We owe you.”

You met his gaze, the weight of leadership settling heavier than ever. “We all hold each other up. That’s the only way any of us make it through.”

Bob sat nearby, the light in his eyes dimmer but steady. He caught your gaze and nodded once, silently thanking you for holding the line when everything inside him threatened to break.

The night stretched on, cold creeping through the walls, but inside, you were a beacon, the handler, the calm, the steady force in a storm of uncertainty.

You didn’t know what tomorrow would bring.

But for now, the battle was far from over, and you were ready to face it.

[somaliapearls]

✮ ⋆ Marvel ⋆✮

main masterlist

* ~ smut ! ~ angst + ~ fluff ✎ ~ ongoing

• The Avengers

- N/A

• Thunderbolts*

- STATIC LOYALTY !

• James "Bucky" Barnes

- N/A

• Steve Rogers

- N/A

• Peter Parker

- N/A

• Yelena Belova

- N/A

• Bob Reynolds

- N/A

[somaliapearls]

heat lightning is soooooo good!!!!!! I love it!!!!! The way you write Tyler is amazing!!!!!!!! I would love to read a part 2 if you feel like writing it xxx

humidity

part one

🌪️ tyler owens x fem!reader

genre: fluff, angst-lite, tension, second chance, post-confession chaos, new relationship on thin ice (literally and figuratively)

wc: 2k

setting: A post-storm Oklahoma night, a surprise storm, and a chase they shouldn’t be on, together in the eye of it all.

warnings: language, dangerous weather scenarios, emotionally vulnerable moments, kissing in unsafe places, and general storm-chasing recklessness.

warnings: Some language, vulnerability, emotional intimacy, kissing, references to grief & loneliness, and suggestive (but not explicit) moments.

a/n: tysmmm, here you go my love !!!

twisters masterlist

You weren’t sure how long you stood there, wrapped in Tyler Owens like a second skin.

At some point, the kiss had ended, but his hands hadn’t moved. One still cradled your waist, the other brushed lazy circles across your spine like he didn’t quite know how to stop touching you. And you? You didn’t want him to. You leaned into him like he was shelter, like maybe he could block the next storm if he held you tight enough.

“Okay,” he said eventually, voice rough with the heat and everything that had just happened. “I think my legs are officially giving out.”

You laughed, light and real, and he pulled back just enough to see your face. “That bad, huh?”

“That good,” he corrected, giving you a look that left nothing unsaid. “But we should probably… I don’t know. Move.”

“Move?” you echoed, blinking like you’d forgotten how.

He looked around the garage—the open bay doors, the echoing quiet, the rotating fan still whirring like it was trying its best. “Yeah. Somewhere that isn’t forty degrees past bearable.”

You tilted your head. “I know a place.”

Tyler followed you like it was instinct. Out of the garage, into the muggy night. The cicadas had gone quiet for now, the wind low and strange, the kind of breeze that felt like something was holding its breath.

You led him past the barns, past the empty cornfields and the old fence that hadn’t seen fresh paint in years. The ladder to the roof of the old storm-watching shed creaked under your weight, but it held. It always did.

“Seriously?” Tyler said as he climbed up behind you. “This where you come to brood when you’re not throwing wrenches in the garage?”

You tossed him a smirk. “Only when I want to feel like the main character in a tragic indie film.”

The roof was flat, warm beneath your legs as you sat cross-legged, blanket spread out beneath you. He joined you a second later, arms resting on his knees, eyes fixed on the horizon.

Heat lightning still flickered, farther now, soft pulses lighting up the edge of the sky like Morse code.

“You know,” he said after a minute, “I used to think about this exact moment.”

You turned to look at him, the shadows of the night softening his face.

“This?” you asked.

“Not the roof,” he said, smiling faintly. “But us. The quiet after it all. What it would feel like to stop pretending.”

You swallowed, the air thick in your throat. “And?”

He looked over at you, eyes dark and unreadable. “Feels better than I imagined. Also sweatier.”

You laughed, bumping your shoulder into his. “Oklahoma’ll do that to you.”

He didn’t laugh—but his smile lingered. Then he reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered at your jaw, gentle, unsure.

“I should’ve said something sooner,” he admitted. “I kept thinking… we were better off not risking it.”

You nodded. “I thought the same. But it turns out not kissing you hurt worse than the idea of losing you.”

Tyler’s gaze dropped, and something in him softened—cracked open like the sky before a storm.

“I was scared you’d see the worst parts of me,” he said, voice low. “The reckless, restless, stubborn mess who doesn’t know how to stay still.”

“I’ve seen the worst parts of you,” you said, no hesitation. “And I still came up here with you.”

Silence.

Then-

“Do you miss her?” you asked suddenly, quietly. “Kate?”

He blinked, caught off guard. But he didn’t shy away. “Yeah,” he said. “A lot. She was like family. And I know she’d probably kick my ass for taking this long.”

He looked at you again, eyes glassy with something that wasn’t quite sadness. “You were hers too, you know.”

Your throat tightened. “I know.”

“I think losing her made me scared to hold on to anything else. Like if I didn’t love anyone too deeply, nothing else could hurt that bad.”

You didn’t say anything. You just reached out, hand sliding into his, fingers tangling together in the dark.

“But you?” he said after a moment. “You were never half anything. You never let me be.”

You smiled faintly. “You always were the whole damn sky to me, Tyler. I just… didn’t know how to tell you without sounding like a fool.”

“Good,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Means we were both fools.”

You leaned into him, head on his shoulder, blanket wrapped loosely around the two of you now. His arm draped over your back, grounding you. He smelled like sweat, engine oil, and the ghost of wild wind—and somehow, it was the most comforting thing in the world.

“I’m not good at slow,” he said suddenly. “But I want to try. If you’ll let me.”

You tilted your face up, kissed his jaw. “You’ve got me. However long it takes.”

He looked down at you like you were a miracle. “You sure?”

“Ty,” you said, grinning. “I kissed you in a 102-degree garage. I think I’m past the point of playing it safe.”

He laughed, really laughed this time. It was a rough, real sound that made your chest ache in the best way.

The stars began to blink through the haze, and the air cooled just a little as the next front teased the edge of the night.

You lay back on the roof, dragging him down with you. He went willingly, head next to yours, his fingers still tangled with yours.

“I think the storm’ll hit by morning,” you murmured.

Tyler turned his head to look at you. “Then we’ve got a few hours to waste.”

You didn’t sleep that night.

But you rested.

And for the first time in years, so did he.

-

The sky cracked open just after dawn.

You woke to the sound of wind shifting—wrong somehow. No birds, no cicadas. Just that eerie kind of silence that came when the world ducked for cover. Tyler was already sitting up beside you, shirt wrinkled, hair wild, eyes fixed on the horizon.

“Something’s brewing,” he muttered.

You pushed yourself upright, heart still fuzzy from sleep, and last night. “You check the radar?”

He nodded, jaw tight. “Wasn’t supposed to flare up until tonight. But a dryline popped early.”

“Classic Oklahoma,” you said, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders. “Romance one minute, chaos the next.”

He looked over, a faint smirk ghosting his lips. “You saying last night was romantic?”

You gave him a look. “You kissed me like you invented it, Owens. Don’t start playing dumb now.”

He didn’t reply. Just leaned in, pressed a quick kiss to your temple like it might keep him steady. You both knew what was coming: adrenaline, sirens, wind speeds that didn’t make sense.

By the time you’d made it down the ladder and back to the house, the sky had gone a sickly yellow.

Wrangler crew group chat was already lit up, Tyler’s phone buzzing with texts.

Boone: “Cell forming near Garfield County. Building FAST.” Lily: “New updraft looks tornadic. You on it?” Javi: “Don’t go without backup. I swear to God, Owens-”

He dropped the phone on the table. “We shouldn’t chase it.”

You blinked. “We never say that.”

Tyler ran a hand down his face, still barefoot, still uncertain. “That was before I kissed you on a damn roof.”

“Oh,” you said. “So now you’re soft.”

“Soft?” he repeated, incredulous.

You stepped closer, pressed a hand to his chest. “Yeah. Emotionally compromised. Kissed-and-caring Tyler. It’s cute.”

He caught your wrist. “You’re making it really hard to not drag you into that truck again.”

“I dare you,” you whispered, eyes sparking.

He grinned, then groaned, letting your hand go. “You’re insane.”

“You like that about me.”

He didn’t argue.

Thirty minutes later, you were in the passenger seat of his mud-streaked red truck, chasing a cell that wasn’t waiting for permission.

The radio squawked warnings in a static-laced voice. Winds gusted hard enough to rattle the windows. The funnel hadn’t dropped yet, but the sky was rotating, pulsing with energy, like something alive.

“You know Javi's gonna skin us alive,” you said as you watched the sky stretch into shades of bruised purple.

Tyler adjusted the rearview. “We’re not going far. Just tracking it. Staying safe.”

You snorted. “We never stay safe.”

His eyes flicked over to you. “That’s the problem.”

You were quiet for a beat, then: “You really mean to pull away now? After everything?”

He tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

“No,” he admitted. “I just don’t want the first real thing we have to end in a goddamn ditch.”

“Then stop acting like we only work in hypotheticals.” You leaned forward, watching the trees bend in the distance. “This is real. You, me, this storm. It’s all happening whether we’re ready or not.”

Tyler didn’t answer, but he didn’t turn around either.

And when the sky cracked in two, he didn’t flinch.

You found a ridge, high, exposed, stupid. But the view was perfect.

The storm loomed miles off but building fast, too fast. A green wall cloud twisted in the distance, the beginnings of a funnel just kissing the base.

“Shit,” Tyler muttered, grabbing the camcorder from the back. “That’s trying.”

You climbed onto the hood with him, wind whipping your hair sideways.

He filmed for a second, then lowered the camera. “You scared?”

You considered lying. But you didn’t.

“Yeah,” you said. “But not of this.”

He looked over. “Of what, then?”

“Of losing this before it starts,” you said, not looking at him. “Of you deciding I’m too much. That we’re better in theory.”

Tyler stared at you like you’d just torn the sky open.

Then he set the camera down.

And kissed you.

Not the way he had last night. This was sharper, faster—like the wind had gotten into his blood. Like he was holding on because everything around you was trying to break apart.

You kissed him back with both hands in his hair, gripping like you might fly away otherwise.

And then, just as his hand cupped your jaw, just as the tornado began to form in full on the horizon-

A bolt of lightning cracked, too close. Thunder chased it like a freight train.

You both jolted, breathless, laughing even though it wasn’t funny.

“Time to move,” Tyler said.

You scrambled off the hood, boots hitting the dirt. He grabbed your hand- tight, warm, grounding.

You looked back once.

The funnel touched down in the distance, swirling like it had teeth.

