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demxters · 9 months

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—GLITCH, part 1

jake seresin x f!reader (aka star)

top gun maverick au

“i think there’s been a glitch…”

synopsis: when star moves in to her late grandmother’s beach house, she meets the man of her dreams. the only problem, he’s from seven years in the past and when she meets him in the present, he’s unlike the man she fell in love with. unable to recognize the man in front of her, star takes it upon herself to bring back the man she once knew. the man before hangman. the man that was jake seresin.

wc: 3.1k

warning(s): 18+, f!reader, nicknamed reader, talks about death and grief, swearing, mature content

✧ plot and details of this fic are based on the novel “the seven year slip” by ashley poston

series masterlist | find it on ao3

a/n: i hope you all enjoy this first part! as always special s/o to @blue-aconite who is really the whole reason why this series even exists in the first place, ily

It wasn’t fair that you were here without her. If you listened close enough, you could still hear her laughter bouncing off the walls. You could smell the snickerdoodle cookies she always baked when you came to visit. You could feel the warmth of her rib crushing hugs wrapped around you. Opening your eyes, you are met with a dark and empty house. You have spent more time here than in your own home, but now it was unrecognizable. This house and the box that sat in the attic was the only tangible thing you had left of her. Your chest aches as you’re pierced through the heart at the realization that you were never going to see her again.

You were here and she was not. There was nothing you could say or do that will change that.

_____________________________________

“So. You think you’re ready to man this side of the bar on your own?” Penny Benjamin stands in front of you with her hands on her hips, dish rag slung over her shoulder.

It has been a week since you moved from Colorado to San Diego, California, and things were surprisingly starting to fall into place. On your first night there, you ran into an old childhood friend of yours, Natasha Trace. Her family owned the beach house a little ways away from your grandmother’s. The two of you met on the beach when you were kids and she became your summer best friend whenever you came to visit. As time came and went, the two of you continued to grow, drifting farther and farther apart. It was a miracle that she was right where you last saw her on that very same beach, taking a late night walk at the same time you were.

The two of you fell into place like pieces of a puzzle, catching up and getting along like no time had passed at all. When she brought up your grandmother, you disregarded her with a shake of your head. You deflected with complaining about your recent unemployment and how desperately you were looking for a job.

Natasha lit up, immediately knowing the perfect place for you to go. You spent one week under Penny Benjamin’s wing, learning how to be the perfect bartender for her establishment.

With a sigh, you rest your forearms on the tabletop across from her. “As ready as I’ll ever be.” While most nights, you sat back and watched as she manned the bar alone, this would be your first time helping her out with the rush. Your palms were starting to sweat, leaving an outline of your hands on the table. The nerves were finally getting to you and it didn’t help that tonight was the night that Natasha’s friends and colleagues were coming back to North Island. The Hard Deck was the best Navy bar in town and Natasha assured you that everyone in a uniform would be flocking there.

Barely your first hour into your shift, you realized that Nat wasn’t over exaggerating at all. The place was filled to the brim with people. A sea of khaki and navy blues were all pressed shoulder to shoulder in that bar. You were surprised that anyone even had room to drink, let alone breathe, with how congested the place was.

The bar was warm and the air was buzzing with excitement from the aviators and other patrons. Being the first new face to grace the bar in a while, you immediately drew attention to yourself. You liked to think you were doing a good job so far, considering no one had complained about their drinks. That or they were too nice to complain. It wasn’t until a mustached aviator approached your side of the bar with a stoic look on his face that you were afraid you messed something up horribly.

You gulp, wiping your palms on the front of your apron, hoping that it wasn’t obvious that you were a nervous wreck. “What can I get for you, sailor?” You disguise your discomfort behind a snarky remark.

He arches a brow, leaning against the bartop with one arm and tilting his sunglasses down the perch of his nose. The man gives you a once over, his eyes darting up and down your figure.

Your cheeks burn at the action.

“Aviator,” he states, matter of factly.

“Excuse me?”

“You called me sailor. I’m an aviator. Naval aviator, to be exact. And you are?” The way he leans in ever so slightly clues you in on what he wants.

With a scoff, you slap your rag onto the table. “Not interested, flyboy.” You roll your eyes and cross your arms over your chest. “Now, did you actually want anything or did you just come here to flirt?” Your eyes flit to the bell above your head, just in case the words that flew from the man’s mouth were unwanted.

He opens his mouth to respond before his head falls slightly forward, his sunglasses toppling onto the counter. An embarrassingly girlish squeak leaves his lips as Natasha steps up beside him.

“Leave my friend alone, Bradshaw.” Nat asks you for a glass of water that you hastily prepare.

With your back turned to the duo, you listen intently to their conversation.

“This is her? Well, shit, Nat if I had known I wouldn’t have been such a–”

“Douche?” She finishes for him with a snort.

You turn with an uneasy smile on your lips, placing the water in front of Natasha.

“Bradley, this is Star,” she gestures to you with a smile.

His mustache twitches as his lips pull up slightly at the corners. “Star, huh?”

