#Callsign: Phoenix

[crinkled-emotions]

Day 25: Secret Santa

Hi hi! This one, again, would have made... so much more sense... had I published on Dec 25th 😂

Ship: Hangster (I'm in such a Hangster mood rn please disregard)

The original prompt:

-

Maverick finished cutting and folding paper then tossed them into his helmet, opening the airstream door and calling out to the Daggers who were floating around the hangar. Hangman, Bob, Payback and Rooster were lying on Maverick’s couches in front of his TV, squabbling about a football game. Phoenix and Coyote were playing table tennis and Fanboy was on a running commentary, earning an eyeroll from the other two. Rooster glanced up from where he was sitting on the floor between Bob’s legs, an eyebrow raised.

“What’s up, Mav?”

“Come grab a piece of paper each; the name you draw is who you’re buying for this year’s Secret Santa.”

“Hangman if I draw your name know you’re not getting anything,” Phoenix said as she climbed over the back of the couch between Bob and Payback, the first one to grab a name from the hat... helmet.

“Please tell me that’s not the one you’re using at the moment,” Rooster complained to Maverick as he reached up to grab one himself.

“Okay, I won’t tell you that.”

“Phoenix if I get you, I’m getting you tickets to the next Longhorns game,” Hangman said as he accidentally tripped over Rooster who was back on the floor after grabbing his paper.

“Getting yourself tickets to the next Longhorns game,” Bob muttered. Hangman smirked.

“Why not, right?”

“Just when I thought you’d changed, Bagman,” Phoenix sighed as she flopped into a spot on the couch. Once everyone had their piece of paper Maverick shooed them off to go back to causing chaos in the rest of the hangar. With everyone else distracted, Rooster opened his paper for a second time and winced. He stood, touching Maverick’s arm in passing.

“Hey, I forgot; I have PT first thing tomorrow morning. I’m gonna head back now and get some sleep beforehand. It’s been great out here this week, thanks Mav.”

Maverick regarded him for a moment, then smiled at him.

“Back still giving you trouble?”

“It never got better after I ejected, but PT helps.”

“That’s good, kid. Keep up with it. Let me know when you get home, yeah?”

“Gotcha.”

Maverick gave him a quick hug and Rooster went over to the rest of the Daggers to let them know he was heading out, earning a groan from Phoenix and a look from Hangman. If anyone could tell he was bullshitting, it was probably those two.

“You good, man?” Coyote asked. He was also so very perceptive when it came to bullshit.

“Fine, it’s just- y’know, I don’t really want to miss PT if it’s the only thing that helps my back, especially because I can’t do my usual gym routine at the moment.”

“Ah, gotcha. Okay man, we’ll probably see you later, we’re all thinking of going out for dinner sometime next week if you’re down?”

“Only if you’re paying, Javy,” Rooster grinned. The two bumped shoulders in good jest then Phoenix gave him a hug.

“Call me if you want to talk about it,” she said subtly as she pulled away.

“Thanks, Tash.”

With that he waved goodbye to the others and got into the Bronco, starting the engine and letting it warm up whilst he connected his phone to the new Bluetooth system he’d managed to connect about a month ago. He took a deep breath, glancing toward the others who were still having fun in the hangar and wondered if they’d figured out what was going on.

-

“That was weird, right?”

Phoenix hummed when Hangman appeared at her side, lining up her next shot on the pool table.

“You and I both know he freezes like that for no reason sometimes. He’d say something if it was serious-“

“-Trace.”

Hangman sent her a look and Phoenix cleared her throat.

“You’re right, that’s wishful thinking. We both know he doesn’t have PT for another week so what made him run for the hills?”

“The threat of commitment?” Hangman suggested, earning a pool cue to the gut. She continued to be a good shot, apparently. The pair glanced up when the airstream door opened and Maverick quietly slipped inside. They exchanged a look, and Phoenix reached for her phone.

“I don’t think they had a fight, we would’ve heard it, but I’m just gonna make sure he’s okay,” she muttered as she typed out a text. Hangman hummed.

“I’ll go see if I can get it out of Mav. He doesn’t go quiet unless it’s to do with a Bradshaw.”

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Phoenix pleaded. She went back to her pool game and Hangman approached Coyote and Bob.

“Hey, did either of you see when Mav’s mood changed?”

“As far as I’m aware it didn’t-“

“-when we all checked who we had for Secret Santa.”

Coyote was quick to dismiss it but Bob’s wallflower personality had the gossip Hangman needed. He was quick to ruffle Bob’s perfectly styled hair, glancing over his shoulder.

“Hey Phoenix, I got it!”

-

Phoenix: did you fight with Mav? (sent: 1:32pm)

Rooster: no? (sent: 6:30pm)

Rooster: what would make you think that? (sent: 6:31pm)

Phoenix: you pretty much ran out of the hangar and you’re not a runner anymore (sent: 6:32pm)

Rooster: look (sent: 6:35pm)

Rooster: it’s nothing (sent: 6:35pm)

Phoenix: you drove the 4 hours back to San Diego for no reason (sent: 6:40pm)

Rooster: do we really have to do this? I have PT (sent: 6:45pm)

Phoenix: bullshit (sent: 6:46pm)

Phoenix: if it’s not a big deal you would have already dealt with it (sent: 6:47pm)

Rooster: seriously Tash it’s nothing (sent: 6:48pm)

Phoenix: fine (sent: 7pm)

Phoenix: but I’m here if you want to get it off your chest (sent: 7:01pm)

Rooster: I know (sent: 7:02pm)

Rooster: but thanks (sent: 7:03pm)

Phoenix: I got your back (sent: 7:04pm)

-

Hangman had let Maverick go for the rest of the afternoon and into the evening, but after dinner and a couple beers he sidled over and flopped onto the couch beside him.

“So; you and Roos have a fight?”

“No...?”

“Just checkin’, he left like his tail was on fire.”

“He’s your boyfriend isn’t he?” Maverick replied, an eyebrow raised. Hangman cleared his throat.

“Don’t change the subject, sir. Something changed when we did the Secret Santa draw; is everything okay?”

“You don’t give up, do you?” Maverick sighed, “but fine, as long as you don’t tell him.”

He reached into his pocket, offering the piece of paper he’d drawn last. Hangman opened it and whistled.

“You got something in mind?”

“Maybe. It’s... I dunno, it’s probably stupid, but-“

“-it won’t be stupid, and you’re not gonna piss him off. He’s come a long way since the Dagger mission, Mav, don’t worry about that.”

Maverick hummed, but his gaze remained on his lap. Hangman gently bumped his shoulder.

“If it helps, I’ll go and check on him tomorrow. I was thinking of heading back anyway, leave isn’t super long this time and I have to do a couple things before they torture me on base.”

That earned a chuckle and Hangman took it as a win.

-

Rooster wasn’t entirely surprised to find Hangman in his kitchen when he came back from his morning run, making what looked like coffee and breakfast. They shared a gentle kiss against the counter, Hangman offering the cup of liquid gold he was drinking to his partner.

“You want to tell me what’s going on?” He started. Rooster shook his head.

“I need a shower first.”

Hangman frowned but he slowly nodded.

“Okay; go shower and then we’re going to talk. No slipping out a window, yeah? We’re too old for that shit.”

Rooster snorted, pressing a kiss to his lips before heading upstairs. Hangman sighed.

Hangman: he’s being cagey (sent: 8:45am)

Phoenix: duh (sent: 8:46am)

When Rooster returned, freshly showered and ready for the day, he took the plate offered and the couple went to the dining table. Whilst they ate they made light conversation, planning out what they wanted to do over the next couple of days other than a date night and making out on Rooster’s couch. Their plates quickly became empty and Hangman took Rooster by the hand.

“Babe,” he started softly, “tell me what’s going on in your head.”

Despite popular belief, Hangman wasn’t a pet names guy, he leaned more toward nicknames and variations of callsigns; the way he said babe told Rooster he was serious. Rooster’s gaze fell to the dining table, spotting various stains on the tabletop.

“It’s dumb,” he muttered. Hangman squeezed his hand.

“Probably, but I want to hear it anyway.”

“I got Mav for the Secret Santa. I knew there was a chance, I just didn’t think it would happen. There’s six other names I could have drawn, y’know?”

“That makes sense. You worried about it not being good enough for him?”

“It’s our first Christmas after coming back together; I think I broke his heart last year when I told him you and me were going to Australia for Christmas so I wouldn’t be around. I just want it to mean something.”

Hangman’s brows furrowed.

“I didn’t know he’d offered to have you last Christmas, but it makes sense now. You were unhinged in Australia, honey.”

Rooster snorted. When Hangman stood to approach him he instinctively opened his arms to let him into his space.

“Look, there’s a couple things you need to remember; one, I love you. Two, Mav adores you. Three, you could give him a plain white mug and he’d still treasure it because it came from you, B. He doesn’t care about what he gets, just that you’re there.”

Rooster hummed.

“You know this is why I keep you around, right?”

“Oh; so it’s not the great sex?”

“That too.”

-

Christmas Day rolled around and the Daggers plus Penny and Amelia gathered at the hangar, sharing a meal and playing football on the tarmac. Amelia had quickly integrated herself into the group of adults around her; as much as Penny was a great mom Amelia found that she also liked talking to Phoenix, a great role model for younger girls like her. Penny and Maverick sat back to watch them hand in hand, exchanging a fond look when Bob tackled Payback and everyone cheered for him.

“He’s come a long way,” Penny said. Maverick hummed.

“It shows in the air, too. He’s always had confidence in the air but it’s only grown-“

“-oh, no, I was talking about Rooster.”

Maverick’s gaze tracked around the group, finding his godson with his boyfriend. Amelia approached them and Rooster smiled at her, leaving Hangman’s side to listen to what she had to say.

“I’d say he’s finally found peace,” Maverick agreed. Penny squeezed his hand.

“Have you?”

“Who knows.”

Amelia came running to the two adults, tugging at Maverick’s hand.

“C’mon, Rooster wants to do Secret Santa.”

“Oh, does he?” Penny teased, exchanging a look with her partner. Maverick hefted himself out of his seat.

“We better not keep him waiting. Go round up the others, Amelia.”

She took off to the others, yelling for them. Penny bumped Maverick’s shoulder.

“Do you want to tell me why you’ve been so cagey lately?”

“Me? Cagey? Just trying not to get myself sent to another foreign country, Penny,” he replied. She gave him the look, the same one he’d just seen Hangman give Rooster, and winced.

“I got Rooster for Secret Santa and I’m a little worried about what I got him.”

“You’re worried he’s going to throw another temper tantrum? I really don’t think he’s got it in him anymore, honey.”

“I know... I think. I don’t want to risk it.”

“Okay, well, Hangman’s here, Phoenix is here, I’m here. We’re not going to let him ruin Christmas if that what he feels he needs to do.”

Penny squeezed his hand and they went to join the others who had gathered around the Christmas tree toward the back of the hangar.

-

“Phoenix.”

“Thanks, Amelia.”

Phoenix took the wrapped present from the younger girl, watching her hand the rest of them around. Rooster’s came as a wrapped large box, whilst Maverick’s was flatter but more rectangular. The others tore into theirs but it took a minute for Rooster and Maverick to pull off the paper. Rooster was the first to pop open his box and he immediately tossed the box on to Hangman’s lap to give Maverick a hug.

“I didn’t know you kept it,” he muttered. Maverick breathed a sigh.

“I found it last week, thought you might want it back.”

“What is it?” Phoenix asked Hangman, who reached into the box and produced a tiny airplane toy. When Rooster returned to his side he took the toy back, keeping it close to him. Hangman frowned but chose not to question it at that moment, instead flipping open the envelope he’d been handed.

“Oh, would you look at that! Longhorns tickets. I wonder who did that?” He said in a way that told everyone exactly what had happened.

“How the fuck did you draw yourself?” Bob groaned at the same time the others laughed. Hangman smirked.