“Still think we’re playing it safe?” you yelled over the rising wind.

Tyler didn’t even look away from the road. “Nope. But at least this time, I’ve got someone to hold on to.”

You didn’t answer.

You didn’t need to.

Later, after the storm had passed and the warnings cleared, after the adrenaline bled out and you both realized you were starving, exhausted, and still stupidly in love, he pulled over beneath a tree heavy with post-rain steam.

You ate gas station snacks on the tailgate. Shared a melted soda. Watched the clouds drift like tired giants.

He bumped your shoulder.

“You still in?”

You turned to him, blinking. “In?”

“For this. Me. You. Whatever this becomes.”

You licked salt off your thumb and smiled slow. “I was in before the first kiss. I’m all the way in now.”

He leaned forward, kissed you again, softer this time.

When he pulled back, he whispered, “Then let’s chase it. All of it. The storms, the quiet, the future.”

You rested your forehead against his.

“Let’s.”

🌪️ outside, the world kept spinning—but you weren’t running from the storm anymore. you were running with it. and maybe, finally, that meant you were free.

[somaliapearls]

yes yes i have returned, i’m sorry for hiatus i had to do finals and graduate but dwwww, i have many things i been working on 😉

[somaliapearls]

girl how do you write so much in a single day 😭😭 it's incredible

thank you 😭 i won’t lie, I had a lot of this stuff written out beforehand that I was just too scared to post 😭 and i still have sm in storage that I just need to pretty up to post tbh !!

writing is also my main hobby, so i do it as much as possible !!

[somaliapearls]

Of Ash and Snow

Game of Thrones masterlist

🗡️ jon snow x fem!reader

genre: Slow Burn Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Action, Found Family

wc: 2.7k

summary: After the fall of the Iron Throne, Jon Snow vanishes into the far North — a man haunted by war, death, and the ghosts of kings and queens. You, a healer who fled the ashes of the South, live quietly among the Free Folk, offering your skills to those untouched by the Game of Thrones...

warnings: Emotional trauma, Light medical detail (fever, injury treatment), grief and references to past war, Slow-burn emotional tension, Introspection, mild language, Near-death experience, Storm and survival themes, Mild injury, Internalized grief/guilt, Protective Jon

a/n: in honor of the direwolves…

PART ONE: The Ghost in the Woods

⸻

The North didn’t offer kindness.

It offered silence. Wind. Stone. Snow that fell so thick it swallowed sound and memory alike.

You came to it for peace. You found only truth.

The kind of truth that bites through boots and bone. That whispers in the hush of a pine forest and reminds you how small you are. How mortal.

But it was still better than the South.

Better than ash, than burning, than the screams of a kingdom cracking under the weight of dragons and mad kings and broken dreams.

So you stayed.

And in time, the Free Folk let you stay too.

⸻

You were a healer. A traveling midwife’s daughter who had seen more death than birth. You’d wandered after the war, offering your hands to whoever would take them — soldiers, starving towns, orphaned keeps. Eventually, the pull of the North grew stronger than your fear.

There’s still life up there, someone once told you in a smoke-filled tavern. Still wild things that haven’t burned.

They were right.

But they hadn’t warned you about him.

⸻

The first time you saw Jon Snow, he didn’t look like the stories.

He looked like a ghost.

Tall, quiet, eyes black as ravens, mouth set in a line like it had forgotten how to bend into a smile. He came with a wolf the size of a small pony and a silence that followed him like a shadow.

He wasn’t warm. He wasn’t welcoming.

But neither were you.

So when he brought in game for the cookfire one morning and sat by the edge of your healing tent, you didn’t ask questions.

You just nodded.

He nodded back.

That was the start.

⸻

It took a week for him to speak to you.

You were grinding fever-root beside the fire when he finally asked: “What are you making?”

You didn’t look up. “Tea for Gredda’s son. The fever hasn’t broken.”

A pause.

“You need snow thistle,” he said. “There’s a patch south of the old birch grove.”

You turned your head then. Met his eyes.

“You know your herbs.”

He shrugged. “I’ve spent time in the cold.”

You didn’t ask what that meant. You just stood.

“Show me.”

⸻

He didn’t smile. But something in his eyes shifted.

You walked side by side through snowdrifts and silent trees. Ghost padded behind you like a silent guardian. Jon said little, but he moved with purpose — pausing to point out bear tracks, brushing frost from leaves to reveal the tiny, blue-spiked thistle.

He knelt beside it. “Here.”

You knelt too.

“Thank you,” you said.

He looked at you.

“I don’t sleep well,” he said quietly.

You didn’t know what to say. So you said nothing.

But you remembered.

⸻

He started coming by more often.

Sometimes with pelts, sometimes with herbs. Once, with a wounded raven clutched gently in gloved hands.

You stitched its wing. He stayed the whole time, watching your hands like they held secrets.

“Why did you come here?” he asked once, after a long silence.

You hesitated.

“Because the war took everything else.”

He nodded. Like he understood.

⸻

You began to learn his rhythms.

He rose early. Never ate much. Spoke only when he had to.

He helped others in quiet ways — splitting wood for the elder woman who lived alone, carrying water for the young father whose wife had died birthing twins.

But he never asked for anything.

He never let anyone close.

Except, maybe, you.

⸻

A week later

The boy with the fever stopped breathing during the night.

You were called too late.

You tried everything. Rubbed his limbs, poured hot tea down his throat, pressed your lips to his and breathed. But his little body had gone still in a way you recognized.

And you sat by his mother’s side as she wailed and ripped her own hair and called to gods who no longer answered.

You stayed there until dawn.

Jon found you at the edge of the camp, your hands trembling, still bloodied from trying to save him.

“I couldn’t—” you whispered. “He was just a child.”

Jon didn’t speak.

But he knelt beside you, took your shaking hands in his, and held them tight between his own.

“You tried,” he said.

And somehow, that was enough.

⸻

After that, something shifted.

You began to eat by his fire.

He walked you back to your tent each night, Ghost trotting at your heels like the three of you had always moved as one.

You never touched — not yet — but the space between you shrank.

And in the quiet, you both started to heal.

⸻

A month later

The sickness began with coughs.

Then fevers. Fatigue. Nightmares.

You’d seen illness before, but this one was different. It came fast and took strong men down in days. You worked tirelessly, boiling water, mixing tinctures, washing bedding with snow and ash.

Jon helped you. Always.

He fetched herbs. Sat with the dying. Carried water in his arms when no one else could.

But people were afraid.

And when the fourth man died, the whispers began.

“It started when she came.”

“He brought the curse back with him.”

“The South’s poison.”

⸻

One night, someone threw a stone through your tent.

It hit your bowl of fever salve, shattering it.

You stared at the mess on the floor. The herbs you’d gathered. The medicine that had taken hours to make.

And your throat burned.

When you stepped outside, Jon was already there.

He didn’t speak. Just looked at the mark the stone had left on your tent flap.

“I should leave,” you said, voice hollow. “Before it gets worse.”

He turned.

And for the first time, his voice was sharp.

“No.”

You blinked.

“Jon—”

“No,” he said again. “You’ve done more for this camp than anyone. You’ve saved lives. If they want to turn on someone, let it be me. Not you.”

His eyes burned like coals.

“I won’t let them hurt you.”

Your breath caught.

And something in your chest — something long buried — stirred.

⸻

Later that night, you found a small bundle outside your tent.

Inside: dried snow thistle, clean bandages, and a strip of smoked venison.

No note.

Just the quiet way he always said: I see you. I care.

⸻

PART TWO: Beneath the Ice

⸻

The sickness was spreading.

Faster now. The elderly. Children. A mother whose lips turned blue before dusk.

Your medicine was no longer enough.

“I’ve seen this before,” you told Jon over the fire one night. “Back in the Riverlands. A fever that spread through a whole valley. It wasn’t magic—it was the water.”

Jon frowned. “The stream?”

“I think it’s fouled. Something upstream—animal remains, rot, maybe worse.”

He nodded. “Then we go upstream.”

You blinked. “We?”

He gave you that look again. The one that softened only for you.

“I’m not letting you go alone.”

⸻

The Journey Begins

You left at dawn with packs, furs, a hunting knife, a flask of broth, and Ghost trailing at your heels.

You walked for hours. Into denser woods. Up icy slopes.

The wind howled through trees like ghosts screaming.

Jon walked beside you, close but not too close.

He never asked questions he didn’t need answers to.

But sometimes, he looked at you like he already knew the ones that hurt.

⸻

You found the river near dusk. Thicker here. Slower. Choked with snowmelt.

And not far from the banks—a mass of rot.

A dead elk, half-frozen in the current. Bloated. Split open.

Jon cursed under his breath.

You covered your mouth.

“This is it,” you whispered.

He nodded. “We’ll need to burn it. And warn the camp not to use the water.”

“I can distill snow for drinking,” you said. “But they’ll need to haul it for miles…”

“We’ll manage.”

You turned toward him. “You always say that.”

“I always mean it.”

You didn’t look away this time.

“I’m glad you came with me.”

He paused, snowflakes catching in his hair.

“So am I.”

⸻

The Storm

You set up camp in the lee of a rock face just as the wind picked up.

What began as light snowfall turned into white fury.

The sky howled. Ghost whined low and pressed against the rock wall.

You and Jon huddled under your tarp, knees touching.

“This won’t pass soon,” he said.

“How long?”

“Maybe all night.”

Your fingers ached with cold. Your breath steamed between you.

“We’ll freeze,” you said quietly.

He looked at you. Really looked.

Then he reached out, pulled you close, and wrapped his cloak around you both.

You went stiff.

But only for a moment.

Then you leaned in.

Pressed your cheek to the soft wool over his chest.

Listened to his heartbeat.

⸻

The wind screamed outside.

You felt safe.

His arms stayed around you.

Not tight. Just… present.

“I don’t think I ever told you thank you,” you whispered.

“For what?”

“For helping me. For trusting me. For staying.”

He was quiet.

Then he said, softly, “I don’t trust easily.”

“I know.”

He hesitated.

“But I trust you.”

You looked up.

Snow drifted past the edge of the rock wall, glittering silver.

And Jon Snow was looking at you like he wasn’t afraid anymore.

⸻

“Can I ask you something?” you said.

“Anything.”

“Why did you come here? Really?”

His jaw tightened.

And then—he told you.

About Daenerys.

About King’s Landing.

The ashes. The fire. The screams.

The betrayal that broke him.

You didn’t speak.

Just reached out and took his hand in yours.

He didn’t pull away.

⸻

You fell asleep like that.

Wrapped in furs. Ghost curled against your legs. His hand in yours.

For the first time in years, neither of you dreamed.

⸻

Morning

The storm passed. You were alive.