You huff, crossing your arms across your chest. “Yeah, it’s just a nickname I’ve had since I was a kid.”

“Well, Star,” he grins. “Welcome to FighterTown, USA. You’re gonna love it here, I’m sure.”

You return his greeting with a small nod before busying yourself with the other patrons.

Nat eyes you warily as you make your way around the bar. It doesn’t go unnoticed by her that you purposely don’t tell Bradley about your complicated history with the small town.

As the night went on, you saw more and more of Natasha’s crew. They were an interesting group, one you wouldn’t think to be compatible with one another had you have met them individually. Seeing them altogether, however, helped you understand why their last mission went so successfully. Despite them being unable to share all the details, they were more than happy to vaguely reenact the events of the mission just enough for you to understand.

The “Daggers,” as they called themselves, were more than welcoming towards you. You knew it was partly because of your association with Natasha, but you appreciate their kindness nevertheless.

Upon getting to know each of them better throughout the night, you decided that you liked Bob the best. He was quiet, shy, and a bit of an introvert. But he was unabashedly sweet.

Fanboy and Payback were a little more rambunctious for your taste, but they were entertaining and a joy to be around nevertheless.

Your impression of Bradley was slightly tainted from your first interaction with the man, but you could tell he was a good guy.

Overall, you could imagine yourself finding a place among Natasha’s posse. However, this thought was almost a little too good to be true. You curse yourself silently for even entertaining this idea in the first place.

You put back up the walls you’ve built around yourself over the years, not wanting to let them in, only to get disappointed once again. People always leave. They wouldn’t be any different, especially with the nature of their job. It was inevitable. You wouldn’t get too attached.

A commotion has begun to stir up around the billiards tables and your attention gets pulled towards the sharp whistle that leaves Payback’s left. “Hangman, Coyote! Get over here!” He gestures towards the two men.

The crowd parts like the Red Sea, making way for Hangman and Coyote who both sport charming smiles that are sure to make the ladies weak in the knees. You pause your bartending duties, curious to meet the two men. Natasha had told you briefly about both and you were interested to see what they were like in person.

Coyote, just as his callsign, gave you a wolfish smile that suited the features of his dark eyes and wide smile.

Your gaze drifted to the man behind him and your heart stuttered in your ribcage. You’ve never met the man in front of you before, yet for some reason there was an air of familiarity around him that had you dying to get closer to him. Your head cocks to the side as you observe him.

Surely you’d remember meeting a man like him before. With a gorgeous Southern California tan and golden hair that complimented the green of his eyes, he was a sight you knew would be hard to forget. Hangman was just as Natasha had described. His posture and arrogant smile screamed cocky and overconfident. He knew the effect he had on people and he wasn’t afraid to use it to his advantage.

The last thing you expect is for him to catch your wandering eyes. The second his gaze lands on yours, that smile of his vanishes in an instant and he pails. Almost as if he was seeing a ghost.

“Stargirl?” He speaks, shock evident in his tone.

Now that sends your heart into a frenzy. You knew Natasha hadn’t told any of her friends your cherished nickname until she properly introduced you to them. The slip of Hangman’s facade as he makes his way to the bar confuses you just as much as the word he uttered.

Before you’re even given the chance to ask the man how on Earth he knew you, you’re whisked away by the patrons on the other side of the bar who are now calling for your attention.

By the time you have them all taken care of, when you turn around to face the Daggers, Hangman is gone.

You try to ignore the lack of his presence for the rest of the night, distracting yourself with the rest of the group once more, but the look on his face and the way that name fell from his lips wouldn’t leave your thoughts.

Stargirl.

_____________________________________

There’s a warmth that hums in your chest every time you step into this house. Staying at your grandmother’s was your favorite part of summer vacation. Here, you felt like you were transferred to a completely new world. Deep down you knew you were really just in Southern California, but your childish wonder liked to pretend you were somewhere far away from the world you knew.

At your grandmother’s, you could be a pirate whose ship was sunk and washed up onto the shore of the beach house. Your grandmother was a tavern maiden who offered you shelter from bandits who were also looking for the buried treasure.

Or you could pretend that you were a princess and this beach house was your castle. The sand and the sea was your kingdom and every day you would journey through the treacherous waters in search of your one true love.

Most nights, however, you pretended that you never had to leave and face the real world. That you could stay in this particular moment in time, forever. Never being forced to grow up or face the reality that was ahead of you.

As you sat on the wooden deck of the house, bundled up under blankets and drinking hot cocoa with your grandmother as you looked out to the sea, she told you the story of how she and your grandfather met. About the magic of the beach house.

“You’ve heard this story a million times already, my Star,” she chuckled under the pale moonlight. Her features shone in the light, giving her a look of youth that she hadn’t inherited in a long time.

“That’s okay, I want to hear it again,” you smile toothily at her.