“I’m just that good, Baby on board. I’m so good, in fact, that Rooster-“

“-open yours, Mav, before I have to cover Amelia’s ears,” Phoenix pleaded. Maverick gently opened the box and his eyes softened.

“All these years I thought I’d lost it. Where did you find it?”

At first the team assumed he was talking to Penny, but Rooster was the one to speak up.

“A couple weeks ago, I was cleaning out the Bronco and I found it wedged in a really weird spot. Never noticed it before, thought you might want it back.

“Guys, being mysterious is fun when you’re not pushing sixty,” Amelia groaned. Penny gently swatted her arm whilst the others laughed. Maverick rolled his eyes, holding up what looked like a keyring that had seen better days.

“I bought this when Bradley was born. I don’t believe in luck but this thing went everywhere with me and it kept me safe. The one time I didn’t have it, well... we lost Goose that day and I searched for it every day after. I had no idea it was in that damn truck of his.”

The others went quiet, Hangman reaching subtly for Rooster’s hand between them. Finally, Rooster cleared his throat.

“You never told me that.”

“I know, kid.”

“Is that Tasmania?” Phoenix blurted, standing from her seat and gesturing vaguely toward the desert outside the hangar doors.

“What does that even- oh. Yeah, goddamn, that looks like it! C’mon guys.”

Hangman followed along, gesturing with a (not) subtle head tilt toward the hangar doors. Everyone but Maverick and Rooster made a swift exit, giving them a moment to themselves.

“I’m really glad you could be here this year, Bradley. I’m not upset about Australia, you do know that right?”

“It’s good to hear it,” Rooster confessed. Maverick hummed.

“Let’s start fresh in the new year, huh? Stop running and try talking?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

They shared a look, then laughed.

“I can’t believe you still had it,” Rooster muttered.

“Always. Thought you might want it back, give it to your kids some day.”

-

“This is a real cockblock, Roos. I’m trying to get laid and you’re staring at that toy?”

“Shush, Jake.”

Rooster lifted the toy to the tent light, showing a crack in one of the wings. Hangman huffed, making himself comfortable against Rooster’s shoulder and sending him a look.

“Why are you so hooked on that toy?”

“My mom said it was the last thing I got from my dad. We went to see him and Mav at TOPGUN and it was only a couple days later that he...”

Rooster cleared his throat.

“You know the story.”

“Wow... what’s the crack in the wing from?”

“I cried for, like, three hours. I was playing with it in the park and some older kid took it, stepped on it, then called me a baby. I was six. It took Mav and mom about an hour to fix it, but when they went to give it back to me I was hiding under Mav’s leather jacket and sobbing. Apparently the crying stopped the second I had it back.”

Hangman laughed, reaching up to press a kiss to his lips.

“That’s adorable; I’ll be telling Phoenix that one later.”

Rooster hummed, finally tucking the toy into his backpack and using his body weight to flip them.

“Sorry, you said something about getting laid?”

“Tell me more,” Hangman grinned.

-

[mustasekittens]

smile~📸🍦

im finally able to post the piece i made for the @topgunzine !! i loved working on this project and seeing everything everyone created for it too! i ofc had to draw my favorite boy and his pilot and i just wanted to draw them on a cute lil ice cream date :3

[sebsxphia]

bobby burns.

robert ‘bob’ floyd x reader.

￫ description: you try some of bob’s, ma’s alcohol one night.

￫ c/w: alcohol, implications to sex, other than that it’s all fluff, fluff, fluff.

￫ a/n: this is for @callsign-phoenix 1k celly here! a huge congratulations to you again my love! your writing is absolutely incredible and i’m so honored you asked me to participate. you deserve each and every one and more! <3

You turned your head to the sight of Bob coming out onto his Ma’s front porch. The screen door squeaks on it’s hinges and he’s got a thick, woolen throw draped around his shoulders. You can hear the clinking of two smaller glasses, together combined with the larger bottle of his Ma’s questionable alcohol she brewed herself.

“Here you are, darlin’.” Bob’s drawl was thicker as he kicked the front door shut behind with the heel of his boot. Somehow, coming back home to see his family really brought out the Southern in him, but you weren’t complaining. His voice sounded like it was laced thick with honey and in the fair few mornings you’d spent here, it sent a pool of heat in between your thighs when he wished you a good morning.

“What does she call this again?” You reach out from under your throw that’s draped around your shoulders as you sit on the porch swing to take the glasses from Bob.

“Ma’s Malicious Mixer.” Bob scoops his throw under his legs to tuck it neatly around him so he can huddle next to you comfortably. You throw him a questionable gaze.

“Mixer? Isn’t it like, eighty percent spirit?”

Bob raises his eyebrows in response and huffs out a chuckle.

“She likes it strong.” He shrugs it off like it’s nothing.

He pops the cork from the bottle with a satisfying sound and pours yourself and him two even shots in the miniature glasses. He places the bottle down onto the porch floor and takes his glass from your hand. You clink them together and he holds your gaze with a sweet smile.

“To us, m’ love.”

“To us, my dear Bobby.”

You throw your heads back in sequence and shot the liquor. It hits in the first millisecond and both of your faces contort into disgust, as you try and bear the vibrant taste. Bob’s face has settled back to normal, with a squint and twitch in his eyes, before the after wave hits the back of your throat like a fireball.

“Oh my god! Bobby! It burns!” You spit out in between gagging sounds from yourself. He cannot help but fall into a fit of laughter, but keeping it hushed as to not wake the rest of his family, who are currently sleeping peacefully upstairs in his family’s ranch house.

Bob brings one hand to your back to rub it soothingly through the thick throw. “You good, darlin’?” He’s still wearing a smug little grin on his face and you can’t help but choke out a laugh with him, at the pure absurdity of sweet Bobby’s Ma, making a concoction so deadly.

You throw him a thumbs up and rest back against his hand, moving it to drape around your shoulder and pull you in close, so you can huddle against his chest. You blow out a couple more streams of air as the fiery come down fades. Bob presses a soft kiss to the side of your temple, and you feel his chest rise and fall in a deep sigh. It’s not a frustated sigh, no. It’s a sigh of complete and utter ease.

“My family love you, y’ know. Ma was just tellin’ me before she went to bed.” Bob spoke up and you turned your head upwards to meet his gaze again.

“Really?”

He rested his hand on your cheek and rubbed his thumb across the small baby hairs that rested there. “Really.” He confirmed with pride and ever adoring love swelling in his chest. “She did want me to tell you however, the booze was a tiny, lil’ test, and I can confirm, you passed wi’ flyin’ colours.”

You gave him a small slap to the chest at his statement. “Bobby! It feels like it burned my esophagus off!”

Bob’s smile didn’t falter as he proudly declared with a slight cock in his head and a hum, “Yes, but! You’re part of the family now.”

You felt your heart flutter at his words. You were so head over heels in love with your dear Bob and you wanted to make this work so badly. Meeting his family was the biggest anxiety you had had since day one, but knowing that you were now fully accepted, it made every worry in your body disappear.

You could really see yourself with him forever and with the way you shotted back that deadly alcohol, Bob could too.

taglist: @tallrock35 @luckyladycreator2

[hangmanbrainrot]

stranger from the bar

a/n: this is an incredibly late submission to @callsign-phoenix's 1k celebration. thank you for your patience, lovely. <3

warnings: 18+ content, this is mostly just... smut, there's an extensive list of tags on the ao3 page but there's some big emphasis on a rank kink here, exhibitionism, unprotected penetrative sex, lots of swearing, and alcohol mention.

word count: 3.1k

summary: in which you and jake do something a little different after a night out.

pairing: jake seresin x reader

“Jake, Jake, Jake,” you panted against his lips, palms shoving feebly against his chest. “Jake, wait. Are we sure this is a good idea?” 

You sat back slightly in your position on his lap, to take in his expression. Your gaze darted between his kiss swollen, lipgloss smeared lips and the depth of the green in his eyes. They looked almost grey in the low light of the parking lot.

“We stopped making good decisions after your third gin and tonic, I’m just pointing that out. But I’d never do anything you weren’t comfortable with, darlin’,” he hummed lowly, brows furrowed as his palms smoothed up and down the length of your goosebump covered thighs. Your hips pitched forward, rolling against his almost involuntarily, and you couldn’t tell if it was the sudden rush of desire flooding back to the surface or the chill in the air that made you shiver. Your shirt laid discarded in the passenger seat where you were once seated.

You looked back to Jake again. All traces of artifice were gone. There was no facade, no arrogance found in his expression. Instead, a strand of blond hair had fallen from its position in his perfect coif, and it curled lazily toward the top of his forehead. You ran your fingers through the sandy colored locks almost on impulse, and the moan you earned in response when you gave the strands a slight tug surprised you. Definitely filing that one away for later. Your mind — and his — was slipping in and out of your agreed upon charade so quickly. It was hard to pretend the man before you was a stranger, when part of the reason why you craved him so deeply was because of the plain and unashamed intimacy between you. You looked at him with a quirked brow, but before you could remark on your discovery, he cut you off with an utterance of your name. 

“So what's it gonna be?” He asked, voice low and husky. He shifted beneath you, and every delicious inch of him pressed into you, right where you needed him most, even with his pants between you — a move that was no doubt deliberate. Your lips returned to his, aggressive with need. His fingers snaked up into your hair, angling you where he wanted you — where he needed you. Jake was so deceptively confident that sometimes it was hard to imagine he’d ever needed another person in his life, but then every time he got his hands on you, he was like a man starved. His tongue was deft, first swiping along the seam of your lips, then parting them like a man depraved. With your knees bracketing his thighs, you didn’t have much space, but it was enough to work with to grind yourself down shamelessly against his denim-clad thigh. He could no doubt feel the wet heat of your core, every time you rutted down against the coarse material once more. It was relief, it was something. The body of your skirt flared around your thighs, but you’d ditched your underwear long ago, so your arousal threatened to soak his pant leg beneath you if you weren’t careful.

“Jake,” you repeated in a shaky exhale, moving like a person possessed, with your head thrown back. You couldn’t stop the near incessant motion of your hips if you tried, desperate for friction, desperate for him, especially as his mouth latched onto one of your nipples. He had you tightrope walking that line between pleasure and pain, tongue laving over the skin his teeth had grazed just seconds earlier.

“You keep saying my name like that, I don’t know if I’ll even get you out of that pretty little skirt before we’re making a mess,” he said the words like a promise, whispered against the warmth of your flushed skin as he kissed his way up your chest.

So suddenly it almost hurt, Jake retracted and righted himself to look up at you, as if he realized something, and you whined in response — impulsively, instinctively. But you caught his eyes, and you understood. One of his hands raised to cup your face and the gold of his wedding band caught the light in the process. The pad of his thumb brushed softly along your skin, so softly you were almost ashamed of the way you were still writhing in his lap. Almost. He tapped your cheek three times in a row, and you instantly came back to yourself. This was a check-in. This was your husband.

“Color?” you asked as you went still in his lap.

“No, I’m green, so, so very green,” he said gently, almost shy, even as a chuckle bubbled up out of him. “But you didn’t answer me, and you said wait before, but I realized I didn’t wait, then you said my name so I felt bad and wanted to be sure.”

Oh, this man loved you. He loved you, loved you. And you knew it, of course, but feeling it right now in the soft, gentle cadence of his words, in the way he was studying you for even the slightest change in mood or disposition? It had you clenching around nothing, needy as your hands fisted in the fabric of the plain black t-shirt he wore. You used your newfound hold on him to all but yank him flush against your bare chest.

“Honey,” your lips pressed softly to the hollow behind his ear, delicate, as you murmured, “I am so sorry I worried you, but I am so fucking green.” 

Sitting back again, you took in your husband, your hands reaching up to frame his face as you explained, “I only said wait because I was, uh, getting into it, you know?”

More realization washed over his expression and even in the barely there moonlight, you knew his face was red — more because of your knowledge of your Jake, than your reliance on your eyes.