Jon broke camp while you tested the river’s edge for signs of contamination. The carcass was already stiff with frost, and you made a rough plan to burn it with oil once back at camp.

“We’ll need the council to help,” you said.

Jon nodded. “They won’t listen to me. Not all of them.”

You met his eyes.

“They’ll listen to me.”

⸻

Back at Camp

When you returned, the sick were worse.

You worked through the night.

Boiled snow. Burned all the tainted water. Gave medicine to the ones who could still take it.

Jon stood beside you the entire time. Silent. Watching. Guarding.

Later, when a council of Free Folk gathered to discuss what you’d found, you stood before them — not Jon.

You told them what had happened. How he had helped. How he had risked his life.

And when a man named Rurik stood and accused him of bringing southern death…

You stepped between them.

“If you want to blame someone,” you said, “blame me. I’m the one who found the rot. I’m the one who treats your sick. And I’ll be the one to walk away if I’m no longer welcome.”

The crowd fell silent.

Rurik looked away first.

And no one challenged you again.

⸻

Later

You sat outside your tent, exhausted.

Jon brought you tea. He didn’t speak.

You drank it in silence.

Then he said, quietly:

“You didn’t have to defend me.”

You looked at him.

“Yes,” you said. “I did.”

He nodded.

And then he sat beside you and let your head fall to his shoulder.

⸻

It happened that night.

Not with ceremony.

Not with firelight or music or stars.

Just two people who had been broken and bent and finally found something worth holding on to.

You had just finished binding his arm, where he’d caught it on the elk carcass.

Your fingers lingered longer than necessary.

He looked down at you.

You looked up.

And he said, softly:

“I don’t know what I’m allowed to feel anymore.”

You reached up and cupped his cheek.

“You’re allowed to feel this.”

Then you kissed him.

And he kissed you back like it was the first breath after drowning.

Like winter couldn’t touch you.

Like fire still lived in his veins.

⸻

It was slow. Careful. Tender.

You didn’t rush.

You didn’t need to.

When it finally ended, he leaned his forehead to yours.

“Tell me this is real,” he whispered.

You smiled.

“It’s real.”

He breathed out.

And for the first time since he crossed the Wall-

Jon Snow smiled.

⸻

PART THREE: The Thaw

⸻

Winter was cruel. But it could not touch what had begun to warm.

You and Jon became… something.

Not loudly. Not quickly.

But steadily.

He brought you herbs each morning. You left tea at his door each night. You stitched the cuts on his palms. He sharpened your knives when your hands shook with exhaustion.

Ghost began sleeping at the threshold of your tent.

The camp noticed. But no one spoke.

And for a time, it was almost enough.

⸻

The Trouble Brewing

But peace was never meant to last.

Rurik — the wildling who had opposed Jon since his return — began to gather others.

“Too much sickness. Too many southern ghosts. We followed a king once, and it led to fire.”

The words spread like frost.

You heard whispers at the well. In the tent where you treated the sick.

Some wanted to return south — to old ways, old lands. Others wanted Jon gone.

You told Jon. He just nodded.

“They’ll do what they think is right,” he said.

You slammed your cup down.

“And what do you think is right?”

He looked at you.

“I think I’m tired of running.”

⸻

The Confrontation

It came on a moonless night.

A group of five men. Faces painted for war. Knives drawn.

Jon stood outside his tent — unflinching.

Ghost bared his teeth.

You stepped in front of them. Again.

“Leave,” you said. “Or bleed.”

Rurik sneered. “This isn’t your war, healer.”

But before you could speak — Jon did.

“It is,” he said, stepping beside you. “This is her home. And mine.”

The tension broke like a snapped bowstring.

A scuffle. Quick. Brutal.

Two of Rurik’s men went down fast — not dead, but humiliated.

Jon didn’t kill. He didn’t have to.

Rurik fled into the trees.

And no one followed.

⸻

He came to you with blood on his sleeve.

You cleaned the wound in silence.

Then, quietly:

“I should’ve stopped this before it started.”

You looked up.

“You’re not a king anymore, Jon.”

“No,” he said. “I’m something worse.”

You touched his chest — over his heart.

“No. You’re a man who chose to stay.”

He stared at you.

“You’ve always had a place here. But now… I think you know it too.”

He leaned in.

And this time, the kiss was softer. Familiar.

Like something already written into the air between you.

⸻

Confessions in the Snow

Later, beneath furs and lantern light, he told you everything.

About his real name. Aegon Targaryen.

His birthright.

His exile.

“I killed her,” he said, voice barely a whisper. “Because I thought it would save the world.”

You pressed your forehead to his.

“You saved yourself.”

He looked at you like he didn’t believe it.

But he held you close anyway.

That night, there was no war. No name. No fire or throne.

Just warmth.

And a hand in yours.

⸻

Spring’s First Thaw

Weeks passed.

The river ran clean again.

The sick recovered.

Children laughed in the snowmelt.

You and Jon rebuilt the garden tent together. Started gathering spring roots. You caught him humming, once. You pretended not to notice.

⸻

One night, over fire and stew, he spoke.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said.

You raised an eyebrow. “Dangerous.”

A flicker of a smile.

He cleared his throat.

“I want to build something. Here. With you.”

You blinked.

“Like a—”

“A life,” he said.

Simple. Quiet. Ours.”

You stared.

Then nodded.

And for the first time in either of your lives—

That sounded enough like peace to believe in.

⸻

The Hearth

The hut you build is small.

Warm.

A wolfskin rug. A pot over fire. A place to hang herbs. A window just large enough to watch snow fall.

One bed. Two cups.

And the man who once killed a queen, now holding your hand in the early morning light.

Jon leans into your shoulder.

“You’re not afraid?” he murmurs.

“Of what?”

“Of ghosts.”

You look at him. Soft.

“They live here,” you say. “But they don’t win.”

His eyes close. His brow presses to yours.

And outside, the snow begins to melt.

[somaliapearls]

working on a jon snow fic as we speak ;))

[somaliapearls]

a raging hurricane

(part 2 of “a quiet storm”)

Top Gun masterlist

part 1

✈️ jake “hangman” seresin x fem!reader

genre: romance, angst, emotional resolution

wc: 4.3k

summary: Your and Jake’s relationship begins to unfold…

warnings: Strong emotional themes, sexual tension, smut!!, slow-burn payoff, fluff, vulnerable confessions, mentions of past intimacy, future-talk, established relationship feels.

a/n: “Better Man” by Leon Bridges

The kiss deepened before either of you had time to second-guess it.

Jake’s hands gripped your waist like he was scared you’d disappear. His lips were warm and urgent, like he’d been waiting for this moment far longer than he ever admitted. Your back hit the wall behind you, and you let out a gasp when he pinned you there, breath ragged, lips dragging down to your jaw.

It wasn’t just heat—it was heartache. Desire threaded with all the things neither of you had the guts to say when you were sober and surrounded by rules.

“You have no idea,” he whispered against your neck, “how long I’ve wanted this again.”

You threaded your fingers through his hair, tugging gently, grounding yourself as your chest heaved with something that felt dangerously like emotion.

“Jake…” you breathed.

“I know,” he said quietly, eyes meeting yours again. “I know it’s messy. But I can’t keep pretending that kiss didn’t mean something.”

You wanted to argue. Wanted to throw up every wall you’d ever built between you. But all that came out was a soft, “It did.”

His expression changed—just a flicker—but it was enough to undo you.

Jake kissed you again, slower this time. Less desperate. More deliberate.

Like he was memorizing the moment.

You let it happen. Because whatever this was, you weren’t ready to let go of it either.

⸻

Sometime Later

You hadn’t meant to end up on the couch with him, curled against his side under one of the base’s regulation throw blankets. But after the kiss—after several kisses—you’d both needed a moment to breathe.

Jake had pulled away first, brushing his thumb over your lower lip like he couldn’t believe he’d finally kissed you again. You’d expected him to crack a joke. To say something cocky. But instead, he’d just held you.

Silently. Like he didn’t trust himself to speak without ruining it.

Now, your head was on his shoulder, one of his hands resting lightly on your thigh. The air between you had calmed—less heat, more gravity. Like the eye of a storm had settled between you.

“I didn’t plan this,” he murmured into the stillness.

You tilted your head, voice soft. “Plan what?”

“This. You. Us.” Jake gave a small, humorless laugh. “I’ve been chasing everything else so hard—rank, recognition, wins—but none of it’s ever stuck. You did. And I hate that it took me this long to admit it.”

You stared at him, your chest twisting. Jake Seresin wasn’t the type to get emotional. Not like this. Not without meaning every word.

You slid your hand into his, intertwining your fingers. “Then stop running from it.”

He looked over at you, green eyes full of something dangerously close to hope. “You serious?”

“I don’t kiss people I don’t care about,” you whispered. “Even when it’s a bad idea.”

Jake smirked faintly. “And I’ve always been your worst idea, huh?”

You smiled despite yourself. “You still are.”

He leaned in slowly, brushing his lips against your forehead with a softness that felt almost too intimate to bear. “Then let me prove I can be your best one too.”

You knew it was a risk. You’d known it since the moment he’d walked into the room. But you’d never been one to back down from a risk.

Jake’s lips were soft but insistent against yours, and you couldn’t help but respond. The heat between the two of you was immediate, electric. It felt like every touch, every breath, was amplifying the tension that had been building for far too long.

You moaned into the kiss, unable to help yourself as Jake’s hands slid up your back, pulling you closer. His fingers tangled in your hair, tugging slightly, and you shivered at the sensation. It was exhilarating, thrilling, and it felt like everything you’d been denying yourself for so long.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while,” Jake whispered against your lips, his voice husky. “About you.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and you pressed yourself closer to him. “So have I,” you admitted, your voice barely audible.

Jake’s grip on your waist tightened, his lips moving to your neck, trailing kisses along your skin. It felt incredible—the way his mouth moved over you, the heat of his touch, the desperation in his movements. It was like every moment you’d denied yourself, every time you’d told yourself no, was being made up for now.

You gasped as his teeth grazed your collarbone, his hand sliding up to cup your breast. The touch was electric, and you arched into it, needing more. Jake’s hand moved to the buttons of your shirt, undoing them slowly, deliberately, like he was savoring every second.

When your shirt fell open, Jake’s breath hitched, his eyes darkening with desire. He looked at you like he was starving, like you were everything he’d ever wanted. The intensity of it was overwhelming, and for a moment, all you could do was stand there, caught in his gaze.

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” he murmured, his fingers tracing the edge of your bra. “I can’t believe you’re here with me.”

You couldn’t respond. All you could do was feel—feel the heat of his touch, feel the way your body responded to him, feel the years of tension and desire finally reaching a breaking point.

Jake’s hand slid behind your back, unclasping your bra with practiced ease. When he pulled it away, he let out a low groan, his eyes roaming over your body.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, leaning down to capture one of your nipples in his mouth.