She wraps you tight in your arms as she stares out at the sea with a dreamy look in her eyes. “Oh, alright. The first time I saw your grandfather was on the shore of this very beach…”

A place that was once so alive has never felt so dark and empty. You couldn’t even bear to unpack any of your boxes, not wanting to taint the impression that your grandmother had left there. Why had she left this place in your name? She knew you never wanted to come back here and even in the afterlife she had managed to get you to step foot into this house again.

Four years. It has been four years since the last time you were here. Nothing had changed and yet everything had changed. When you looked around, everything was just the way it used to be. Your grandmother’s walls were still littered with picture frames filled with the people she cherished most in this world. Her bookshelves displayed knick knacks from her expeditions around the world. The throw blanket the two of you had knitted the summer of your freshman year of high school still sat neatly folded on the arm of her cream suede couch, almost as if your grandmother had just folded it back up after using it on the deck. If you closed your eyes and took a deep breath, there were still hints of sandalwood and perfume that lingered in the air.

One more step into the foyer was enough to shatter the illusion in your head. One more step gave you a better look at the dust that collected on the furniture from being untouched for years. The cobwebs on the ceiling, a clear sign that your grandmother’s weekly cleaning schedule was not being kept up with. The house was quiet. Quieter than it has ever been. It lacked the joyous laughter and melodic singing your grandmother’s voice used to fill the room with.

You were left with nothing but this house and the memory of her. Unpacking your boxes and touching her things solidified the fact that she was really gone. That she was never going to come back. You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t destroy the one thing you had left of her. The one thing that wasn’t tainted by the sickness that took her away from you.

You’ve been in FighterTown for over a month now and your boxes still lay untouched in the center of the living room. Your knees shake as you toe off your shoes and kick them haphazardly next to the shoe rack.

Throwing yourself onto the couch, you wrap yourself in the blanket that still smells like her and you choke back a sob.

“I need you, grandma,” you whimper. “Why did you have to go?”

_____________________________________

Hangman knocks back another shot, hardly feeling the burn in the back of his throat. He had dragged Coyote from the girl he was flirting with at the bar to resume drinking in the comfort of his apartment instead. He knew Javy was probably pissed and slightly confused at his proposition, but he couldn’t stay at The Hard Deck a second longer knowing you were there.

What the hell were you doing back at North Island? It didn’t matter now, especially after seeing the way you looked at him with absolutely no sign of recognition in your eyes. If that’s how you wanted to play this game, then fine.

“That was her, wasn’t it?” Coyote breaks the heavy silence. “Penny’s new bartender?”

Hangman runs a hand through his hair, unsure of how to answer his friend’s question. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He grabs at the bottle of Tito’s sitting on the coffee table and pours himself another shot.

Coyote snatches the bottle and his shot glass away from him. “That may work with everyone else, but not me.” He looks his friend straight in the face as he asks again, “Was that her?”

Hangman’s heart tightens in his chest as he lets out a shaky exhale. “Yes.”

The confirmation makes his stomach churn and seconds later, he runs to his sink, emptying out all of the night’s contents.

_____________________________________

The serene sounds of birds chirping and the waves crashing onto the shore wakes you from your slumber. You push yourself off the couch, bleary eyed, as you search the cushions blindly for your phone. You must have fallen asleep downstairs the night before. With no luck on finding your phone, you plop back down with a heavy sigh, throwing your arm over your eyes.

Glancing out the big bay window, you’re able to see the light pink and blue hues of the early morning sky. You could just barely see the sun peeking out over the horizon signaling that it was still the early hours of the morning.

Forcing yourself off your makeshift bed, you round the coffee table and instinctively dodge the boxes scattered around the room.

Except, there weren’t any.

You’re immediately snapped out of your sleepy trance, frantically looking around the room with wide eyes.

Your mind begins running a mile a minute upon realizing the lack of clutter. You were robbed. You were sleeping right there on the couch and you got robbed.

But who the hell would want boxes of old stuff when you were sure there were more valuable things to be found in the house?

Shuffling from the room over pauses your spiraling. Whoever it was that stole your boxes was still in the house.

You still have no idea where your phone is and you were not going to be a sitting duck in the middle of a crime.

Glancing around the room, you look for anything that you could use as a weapon against the intruder. You silently pray that your grandmother forgives you in the afterlife for using her antique lamp as a form of self defense.

Taking a deep breath, you quietly yank the lamp on the side table out of the outlet and hold it over your shoulder. You creep into the kitchen on shaky limbs, tightening your grasp on the cold metal that had started to slip from your sweaty palms.

Upon entering the room, you’re met with the figure of a man you’ve never seen before.

The man yelps, almost comically, at the sound of your footsteps and he spins around with a hand on his chest. He’s breathing just as heavily as you are. His wide green eyes meet yours and your heart drops to the pit of your stomach.

Those eyes, you swear you’ve seen them once before. You’re just having a hard time pinpointing where.

Swallowing harshly, you muster up enough courage to make your voice sound strong. “Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my house?”

He throws his hands up in surrender as he backs himself up against the counter. “Jake Seresin. Who the hell are you?”

𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊, 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒, 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃!

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glitch series taglist: @mamachasesmayhem @hookslove1592 @buckysteveloki-me

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