“You called me Jake. Twice.” He was practically pouting as he repeated the fact. You’d broken character. The feigned anonymity was, admittedly, part of what made your designed ruse so fucking attractive. 

“Sorry, sir. Won’t happen again, Lieutenant.” 

Just like that, your husband was gone, and in his place sat Lieutenant Seresin. 

“I know it won’t.”

White hot desire lanced through you, and you forgot all rational fucking thought, practically crumbling against him, but he drew you up again, until your chest was flush against his own. Your taut nipples brushed against the soft, though slightly worn cotton fabric of his shirt. The sensation was heady and overwhelming, barely on this side of just enough. Your moan was clumsy and unabashed when it fled past your parted lips. 

Jake sneered at the noise, lip curled in what you knew to be feigned disgust when he spoke to you. “You can’t even help yourself can you, little one?”

His hand pressed against your lower back, forcing you closer against him, and the same pleasure rocketed through you as your sensitive skin connected with his clothing once more. Your hips resumed their previous rhythm, thighs tightening around Jake’s own to attempt to assert some semblance of control over the erratic movements of your body.

“N-no, Lieutenant,” you panted, stammering through the syllables. 

You might’ve had enough shame to be embarrassed by your own whimpering, if Jake hadn’t started to flex and tense the thigh you were currently rutting against within an inch of your life. 

“Well, go on then, take what you need.”

Despite the fact that you had a slight height advantage from being seated in his lap, Jake was practically scowling at you in a way that made you feel deliciously small. He sat back in the reclined driver’s seat almost lazily, short of the tension he was maintaining in his leg for your benefit. But even as you moved, you didn’t have nearly enough space, and you were sure you’d have bruises from where you’d leaned back against the steering wheel. The whine you released was downright guttural — part need, part exasperation. You hadn’t even realized you’d shut your eyes until you had to open them to look down at Jake, when he let out a downright cruel chuckle. He already knew.

“What’s the matter, hm?” Both of his hands rested at the top of your legs, squeezing the supple flesh where your hips met your thighs — one of his favorite places to feel you. He used the hold to still you. “Use your words or you get nothing.” 

“Need you, please,” you practically chanted, your aching muscles propelling you against reason, struggling against Jake’s hold. “Need you s’bad.”

Your words were practically slurring, but you didn’t care. In preparation for tonight, you and Jake had abstained for a little while, so you were already well past ‘overstimulated.’

“Didn’t I tell you to take what you need?” A large palm closed around your throat, applying only nominal pressure — just enough to focus you — before he continued. “So why aren’t you? Don’t you wanna be good for me?” 

The smirk rested upon his lips told you that Jake knew exactly what your problem was; he just reveled in hearing you say it.

“Not enough,” you whined when he eased the pressure, thighs tightening in their positions bracketed around him. “Need you to fuck me, Lieutenant.” 

“Sweetheart,” he purred, head lowering to drop teasingly delicate kisses along the line of your shoulder. You didn’t miss the way he shifted beneath you, as much as your weight would allow. His slacks were drawn so tightly across his body, you were fairly certain that if you’d had the presence of mind to look down, you’d have seen his cock twitch. “You hardly know me. Plus, there’s not nearly enough room in this car.”

You knew what he was getting at, knew how desperately he practically daydreamed about fucking you bent over the back of his car — outside, where any and everyone could hear and see you. It was why you’d gone to a bar just outside of your normal stomping grounds. You were less likely to run into anyone you knew, and it felt like a fair but necessary compromise to allow your husband to live out his fantasy. Except now he wanted you to beg for it. 

“Please, Lieutenant, please,” you babbled, remembering to lean in to the role you were meant to be playing. “I, I don’t normally do this either, but please. I don’t even care if, if…”

Your pleading was clumsy, but if Jake had noticed, he hadn’t commented on it. Instead, he’d opened the car door on his side and ordered you to get out. When you reached for your shirt, to guard against the late night chill, he delivered a sharp smack against your cheek. It was a limit you’d previously agreed upon, but what you hadn’t expected was the primal way you moaned in response.

God, you were his. You were so fucking his. 

He got out of the car once you were steady on your feet, and before you could reach for him, he’d spun you around, pressing into you until you were bent over the trunk of the car you’d rented for your little expedition. Your eyes skimmed the parking lot — not crowded but certainly not empty, either. The perfect amount of risk.

“Color, sweetheart,” he said softly, teeth grazing the shell of your ear.

“Green, bright fucking green,” the words hissed through gritted teeth, as you struggled to push back against his hips. The erection currently straining behind his jeans felt like a fucking punishment. You’d do anything to see him, get your hands on him, and — 

“Wrists,” he barked, clearly settling right back into character.

“Is that an order, Lieutenant?” 

You knew Jake loved that you could dish it as well as you could take it, but the sharp smack he delivered your ass let you know that Lieutenant Seresin was not a fan. You yelped, upper half pressing closer into the car. Your nipples went taut against the metal, practically stinging from how cold it was. You couldn’t decide if the sensation was too much or not enough, before Jake was repeating himself — something he hated to do.

“I said wrists.”

“But Lieutenant, what if someone sees us?” You were probably laying it on thick, and while you knew Jake was too far gone to make fun of you for it, you wanted to hear the delirium creep into his voice; to know how absolutely fucking wrecked he was, and how very much your doing it was. Because while you were very much his, he was also very much yours. 

You heard the familiar sound of his belt and zipper, and then he was shoving up your skirt and using your own weight against you to press you tighter against the car. The anticipation was as delicious as it was agonizing. You wriggled your hips, just to do something, just to tease, and then — 

Jake groaned behind you as he began slowly splitting you open, pressing into you at a rate that was dizzying — both too soon and not quick enough; you couldn’t decide if you wanted more or less. The promise of that frenzied push and pull of him inside of you, hips stuttering with need. You were insatiable for what you already had. One of his palms collected both of your wrists in his grasp, pinning them together at the base of your back; the newfound tension in your shoulders, as infuriating as it was, only worsened the ache that resided deep in your belly. With his other hand now carefully coiled around the nape of your neck, Jake pressed your cheek against the back of the car with so much force, you struggled to keep your toes pressed into the pavement for balance. Even the brush of your bunched skirt at the top of your hips felt like too much; you were an exposed nerve, you felt turned inside out from the intensity of the pleasure licking up through your insides like flames.

And you were babbling, a short chorus of “oh fuck”’s and “right there”’s, when Jake finally spoke again: “Look at you, takin’ me s’good. Wish you could see, doll. Y’look like a fuckin’ dream.” 

Jake would’ve sounded sleazy if he was anybody else, accent pouring out thick over words practically hissed out through gritted teeth — but he was so fuckin’ smooth. You wanted to rile him up, too, to beat him at his own game, when you heard noise coming from the far side of the parking lot. For a moment, Jake stuttered behind you; clearly not expecting the sound, either. It was the brief pause in his movements that allowed your mind mere moments to clear, to process, to fight through the haze. Above, or perhaps through the sound of your husband’s soft pants, you could hear two people chatting quietly; they’d likely stepped out of the bar for a smoke.  

“Wh-what if they hear us?” You managed to mumble convincingly, though you were delighted by the thought, as was evident by the shiver racking your body. 

“Let them.” The words were a near snarl, sending more hot, unrelenting waves of ecstasy coursing through you. Your upper half sagged against the back of the car, mouth fallen open in a silent expression of pleasure. 

Behind you, Jake released his hold the nape of your neck, only for his fingers to twist in your hair to wrench your body upright. “Didn’t I just say let them hear you?” 

“S-sorry, Lieutenant,” you practically wailed, the sound unfiltered and needy — you knew what was coming next, and apparently so did Jake. Immediately, you felt a warm palm smothering your lips, to stifle the second, much louder noise that left your mouth as the knots coiled up within you finally snapped and unwound, and the orgasm rocketed through you. Your vision went white, and all sound faded away. Vaguely, you were aware of Jake, your Jake behind you, and the soft, slightly strangled noise he made when he finished, but you were too busy loitering in that in between feeling, part floating back down to your body, part tingling all over.

When the ringing in your ears subsided and you felt like you could finally hold your eyes open, you clued into Jake’s voice, whispering your name hurriedly. You could hear the sound of his zipper, the buckle of his belt, he was rushing. And then he was spinning you around, eyes searching your expression worriedly while he busied himself with fixing your skirt. It was then that you realized you were crying, or you had been, fat tears dribbling down your face as you sagged against the car.

With his shirt wrinkled and the flush of a fresh orgasm, Jake looked absolutely stunning, even in the low light — and you hated him for it. He framed your face in his hands, both thumbs capturing the stray tears as he heaved out a sigh. 

“You went so quiet on me,” he mumbled out softly, “I thought, I…”

You could only shake your head, then gripping both sides of his shirt to drag his warm frame toward you. His arms encircled you almost immediately, one palm smoothing up and down the length of your back while the other cradled the back of your head, where you were curled into your chest. You weren’t sure how long you remained that way, wrapped in his embrace, but it felt like centuries later that he broached the silence again. 

“So, I don’t know how much they saw, but those people from earlier definitely saw something. I think we should get going, babe.” In response to this, you whined and pressed tighter against your husband, your bare chest pressing against his, as if you could somehow get any closer. At this, he only chuckled, freeing a hand to open the back door to the car. It was a little awkward for him to move and bend, with you wrapped around him for dear life, but his hand reappeared a moment later with the sweatshirt he’d stashed back there for you. Before Jake had even gotten to work pulling the cotton material over your head, you knew it would smell of his cologne. 

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he said softly, his expression downright fond. Even as his arms dropped from you, his hand found yours almost instantly, to lead you to the passenger’s side of the car.

“Bath time?” you questioned, finally finding your voice again. 

“Bath time,” he repeated with a smile, dropping a kiss on the top of your head as he helped you settle into your seat. 

[bradshawsbitch]

whiskey sour | bradley bradshaw x f!reader

disclaimer: this fic is my contribution to @callsign-phoenix 's 1K celebration! I had the prompt 'bradley sour' and figured I'd give a little slow burn fic a whirl! fun fact, I used to bartend - and my absolute favourite drink to make and devour was whiskey sours.

warnings: afab!reader, fem!reader, no use of y/n, pet names, slow burn, naval inaccuracies, bradley being a lil sad, mentions of alcohol - consuming and making alcoholic beverages.

description: you bartend at the hard deck to bradley's great content, until you don't anymore.

tagging: @roosterforme @theharddeck @mak-32 @hangmanbrainrot

word count: ~4K.

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“Pour 2 oz of whiskey or bourbon in to a shaker,”

It had been closer to 10 years now. 10 years of snippets of life shared with one of the best people you’d ever had the luck to meet. The first time your paths crossed, was your first shift as a bartender at the Hard Deck. A young man, who didn’t quite possess the confident stance he held nowadays, with a form that was a little slimmer, and a clean shaven face, walked into the bar. The first time you laid eyes on Bradley Bradshaw was when he was first called to Top Gun, when he was only in his twenties.

He’d approached the bar on a slow day, and his hesitant way of asking for something to drink almost had you asking him for his ID. He’d been a bit unsure as you asked if he’d like a beer that you’d seen his mates getting earlier. Bradley had furrowed his brow, gently rubbing the tip of his nose, (something you now knew was a tell that he was hesitant or nervous) and he looked almost resolved to reluctantly telling you yes before you cut him off.

“Or, I could make you something else. Something a bit tastier than beer,” honestly, to this day, you’ll never know why you wanted to put him at ease. Why you wanted to please him, why you’d rather see a smile on his handsome face than a frown.

“Make me something else? You mean like a drink?” there was hesitance laced within those words. A small smirk was tugging on the corners of your lips, you were quite sure he was hesitant about bringing a drink back to his pals - afraid your version of a drink might hold a tiny umbrella and tonnes of fruit.