The sensation was incredible—his tongue swirling around the sensitive nub, his teeth grazing lightly, sending shocks of pleasure through your body. You moaned, your hands fisting in his hair, holding him close as he worshiped your breasts with his mouth.

It felt so good, so right, like everything else had just melted away and all that was left was the two of you, lost in this moment of pure desire. You couldn’t think; you could only feel—feel his touch, feel his lips, feel the heat building between your legs.

Jake’s hands moved to your pants, undoing the button and zipper with deft fingers. When his hand slid into your panties, you gasped, your legs nearly giving way beneath you.

“You’re so wet,” Jake murmured, his finger sliding through your slick folds. “So ready for me.”

You couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. All you could do was nod, needing him to touch you more, to never stop. Jake’s fingers were magic, finding your clit and circling it slowly, teasingly, before sliding lower to push inside you.

The feeling of him stretching you, filling you, was indescribable. You moaned, pressing yourself against his hand, needing more. Jake added another finger, his thumb finding your clit again, and you felt yourself climbing higher and higher, the pleasure building with every stroke.

“Jake,” you gasped, your fingers digging into his shoulders. “I’m… I’m close.”

He looked up at you, his eyes blazing with desire. “I know,” he said, his fingers moving faster, harder. “Let go. I want to see you come apart.”

And with that, you did. The orgasm hit you like a wave, crashing over you and pulling you under. You cried out, your body shaking as Jake continued to stroke you through it, drawing out every last bit of pleasure.

When you finally came down, Jake pulled his fingers out of you, bringing them to his mouth to taste you. The sight of it was so erotic that you felt yourself growing aroused all over again.

“You taste amazing,” he said, his voice thick with desire. “But I want more. I want all of you.”

You nodded, unable to speak, as Jake quickly undid his own pants, pushing them down just enough to free his erection. He was hard, so hard, and the sight of him made your mouth water.

Jake pulled you closer, his tip brushing against your wet folds. “I need you,” he said, his voice raw. “I need to be inside you.”

“Yes,” you breathed, wrapping your legs around his waist as he lifted you up.

He entered you in one smooth thrust, filling you completely. You gasped at the feeling, at the stretch of him inside you. It felt incredible, perfect, like nothing you’d ever felt before.

Jake started to move, his thrusts slow at first but growing faster, harder, as his control slipped. You clung to him, your arms around his neck, your legs tight around his waist, as he pounded into you.

It was intense, passionate, all-consuming. Every thrust felt like it was touching a part of you that had never been touched before. Jake’s lips found yours again, kissing you deeply as he took you right there against the wall.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” Jake growled against your lips. “Wanted you. Needed you.”

You couldn’t form words, couldn’t do anything but moan and cling to him as he drove into you again and again. The pleasure was building again, faster this time, more intense.

“Come for me,” Jake whispered, his voice strained. “Come with me.”

And as if on command, you did. Your orgasm hit you hard, making you cry out as you clenched around him. Jake followed soon after, his thrusts becoming erratic as he found his release inside you.

As the waves of pleasure subsided, Jake held you close, his forehead resting against yours. For a long moment, neither of you moved, just holding each other as you both caught your breath.

“That was…” Jake started, trailing off as he searched for words.

You nodded in agreement. “Yeah. It was.”

Jake pulled out of you slowly, setting you down gently before tucking himself back into his pants. You fixed your clothes too, though your fingers felt numb, your whole body still buzzing from what had just happened.

“So,” Jake said, breaking the silence. He looked at you, a small smile playing at his lips. “We should probably talk about this, huh?”

You laughed, feeling a little giddy. “Yeah. Probably a good idea.”

But for now, you were just content to be there with him, to feel the warmth of his body next to yours, to know that whatever this was, it was real, and it was finally out in the open.

Later That Night

You didn’t sleep much.

Not for lack of trying—Jake had offered to leave, had even stood to go once, but the way your hand clutched at his shirt told him everything he needed to know. Instead, he stayed. Curled behind you on the narrow couch, one arm tucked under your neck, the other draped protectively over your waist.

Neither of you said anything.

Because in that quiet, tangled moment, words felt unnecessary.

But you both felt it.

The shift.

The realization that whatever you’d been tiptoeing around for so long wasn’t going away.

⸻

The Next Morning

You woke first. Jake’s chest was warm against your back, his breathing deep and even. Your heart thudded as you took in the view—the faint scruff on his jaw, the bare skin of his shoulder where the blanket had slipped, the way he looked peaceful in a way you rarely saw him.

And it scared you how badly you wanted this.

Wanted him.

You slipped out of his grasp carefully, feet cold against the tile floor. You didn’t go far—just into the hallway, where the reality of morning light felt like a slap.

Because what now?

What happened after the kiss? After the almosts?

You barely had time to think before the door cracked behind you and Jake stepped out, still shirtless, hair a rumpled mess, sleep in his eyes.

He squinted at you. “You ran off.”

You crossed your arms, unsure what to say. “Just needed a minute.”

Jake nodded slowly, stepping closer. “You okay?”

You hesitated. “I don’t know. This feels real.”

“It is.”

You looked up at him, finally voicing the fear that had been gnawing at your edges all night. “And if we ruin it?”

Jake reached out, hand curling gently around yours. “Then we rebuild it. Together.”

You stared at him.

And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like running.

You just nodded, fingers tightening around his.

The silence in your room wasn’t heavy—it was soft. Comforting. Like the kind that settles after a storm has passed.

Jake sat at the edge of your bed, head in his hands, elbows on his knees. His shoulders rose and fell slowly, like he was trying to find the words before he lost his nerve.

You stood by the window, arms wrapped around yourself, watching the morning sun wash over the base. You could still feel his warmth on your skin, the imprint of him in your bed, but the weight in the air wasn’t about lust anymore.

It was about everything that came after.

“I’ve loved you since before Vegas,” Jake said finally, voice low but steady.

You turned slowly, heart stumbling at the raw honesty in his tone.

He looked up at you then, eyes clearer than you’d ever seen them. “I didn’t say anything because I thought you’d run. I thought I’d screw it up. Hell, maybe I still will. But I’m tired of pretending that night was just a fluke. It wasn’t. You weren’t.”

You swallowed hard, throat tight.

“I didn’t say anything either,” you admitted. “I thought if I gave it time, the feeling would go away.”

Jake gave a bitter smile. “Did it?”

“No,” you whispered. “It got worse.”

That admission cracked something open. He stood, closing the space between you slowly, giving you time to back away—but you didn’t. His hands found your waist, grounding you, like he needed to touch you just to be sure this was real.

“I never knew how to want something that wasn’t flying,” he said quietly. “But then you came along. And suddenly it wasn’t the sky I was chasing anymore.”

You leaned your forehead against his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of his skin and warmth and something safer than anything you’d known in years.

“I’m scared, Jake,” you confessed.

“I am too,” he said. “But I’d rather be scared with you than safe without you.”

⸻

Weeks Later

It didn’t happen overnight. The relationship took root in quiet moments—late-night dinners in the mess hall, his hand on your knee during briefings, your voice in his ear after a rough flight.

People noticed. Of course they did.

Hangman—Jake Seresin—wasn’t exactly subtle.

But neither of you cared anymore.

You weren’t sneaking around. You weren’t hiding. You were building.

One night, months into the new normal, you came home to find him sitting on the floor of your apartment, back against the couch, guitar in his lap. He looked up as you entered, that soft smile he saved just for you already tugging at his mouth.

“Playin’ for someone?” you asked, dropping your keys and toeing off your boots.

Jake shook his head. “Just thinking.”

“Dangerous pastime,” you teased, flopping down beside him.

He strummed once—lightly, almost absentminded. Then he set the guitar aside and pulled you between his legs, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“I’ve been thinking about the future,” he said, fingers curling lightly over your ribs. “About flying. About us.”

Your pulse kicked up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” A pause. “I want to build something real with you. Something that doesn’t depend on where we’re stationed or who’s deploying next. I want… I want a home.”

You turned in his arms, meeting his eyes.

Jake Seresin wasn’t perfect. He was proud and reckless and had a tendency to push buttons just to see if he could. But he showed up. Over and over again.

You reached up and touched his cheek. “Then let’s build it.”

⸻

Six Months Later

You stood in front of a mirror, heart hammering, smoothing down the simple white satin of your dress.

It wasn’t a traditional ceremony. No frills. No pews. Just you, Jake, and a few of your closest people standing under the open sky on a patch of coastal grass where you’d once watched him fly.

Phoenix zipped the back of your dress and gave your shoulders a squeeze. “You ready, Mrs. Seresin?”

You smiled, nerves twisting into something brighter. “I think I’ve been ready for him since Vegas.”

She grinned and pulled you into a hug. “Go knock him dead.”

⸻

Outside, Jake stood with his hands in his pockets, looking unfairly good in his dress whites. His eyes found you the second you stepped into view, and the world seemed to fall away.

No more fear. No more maybe. No more almost.

Just this.

Just him.

Just forever.

⸻

The Wedding

Jake had never looked at anything the way he looked at you walking toward him—like you were something sacred. Something his heart recognized before his mind could name it.

You wore no veil. No train. Just a simple white dress and a quiet, tearful smile that knocked the air from his lungs.

He was shaking when you took his hand.

“Hi,” you whispered, barely holding it together.

Jake chuckled, eyes shining. “Hey, darlin’. You look like a damn dream.”

The officiant spoke, but neither of you really heard it. Your whole world was wrapped up in each other—in the way your fingers interlaced like you were two puzzle pieces meant to fit, and in the unspoken vows already written into the way you looked at each other.

When it came time for the real vows, Jake took a breath, steadied himself, and began.

“I thought I was gonna fly solo for the rest of my life,” he said, voice thick. “That was the plan—stay untouchable, never get too close, always leave the door cracked so I could get out easy. Then you crashed through every wall I had without asking permission.”

You smiled, tears falling freely now.

“I never expected to fall in love with someone who’d hold my ego in check, challenge me, and still believe in me when I didn’t deserve it. But I did. And I do. I love you more than I ever thought I could love anyone. You’re my home. And I’m never leaving it.”

You exhaled a shaky breath and laughed softly, wiping your cheeks.

Your vows came slower, broken up by emotion.

“I’ve spent a lot of my life trying to keep people at arm’s length, scared that if I let someone in, they’d leave or change or ruin the peace I finally found. But then you… you came in loud, all charm and cockiness, and somehow underneath it all was this quiet, steady strength I didn’t expect.”

Jake’s eyes never left yours. Not once.

“You made me feel safe to be messy. To be real. And you loved me not in spite of the hard parts—but because of them. I don’t want perfection with you. I want mornings and late-night talks and hard days we get through together. I want forever with you, Jake.”

Neither of you remembered the exact words the officiant said after that, only that you were suddenly being told to kiss your husband.

And Jake didn’t wait.

His hands cupped your face like you were fragile, like this moment would break if he rushed it—and he kissed you slowly, reverently. The world fell away again, and this time, it stayed gone.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

“You’re stuck with me now,” he whispered.

“Good,” you said. “I’ve got plans for us.”

⸻

Later That Night

The sun had long dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky painted in navy and soft gold. You were barefoot on a porch at the little beachside inn you’d chosen for your quiet honeymoon. Waves crashed gently below.

Jake stepped out behind you, arms slipping around your waist, lips brushing your neck.

“Mrs. Seresin,” he murmured, teasing. “That’s gonna take some getting used to.”

You leaned into him, laughing softly. “You’ll survive.”

His hands slid down your arms, turning you to face him. You looked up at him in the dark—still Jake, still cocky and complicated and loyal to the bone. But softer now, too. Centered.

“I meant what I said,” he murmured. “I want all of it with you.”

You smiled and took his hand, leading him back inside, where candles flickered low and the air was full of quiet promise.

“You know what I’m gonna love most about being married to you?”

“Hm?” you asked, sleepy and warm against him.

“That every time I fly, I get to come home to you.”

Your heart ached in the best way.

“You always have,” you whispered. “Even before today.”

Jake kissed your forehead and pulled you close. “I’ll never stop choosing you.”

Your wedding night was a slow burn of desire, the kind that starts in your toes and creeps up through your body until you’re trembling with need. You’d waited so long for this moment, for the chance to truly be alone with him, and now that it was here, you couldn’t quite believe it.

Jake stood in front of you, his tuxedo abandoned in favor of a simple white shirt and black trousers. His eyes were dark with hunger as he watched you, drinking in the sight of you in your lacy white lingerie. You felt a shiver run down your spine under his gaze, anticipation building in your core.

He reached for you then, his hands sliding around your waist to pull you close. You could feel the heat radiating from his skin, the tension coiled in his muscles.

“I’ve been dreaming about this,” he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. “About peeling this lace off you, about tasting every inch of your skin.”

You whimpered, your hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt. “Jake,” you breathed. “Please.”

He didn’t need any more encouragement. His mouth crashed down on yours, hot and demanding, as his hands began to explore your body. You moaned into the kiss, arching into his touch, desperate for more.

Jake broke the kiss only to trail his lips down your neck, nipping and sucking at your sensitive skin. “You’re so beautiful,” he growled. “So perfect.”

His hands found the clasp of your bra, undoing it with practiced ease. The lace fell away, revealing your breasts to his hungry gaze. You felt exposed, vulnerable, but also incredibly turned on.

Jake’s mouth latched onto one nipple, sucking and licking while his fingers pinched and rolled the other. The sensation was overwhelming, and you cried out, your fingers tangling in his hair.

“Jake,” you gasped. “Oh god, that feels so good.”

He didn’t stop, his mouth working your breasts until you were a writhing mess beneath him. Then, slowly, torturously, he began to kiss his way down your stomach, his tongue dipping into your navel as he went.

By the time he reached the edge of your panties, you were trembling with need. Jake could see it, could feel it in the way your thighs quivered beneath his touch.

“Look at you,” he murmured, nipping at the lace. “So wet for me already.”

You whimpered, pushing your hips up towards his mouth. “Please,” you begged. “I need you.”

Jake didn’t make you wait any longer. With one swift movement, he tore your panties away, leaving you completely bare before him. His breath ghosted over your slick folds, and you nearly came undone right then and there.

“Hangman,” you moaned, using his call sign in a way you never had before. It seemed fitting, somehow, for this moment when you were both so exposed, so vulnerable.

His tongue flicked out, tasting you for the first time. You cried out, your back arching off the bed as pleasure surged through you. Jake growled against your skin, his hands gripping your thighs as he devoured you.

It didn’t take long for him to find your clit, sucking it into his mouth as he slid two fingers inside you. You were tight, hot, and so fucking wet for him. Jake’s cock throbbed at the feel of you clenching around his fingers, but he forced himself to focus on you, on bringing you to the edge.

“Come for me,” he commanded, his voice rough with desire. “Let me taste you.”

His words, combined with the relentless movement of his fingers and the suction of his mouth, sent you spiraling over the edge. You came hard, crying out his name as your body shook with the force of your orgasm.

Jake didn’t stop, drawing out your pleasure until you were begging him to stop, overwhelmed by the sensations flooding your body. Only then did he relent, pulling back to look up at you with dark, hooded eyes.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, kissing his way back up your body. “Absolutely fucking beautiful.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down for a deep, hungry kiss. You could taste yourself on his tongue, and it only made you hotter, needier.

“My turn,” you whispered against his lips, pushing him onto his back.

Jake raised an eyebrow, intrigued by this bold side of you. “Whatever you want, darlin’,” he said, his voice low and husky.

You smiled, a slow, seductive curve of your lips. Then, with deliberate slowness, you began to unbutton his shirt, revealing the hard planes of his chest inch by tantalizing inch. Jake watched you, his breathing growing heavier as you worked your way down to his waistband.

Once the shirt was gone, you turned your attention to his trousers, undoing them with deft fingers. Jake lifted his hips to help you, his cock straining against the fabric of his boxer briefs.

You didn’t give him a chance to catch his breath. As soon as his pants were out of the way, you hooked your fingers in the waistband of his underwear and pulled them down, freeing his erection.

Jake groaned at the sight of you kneeling between his legs, your breasts swaying gently as you moved. He reached for you, but you shook your head, pressing his hands back against the bed.

“Not yet,” you said, your voice a sultry purr. “This is my time.”

Jake nodded, though his hips jerked involuntarily at the sound of your voice, at the sight of your pink tongue darting out to wet your lips.

You leaned down, your breath fanning over the head of his cock. Jake’s whole body tensed in anticipation, his fingers curling into the sheets.

The first touch of your lips was almost too much. Jake’s hips surged up, seeking more of your mouth, but you held him down, keeping control.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his head falling back against the pillows. “Your mouth feels incredible.”

You didn’t respond, too focused on the task at hand. You took him deeper, your tongue swirling around his length, your hand stroking what you couldn’t fit in your mouth.

Jake was losing it, his hips moving in time with your strokes, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “Darlin’,” he panted. “You gotta stop. I’m gonna come.”

You pulled back then, releasing him with a soft pop. “Not yet,” you whispered, straddling his waist. “I want to come with you.”

Jake’s hands gripped your hips, guiding you as you sank down onto his cock. You were so wet, so ready for him, that you took him all in one smooth motion, both of you crying out at the sensation.

“God,” Jake gritted out, his fingers digging into your skin. “You feel so fucking good.”

You began to move then, rising up and sinking back down, setting a slow, torturous pace. Jake’s hands guided your hips, helping you find the perfect rhythm.

With each thrust, you could feel him hitting deeper, touching places inside you that made you see stars.

It didn’t take long before you were both on the edge, bodies straining together, sweat-slicked skin sliding against skin. Jake reached between you, his thumb finding your clit as you rode him.

“Come with me,” he growled, his hips snapping up to meet yours. “Now.”

The combination of his cock filling you and his thumb on your clit was too much. You came with a scream, your body clamping down on his as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you. Jake followed you over the edge, his cock pulsing inside you as he filled you with his release.

You collapsed on top of him then, both of you breathing heavily, hearts racing. Jake’s arms came around you, holding you close as you came down from the high.

“Holy shit,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “That was…”

You nodded against his chest. “Yeah.”

Jake chuckled, the sound reverberating through his chest. “I think we’re gonna have a really great marriage.”

⸻

Six Months Later

The apartment was a little cramped, the baby room was still a work in progress, and Jake had nearly burned dinner trying to multitask, but it didn’t matter.

He stood in the kitchen, holding you from behind as you stared at the ultrasound picture on the fridge, your hand resting over his.

“I still can’t believe we made a human,” he muttered, grinning into your hair.

“I can,” you teased. “I mean, we had a lot of practice.”

Jake chuckled and kissed your temple. “You sure you’re okay with me still flying?”

You turned in his arms, grounding him with your eyes. “I married a pilot. I knew what I was signing up for. As long as you keep coming home, we’re good.”

He cupped your cheek, gaze soft. “Always.”

⸻

Epilogue: Years Later

The sky above the backyard was streaked with pink and orange. A little girl with green eyes and your nose was running barefoot through the grass, giggling as Jake chased after her, pretending to be a monster.

You watched from the porch, pregnant with your second, heart full to the brim.

Jake scooped your daughter into his arms, twirling her until she shrieked with delight.

Then he looked at you—the same way he had on your wedding day, and every day since. Like you were everything.

And you were.

He came over, breathless, flushed from laughing, and kissed you slow.

“Still flying high, Hangman?” you teased.

He rested his forehead against yours. “Only when I’m with you, darlin’.”

The end.

[somaliapearls]

landing gear

Top Gun masterlist

✈️ bradley “rooster” bradshaw x fem!reader

genre: romance, slow-ish burn, slice of life, military

wc: 4.2k

summary: When a summer pool party brings you and Bradley Bradshaw back into each other’s orbit…

warnings: smut!!, unprotected sex, mild alcohol use, adult language, sensual tension, emotional vulnerability, reader is implied to have some past uncertainty about relationships (no trauma described)

a/n: had to put out this last one before i gtb, enjoy!!! :)

You show up late on purpose.

It’s too hot, the kind of heat that sticks to your skin and makes everything feel like molasses. The kind of heat that turns your car seat into a skillet and your clothes into a trap. Penny’s backyard is already filled with the sound of splashing water, music thrumming through someone’s Bluetooth speaker, and the faint sizzle of burgers on the grill.

You almost bailed. You don’t always love big gatherings—especially not in a bikini. But Penny had insisted. “Come by, have a drink, flirt with a pilot,” she’d said with a wink.

You’d laughed. You hadn’t told her you already had one in mind.

And the second you step through the gate, your stomach flips.

Bradley Bradshaw is standing poolside like something off a summer calendar—board shorts slung low on his hips, damp curls pushed back off his forehead, sunglasses perched on his nose. There’s a beer in his hand and a relaxed, lazy kind of confidence in his posture, like the sun itself revolves around him.

Which, given the way people are watching him, isn’t far off.

Your eyes rake over him before you can stop yourself. Broad chest, tan skin, shoulders that look criminal in the sun. He’s laughing at something Jake said, that signature smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, but then—

Then he sees you.

Bradley’s head turns like he felt you, like some magnetic pull just yanked his attention straight to you. His smile changes. Slows. Softens. That smirk becomes something warmer, something just for you.

He raises his beer in a silent toast.