“Not to worry, sailor. I’ll make you something very classy. Manly, if you will,” he chuckled at your joke, feeling his shoulders relax a bit as you smiled at him. He didn’t correct you that time, and it took you quite a while to tell the difference between sailors, aviators and other personnel. 

“What did you have in mind?” His voice was so soothing. A hint of a rasp, his tenor enticing you entirely. Before a flush of warmth could overtake your body you replied steadily;

“A whiskey sour of course. It’s sort of my specialty,” he nodded, smiling softly at you in affirmation of your choice, though he later told you he’d never had one before, but he didn’t want to tell you because he figured he’d embarrassed himself enough already. 

“Add lemon juice to the shaker,”

That first whiskey sour had Bradley’s amber eyes widening, twinkling in delight at the taste. Your eager smile urged him to tell you how good it was, and how he appreciated you taking the time to make him one.

Approximately a week later he had come back, bashfully asking you to make “that drink” again, because he’d forgotten the name. You’d smiled broadly, and he’d backtracked a little saying he didn’t expect you to remember his order, the tips of his ears turning red. Reassuring him, you told him the name of the drink before making it a second time, out of many more to come. 

Those weeks that Bradley was stationed in San Diego for Top Gun were some of your best in your twenties. Bradley had invited you to various beach hang outs with his friends, and the two of you formed a close friendship. You were the first one his eyes sought out as he entered the Hard Deck, every time he had the fortune to stroll inside. 

“Add simple syrup to taste,”

When Bradley at long last was ordered to be stationed elsewhere, he visited you one last time, and you could hardly keep your tears at bay as he entered, saying that he’d be ordering his last whiskey sour from you for some time, his khaki uniform making him look rather handsome, his button-up short sleeved top hanging off his shoulders, the sleeves moving as he tipped the tumbler you’d placed in front of him to his plump lips. 

“I’ll miss you, Bradley,” you’d confessed bashfully, and his wide smile had momentarily rendered you breathless.

“I’ll miss you too, sugar. I hope I’ll be able to come back soon to enjoy more of these,” he replied, smiling softly at you. 

As it was, Bradley wouldn’t come back soon. It would be two years before he entered the Hard Deck again. 

Truthfully, he half expected to see a random stranger behind his favorite bar. After all, he wouldn’t expect you to hang around for him or anyone else - surely you’d moved on to become something else, or took your bartending skills elsewhere. But to his great delight, as he opened the door to the bar, he could see your form behind the bartop. You were busy talking to a woman with black hair, polishing a glass with a rag before hanging it above your head. He smiled at the sight, warmth filling his stomach at the sight of you. You’d changed your hair color, and he couldn’t help but miss your original one - even though you looked beautiful either way. 

As he took in your form, you looked up as the door closed behind him. Your beautiful face lit up with joy as you saw him, eyes filled with surprise and relief. It made Roosters' heart stutter, the way you lit up when you saw him. He hadn’t had anyone looking at him like that for many years.

“Rooster!” you were already leaning against the bartop, reaching for a shaker and a bottle of bourbon you knew he preferred his sours based on. You’d used Bradley to perfect your drink, and switched it up every so often to pick up what he preferred. 

“Sugar,” he sighed happily, leaning against the bartop, drinking in your happy demeanor. “I’m very glad to find you here,” he confessed with that raspy tenor that you had missed so much. 

“Where else would I be?” you smiled at him as you worked “I won’t be shipped out anytime soon,” Bradley chuckled at your joke, only feeling the slightest sting of hurt somewhere deep in his chest at your comment. 

“You look good, sugar,” Bradley murmured, leaning closer to you over the bartop. Your movements stuttered momentarily, before you picked up a scoop of ice to add to the shaker. As you poured his drink over ice in a tumbler in silence, he wondered if he had overstepped some invisible boundary after not having seen you for 752 days.

“You’ve grown a mustache,” you replied, motioning to the sparse hair that he’d tried to grow out for a few months now. He chuckled and nodded “Quite right,” as you added some finishing touches; he soon held the tumbler in his hands, a sigh of contentment slipping past his lips as he tasted the perfect balance of sweet, sour and bourbon. 

“Sugar, no one makes these like you. They taste awful in Lemoore,” he wrinkled his nose as he recalled a time he’d been out with his squadron in a pub off base, your face had popped up in his inebriated mind, and he’d found that he missed you, your conversations, and your delicious drinks. He’d ordered one in hopes of being enveloped by that comforting, warm and fuzzy feelings your drinks filled him with. However, he’d been met with a drink that had far too much sour in it, and the usage of a cheap whiskey had further made the drink taste like a cold shower more than the comfort he so yearned for. 

That one night was the only Bradley could spare you before he disappeared again, leaving you at the Hard Deck to prepare drinks for other patrons. None of them invoking the feelings Bradley did in you. 

“Carefully separate yolk and eggwhite, before adding the white to the shaker,”

Another 3 years passed. You’d entered a relationship during that time, though you were quite certain it wouldn’t last too long. You’d been enamored by their wit and easy-going nature - but as the relationship progressed, it had gotten increasingly obvious that this person had never had to lift a finger for themselves in their life. Which would be fine, if they did not expect you to do their every bidding. The pressure of constantly being at the beck and call of a partner, the pressure of making sure groceries were bought, the apartment cleaned, clothes washed and presents bought for friends and family, making sure rent was paid on time by working long hours at the Hard Deck - you were at the end of your rope. 

Sometimes your thoughts would linger on the memories of Bradley. His lovely tenor, his easy manners and his natural charm. You missed seeing the bashful face that you had first encountered five years ago. And as you ended your short lived relationship, you couldn’t help but think of amber eyes.

“Dry shake the ingredients to work up a nice foam,”

Bradley wouldn’t exactly say he was especially lonely. He had friends that he loved to hang out with, his co-workers had at this point in time formed a tight knit squadron that had each other’s back at any point in time. He thrived in their company, feeding off of the energy of their happy smiles at his jokes and their general existence. However, when he closed the door to his dorm it all stopped. He was reminded that at the end of the day, he was awfully alone. No one to call if he had a rough day, no one to call for advice.

It made Bradley reflect upon the past couple of years, his fingers running slowly through his short curls. Sadly enough, there had only been one constant, one person who always greeted him with glittering eyes and a sunny smile. Always happy to see him, always ready with that shaker, already knowing what he was going to order. She always asked how he’d been, and genuinely seemed relieved to see him alive any time he walked into the Hard Deck. It always made him feel fuzzy and warm, but perhaps that was the liquor she supplied him. He hadn’t seen her in about four years now. Which meant that the first time he met her would be about six years ago. Furrowing his brows, he sat up straighter. It couldn’t have been six years already. And Bradley had never worked up the courage to ask her for her number, ask her on a date, or even ask if she wanted to grab a coffee just as friends outside of the Hard Deck. He felt ashamed. Why had he never thought to ask for your number? He was determined to get it, as he was about to be shipped off to San Diego for a brief period of time. 

Bradley’s feet had barely gotten used to the San Diego soil before he rushed towards the bar. What if you weren’t there? The heavy door of the Hard Deck swung open, and he frantically looked around, trying to locate you. And there you were, half turned away from him as you tried to reach to change a lightbulb that had gone out.

“Sugar,” he sighed out, relief washing through his entire being as he drank in your appearance. You’d changed just slightly, the softness of youth slowly leaving you, as it had him too. He’d spent more time in the gym lately, to keep his aging body fit for flight. His khaki uniform now strained against his chest slightly, and there was no longer any room for the sleeves to move much. As his whispered nickname reached your ears, he could see you turn, see your surprised look morphe into a look of shock, of wonder, and ultimately of the greatest joy he’d seen.

“Rooster!” you laughed, and Bradley almost felt like crying hearing that lovely sound accompanying his callsign. Before he knew what was happening, you had hurried towards him, throwing your arms around his neck and embracing him hard. He’d only received a handful of hugs from you before this, but it had been so long. So, so long since he’d inhaled your sweet scent, seen the light in your eyes, witnessed how they lit up, been so long since he’d felt your body pressed tight against his chest.

“Sugar,” he murmured again, holding you close against him, swaying slightly back and forth before releasing you. As he looked down at you, he watched as your eyes roamed over him, taking in his slightly changed form.

“Rooster, you–” you paused, frowning slightly “Where did my Rooster go?” you hadn’t meant to sound so sad, but gone was your lankier Rooster, hair a little darker and mustache a little thinner. Now he was… big. There was no other word for it. His physique was impeccable, and his facial hair had finally thickened just to his liking. He was more tanned, and his hair lighter. It took your breath away.

“I’m right here, Sugar, I promise” Bradley smiled softly, not wanting you to be sad, but completely understanding your confusion at seeing him after so long.

“Are… are you staying long?” the tinge of hope in your voice broke his heart, and he had to avert his gaze to the floor to avoid being hit with your disappointment. His hand reached up to rub at the tip of his nose, brows furrowed as he shook his head. 

“Afraid not,” he replied solemnly, looking into your eyes again. He was surprised to find them soft, with an unreadable emotion swirling in their depths. 

“Well then, I better start on that whiskey sour then?” you smiled, softly letting your fingers grace against his, gingerly grabbing ahold of two of his fingers to lead him to the bar. 

Bradley smiled as he watched you flurry around the bar, hands instinctively grabbing bottles without looking at them - confident in your having sorted the bottles at the start of your shift, knowing where you’d put everything as you prepped, making sure it was all mise en place. You talked as you crafted his drink, telling him stories of what he’d missed in San Diego whilst he was gone. Bradley in turn updated you on his life as the evening came. After a couple of drinks, Rooster was enveloped in that warm fuzzy feeling that he had first gotten the moment your arms had enveloped his neck. He never wanted to leave this bar. Never wanted to leave you again. 

“Sugar,” he mumbled as he noticed the time on his watch. 

“Duty calls?” you replied sadly, offering him a weak smile as he rose. Should he ask you? Was it stupid of him to think you’d want to keep in touch with him as he was stationed elsewhere? Were you committed to someone else? Surely you were. But as he took in the sadness in your eyes, he noticed that one unreadable emotion again. He figured he had to try to hop off the perch.

“Could I… I mean, I miss you when I’m not here. And, well– if you wouldn’t mind of course,” fuck, he was rambling - but as he chanced a glance at your face, he saw nothing but softness, you didn’t seem annoyed, didn’t seem to mind that he was fumbling his words - as he paused, you smiled one of your comforting smiles and he soldiered on “Could I maybe have your number?” He finally managed to breathe out. The enormous grin that broke out on your face was almost reward enough for him, but as you scribbled your number on a piece of paper and gave it to him, he swore he could dance with joy.

“Can I give you a hug before you go, Bradley?” you whispered, and you blinked quickly to get rid of the burning sensation in your eyes. Roosters’ heart leapt, not only at the fact that you wanted to see him off with a hug, but also how his name rolled off of your lips so beautifully. His name. Not Rooster. Bradley. His heart clenched painfully in his chest, it had been a while since his name had been said with such care.

“Of course, Sugar. C’mere,” he murmured, opening his arms to envelop you in a long embrace, lips gently resting at the top of your head as he inhaled your sweet scent. And then he was gone. Again. This time hurt more than the others, you noted, as the dull ache of seeing Bradley leave again started up deep within your chest. 

“When you’ve worked up a nice foam, add ice to the shaker and shake again”

The four years that passed since that exchange went by a little easier, perhaps because now you and Rooster texted, called and facetimed another. Not as frequently as you would like, but you understood that Rooster was busy advancing in his career, going on long missions where he didn’t have or wasn’t allowed cell service. He checked in with you when he could, and you made a point of only speaking of the good parts in your life. The funny stuff that happened at the Hard Deck, the new drink recipe you tried. You didn’t mention that you’d saved up enough to try your hand at an education, how tired you were all the time as your days were filled with lectures, seminars and studying - nights filled with drunk aviators and sailors, and somewhere in between you’d find some time to sleep.