You smile back, heat blooming across your cheeks that has nothing to do with the weather.

You make your way toward the pool, pretending not to notice how his gaze tracks you the whole way. You slip off your cover-up slowly, a little part of you wanting him to look. Wanting him to stare. And he does—eyes dropping, jaw ticking just slightly, sunglasses unable to hide the fact that you’ve short-circuited his thoughts.

“You made it,” he says, strolling over, voice lazy-smooth like honey poured slow.

You glance over, teasing. “Disappointed?”

“Not even a little bit,” he murmurs, eyes not leaving yours.

You’re toeing the water, letting it chill your ankles. “Wasn’t sure if I should come.”

“Why?” he asks, head tilted.

You shrug. “Didn’t know if I’d be welcome.”

His brow furrows like that thought doesn’t sit right with him. “You’re always welcome with me.”

You try not to react to that, but your breath catches just a little. And he notices—he always notices.

Before you can think of something to say back, he steps closer. Not touching you, not yet, but close enough that you feel the heat of his body radiating through the air.

“You gonna get in?” he asks, nodding toward the pool.

“Thinking about it.”

“I could help you decide,” he says, voice pitched low and full of challenge.

You arch a brow. “If you push me, I swear to God—”

He holds both hands up in mock innocence. “No hands. Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a scout,” you mutter.

“No, but I’m good with knots,” he quips, flashing a wink.

You snort, despite yourself, and turn just enough to hide your grin.

God, he’s too much. He’s always been too much. And yet, not enough. Not for what you want. Which, right now, is to know what it would feel like to run your hands over that chest, to press your mouth against his neck, to find out if he tastes like sunshine and salt and trouble.

But you don’t.

Instead, you slide into the pool on your own terms, slow and deliberate, while he watches with a lazy grin like he’s already imagining every inch of you underwater.

He joins you soon after, diving in with a smooth arc that splashes just enough to make you squeal and shove him playfully when he surfaces.

The rest of the afternoon is a blur of flirtation and laughter. Marco Polo games that turn into accidental touching, watermelon slices eaten with juice dripping down your wrist that he wipes away with his thumb, an impromptu game of chicken where he volunteers to hold you on his shoulders before you even say yes.

Your thighs locked around his neck, your hands in his hair, his head digging into your—how are you supposed to pretend it’s not exactly where you want to be?

But it’s not just the touches. It’s the way he touches you.

Like he’s memorizing. Like he’s waiting. Like he’s counting down to something he doesn’t want to rush.

Eventually, the sun dips low and golden across the backyard. The others begin to scatter—Mickey and Jake start a cornhole game, Natasha heads for the grill, and Penny brings out fresh drinks. But you and Bradley stay close. Still in the water, side by side, shoulders brushing.

“I was wondering,” he says suddenly, voice quieter now. “Are we… just gonna keep dancing around this?”

Your stomach flips again.

You look at him. Really look. His curls are still damp, dripping water down his chest. His sunglasses are gone, and his eyes—brown and soft and full of something that steals your breath—are focused entirely on you.

“I don’t know,” you admit, barely above a whisper. “Are we?”

He takes a step closer. Water laps at your waist. Your bodies are almost touching now.

“I’ve been trying to give you time,” he says. “Space. Not push.”

“I noticed.”

“I wanted to let you decide. Because if we cross that line…” He pauses, voice thick. “I won’t want to go back.”

You swallow hard. “What if I don’t want to go back either?”

That smile. Slow. Searing. Full of heat and affection and promise.

His hand lifts, thumb brushing a droplet from your cheekbone. “Then I’d say I’ve been waiting long enough.”

You don’t kiss him.

Not yet.

But God, you’re close. One heartbeat. One breath.

Instead, he takes your hand, threads your fingers together, and says, “Walk me out?”

You nod.

He grabs his towel, slings it over his shoulder, but he never lets go of your hand. Not as he guides you out the gate. Not as the cool night air hits your damp skin. Not as he leans against his Bronco, your hand still locked in his like something sacred.

“Dinner,” he says. “Tomorrow.”

It’s not a question. But it’s not a demand, either. It’s a vow.

You smile, heart thudding like crazy. “I’d like that.”

He steps closer. “I’ll be thinking about you tonight.”

You meet his gaze—charged, crackling.

“I already am,” you whisper.

His mouth curves like he wants to kiss you so badly it physically hurts him not to.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he tugs your hand to his lips and kisses your knuckles, slow and deliberate.

And just like that, you’re ruined for anyone else.

Dinner starts off easy.

He takes you to a lowkey waterfront place—nothing fancy, but cozy, charming, and full of warm golden light. His hand brushes yours as you walk in, and this time you don’t pretend it’s an accident. He holds the door for you. Pulls out your chair. Orders your drink without needing to ask what you like.

It should be too much. Too good. But with him, it isn’t. It just is.

Conversation flows the way it always has—teasing, light, full of easy laughter. But there’s something else now. A shift in the air. An edge to his smiles. A depth behind his glances that wasn’t there before.

He listens when you talk. Really listens. Elbows on the table, fingers loosely wrapped around his glass, eyes steady and warm. You talk about work, about Penny’s party, about how you still can’t believe he volunteered to let you use him as a ladder during that chicken fight in the pool.

He laughs. “Please. Highlight of my year.”

“I nearly fell backwards and drowned us both.”

“Worth it.”

There’s a beat where the words hang between you, thick with meaning. You look at him, and there’s something in his eyes—something playful, sure, but also reverent. Like he’s looking at a wish he finally got to make.

After dinner, he drives you down to the beach. The sun’s already set, but the sky still glows faintly, the sea catching moonlight in soft silver glints. You slip off your sandals and walk beside him barefoot in the cool sand.

He’s close again. Arm brushing yours. Not trying to be subtle. Not trying to pretend this is anything but what it is.

“You cold?” he asks, voice low and warm.

“A little.”

He stops. Pulls off his flannel overshirt and drapes it around your shoulders like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like you’ve been wearing his clothes for years.

It smells like him. Ocean, cologne, and something faintly woodsy and clean.

Your throat tightens.

You turn to thank him, but he’s already watching you again—eyes fixed on your face like he’s trying to memorize every detail.

“I meant what I said yesterday,” he murmurs. “I’ve been waiting.”

You swallow. “So why now?”

His brow furrows like it’s the easiest question in the world. “Because it’s you.”

God. Your heart nearly shatters in your chest.

You sit down in the sand, wrapping the shirt tighter around you, and he follows—knees bumping yours, one hand propping him up behind you.

“I’ve always felt it,” you admit quietly. “Even when we barely talked. I’d walk into a room and know you were there before I saw you.”

His jaw tightens. He’s still for a long moment. And then he says, “Same. Thought I was going crazy, honestly. Couldn’t shake you.”

The beach is quiet, just waves and wind and the sound of your own heart pounding like a war drum.

Then his fingers brush yours again.

You let them.

He laces them together.

You let him.

When you glance down at your joined hands, his thumb is brushing the side of your index finger in soft, hypnotic strokes. The kind of touch that says I’m not in a rush. But I’m here. I’m so here.

The tension between you sharpens. Not the teasing kind. This is different. Heavier. Hungrier. Charged.

You look up and find him closer than he was a second ago. His lips are parted, breath shallow. He’s waiting. Not moving unless you do.

So you do.

You kiss him.

Or maybe he kisses you. You don’t remember who moves first—only that the second your mouth touches his, the whole world tilts. His hands cradle your jaw like you’re something delicate, but his mouth is anything but soft. He kisses like he’s starving. Like he’s been holding this back for far too long and now he’s making up for lost time.

You gasp, and he swallows it with a groan.

His tongue sweeps against yours, slow and deliberate. One hand cups the back of your neck, the other sliding down to your waist, tugging you closer. Your legs brush. Your bodies press. The sand shifts beneath you, but you don’t care.

You’re in his arms, wrapped in his shirt, your lips swollen and slick from his, and for the first time in a long time, everything feels right. Easy. Like you finally landed after years of turbulence.

When you finally break apart, breathless, he rests his forehead against yours.

“I’ve wanted to do that since the day I met you,” he says, voice rough.

You smile, lips brushing his. “You should’ve done it sooner.”

He chuckles. “You think I didn’t try?”

You kiss him again, softer this time. Slower.

And then you whisper, “Don’t take me home yet.”

His eyes darken. “You sure?”

“Positive.”

It’s 3:00 a.m. by the time you leave the beach, both of you half-wild and shaking and barely able to keep your hands off each other long enough to get in the bronco.

His place is closer, so you go there.

You’ve been to Bradley’s apartment before, but never like this.

He unlocks the door. Flips on the light. And pulls you straight into his arms.

This kiss is hungrier. Faster. His hands slide into your hair, tugging just enough to angle your mouth to his. You make a sound you don’t even recognize, and he groans into your mouth. A second later, your legs wrap around his waist, his hands sliding to grip your thighs as he carries you down the hall to his bedroom.

The door slams shut behind you. He sets you down on your feet, and your legs shake just a little as you steady yourself.

He steps back, hands on the back of his neck, and watches you. Chest heaving. Lips swollen. Eyes dark and full of heat.

“I’ve thought about this a lot,” he admits, voice rough.

“Me too.”

“How long?”

You smile. “Since the day I saw you at Top Gun.”

His laugh is low, almost a growl. “Jesus. Really?”

“Mhmm. I remember thinking you were the hottest guy I’d ever seen.”

His eyes drop to your mouth. “You were the hottest woman I’d ever seen. Still are.”

Your cheeks burn. But you don’t let it faze you. “That first time I came into the hangar… God. I could barely focus on what the medic instructor was saying. I just wanted to sit on your desk and kiss you.”

That smile—slow and smug and devastating. “Why didn’t you?”

“Because I wanted to punch you in the face.”

He barks a laugh, leaning in. “And now?”

“Still want to punch you.”

“Good.” He kisses you, soft and quick. “I like that you’re a little mad.”

“Why?”

“Means you feel it too.”

A second later, he picks you up again, your thighs wrapping around his waist. He sits on the edge of the bed and you straddle him, arms looped around his neck as you kiss him, slow and deep. He groans against your mouth, hands sliding over your back, down your ribs, down to cup your ass. His mouth trails lower, tracing your jaw, down your throat. His teeth nip your neck and you gasp, fingers curling in his hair.

“Bradley,” you breathe.

“Tell me,” he says against your skin. “Tell me how you thought about it.”

Your fingers tighten in his hair. “You’d be on the couch in the hangar. I’d sit next to you. Kneel between your legs.”

He groans, pulling back to meet your eyes. “Fuck.”

“It wouldn’t be fast,” you continue, voice breathless. “I’d make you wait. Just a little.”

He curses again, then stands suddenly, setting you on your feet. His fingers slide under your shirt, peeling it up and over. You lift your arms, let him toss it aside, and then his hands are on you again, palms hot on your skin, tracing your ribs, your hips, your breasts. His eyes drop, and he makes a sound like he’s in pain.

“Jesus,” he breathes. “Look at you.”

You blush harder, but you don’t shy away. You lean into his touch. “Like what you see?”

His eyes snap to yours. “More than you could ever know.”

And then he kisses you again. Hard. His hands slide to the back of your head, tugging at your hair as he devours your mouth. He backs you against the wall, his thigh pressing between yours, and you rock against him, a whimper breaking from your chest.

He swallows it, drinking down the sound as you grind against his muscular leg. His fingers tangle with yours, pinning them to the wall beside your head, and his other hand cups your jaw, fingers splayed, thumb pressed to your lips.

“Fuck,” he breathes against your mouth. “I’m going to make you come with my fingers and my tongue and my cock. And then I’m going to hold you while you fall asleep. I’m going to wake up tomorrow and do it again. And again. And I’m not going to stop.”

Your breath hitches.

Hell yeah.

His mouth hovers just over yours. “You want that?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me.”

“I want you.”

His groan is low, feral. He picks you up, your legs wrapping around him. His bed is a mess of gray sheets and navy pillows. He lowers you to the mattress, body caging yours as he kisses you, slow and deep.

You roll him beneath you and straddle him again. His hands glide over your thighs, gripping hard enough to bruise. You lift his shirt over his head and he sits up, pulling you close, his mouth finding your breast, your stomach, your hipbone. He lays you back down and kisses his way up your body, slow and steady. His mouth hovers over yours again.

“Are you sure?” he murmurs.

“Yes.”

“Are you mine?”

Your chest tightens. “Yes.”

His smile is slow. Searing. “Good. I’m yours.”

His mouth meets yours again. You sigh into him, his tongue sliding against yours. You run your hands through his sun dusted hair and hear a low rumble. He shifts just enough to slide a hand between your thighs, thumb rolling over your clit through the thin fabric of your underwear, and you arch beneath him. You’re already wet, already aching for him, and he groans when he feels it.

“Shit,” he breathes, kissing your throat, your jaw, your mouth. “Do you know how much I’ve thought about this?”

You swallow hard. “Yes.”

“Good.”

He pulls your underwear down the length of your legs and tosses them aside, his gaze dropping between your thighs.

“Fuck, baby,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your clit again. “Look at you. All mine.”

You nod.

His thumb rolls again, slow, lazy circles. You rock into it with a soft moan.

“Been thinking about this since the first time I saw you,” he says.

Your laugh is breathless. “Really?”

“Fuck yeah.” His thumb strokes you again, and his eyes flick up to your face, watching you. “You ever touch yourself and think about me?”

Your cheeks burn, but you don’t look away. “Maybe.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He smirks. “Did you think about me fucking you?” Another stroke. A slow, deliberate tease.

“Maybe.”

“And?”

You bite your lip. “Maybe I thought about you in your gear.”

“Fuck.” His grin splits wide. “Fresh off a fly?”

“Maybe.”

“Tell me. Tell me how you’d fuck me.”

Your breath catches, and for a second you don’t answer. But he leans in, voice low against your ear.

“Tell me, baby. I want to hear you say it.”

“I’d kneel between your legs,” you breathe.

“Yeah? You’d suck my cock?”

You nod.

His breath catches. “Fuck. Tell me.”

“I’d go slow. Take my time. Make you beg.”

His groan is ragged, thumb rolling over you again. “I’d beg. I’d beg for it.”

“I know.”

He bites your neck, your shoulder, your breast. “Would you let me touch you?”

You rock into his hand. “Maybe.”

He lifts his head, eyes finding yours. “I wouldn’t let you say no.”

“Wouldn’t let me?”

“No.” He strokes you again, slower. “I’d slide my hand up your thigh. Make you come on my fingers.”

You gasp. “God, Bradley—”

He catches your moan with his mouth, kissing you hard and deep, his mustache giving a tingly scratch. His finger pushes inside you, palm pressed to your clit, and you break apart beneath him with a soft cry. He drinks it down, swallowing every sound as you rock against his hand, chasing your pleasure.

“Good girl,” he murmurs against your lips. “Again.”

He slides down between your thighs, pushing them wider, and you know what he’s doing. You know where he’s going, and it doesn’t matter that your cheeks burn. You want this. You’ve wanted it for so long.

He lowers his mouth to your clit, tongue slick and hot. You cry out, fingers gripping his hair as his fingers curl inside you, thumb stroking you in slow, firm circles. He works you over with slow, steady pressure, taking his time, drawing it out until you’re trembling and gasping, begging him not to stop. You can feel the burn from his mustache rubbing against your thighs, the sensation too much.

And then you’re coming, arching beneath him, crying out to the ceiling. He groans, drinking it down, fingers still working you through it until your thighs shake and you beg him to stop.

“Too much,” you gasp.

He kisses your thigh, your hip, your stomach. “No such thing.”

And then he’s kissing you, deep and slow, and you taste yourself on his lips. He leans over to the nightstand, pulling a condom from the drawer, and you take it from him, tossing it aside.

“Just you,” you whisper against his lips. “Nothing between us.”

He nods, eyes dark with desire. You pull him close, legs wrapped around him, and his hands slide down your back, pulling you tight against him. He buries his face in your neck, breathing you in, and his cock is hot and heavy against your stomach, and God, you want this. You want him. Just him. Nothing between you.

“Please,” you whisper.

He lifts his head. His thumb brushes your lip. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

You smile. “I want you.”

“Say my name.”

You kiss him. “Bradley.”

He kisses you back. “Again.”

“Bradley.”

And then he’s sinking into you, slow and gentle, and your eyes fall shut as he fills you. His groan breaks against your mouth as he pushes deeper, and you rock your hips to take him. To pull him into you. To feel all of him.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, arms wrapped around you like he’s never letting go.

“God, baby,” he breathes. “You feel so good.”

You kiss his temple, his cheek, his jaw. He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his hands framing your face. His brow furrows, eyes searching yours, and he says, “I’ve wanted this for so long. Wanted you for so long.”

You swallow hard. You nod. “I know.”

“I mean it. I’ve never met anyone like you. Never felt this way before.”

Your throat tightens, and you don’t trust yourself to speak.

So you kiss him.

And he kisses you back.

And it’s slow and full of fire, his hands and hips working together, pulling you close, pushing deeper, filling you over and over again. His breath is hot on your neck, his sounds low and rough against your skin. Your fingers grip his shoulders, your heels digging into his ass, pulling him into you.

He rolls you beneath him again, body caging yours, and his mouth finds your breast, sucking hard enough to leave a mark.

“Bradley, please,” you gasp. “I need—”

“I know,” he breathes.

He lifts his head again. Eyes finding yours. His thumb sweeps over your lip, and you open for him, taking it into your mouth.

“Again,” he says.

You do.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Like that. Suck it. Just like that.”

You obey, eyes on his, and he curses again, his hips snapping forward, pushing deep. You whimper, and he does it again.

“Feel that?” he says. “Feel how deep I am?”

You nod, moaning around his thumb.

“I’m never letting you go.” He pushes deeper, and your back arches off the bed, a gasp tearing from your chest. “You’re mine, baby. You’ve always been mine.”

“Yes,” you breathe, tears stinging your eyes. “Yes, yes—”

His thumb pulls from your mouth, and his lips meet yours, drinking down your moans. His hand slides between your thighs again, stroking your clit. Your nails dig into his shoulders, legs wrapping around his waist, and you beg him not to stop, to let you come. And a second later, you’re breaking apart again, arching and crying out into his mouth.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Come for me. I want to feel it.”

You do. Hard and fast and shattering. You shake beneath him, pulling him close, and a second later, he’s following you, groaning against your mouth, his cock emptying inside you.

You lie together, breath ragged and shaking. His mouth finds yours in the dark. You kiss him back, slow and deep and full of feeling. He pulls away, just a little, his thumb sweeping over your lip again.

You open your eyes and find him watching you in the dim light, his brow furrowed like he’s trying to solve a puzzle.

“Hey,” you whisper.

His eyes find yours, and he blinks like he’s coming out of a dream. “Hey.”

He leans in and kisses your forehead, your nose, your mouth.

“I mean it,” he says. “You’re it for me, you know that?”

You kiss him one more time. “Yeah,” you murmur against his lips. “Yeah. I know.”

When you wake, he’s wrapped around you. One arm around your waist, the other under your head. Legs tangled. His nose pressed to the back of your neck.

You smile, and you think maybe this is the first time in your life you’ve ever really been in love.

A second later, his eyes blink open behind you. He tightens his arm around you, nose nuzzling your neck as he kisses your skin. His other hand sweeps up your stomach, between your breasts, to cup your jaw, and he pulls you closer. You roll over, and he’s right there, eyes dark, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

“Morning,” he says.

“Morning.”

“Tired?”

“Mhmm.” You kiss him.

“Good.” His grin widens. “Me too.”

And then you kiss him again.

You can definitely get used to waking up to this.

[somaliapearls]

a quiet storm

top gun masterlist

part 2

✈️ jake “hangman” seresin x fem!reader

genre: romance, drama, tension, lil fluff, angst (if you squint)

wc: 1.2k

summary: after a long day of training and high-pressure missions, you find yourself trapped with Jake Seresin in a secluded, quiet room. the two of you have a history…

warnings: strong sexual tension, implied sexual situations, slow-burn buildup, fluff, some angst, emotionally charged moments.

Part One: The Calm Before the Storm

The base was quiet. A rare thing for a place like this, where missions, drills, and high-risk maneuvers were the everyday norm. But tonight, the tension had eased—at least for now. Most of the pilots had either gone out to unwind or were holed up in their rooms, nursing the exhaustion from the day’s training.

You, however, were sitting alone in the break room, nursing a cup of lukewarm coffee that tasted more like regret than relief. It was late—well past midnight—and the base had a surreal, almost eerie stillness to it. The low hum of the refrigerator was the only sound that filled the otherwise quiet room.

That’s when the door creaked open.

You didn’t need to look up to know who it was. The unmistakable swagger in his step, the faint smell of aftershave and the hint of cologne, told you everything. Jake Seresin. Hangman. The man who had been the center of your thoughts more times than you cared to admit.

“What’s up, sweetheart?” Jake’s voice was smooth, as always, tinged with that self-assured, cocky edge. You could practically hear the grin in his words.

You sighed, taking another sip of your coffee, though it didn’t help to calm your racing thoughts. “Just… trying to finish my shift in peace, Jake. Not in the mood for your usual banter.”

Jake chuckled low, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. “Come on, don’t be like that. I’m just here to keep you company.”