As the tenth anniversary of meeting Rooster was coming up, you had finally graduated, and you were now three weeks away from leaving the Hard Deck to pursue the job of your dreams. You’d been thrilled that you’d found a position in San Diego, near the apartment you rented. Rooster had MIA from your texts for a while, and you figured that maybe he didn’t care too much for his bartender anymore. Perhaps he had finally found a better whiskey sour. 

As you cut up limes and lemons, preparing for the Friday night ahead, Penny approached you with a smile, carrying a large box of new beers. 

“Oh, is that the new IPAs?” you questioned with a smile, and Penny nodded in affirmative, “I’ve got them Pen, you’ve been working since this morning. Go take a break,” Penny gave you a thankful smile, before patting your shoulder affectionately and making her way out back. 

As Penny left, you heard the front door open. Shit, usually the aviators and sailors were literate, and heeded the sign of the door that held your open hours. 

“Hey, I’m sorry we haven’t opened yet,” you started, not looking away from your cutting board as you heard feet shuffle against the wooden floors.

“Not even for me, Sugar?” eyes snapping up, jaw slacking, you took in the form of Rooster. If it was possible, he’d gotten even broader. His jawline harder and sharper, arms and shoulder filling a hawaiian print button-up so nicely your breath hitched in your throat. It had been so long. You’d wanted him for so long. You weren’t sure you could handle him leaving you right away again. You wanted time. Time to spend with him. Tears burned in your eyes as you took in his form, and you could tell he felt slightly alarmed not to be greeted with your usual happiness. Wiping your tears, you plastered a grin onto your lips as his callsign rolled off your lips in a sigh. 

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Bradley murmured as you walked into his embrace, relaxing against his chest and reveling in his scent. A short laugh shook your frame as you looked up at him with a small smile.

“Yeah, well - it might well be the last time you walk in here to see me behind the bar,” you shrugged, and Bradley stiffened in your arms, his eyes widening. “No,” he whispered, anguished almost that the only constant in his adult life would be leaving him. “You’re not leaving?” he asked, forgoing adding ‘me’ at the end of the sentence.Your soft smile didn’t placate him as it usually did, and he only found comfort as your palm rose to cradle his scarred cheek. 

“I’m afraid so, Rooster.” you confirmed “I’ve been working towards a degree, and I graduated a while back. I’ve got three weeks left at the Hard Deck before I start my dream job,” Bradley’s head was spinning. How did he not know this? Sure, he had your number but you’d only told him of the fun shenanigans that you got up to at the bar. That was when it hit him that he never asked. He never asked for anything else. He wanted to cry and scream, pull his hair and kick himself hard. Why would he take your presence here for granted? 

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d graduated? Sugar… I’m sorry I didn’t make it,” he was so confused, he barely knew what he was saying. He was spiraling, thoughts of how lonely he’d be after training at Top Gun again if you weren’t here spinning endlessly in his mind.

You were silent, taking in the haunted look that shone in Bradley’s amber eyes. A look you hadn’t seen before, and one you were sure you never wanted to see again.

“Bradley, I’m- I’m sorry,” you didn’t know what for, but it seemed to rouse Rooster “No, sweetheart… sugar, no. I just,” he trailed off. You smiled at his rambling, and noticed he’d reached up to rub his nose again - that got a giggle out of you and Rooster furrowed his brows before a small smile tugged on the corner of his lips. 

“I’m not leaving you, Rooster,” you clarified “Couldn’t get rid of me if you tried,” you added “Now, will you be leaving me tomorrow?” your voice had gone almost hard, as if steeling yourself for the answer. Bradley shook his head. 

“Nope. Stationed here for at least a month to train for a mission,” a gasp threatened to fly past your lips at the revelation. He’d be here. For four weeks. That’s the longest he’d stayed since that first time ten years ago. 

“Well, then you’ll catch my last day,” you smiled at him, leaning in closer to him. 

“Can I kiss you?” Bradley blurted out as your thumb had started to gently caress his cheeks, that warm, fuzzy feeling overcoming him again. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t figured out that that feeling hadn’t come from the liquor you were serving him, it was just you. 

“I’ve only been waiting ten years,” you smiled, clutching his shirt between your other hand. Bradley chuckled, his face inching closer to yours, his breath fanning over your face before his warm lips connected with yours. He felt like home, warm, inviting, comforting. Bradley sighed in content, tightening his hold on you, not wanting to let you go just yet.  

“And serve over ice.”

[redfurrycat]

🚀🤖Pacific Rim and Top Gun (AU)🤖🚀

Tom Iceman Kazansky, Commander of the Pacific Fleet, the military branch of the Pan Pacific Defense Corps, brings back to the Miramar Shatterdome the former Jaeger pilot Pete Maverick Mitchell to teach the new Rangers how to become better Jaeger pilots as well as to combat the Kaiju.

He’s the last known Jaeger pilot alive to have defeated three kaiju, despite the fact he was piloting his Jaeger alone – his former co-pilot Nick Goose Bradshaw had died during a previous simulation exercise leaving Mav without a compatible match, though it didn’t deter Mav from piloting his Jaeger alone to save another Jaeger team – Ron Slider Kerner & Tom Iceman Kazansky...

However, the successful rescue (followed by Iceman’s declaration of undying love and admiration for him – ‘Shut up, Ron! It’s not true!’ had said an unnaturally flustered Ice after Mav and Ice’s wingmen hug moment) left Maverick with severe neurological injuries including phantom memories from Goose as he died while they were still connected to each other.

It’s like having a piece of someone within your body and soul, only that this person is no longer alive, and it could be quite traumatic for somebody new to attempt a drift connection with one-and-a-half person. (Partly why Maverick was shut out from the Jaeger program, that and his famously known chaotic nature, of course.)

Because to able to pilot a Jaeger, you have to share what is known as a drift compatibility with your co-pilot. Drifting requires the pilots to share their memories, instinct and emotions with each other, and it allows them to act as one consciousness and control the very movement of the Jaeger itself, each pilot controlling one hemisphere. While drifting, pilots need to keep their mind clear of all thoughts [psspss like the ‘no mind’ from The Last Samurai! 👼🏻] to avoid R.A.B.I.T – the following of a memory to the point of losing the focus you need to control the Jaeger. As such, drift compatibility is a potential that exists between two people, that is usually determined through sparring exercises in the Kwoon Combat Room, the point is not to beat your opponent but whether or not you’re able to work in sync with each other. {Source: the Pacific Rim Fandom Page about Drift}

Twelve new Rangers are called back to the Miramar Shatterdome, under the command of Marshal Beau Cyclone Simpson. Most of them are already paired up in a Jaeger.

However, Maverick wants to try some out-of-the-box thinking by changing the designated pair of each Jaeger.  "Because –says Mav reading from a stack of disorganized papers, in front of Cyclone, Warlock, and Iceman– according to research, the Kaiju are sentient beings very much capable of in-depth reasoning, something they weren’t to do before, and, as such, I feel the need, the need to change some shit up to try throwing them off."

Thus begin the tests for new drift-compatible partners…

Before:

The Crimson Typhoon team – Bob, Phoenix, Rooster.

The Striker Eureka team – Coyote & Hangman.

The Gipsy Danger team – Fanboy & Payback.

The Cherno Alpha team – Fritz & Halo.

The Guardian Bravo team – Harvard, Omaha & Yale.

After:

The Striker Eureka team – Rooster & Hangman.

The Bracer Phoenix team – Fritz & Phoenix.

The Gipsy Danger team – Halo, Payback & Yale.

The Crimson Typhoon team – Bob, Fanboy & Omaha.

The Coyote Tango team – Coyote & Harvard.

The Cherno Alpha team – Iceman & Mav. [Even though it's super risky for the two of them, they’ll pilot one last time, and for the first time together, to help assist and rescue the Jaegers teams sent to drop a bomb to close the Breach, cutting the passage between the Earth and the Kaiju homeworld, once and for all.]

Let’s just say that the changes are not smooth for every pilot. Some get to stay in the Jaeger they’ve known all along, others don’t (let’s say some neural handshakes allowing the drifting function better in a particular Jaeger with a particular pair).

Rooster, for instance, used to be in a three-neural-handshake, and now must share with only one person, the –absolutely "despicable"– flawless Hangman. And Hangman is a bit frustrated ‘cause he used to be the best with his Coyote bro…and now feels like falling behind because of Rooster. So, he may or may not be overly provocative with his new co-pilot who thinks too much and follows the R.A.B.I.T every time he drifts with Hangman. [Nevertheless, before Rooster spirals out of control, there is a very strong neural handshake, the strongest ever registered. They just need to sort their shit out first.]

Bonus Hangster Conversation

(inspired by my beloved Chaleigh babes' stellar conversation in the movie)

Hangman: So you're the guy, eh Rooster? You're the guy who's going to be my new co-pilot?

Rooster: Yeah, Hangman. That's the plan.

Hangman: Good. Good. So, remind me again. When was the last time you jockeyed, Brad?

Rooster: You know very well it was three months ago with Tasha and Bobby…’Cause you were there!

Hangman: Colour me shocked with the way you weren’t able to stop following the R.A.B.I.T earlier…Looked like you were a Jaeger groupie just given the opportunity to pilot a Jaeger for the first time of his life. You’re a Ranger, act like one!

Rooster: Excuse-me for taking the time to feel the new Jaeger and my new co-pilot! It’s easy for you to say! Let me reorganize my feathers or something before jumping into it!

Hangman: Oh, wow, that's great. I mean, that's really useful. We get into a fight, you can build our way out of it with wings, as we won’t move a single hair of our Jaeger, eh, Brad?

Rooster: It's Bradley.

Hangman: Whatever. Look, I know you’re Commander Kazansky and Ranger Mitchell’s golden goose, but to me, so far, you're dead weight. You slow me down, I'm gonna drop you like a sack of Kaiju shit. *fingers guns and winking combo followed by dramatic exit*

[izayoizuki]

Close To Water

Hi hi y'all!!! This was written for Sophie, the one and only @callsign-phoenix , in celebration of her 1k followers! You're the dearest of hearts my love, a writer who gets better with every word, and I adore you to bits 💖 I wish 2023 is a joy for you ❣️ I hope you like this 💕

Drink: Sex On The Beach

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x F!Reader

Tags & Warnings: 18+, smut, pwp, p in v sex, fingering, dirty talk, ear kisses, spitting (if you squint), unprotected sex, no specified race/physical descriptors for Reader

*********************

The tide churned and chopped in a tattoo against the breakwater, and you held the cold glass against your skin with one hand, letting the condensate roll drops down skin, your book in the other. The Mississippi was in a dry spell, Kenny Rogers on the antique vitriola somewhere down the street, set up high to a sound that was rich and tinny at the same time. The air buzzed with a dazed sort of energy, the breeze itself languishing, desultory. All of your attention, however, was focused on the way the sun was drowning into the water, and under your breath you couldn't help but recite a few lines from a poem you thought you'd long forgotten: "it will flame out/like shining from shook foil". The drip of your drink's sweat followed a path that was oft-visited by one other, and your nipples tightened at the mere thought of him, letting the drop bead off the peak, under your slip of a dress, even as your belly flip flopped and warmth spread through your core, clenching in anticipation. Your half-heartedly noted the page of your copy of Pride and Prejudice; it was a true favourite of yours, but too- you groped for an adequate word- too pastel for a night such as this. A night heavy with the weight of its own air, rich and heady, calling out for dark on dark, blood and peaches and myrrh, sinuous, sultry. Decadent. You dug your fingers into the sand, rough and soft at the same time, a cat's tongue, and held up a fistful of it, letting it slowly run through your clenched palm, a makeshift hourglass.

"So you're familiar with two sins," a rumble of a voice rasped deep in your ear, "how about a third?" You felt the question more than you heard it, and a shiver shot through your spine, juddering your body from head to toe. You turned your head halfway, nuzzling into the face at the crook of your neck, your eyes closing in sheer bliss at the friction of the stubble against your cheek. The lips laid softly on your cheek, mouthing at the proffered flesh. "Missed you, darlin'," he whispered against your skin, before settling down behind you on the blanket, slotting you between his legs.