You shot him a look over the rim of your mug, not able to suppress the smirk that tugged at your lips. “Sure. Like you’ve ever just kept someone company.”

His eyes glinted with mischief. “Maybe I have. Maybe I haven’t. You’ll never know unless you let me stay.”

For a moment, you considered telling him to leave. After all, you and Jake had history—unfinished, unspoken history. But something about his presence was magnetic, something about the way he looked at you always pulled you in, even when you knew you shouldn’t let him.

“Fine,” you said, setting your cup down and leaning back in the chair. “But don’t start anything. I’m not in the mood for it.”

Jake’s grin widened, and he moved to sit down across from you, leaning forward slightly. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll keep my hands to myself. For now.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his words, though the way he said them made your pulse quicken all the same. It was the same as always—Jake was smooth, confident, and all too aware of the effect he had on you. And for some reason, you couldn’t stop yourself from responding to him, even when you knew it was a bad idea.

“Thanks for the charity,” you replied, sarcastic but with a hint of warmth in your voice.

He tilted his head, studying you with those piercing green eyes. “You know,” he began, voice turning more serious, “you’ve been distant lately. More so than usual.”

The shift in his tone made you pause. You glanced up, meeting his gaze, and for a second, the playful banter fell away. There was something raw in his eyes now—a vulnerability that was rare for him to show, especially with you.

“I’m just tired,” you said quickly, though you weren’t sure if you were lying to him or to yourself. “It’s been a long week.”

Jake didn’t seem convinced, but he let it go. For now.

He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest again, though the energy between the two of you had shifted. It was still playful but more grounded, like the weight of unspoken words had settled in the air around you.

“You know,” he said, his voice quieter now, “I’ve been thinking about that night in Vegas.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you felt the temperature in the room rise. Of course, he would bring that up.

The night in Vegas was a blur—alcohol, music, a lot of bad decisions. You and Jake had been reckless, impulsive, driven by something neither of you were willing to name. The kiss, the touch, the way he made you feel alive in a way you never expected—it was unforgettable. But it hadn’t led to anything. Just like everything with Jake, it had ended before it had truly begun.

You swallowed, trying to sound nonchalant. “That was a mistake.”

Jake’s eyes darkened, his voice low as he leaned forward slightly. “Was it, though?”

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, not trusting your voice to respond. It had been a mistake—or so you had told yourself. You didn’t want to get tangled up in Jake Seresin again. He was too much—too charming, too reckless, too… intense. But the way he looked at you now, like you were the only thing that mattered in this moment, made it hard to believe that.

“Jake,” you started, your voice barely a whisper, “you don’t get to play with people’s emotions like that.”

He didn’t flinch. “I’m not playing with your emotions,” he said softly, his gaze locking with yours. “I never was.”

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The tension between you both thickened, until it felt like the room was closing in. Jake’s gaze dropped to your lips, and you felt your breath catch. You both wanted this—wanted each other—but neither of you was ready to cross that line again.

Jake stood up suddenly, breaking the moment. “I’ll go,” he said, his voice rougher than before. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

You watched him go, your heart beating erratically in your chest. He didn’t leave the room, though. Instead, he paused just outside the door and turned back to you.

“You know where to find me,” he said, voice tinged with something that made your skin burn. “If you ever change your mind.”

And then he was gone, leaving you alone with the storm of emotions swirling inside you.

Part Two: The Storm

It had been hours since Jake had left, and the tension still hung heavy in the air. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted between you two. Something had broken—had come to the surface—and neither of you had the courage to deal with it.

You were getting ready to head back to your room when the knock came again. This time, you were more prepared. You didn’t need to look to know who it was.

Jake.

“Let me in,” his voice called through the door, low and urgent.

You didn’t have it in you to refuse him.

The door clicked open, and there he was—just as you remembered, all sharp edges and quiet intensity. But now, there was something more. Something raw and desperate behind his eyes.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” Jake said, his voice barely a whisper. He didn’t wait for a response—he just pulled you into his arms, his lips crashing against yours.

The kiss was hungry, demanding, like neither of you could wait any longer. It wasn’t like the first time. It was different now—more intense, more desperate. You couldn’t pull away, even if you wanted to.

Jake’s hands were everywhere—fingers sliding under your shirt, pulling you closer, his body pressing against yours. The heat between you was undeniable, but it wasn’t just physical. It was emotional. It was years of longing, of unspoken words and unfulfilled desires.

When he finally pulled away, his breath ragged, he looked at you, his eyes dark with desire.

“I want this,” he said, his voice rough. “I want you.”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you pulled him back to you, your lips finding his again. And this time, neither of you hesitated.

[somaliapearls]

heat lightning

🌪️ tyler owens x fem!reader

part two

genre: fluff, unresolved tension, second chance-ish vibes

wc: 810

setting: A rural Oklahoma heatwave in between storm systems. A night off. A garage, an old fan, and things unsaid.

warnings: T bordering M for tension, mild language, emotionally charged moments, and suggestive elements.

a/n: lmk if you guys want a longer part 2!

twisters masterlist

The air buzzed.

Not with thunder, not yet—but with that kind of thick stillness that always came before something broke loose. Heat lightning danced on the horizon like flickers of memory—too far to strike, too close to ignore.

You stood barefoot on the cracked concrete floor of the Wranglers’ garage, rolling a cold soda can across your throat. Tyler’s red truck sat parked a few feet away, still coated in dried mud from the last chase. A fan rotated slowly behind you, pushing warm air in lazy circles.

“Careful,” came Tyler’s voice from behind you. “You keep that up and I might think you’re trying to distract me.”

You didn’t turn around. “If I were trying to distract you, Owens, you’d already be leaning on something and forgetting your name.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then, a soft chuckle. “You really think I don’t already forget it when you look at me like that?”

Your breath caught in your chest—not from the heat, not from the teasing, but from the fact that he sounded like he meant it.

You finally turned to face him. Tyler was wiping his hands with an oil-stained rag, dark shirt sticking to his chest and shoulders from sweat. He looked like he belonged to the sun—bronzed skin, rough hands, jaw tight like he was holding back something that wanted out.

“You always this poetic when it’s 102 degrees out?” you asked, half-smiling.

He shrugged. “I get stupid when it’s hot. Or maybe it’s just when you’re around.”

You arched an eyebrow. “You say that like we haven’t been dancing around this for two years.”

Tyler didn’t flinch—but he didn’t answer right away either. Instead, he tossed the rag onto the workbench and stepped closer. Close enough that you could smell motor oil and storm wind still clinging to him.

“You’re not wrong,” he said quietly.

The fan clicked. Somewhere outside, cicadas screamed like the heat was killing them.

Tyler’s gaze dropped to your mouth for half a second before he caught himself. “You wanna know why I never did anything about it?”

You didn’t trust your voice, so you nodded.

“Because you’re the kind of person people stay for. And I was scared as hell I wouldn’t be enough to make you want me back.”

Silence stretched between you—warm, thick, and buzzing with more than humidity.

“I was never waiting for you to be perfect,” you said, voice soft. “Just honest.”

He stepped even closer.

“You want honest?”

Your nod came slow. Measured.

His hand came up—just barely brushed your waist, like he was still waiting for permission. His other arm braced against the bench behind you, effectively trapping you there.

“Okay,” he said, low and rough. “Honest? I think about you when the sky’s about to break. Every single time. I think about you in the silence before a funnel drops. I think about what you taste like, what you’d sound like if I—”

“Ty,” you breathed, heat rising all the way to your scalp.

“—and the worst part?” he continued, voice softer now. “You already know. You always knew.”

You didn’t know who moved first. Maybe it was both of you—maybe it didn’t matter. One second, there was space, and the next, there was nothing but his mouth barely grazing yours, his hand now fully resting at your hip, and a breath between you that felt like it might ignite.

But he didn’t kiss you.

Not yet.

And that drove you crazy.

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. “If I kiss you, I’m not walking this back.”

“I don’t want you to.”

He leaned in, brushing his nose along your cheek, down to your jaw. “Say it again.”

“I don’t want you to,” you whispered. “I’m tired of pretending the sky’s the only thing we’re chasing.”

That did it.

Tyler kissed you like a man starved. Like someone who’d thought about it for way too long and finally couldn’t hold it in anymore. It wasn’t soft, not at first—it was all heat and hands and the kind of gravity that pulls people out of orbit.

You grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him closer. His hands slid up under your tank top—still respectful, still careful, but desperate for connection. His fingers traced the small of your back, and you felt it all—every time he’d held back, every second he’d wanted this but didn’t say it.

The kiss broke only when you both needed air. Even then, he stayed close, forehead resting against yours.

“Still think I’m distracting you?” you whispered.

His grin was crooked, boyish, devastating. “You’re a walking storm system, sweetheart. I’m lucky if I get out of this with my damn sanity.”

You both laughed—quiet, breathless, giddy.

Outside, heat lightning still danced on the horizon.

And for once, the storm wasn’t the only beautiful thing coming.

[somaliapearls]

| House of the Dragon |

main masterlist

* ~ smut ! ~ angst + ~ fluff ✎ ~ ongoing

• Rhaenyra Targaryen

- N/A

• Alicent Hightower

- N/A

• Daemon Targaryen

- N/A

• Aegon Targaryen

- N/A

• Jacaerys Velaryon

- N/A

• Aemond Targaryen

- N/A

• Cregan Stark

- N/A

[somaliapearls]

❖ Game of Thrones ❖

main masterlist

* ~ smut ! ~ angst + ~ fluff ✎ ~ ongoing

• Jon Snow

- Of Ash and Snow ! +

• Robb Stark

- N/A

• Daenerys Targaryen

- N/A

• Sandor “The Hound” Clegane

- N/A

• Jaime Lannister

- N/A

• Theon Greyjoy

- N/A

[somaliapearls]

▓ Twisters ▓

main masterlist

* ~ smut ! ~ angst + ~ fluff ✎ ~ ongoing

• Tyler Owens

- Heat Lightning +

- humidity (heat lightning pt.2) +

• Javi

- N/A

• Scott

- N/A

[somaliapearls]

≈☆≈ Top Gun ≈☆≈

main masterlist

* ~ smut ! ~ angst + ~ fluff ✎ ~ ongoing

• Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw

- landing gear * +

• Jake “Hangman” Seresin

- a quiet storm ! +

- a raging hurricane * + (a quiet storm pt2)

• Pete “Maverick” Mitchell

- N/A

• Tom “Iceman” Kazansky

- N/A

• Robert “Bob” Floyd

- N/A

[somaliapearls]

・❥・ masterlist ・❥・

• Top Gun

• Twisters

• Game of Thrones

• House of the Dragon

• Call of Duty

• F1

• Marvel

• Star Wars

• Peaky Blinders