"Missed you more," you breathed, and were rewarded with a deep chuckle. He ran his fingertips against your skin, starting fingertips to fingertips, up your arm, down the side of your neck, down down till he was dragging your neckline down alongwith, past the top of the swell of your breast till he landed unerringly at a nipple. He used a nail to give it a flick and you stopped breathing as slick gushed between your legs.

"Dreamt of you every night." He confessed, his lips at the shell of your ear, his nail giving your nipple another flick.

"I felt like I couldn't breathe without you." A confession for a confession, and he hummed into your ear and your whole body pushed into him, winding itself, a reward for the raw truth.

He pushed his hand underneath your dress, under the abused neckline, his arm banding between the valley of your breasts inerrantly to your core. His fingers found only you there, unbound from any cloth barriers, and he hummed again in approval. "All for me darlin'? Bein' such a good girl for me?" Your body arched at the dual stimulation, and you nodded fiercely. He licked a kiss into your ear as his fingers leisurely explored your folds, and you brought his other hand up with both of yours, drawing his digits into your mouth with a whimper, giving them a chaste kiss before sucking them into your mouth, drawing out a deep groan from him to match the one you let out at the taste of his skin. Without warning he plunged two fingers into you, curling them just so, the heel of his palm against your clit, as he began a a torturously slow rhythm, that made up what it lacked in speed and force with precision and pressure. Your breath caught in your throat at the onslaught, eyes rolling to the stars that were coming to play out in the darkening sky. The tide was gentling but still incessant, the metronome to your man inside of you. At that thought, the fact that your man had come back home, come back to you, had you coming onto his thick, blunt, calloused fingers, your walls hugging them into you, trying to take them deeper, deeper, deeper, and your mouth echoed this with your other hand, tears leaking from your eyes, falling back into your hairline, as the waves within your body and out alternated through your senses. His fingers were unceasing throughout, wringing out sensation upon sensation and you didn't know if this was one long orgasm or many and you couldn't bring yourself to make a distinction. The overstimulation of being surrounded and filled by Robert had your vision going white at the sheer pleasure, and you felt your soul float away.

When you came back to the positions were changed; you were at on your back, and where Robert had been behind you, he was now in front, or to be more accurate, on top. His jeans unsnapped just enough that his cock could stand heavy, red, angry, his shirt non-existent, and you could see the ridges and veins in his arms as he held himself above you his mouth open to yours as you both shared the same one breath. Your hands slid down his chest in wonderment before taking him in your hand, one cupping his balls, gently massaging, the other's nails running up his frenulum, featherlight, before teasing the little slit that was beading drops of precum. A string of spit reached out from his panting mouth to yours, an echo, and it was as if a starting shot had been fired into a race. His mouth came roughly down on yours, peaches and cherries and something darker, muskier, taking and giving with wild abandon as he bucked his hips out of your hands and into your folds. You accommodated him reflexively, winding your legs down his, grabbing handfuls of his ass, nails digging to leave marks and draw blood, your heels digging into his calves, before your toes ran up and down the length of his legs. He shifted his weight like a sleight of hand so that your knees were hooked over his elbows and he bent you in half as he slammed inside of you, pushing out all the air from both your lungs. Your whole body arched at the sensation and your arms flung themselves around his neck of your own volition, as he started a brutal bump and grind rhythm that stimulated every nerve ending you had, your walls fluttering and clenching around him like a vice. He growled against your ear with a lick, into your neck with a bite, into your mouth with a kiss, as his pace grew faster and faster, his hair falling into your face, every push into your rougher and edgier, and his mouth found your ear again, muttering deep and dark into your ear, mindless that his basest desires were spilling into you; repeated exhortations and praise; "that's it baby, that's it darlin', take it, take all of it, so deep, look, look, look at it disappear, look at this body, made for me, made for me princess, just for me, too big for you sweetheart, hmm? issok, issok, I'll make it fit, make it all better, come for me, come for me, come all around me, soak me, drench me, need you to come baby love, need you to come so I can fill you up, show you my love, have you dripping with me, that's it, that's my girl," on and on till you heard a wild keen before recognising that it was you, your wild voice, as you came, as your love followed you moments after, his voice something between a groan and a roar that had your whole body shuddering with adoration. 

He dropped his full weight on you, smothering your sweat-soaked and rapidly cooling body with his furnace-like one, his fingertips drawing barely there patterns on your skin as his tongue did the same with your ear. You pushed your hands in his hair, reveling in the feel of the soft strands with nothing in them but the seasalt air. "Welcome home, Mr. Floyd," you murmured.

He gave you a thorough, bruising kiss before he smiled. "And what a welcome that was, Mrs. Floyd."

[confetti-cakemix]

Bob: So... how'd y'all get your callsigns?

Phoenix: Well my dear sweet Bob, it's because I once had a perfect landing even though both my engines were on fire, and lived to tell the tale.

Bob: *whistles* Now that's pretty damn coo-

Y/N: *barely looking up from her book* It's cuz she cooked the Thanksgiving turkey in the oven so long one year that it burst into flames and she almost burnt down the kitchen.

Phoenix: *looks over to Y/N*

Y/N: *stares back*

Phoenix: Damn, I forgot you were here.

🔥🔥🔥

[callsign-phoenix]

Hello everyone! 💛✨

I just wanted to thank you for 1.5k followers!

I wanted to celebrate the event, and since you decided on me writing blurbs I have decided on 25 prompts to choose from.

The rules are extremely simple, you can tell me the character you’d like me to write for (Maverick/Iceman/Hangman/Bob/Rooster/Phoenix) and choose a prompt, and I’ll do the rest 💛✨

Thank you so much, again, I’ll cross a prompt off the list once it’s been chosen.

I love you lots! 💛✨

Angst prompts

- “Do you really think I’m happy?”

- “This isn’t you.” (Bob)

- “Tell me I’m wrong.”

- “Hey, I’m leaving for good. I’ll... see you around.”

- “Don’t touch me. Your skin is poisonous.” (Rooster)

Kissing prompts

- kissing in a stairwell, giving them an artificial height difference (Hangman)

- a hello/good-bye kiss that is given without thinking - where neither person thinks twice about it (Phoenix)

- one person tracing the other’s lips with a fingertip until they can’t resist any longer, tilting their chin towards them for a kiss (Hangman)

- staring at each other’s lips for a moment before moving closer, as if drawn together by some unseen force (Phoenix)

- one person has to bend down in order to kiss their partner, who is standing on their tip-toes to reach their partner’s lips (Rooster)

Physical affection prompts

- kissing the other’s brow (Rooster)

- accidentally knocking your head into someone’s chin (Iceman)

- back hugs (Rooster)

- touching foreheads

- putting a hand over the other’s mouth to shut them up (Phoenix)

Soft things in relationships prompts

- fixing each other’s collars and sleeves (Maverick)

- your s/o remembering small things you’ve said (Iceman)

- staring into each other’s eyes for a long time and not ever getting uncomfortable

- jumping unexpectedly on their back when they’re walking ahead of you (Rooster)

- hugs from behind while one is sitting down and the other is standing up so their arms cross upon your chest and their head rests on yours

Misc prompts

- “What did you hear?” (Phoenix)

- “[insert very specific insult meant as a pet name]”

- “Can I hug you?” (Bob)

- “You’re the only one I really want to be there” (Hangman)

- “Why are you staring at me like that?”

tagging some loves:

@starkleila @mayhem24-7forever @green-socks @letsfvckingdance @shadeds-library @yespolkadotkitty @whateverbagman @neptunes-curse @sweetheartlizzie07 @top-gun-rooster @iloveprettyboysblog @ateliefloresdaprimavera @imjess-themess @littlebadariell @angstyjellybean @marchingicenotes7 @midget713 @supernaturaldawning @gspenc @adorephina @gigisimsonmars @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @bespinnn @malindacath @aerangi @kassieesworld @kwanimations @18crazybutcutealsopsycho @marvelandotherfandomimagines @mavericksicybabe @kendra-rose @desert-fern @mavrellover91 @allivingstone01 @rhettabbotts @withakindheartx @trikigirl271 @cherrycola27 @footprintsinthesxnd @bonitanightmxres @ratcatcher2world @glowingtree @wingmanvenus

[writercole]

Enlightened

Summary: The heart wants what the heart wants. But sometimes, it needs a push to figure it out.

Squares: Denied Proposal @anyfandomangstbingo // Rejected Proposal @taylorswiftbingo // Picnic @anyfandomfluffbingo // Hurt/Comfort @supernatural-jackles TMAS bingo // Make Me Cringe @howbadcanitbebingo // @callsign-phoenix 500 Follower Challenge Words: 1485 Warnings: Few? Um. rejection, pining

A/N: I formally pre-apologize for what I’m about to do but I do fix it all in the same fic because I’ve tortured you guys a few times now with making you wait and I really need this to be a one-shot.

Tag lists are through. Please follow @coleslibrary and turn on notifications for updates.

Bob led his girlfriend, Laura, through the meadow, his fingers entwined with hers as he guided them to the picnic spot he’d set up. 

“Bob, where are we going?” she asked for the tenth time, her tone getting more and more impatient.

“We’re almost there, honey,” he cooed. He could see the picnic blanket spread under his favorite tree, the one he’d been running to since he was a kid. It was a special place for him; this would only be the second time he shared it with someone.

“I’m tired of walking,” she sighed.

Bob ignored her outburst, knowing that everything would be worth it and forgotten soon enough.  “Here we are,” he smiled as he pulled her in front of him, facing her towards the romantic date he’d planned with the help of his best friend, Y/N. 

“This is different,” Laura commented as she looked around, seeing her favorite flowers, her favorite champagne, her favorite fruits and vegetables and cheeses. 

“Mhmm,” he hummed, placing a kiss under her ear. “I wanted today to be special. Come on, let’s sit.”

They sat on the blanket and snacked, silence filling the space between them. Bob watched her closely, happy to be in his favorite spot with his girlfriend.

“Hey, Laura,” he said, slipping his hand into his pocket discreetly. “Did I ever tell you what was special about his place?”

“No,” she sighed again, facing him with a blank expression.

“It’s the one place I’ve always found peace. When I needed a break when I was a kid, I’d come here and just sit. Even now, as an adult, I come here when I need to think. But I find peace somewhere else. I find peace with you.” He pulled his hand out of his pocket before continuing. “You make me want to be a better person. I would run out of breath trying to describe all the ways I love you. I could call anywhere home as long as you’re with me. I love you, Laura. Will you marry me?” 

Bob held out his hand, a simple diamond ring laying in his palm. Laura was quiet, her face unreadable. The soft smile that had been etched on Bob’s face since he picked her up fell away. He closed his fingers around the ring and pulled his hand back, his heart shattering. He knew her answer.

“Bob, I’m really sorry,” she started.

“Don’t,” he interrupted, shaking his head. “I can’t believe I thought we were on the same page. I was so sure you’d say yes.” He started packing up the remaining food, trying to hide his pain by keeping his face down. “I can’t believe I shared my spot with you. Over a year of my life just…”

“I wish there was something I could say,” Laura whispered.

“Yeah, well, there’s nothing,” he snapped. 

“I just don’t see a future with you,” she continued.

Bob froze in his actions, hanging his head and squeezing his eyes shut, taking long, even breaths to calm himself. "So why stay as long as you did, Laura?"

"I thought…" she started, pausing when she needed to rethink her words. "I hoped that my instincts were wrong. The day that you approached me I saw it. The way you looked at Y/N. You've never looked at me that way. I just couldn't…I didn't want to be right. I didn't want to let you go."

"How did I look at her?" he whispered, confused and heartbroken.

"Like she's the first drop of rain in a drought, the first gasping breath after you wipe out. The one thing that can save you from dying." Laura's voice wavered and she shuffled, standing and resting her hand on his shoulder. "I do love you, Bob. But I can't compete with her."

Laura strode across the meadow, leaving Bob in his favorite spot, alone, grieving a love he thought was forever and wondering if that girl had been in front of him the whole time.

The clock struck midnight and Y/N rubbed her eyes, slipping the photo strip into her book as a placeholder. She stretched with a groan and stood from her spot in the living room, looking out of the window to see that it had started raining while she was engrossed in the story of childhood friends turned lovers. 

Her eyes lingered on the photo sticking out, her and Bob at the arcade, making ridiculous faces. The strip was wildly appropriate to use as a bookmark; she had been friends with Bob since they were in middle school, one of the only people to still call him Robby. Somewhere along the way, she fell in love with him, realizing it shortly after he got serious with Laura. 

He proposed to her. Y/N helped him plan everything. Laura was going to accept and she'd help plan the wedding and hide her broken heart as long as she could.

Y/N switched the lamp off and quietly walked towards her bedroom. As she stepped into the short hallway, a pounding sounded through her apartment. 

She froze in her spot, completely terrified. Should she try to get her phone and call 911? Call Robby? Check and see who it was?

Did she have a weapon? An escape route? 

Another knocking made her jump, her shoulders relaxing slightly when she heard a voice call through the closed door.

"It's Robby. Open up, I need to talk to you."

She breathed a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding, her head a little dizzy with relief. She rushed to the door and unlocked it, throwing it open to see her best friend standing in the rain, alone, the expression on his face unreadable.

"Robby, what are you doing? Get out of the rain," she insisted, gripping his forearm and pulling him inside. "You're soaked. Let me get you a towel."

Bob stared at the spot where her hand had been, turning his arm slightly. The spot she'd wrapped her fingers around was warm, tingling, where the rest of him was shivering from the fall rain. 

"Here, dry off," she said when she came back in, two towels in her hands. 

Bob lifted his head slowly and met her gaze, his lips parting as if seeing her for the first time. "She was right," he muttered with a scoff.

"Who was right? Robby, what's going on?"

"Laura said no," he told her quietly. 

 "What?!" she exclaimed. There was no way Laura turned him down. Everything was perfect. He was perfect.

"She said she didn't see a future with me," he continued, "that I wasn't as in love with her as I thought I was."

"That's ridiculous," Y/N scoffed as she unfolded a towel and started drying off his arms. He was obviously upset and hurt and needed her help.

"I thought so too, at first." His eyes never left her face as she patted the towel around his hands. "But she said that I was in love with someone else. And I still didn't believe it once she said it. I sat there for hours under that tree. Did you know it started raining about two hours ago?"

"It's been raining that long? I've been sucked into the latest story I'm reading. But back up," she said, "Laura thinks you're in love with someone else?"

"Yeah," he confirmed. "And she's right."

"She is? Who?"

Bob slipped his hand around her neck and pulled her close, his lips finding hers with a roughness borne from years of pent up longing and passion. His arm slipped around her waist, pulling her close, molding her body to his.

She melted against him, the rainwater seeping through her clothes ignored as she pressed herself against him, her arms wrapping around his neck. The towel dropped to the floor as Bob turned them, pressing her back against the wall and swiping his tongue across her bottom lip.

She moaned quietly as she parted her lips, allowing him to deepen the kiss. The heady sensation buckled her knees and her head spun, overwhelmed with the sensation of his chest pressed against hers, keeping her from falling to the floor.

The painful burning in their lungs forced them apart, their eyes fluttering open as their heaving breaths mingled in the miniscule space between their lips.

“I -” she started.

“Wow,” he interrupted with a whisper. 

“Please don’t be a dream,” she begged, “I can’t bear it if it’s just a dream.”

“It’s not a dream,” he promised as his hand cupped her cheek, “it’s real. It’s you. It’s always been you. I was just too stupid to see it.”

“Are you enlightened, then?” she teased as her fingers played with the ends of his hair, goosebumps erupting on his neck.

“I’m the wisest man on Earth,” he smirked as he dipped his head down, capturing her lips once again. 

[crinkled-emotions]

Day 22: Drawing a dick on someone's back in sunscreen (only for them to find out later)

This... damn, I had to take a breath.

Happy 2024 team! How crazy is it that we're in 2024?? It feels like yesterday my family hauled ass from one side of Australia to the other (it was actually 2013 but who's counting?).

We have some Daggers being Daggers! Lately I've been in a bit of a funk but I think I'm slowly coming out of it now :)

This one is shorter but I don't have a problem with that, I feel like it lowkey suits better.

-

“Tasha.”

Phoenix glanced at Bob over her sunglasses.

“What?”

“Don’t look now.”

“Look at what?”

She followed his gaze, spotting Rooster asleep on his lounger... on his stomach. Fanboy winked as he passed by, waving the sunscreen bottle in his hand. Phoenix cocked an eyebrow when Hangman and Coyote also started watching. To her surprise Maverick was also asleep; dogfight football had been off the table that morning but real football wasn’t. Turns out Hangman was of course the stereotypical high school quarterback but to everyone’s surprise Payback had been a linebacker... Rooster and Bob had both dropped out of football at their first opportunity (Bob was a consistent winner in debate club and Rooster played baseball all the way through his schooling years). Fanboy was a strong defender and Coyote was enjoying tackling Hangman when he had the opportunity. Phoenix was a soccer player throughout high school and she didn’t have the slightest interest in football despite having three brothers so when the others mentioned setting up a game she’d laid out with her book to watch them fall over each other. Bob had been snoozing on and off beside her for the last ten minutes, but apparently the others were done with their football to move on to another game.

It had been a long week on base; hops, simulations and lectures kept them all busy and often drained. Maverick did his best to keep morale up but he had things he had to complete and things he needed to ensure the Daggers were competent in to pass on to their classes. Their classes alone had been overwhelming with over-confident kids measuring their dicks at all times – no, seriously Bob was never walking into the locker rooms without knocking ever again.

In order to give the team a moment to recover, Maverick had suggested meeting at the beach by the Hard Deck in the afternoon for burgers. Of course it had quickly turned into sports and now everyone, fed and satisfied, had found various locations to get comfortable for a nap. It wasn’t just Rooster asleep; Payback and Maverick both were asleep and despite the smirk on his face, Hangman looked like he was considering his nap potential too. Bob and Phoenix exchanged looks, Phoenix passing over her book so Bob could subtly film what Fanboy was up to. Fanboy grinned, wiggling his fingers.

“Oh he’s totally gonna wake up,” Bob muttered. Phoenix elbowed him.

“No he’s not; Rooster sleeps like he’s dead, he’s not going anywhere.”

They watched as Fanboy drew a phallic symbol in sunblock on Rooster’s back, winking at the others as he then made a run for it. Plucking her book from Bob’s hand, Phoenix flopped back against her seat.

“Well, now we wait.”

-

Missed call from Rooster (7:14am)

Missed call from Rooster (7:15am)

Missed call from Rooster (7:15am)

Rooster: Tasha CALL ME

Phoenix woke to the notifications and immediately called Rooster, holding her phone to her ear as she got out of bed. Whilst she fumbled into clothes just in case it was that kind of emergency, he finally answered.

“Oh, so now you’re out of bed?”

“Are you okay? What’s wrong?” Phoenix demanded, shoving her (clean, relax) sock into her mouth so that she could do up the button on her jeans.

“I’m glad you’re so well rested, I got up early for PT and I just had them tell me the funniest thing ever.”

Phoenix paused. Spat out her sock.

“Bradley Bradshaw,” she started carefully, “please tell me you didn’t send me an SOS – on a Sunday of all days – to tell me about the PT you flirted with?”

“What- no! She was cute though... no, she asked me if I had a new tattoo and when I said I had no idea what she was talking about she handed me a mirror so I could see my back.”

Phoenix’s eyebrows raised as it all came rushing back.

“Oh my god, I totally forgot about that!”

She burst out laughing, doubling over as she howled. She could almost feel the irritation through the phone but it only made her laugh harder.

“Thanks, Phoenix. I can’t believe someone drew a dick on my back – wait. Who was it anyway? Just out of curiosity. It was Hangman wasn’t it?”

Phoenix took a moment to gather herself, flopping back into bed.

“No way am I throwing anyone under the bus. Figure it out yourself, Bradshaw – and holy shit, I hate you so much right now, it’s 7:30am on a Sunday morning and I’m awake. Ugh, this is cursed.”

Now it was Rooster’s turn to laugh, and he did until Phoenix hung up on him.

-

“Can we see it?”

Rooster glanced over his shoulder at Coyote, raising an eyebrow.

“Are you propositioning me? Take me out to dinner first, man, damn-“

“-no, the dick- shit.”

Coyote sighed while Rooster chuckled, finishing getting into his flight suit.

“C’mon- please?”

“Ooh, sorry man, too late. Better luck next time.”

“Damn.”

Coyote went back to his own locker while Rooster struggled to get his flight suit to not rest against his sunburned back and shoulders.

“Bradley.”

Rooster groaned, glancing up when Maverick approached.

“Yeah, Mav?”

“I’ve been... hearing rumours today.”

“This is about the lilly white dick on my back isn’t it. You have your team to thank for that.”

Maverick’s mouth twitched. Rooster sighed.

“Go ahead; laugh it up. You’re not the first. I’m gonna kill Hangman when I get my hands on him.”

“It doesn’t sound like it was him, Roo.”

Maverick ruffled his hair and then continued his walk up to the podium.

“Good morning, aviators- hey, has anyone seen the penis on Rooster’s back? Gives a whole new meaning to his callsign, really.”

The rest of the Daggers laughed, Maverick flipping open his file.

“Okay, let’s get to it. Uh, today we’re going to be not doing the intense hops we’re used to; we’re going back to basics because I’m starting to notice gaps in your training...”

-

“C’mon, guys, fess up will you? Who drew the dick on my back in sunscreen and then let me burn?”

“To be fair, you slept for hours and we woke you when we were worried about you getting dehydrated,” Bob commented as he moved around the ready room. The others exchanged nervous glances; if anyone would dob another team member in it would probably be Bob.

Damn stealth pilots.

“The joke’s over, guys, I’ve got a burn along the lines of my callsign and I don’t think Maverick has stopped laughing yet.”

“He’s not the only one,” Hangman grinned. Rooster cocked an eyebrow as he turned to the blonde; no one said he was above bribery-

“Tell me who it was and I’ll blow you-“

“-it was Fanboy.”

The others groaned, Bob facepalming.

“Yet again, Hangman, you live up to your callsign,” Coyote said to his best friend. Hangman shrugged.

“I’ll never say no to a-“

“-did you seriously just give Fanboy up? Dude, not cool.”

Phoenix walked into the ready room at the perfect time, smacking Hangman upside the head. He winced but he couldn’t keep the grin off his face.

“Guys; I’ll send you photos I promise.”

-

[zablife]

Hurricanes in New Orleans w/ Cyclone

For @callsign-phoenix 1K celebration. Congratulations, darl! ♡

Imagine you're on holiday in New Orleans with Beau...He's been so tense recently you insisted on going somewhere he could relax far away from the obligations of work. The first night you arrive you're already tipsy when you spot a neon sign for the city's signature cocktail. "Baby, look, we have to try one!" you squeal with delight, pulling your boyfriend toward the crowded bar. He rolls his eyes and warns, "You know I don't drink anything with an umbrella in it." You look at him pleadingly, "But it's a hurricane! Come on, you have to try one. You're Cyclone!" you say with enthusiasm as though he were a superhero. "A cyclone and a hurricane aren't exactly the same thing," he replies wearily and you cross your arms afraid of a boring lecture. "You're way too uptight tonight. You definitely need a drink, Cyclone," you pout at him playfully. He pulls you into his chest and growls, "You know that's not what I like to be called." You smile at him mischievously, wrapping an arm around his toned torso and push up on your tip toes to place a kiss on his cheek. "Would you please have a drink with me, Admiral?" you beg in a seductive voice. He grabs your chin in one large hand and kisses you hard before sighing heavily. "Alright, one drink, but then I'm taking you back to the hotel for my own form of stress relief," he promises with a wicked smirk playing on his lips.

Part 2 (w/ smut)

[callsign-daydream]

Girl's Night Out - TGM

Summary: Halo is back in town, and the girls are ready for a night of fun! Who knows? The boys might even miss them.

Warnings: Starred out swearing, yelling, general Navy/Military inaccuracies, alcohol, no plot in sight, inconsistency between names/callsigns, just silliness, OC included (about her here), mild Hangman/OC

Word Count: 1471

Girl's Night Out --- “We’re going out tomorrow.” Phoenix strode into the apartment, typing something out on her phone, stepping over some boots in the middle of the floor, and snagging an apple out of the basket on the countertop.

Daydream stopped humming along to Caterina Caselli and looked up from the her salad. “Was there someone at the door? Nah. Couldn’t be. Nobody knocked.”

“Not my fault you never lock your door.”

Hallie grumbled but couldn’t deny it.

“Anyway,” Nat sat on a stool, “tell Bagman you can’t hang out this weekend.”

That caused Hallie to snap her head up again. “Who says I’m doing anything with Hangman?”

“Because you’re usually doing something with him on the weekends, and for some reason the medics haven't figured out yet, you like him.”

“Do not.”

“Liar.”

Hallie chucked a tomato over the counter. Nat managed to catch it, promptly tossing it into her mouth.

“What’s the special occasion anyway?” Hallie poured some vinaigrette over her bowl before turning the music down on her phone.

“Halo’s coming to town.”

Hallie's eyes widened. Halo had been reassigned after the Dagger Squad’s first mission, before Maverick decided on adding an eighth member. Hallie had been in the same TOPGUN year as Halo, but hadn’t seen her since.

“What for?”

“Extra training. She gets in tonight, and we’re going out for a girl’s day tomorrow. No ditching.”

Hallie scoffed and picked up her phone. “You know I’m in.”

Nat smirked and raised an eyebrow at the blonde woman typing on her phone. “Who are you texting?”

Hallie looked up, opened her mouth several times, and then grimaced. “...Jake.”

“I knew it!”

Another tomato went flying.

--- “Where’s Fee and Dream?” Rooster asked as he joined the crew in the corner of the Hard Deck. Payback and Fanboy were currently testing how many peanuts Bob could fit in his mouth, while Hangman and Coyote were haunting the pool table as usual.

Hangman didn’t look up from his shot. “Girl’s night. Halo’s in town.”

“And they didn’t come here?” Rooster sat with his beer.

Coyote chuckled. “Probably didn’t want us crashing their night.”

“We wouldn’t crash it—”

On cue, a spray of peanuts flew across the space. One hit Rooster’s face. One fell in Coyote’s open cup. One ricocheted off the window. A mess rattled across the pool table, eliciting a curse from Hangman, who bombed his shot and sunk the cue ball. Bob was coughing severely as Payback and Fanboy cheered and high-fived.

“Forty-eight,” Payback confirmed.

Rooster nodded. “Yeah, I see it now.”

Penny was quickly at their side, handing out cups to pick up the nutty missiles, as well as collecting thirty dollars from a grumbling Payback after finding out Bob hadn’t passed fifty.

“We got another bet going, if you want in,” Payback said to Rooster.

“What’s up?”

“When the girls will call about needing a ride home.” He glanced at the clock and grinned. “Fanboy’s already out.”

Rooster shook his head. “You gotta give them at least till midnight.”

“That’s what I said,” Coyote agreed.

“I thought they’d drink faster!” Fanboy protested.

“Phoenix said two in the morning,” Bob said.

“I say one,” Rooster said. “Give or take fifteen minutes.”

“You’re all wrong.” Hangman set his now-full peanut cup down on the pool table. “They’ll be drinking more because of Halo, but Phoenix is somehow more stubborn when she’s drunk and will have them hold out until twelve thirty, which is when I’ll get a call from Daydream about how much fun they’re having. She'll finally ask for a ride around twelve forty-five.”

“Oh, right.” Rooster smirked. “I forgot you’d know your girlfriend better than us.”

“Not my girlfriend.”

“Then how’d you know who I was talking about?”

Hangman threw the cup of peanuts at Rooster, earning one laugh and several groans at the new mess.

They all turned out wrong. At around twelve forty-five, Hangman’s phone vibrated on the table, “Dreamgirl” glowing across the screen. Rooster whistled as Hangman glared and answered it.

“Seresin here.”

“Jake!” Hallie’s voice was loud enough without even being on speaker. “Guess what!”

He chuckled. “What?”

“I can do a tequila shot through my nose!”

Bob’s eyes widened. “That doesn’t sound safe.”

Hangman waved a hand. “You should join the circus with that trick, Hal.”

Hallie gasped on the other end. Her next words were quieter as she evidently spoke to her physical companions. “We should all join a circus!”

This was met by loud agreement from the voices of Phoenix and Halo. Hallie chattered and shouted with them as they yelled about their new performing careers and imminent success. Hangman held the phone away from his ear for a moment before attempting to cut back in.

“Hal. Hallie. Hal.”

“Hi!” She paused. “Is this Jake?”

Phoenix made a loud wolf whistle, causing Rooster to waggle his eyebrows. Jake shoved him hard, making the aviator fall back into Payback and Fanboy.

“It’s me,” Hangman said. “You called me.”

“Oh, right!” Hallie laughed for a few minutes before Halo could be heard smacking Hallie’s arm.

“I’m asking! ****, Halo!”

Jake rolled his eyes.

“Anyway,” Hallie went on over more giggling, “I really, really, really don’t need to be driving…or Fee…or Halo…”

“I’ll come get you.” Jake stood. “Tell me where you’re at.”

“No!” Phoenix’s voice interrupted. Judging by the sounds of a protesting Hallie, the former must’ve successfully obtained the phone. “I don’t want to be driven by Bagman!”

“Send Bob!” Halo cheered.

“Nooo!” Hallie whined.

Jake rolled his eyes as his other companions chuckled at him. Distracted, Rooster wrestled the phone from his hands. Some of his beer spilled as he slapped Hangman away.

“Hey, Fee. Rooster. Where are you at?”

“Bradshaw! Where are you?!”

“The Hard Deck.”

“Get over here! This place is crazy…it’s…Halo, where are we?”

"Burning Sun.”

“Burning Sun!”

Jake looked up and groaned. “That’s half an hour from here.”

“No worries, Bagman,” said Bradley, hanging up the phone. “I’ll pick up your girl too.”

“Not my girl!” Jake stood, snatched his keys, and stomped after Bradley, who was already dashing out the door.

---

Thirty minutes later found Rooster and Hangman at the entrance of the Burning Sun. It was newer than the Hard Deck, with no Navy uniforms in sight and a karaoke station in the back; the last item was likely the reason behind the ladies’ choice in venue. The Daggers scanned the space, searching for the trio.

Rooster yelled over the noise. “How are we gonna find--”

Daydream’s Italian yelling cut him off, followed by Halo cheering and an unknown, male voice yelling just as loudly in a much less victorious tone.

“Found ‘em,” said Hangman. He pointed at a large crowd to their right.

The duo pushed through to find a scene worthy of a Baroque painting. A man as tall as Hangman was on the ground, rubbing his jaw that was quickly turning purple. Daydream was standing on a nearby table, cheering and nearly knocking down a collection of glasses. Halo sat at said table, oblivious to the imminent danger, a beer bottle in each hand. At the center was Phoenix, standing over the man and basking in the crowd’s applause.

Rooster nudged Hangman’s ribs. Across the room, a bartender was beginning to sidle over.

“Alright, show’s over, folks!” Hangman announced as he clapped a hand on Phoenix’s shoulder. “Come back again tomorrow!”

Phoenix immediately shoved him off.

“Jake! You came!” Daydream cried.

“Gross,” said Phoenix. “We had…have…have it under control.”

“I’d say,” Rooster chimed in, brushing Hangman away from Phoenix's fighting stance. “That guy’ll feel it tomorrow.”

“Serves him right.” Halo stood and swayed. “Nat just gave his **** back to him.”

“**** straight!” Phoenix yelled.

After more yelling, a bribe to the bartender, and more yelling, the five aviators were situated in their proper vehicles. Phoenix and Halo had started up a rendition of “Evacuate the Dancefloor” that was just the chorus over and over in the back of Rooster’s Bronco, while Daydream was wiping away some tears from saying goodbye to the two in Hangman’s passenger seat.

“Over and out,” Rooster saluted as he drove out and joined the singing.

“You okay there, Dreamgirl?” Hangman glanced at his passenger.

Hallie nodded, then sat up straight. Jake raised his eyebrows.

“My name and Callie's rhyme! We're like…name twins!”

Jake laughed and shook his head. “Might as well be related.”

Hallie laughed and then settled down, evidently very interested in the pattern of the leather seats. The only sounds came from the wind through the cracked windows and the mild country singing from the radio. For a moment, Hangman thought she’d fallen asleep.

“...thanks for coming,” she mumbled.

“Anytime, Dreamgirl.”

---

Phoenix, Halo, and Daydream all woke up the next morning in their respective residences with matching headaches. Phoenix was the first to recover out of the three women, leaving the following text:

🔥 Phoenix 🔥: same thing next weekend? 😜

---

[multishippinghussy]

Script reveal brainrot incoming:

It's a fairly common theme in fics that Hangman is a complete ass with the Mav and Rooster history reveal because he wants to keep Rooster safe and off the suicide mission of Doom. Right?

And now, thanks to the script, we know Rooster and Hangman have a history to the point Rooster gave him his callsign.

Thus, my new headcanon. They are exes for sure. Things ended the first time, because God forbid any person in this universe not be emotionally constipated, and Jake was trying to protect Bradley.

Maybe it was after an accident Bradley got into trying to cover Jake's back, because Brad Brad is all too willing to die for someone else. Instead of sticking with his wingman, Jake breaks things off, not because he doesn't love him, but because he can't be a reason for Bradley to sacrifice himself. After that, he starts verbally picking at him because he wants Rooster to hate him, so then maybe he won't die for him.

And Rooster, still recovering, thinks Jake just left him hanging, because he never really cared. Or that he disappointed him because he wasn't good enough.

In the end we have dickhead Jake that only cares about himself, even though he clearly cares about Rooster (I will die on this hill). And hesitant Rooster, because the one time he lowered his walls, took a chance and didn't over think, he got hurt again.

[bayisdying]

LUCKY X FANBOY MASTERLIST

Cover by the lovely @callsign-dragonbaron

Lucky Penny - Series

Mickey "Fanboy" Garcia and Baylie "Lucky" Steele are two of the best naval aviators in the country, they are also in a secret relationship and have been for years. They are called back for a mission that will test their limits and their love. Follow the journey of the girl who finds pennies everywhere and her nerd through the good times and the bad.

Sneak Peek

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen 1/2

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Other Works of Lucky x Fanboy

Red = SMUT (18+)

1:13am

Mirrors

Jealous Lucky

House Hunting

Suspicious Mind

Runnin' Red Lights

A Very Miami Christmas

Wrapping Paper and Bows (+Spicy/Rooster and Cinco/Hangman)

Tiny Curl

Behind A Screen

Bruised Knuckles

Little Lucky

First Christmas 🎄

Second Chance at Love (William x Delilah)

Prologue

Chapter One|Decisions

Chapter Two|Nilla Wafers and First Dates

[misaothewitch]

May I present to you: The Top Gun Maverick characters as the first things that pop up when you google their callsigns

Rooster:

Hangman:

Fanboy (lmao):

Payback:

Phoenix:

Bob (it was this one single picture of Bob the Minion and then came like a hundred pictures of the hairstyle)

Coyote:

Maverick (himself lol):

Iceman:

Bonus:

Cyclone: